Page 36 of A Little Bit Dangerous
That wasn’t precisely true. According to the curator, the lady had spoken gibberish, but he meant to wring this snobbish oaf for every drop of information.
Woodrow scowled. “But this is outrageous. I negotiated the deal with the museum. I assure you, I unearthed those objects with my own hands.”
Tired of waiting for Woodrow to offer them a seat, Christian moved two chairs and positioned them in front of the fellow’s desk. He waited for Miss Lawton to sit before dropping into the chair beside her.
“Then let me tell you what we know, sir,” Miss Lawton said calmly, but Woodrow raised a hand to object.
“I’ll not discuss my personal affairs with a woman.”
“For the purpose of this interview, consider me a sergeant at Bow Street, sir. This is a criminal investigation. You will answer any questions put to you.”
Christian smiled to himself. His admiration for Miss Lawton grew by the hour. She wasn’t ashamed to admit her fears. Despite being terrified of her father, her determination to uncover the truth was commendable. And he couldn’t stop thinking about that heart-stopping kiss.
Woodrow stared at Christian down a long patrician nose. “Have you no shame? How can you sit there and let her ride roughshod over you?”
Christian took a moment to appreciate the mental image of her astride him in bed, sweat trickling between her breasts, her hair a cascade of wild curls. “With tremendous ease.”
The lady turned to him, gratitude swimming in her sensual brown eyes. Hell. He’d lay on hot coals to earn a look like that again.
Christian hardened his tone. “Now, you’ll tell her whatever she wants to know. Let me remind you, this is a murder enquiry. Miss Lawton has the Home Secretary’s permission to arrest you and throw you into a cell with bawds and common thieves. I doubt the members would allow a man with a sullied reputation to hold a position here.”
Woodrow realised he was out of his depth and minutes from drowning. His Adam’s apple bobbed before he eventually said, “I’ll be honest with you. The trip to Amarna failed to produce the results we hoped. Sources convinced us we would find a wealth of treasure in a buried temple, but we barely secured enough items to fill a crate.”
“Your patrons must have been disappointed, sir.”
A muscle in the man’s cheek twitched. “We had to go cap in hand to the Grand Vizier and beg to purchase items from his private collection.”
“How many of his treasures did you buy?” Christian said. Perhaps the Vizier’s seal was genuine, though that didn’t mean they’d brought original artefacts home.
Embarrassment coloured Woodrow’s cheeks. “More than double what we recovered from the site. Probably twenty in total. Thankfully, they all came with provenance.”
“And Lord Oldman sponsored your trip and claimed some treasures for his own collection?” Miss Lawton attempted to confirm.
Woodrow’s brows quirked in response. Clearly, he wondered how Miss Lawton had learned the information. “A few select pieces: a ruby-encrusted scarab, a gold face mask and a lotus chalice. Again, with the provenance, they’re considered rare. Rare indeed.”
A brief silence ensued.
Christian could almost hear the cogs of Miss Lawton’s inquisitive mind turning and decided to ask a question himself. “What reason would a woman have to accost the curator in the dead of night and warn him about fake treasures?” He pinned Woodrow to the seat with his stern gaze. “A woman found murdered and dumped in the Thames?”
Woodrow stuttered, stumbling over his own tongue. “I—I have no notion. But you have my word all the items purchased are genuine.”
Items bought from a vizier who was desperate to raise funds?
It was doubtful.
Miss Lawton sat forward. “How many crates did you bring home, sir? We’ve seen the log and wish to account for all items brought ashore.”
“I couldn’t tell you how many crates came ashore.” Woodrow scratched his temple. “But four were delivered here the nightThe Marigolddocked. Captain Snell won’t risk river pirates stealing his bounty and was quick to move his cargo.”
Snell was probably worried about the River Police, not the damn pirates.
While Miss Lawton asked about the captain’s character, Christian studied Woodrow, looking for the odd nuances that marked him a liar.
One thing was abundantly clear. For an arrogant man, Woodrow had developed a sudden case of nerves when speaking about the captain.
“Did the other crates belong to Captain Snell?”
Woodrow paled. He glanced about the room as if they were sitting in a dockside tavern surrounded by cutthroats and crooks. “Though we hired Snell to deliver us to Egypt, the captain had his own agenda.”
