Page 73 of A Little Bit Dangerous
Aramis pointed to a crate near the crude desk in the corner of the vast room. “There’s a soiled ream of silk in that one. Blood spots on the floor and broken pottery.”
“Pottery?” Isabella hurried to look.
“It’s scattered at the bottom.” Aramis reached into the large box. He retrieved a sizeable fragment and handed it to her without recoiling.
Isabella hurried to the opposite side of the room and studied it beneath the moonlight filtering through the window. “Christian! It’s part of an ushabti figurine. It’s not faience but possibly mud with a small metal weight added to make it appear heavy.”
“What the devil is she talking about?” Aramis muttered.
“A fake Egyptian artefact. You wouldn’t understand.” Christian crossed the room and studied the piece for himself, though it was Isabella’s smile that held him captivated. “So, Snell did load his ship with fake artefacts. The question is, does Lord Oldman know he’s sold worthless trinkets?”
“Perhaps we should tell him.” She touched his arm. “It’s not too late to visit him in Bloomsbury Square.”
He suspected she had another motive for visiting the lord late at night. A motive that had more to do with the welfare of Nancy Jones.
“Do you want me to retrieve all the broken pieces?” Aramis called. “There’s a strange jar with a jackal’s head and what looks like the remnants of a bronze cat.”
In her excitement, Isabella replied, “Yes. Gather everything you can find, Mr Chance.”
Christian didn’t want her to raise her hopes. “We don’t know your father is involved. At best, Snell and Oldman will argue the Vizier duped them.” He cupped her cheek and couldn’t help but brush his lips gently over hers. God, his addiction was killing him. “Especially if the items come with provenance.”
She placed her palm on his chest. “Then we’ve no hope of seeing him locked in Newgate, where he can do no harm.”
He didn’t want her to think she had no option but to run. “We’ll find a reason to be rid of him. Even if we have to stalk him night and day.” Getting rid of a man like the Conte di Barasian was a different matter.
The need to kiss away their troubles had them looking at each other’s mouths, fighting back the urge to lock lips.
“I wish there was no one in the world but us,” she whispered. “I wish we didn’t have to worry about what tomorrow will bring.”
He wasn’t sure how to explain that he came as a package. That as badly as he wanted her, he would not wish to be without his kin. He couldn’t lose her, and he couldn’t lose them. The situation was untenable.
In the gloom, Aramis watched them, his gaze more curious than hostile. When he approached, he was more like the man who put pine cones on Delphine’s seat for a lark. The man whose countenance was not always as dark as the devil’s.
“Gibbs warned me I might find you canoodling in the corner.”
Unable to hide his feelings from those he trusted most, Christian hit his brother with the truth. “We’d be canoodling in the privacy of my bedchamber were it not for this blasted case. The need to be alone is often overwhelming.”
Isabella’s eyes widened in shock.
She straightened as if expecting a verbal attack, but Aramis snorted. “Then tell me what you want me to do. All this fawning makes me heave.”
Christian turned to Isabella. “You’re Daventry’s agent. Shall we determine what your father is doing here and break into the other warehouses? Or visit Oldman and present him with the fake ushabti?”
She nibbled her cheek while considering the matter.
Christian imagined sucking her plump bottom lip, anticipated the first glide of their tongues.
“My father is too clever to leave clues behind. I think we have a better chance of forcing Lord Oldman to confess. Mr Daventry might disagree, but we should accuse his lordship of abusing his staff. We’ll tell him the dead woman named him as her tormentor.”
Christian looked at Aramis. “We could frighten Oldman into believing anything, especially if we catch him unawares.”
Aramis grinned. “Then what are we waiting for?”
Gibbs arrived with an entourage of brutes from the tavern. “Lawton removed two crates from Snell’s warehouse while you were supping ale in the tavern. They were heavy.” Gibbs glanced at the toothless fellow leading the gang.
“It took two men to lift ’em onto a cart,” the fellow mumbled. “The foreign nabob warned ’em not to drop the crates, said he wanted nothing broken.”
“No doubt he was moving the evidence,” Isabella said, all hope restored. “Perhaps he’s delivering the items to Lord Oldman.”
