study by inches.
When she reached the case, she raised her candle and tipped its light inside. She’d expected to find medals, mementos of Lord Reed’s military exploits. Instead she was greeted first by an acorn-shaped idol, teeth bared across his pitted stone face. A gold scarab glinted back, mounted on crimson velvet inside a dark wood frame, the pattern of his thumb-sized carapace carved with ancient craftsmanship. A silver case the size of a shoebox occupied the lower shelf, religious figures stamped in relief on each side. Its lid was propped half open to display the wealth contained inside: silver bands embracing milky emeralds, hand- minted gold coins, and a fairytale diadem set with almond-sized rubies. A scrap of brocade was framed beside the chest. Red, blue, and gold silk strands held a trace of their original luster, woven into a splendid garment, a royal gown or tunic, hundreds of years before.
Alix held her breath, illuminating each treasure in turn. Cathedral stones, tattered flags, lacy tarnished keys; she wondered at the story of each, lost in the past.
“Mrs. Rowan.”
She’d been so lost that she’d forgotten her trespass, forgotten to be on guard for footsteps in the hall. Alix gasped and pivoted on one foot, eyes fixed to the floor. She couldn’t meet his eyes, had no excuse.
“I saw the light and thought someone had forgotten to extinguish a candle.” Rather than accusing, Spencer’s words were curious, and something else she couldn’t identify.
It was ingrained in her to hide the truth, but where Spencer was concerned, it was impossible to lie. “Lord Reed, I apologize. My aim was the library, but when I saw the case…” She turned back and waved a hand across it, “I was drawn in. That’s no excuse for my intrusion.”
He was behind her. Warmth filled the scant space between their bodies. She caught the spice of his cologne, a familiar scent she didn’t recall noticing before. He reached past her, a sturdy shoulder pressing her back, and ran a hand along one side of the display. “I would argue there is no better excuse.” His words brushed her ear. Eyes closing, she swallowed and fought an urge to lean into him.
“You’ve curated an impressive collection,” she stammered, wishing she was more glib in moments like these.
Spencer chuckled and moved beside her, setting distance between them. “This is all Bennet’s work, actually.”
“Not to offend, but your brother doesn’t strike me as a collector.”
“Bennet doesn’t collect.” Spencer said. “He … acquires .”
She frowned. “I don’t understand.”
Spencer tapped the glass. “That statuette? Recovered from a cave in Brazil. Natives chased him back to his ship at spear point and nearly skewered him.” She followed the path of his finger until it rested before the fabric she’d admired. “A scrap of canopy from the bed in which Elizabeth of York was conceived. Bennet and his crew discovered the chest in a crypt, taken from England during the civil unrest. It was tucked away by Spanish looters beneath an abandoned cathedral in Portugal.”
She blew a breath between pursed lips. “You were serious when you called him an adventurer.”
He was staring now, watching her. She caught a glint of his eyes in the candle’s glow while keeping her own fixed on the artifacts. A chill ran up her back, helped along by cool skin where his heat had left her moments before, and Alix realized she was frightened. Not of Spencer’s intentions, not of being alone with him. She was frightened of herself any time he was near. He stoked embers inside she’d banked long ago,
When she reached the case, she raised her candle and tipped its light inside. She’d expected to find medals, mementos of Lord Reed’s military exploits. Instead she was greeted first by an acorn-shaped idol, teeth bared across his pitted stone face. A gold scarab glinted back, mounted on crimson velvet inside a dark wood frame, the pattern of his thumb-sized carapace carved with ancient craftsmanship. A silver case the size of a shoebox occupied the lower shelf, religious figures stamped in relief on each side. Its lid was propped half open to display the wealth contained inside: silver bands embracing milky emeralds, hand- minted gold coins, and a fairytale diadem set with almond-sized rubies. A scrap of brocade was framed beside the chest. Red, blue, and gold silk strands held a trace of their original luster, woven into a splendid garment, a royal gown or tunic, hundreds of years before.
Alix held her breath, illuminating each treasure in turn. Cathedral stones, tattered flags, lacy tarnished keys; she wondered at the story of each, lost in the past.
“Mrs. Rowan.”
She’d been so lost that she’d forgotten her trespass, forgotten to be on guard for footsteps in the hall. Alix gasped and pivoted on one foot, eyes fixed to the floor. She couldn’t meet his eyes, had no excuse.
“I saw the light and thought someone had forgotten to extinguish a candle.” Rather than accusing, Spencer’s words were curious, and something else she couldn’t identify.
It was ingrained in her to hide the truth, but where Spencer was concerned, it was impossible to lie. “Lord Reed, I apologize. My aim was the library, but when I saw the case…” She turned back and waved a hand across it, “I was drawn in. That’s no excuse for my intrusion.”
He was behind her. Warmth filled the scant space between their bodies. She caught the spice of his cologne, a familiar scent she didn’t recall noticing before. He reached past her, a sturdy shoulder pressing her back, and ran a hand along one side of the display. “I would argue there is no better excuse.” His words brushed her ear. Eyes closing, she swallowed and fought an urge to lean into him.
“You’ve curated an impressive collection,” she stammered, wishing she was more glib in moments like these.
Spencer chuckled and moved beside her, setting distance between them. “This is all Bennet’s work, actually.”
“Not to offend, but your brother doesn’t strike me as a collector.”
“Bennet doesn’t collect.” Spencer said. “He … acquires .”
She frowned. “I don’t understand.”
Spencer tapped the glass. “That statuette? Recovered from a cave in Brazil. Natives chased him back to his ship at spear point and nearly skewered him.” She followed the path of his finger until it rested before the fabric she’d admired. “A scrap of canopy from the bed in which Elizabeth of York was conceived. Bennet and his crew discovered the chest in a crypt, taken from England during the civil unrest. It was tucked away by Spanish looters beneath an abandoned cathedral in Portugal.”
She blew a breath between pursed lips. “You were serious when you called him an adventurer.”
He was staring now, watching her. She caught a glint of his eyes in the candle’s glow while keeping her own fixed on the artifacts. A chill ran up her back, helped along by cool skin where his heat had left her moments before, and Alix realized she was frightened. Not of Spencer’s intentions, not of being alone with him. She was frightened of herself any time he was near. He stoked embers inside she’d banked long ago,
Similar Books
