The Treasure Hunter's Lady by Allison Merritt Page A

needed to go somewhere, but at least he was loyal enough to do most of her bidding.
    “I must get home right away. Papa is staying a bit longer, but I’m tired of the festivities, so you’ll have to return for him.”
    The driver didn’t argue, just opened the carriage door and helped her inside. Romy clutched the overstuffed purse to her chest. The outside of the satin felt warm against her hands, even through her gloves. Shifting her fingers, she traced the outline of the fang the way Abel had inside the manor.
    She thought of his hands—long and lean—and of the way his fingers caressed her back as he led her to the ballroom floor. Why did his touch make her feel alive and breathless when Woefield made her feel small and worthless? They were both disgusting men only out for what they could gain. They deserved each other more than either of them deserved her. Maybe when she showed Papa her information and persuaded him to let her accompany him, he’d realize she didn’t need a husband to make her happy.
    As soon as Gardner turned into the drive in front of the cottage, Romy was on her feet. He'd barely applied the brake before she threw the door open and jumped to the ground without waiting for the steps to be lowered. The purse in her hands felt heavy and hot. She ached to examine the fang again.
    “Do you need anything else, miss?” Gardner asked, shuffling beside the horses.
    She waved off his question. “No. Go back and wait for Papa. I'm sure he'll be ready to come home soon. Good night. And thank you.”
    The house was dark and a bit lonesome against the black sky. Papa wanted to be away from prying eyes, but still close enough that he could force her to be involved with the community. A woman came twice a week to clean the little cottage and a cook prepared meals every day, but otherwise they were alone once Gardner's services were no longer needed. She never minded the privacy and was grateful for it now.
    It took several minutes and some creative maneuvering to get out of the monstrosity of a dress. It pooled on the floor, a small mountain of blue and white laid over an Oriental rug. The satin handbag gleamed just as ugly on the coverlet. She pulled the drawstrings and turned it upside down, dumping the contents on the bed.
    A pot of rouge, a pencil stub, Abel's papers and a few crumpled receipts scattered over the quilt. Several papers drifted off the coverlet, but she was more interested in the fang. It fell out last, though it was the heaviest of the objects. Amid the other things, it glinted shiny, foreign and dangerous. The part of her that believed in fairy tales and magic hesitated to examine it. Cursed, Abel had said. For all his easy smiles and teasing, he'd looked deathly serious when he called it that.
    Her other half, the part that liked overcoming mysteries, picked the fang up. It was lighter than it looked. Holding it aloft, she imagined the size of the serpent's head that housed a tooth like this. Easily the length of her hand, something as huge and unearthly as the fang itself must have grown it. If such a creature were to rear up and strike, the force of the head alone would be enough to cause serious damage to its victim. Not that she believed it was a real serpent's fang or that it had come from any kind of animal. Dragons weren't real, so that wasn't the answer either. From the way it shone, as though fresh from a jeweler's shop, she estimated it to be a year or two old.
    It was in very good condition, better condition than most of the artifacts she'd laid eyes on. Logically, it couldn't be anything more than a fancy attempt to pass off some odd stone as a relic. Pretty, but not really worth anything. So why had Abel been so insistent about tracking down the Horned Serpent?
    She traced the jagged crack along the front. A small piece had been knocked out and the pointed end was dull. It might have made a fearsome weapon for a real creature. Hanging from a leather thong, it looked