Chapter 3 #2
Instead, he tried lying. Plastering a smile—hopefully a confident, easy-going smile that didn’t reveal how shaken he was—Kenneth asked brightly, “No, what makes ye say that?”
“He is usually right.” The new voice startled Kenneth and had him jerking sideways again in time to see the lassie step out of the shadows. “Albert always is.”
Albert must have been the lad, but Kenneth’s mind was frantically trying to make sense of the girl’s arrival.
She was older, but not as mature as Barbara.
Her blonde hair was pulled up indicating she was entering adulthood, but her figure and the curiosity in her expression seemed more childlike.
A lassie on the cusp of womanhood, therefore, and one he was most definitely not going to flirt with.
Especially considering she only looked mildly interested in him as she stepped up beside her brother. Neither of them appeared open to Kenneth’s charm.
Still, he tried another smile. “Albert, was it? And who are ye, lassie?”
Her lips tugged downward. “I’m Annabelle.”
Och, aye, the younger daughter whom the Baron called Bella “Annabelle and Albert.” He bowed gracefully, then tried to inject some lightness into the conversation. “Ye…ye both have the same initials.”
“Yes,” Annabelle agreed with a grave nod. “We are both A.F.”
Albert adjusted his aim, the slingshot still straining. “We’re both suspicious A.F.”
His sister nodded again. “Protective A.F. as well. Why are you here?”
He cleared his throat. Well, he could tell the truth. That was unlike him. “To see yer sister’s Egyptian collection. Yer father said she was on the upper level?”
The two of them shared a look. Suspicious A.F. indeed.
“You’re shrewd A.F.,” Albert told his sister, and she bit back, “You are trigger-happy A.F.”
Kenneth’s heel found the first stair and he eased himself up it. When they both swung on him, he froze. It wasn’t until Albert sighed and lowered his slingshot that Kenneth allowed himself to relax.
“You still look like a spy,” the boy announced.
Annabelle shrugged, then rolled her eyes. “You might be a spy, but you like those musty old antiquities so at least you will fit in with Barbara and Papa. She is in her library.”
She really did have her own library? Kenneth followed the lassie’s pointing finger up the stairs, then offered an abbreviated bow, hoping to stay on the good side of the trigger-happy A.F. lad. “Thank ye verra much. Can I assume ye arenae interested in antiquities?”
“I am going to be a famous botanist,” the girl announced proudly.
“And I am going to be a mountain man in Canada,” her brother declared, swinging his slingshot through the air. “I’ll kill a couple of bears, then make myself a coat out of them. Then eat the meat.”
Kenneth grinned, remembering having similar goals when he was a lad, and also knowing this blood-thirsty boy would one day become the next Baron Fokette. “We all have our dreams, I suppose.”
But the lassie shook her head firmly. “Albert is usually right, you know.”
Before Kenneth could reply, the lad used the first two fingers of his free hand to point to his eyes, then stabbed them in Kenneth’s direction, as if pointing his gaze. “I still think you’re a spy. I’ll be keeping an eye on you.”
Kenneth’s grin was shaky. “How utterly terrifying. Good day.”
He escaped to the upper level.
The first door he tried was a sort of closet—linens and tableware stacked neatly on shelves. Evidence of a housekeeper, and not for the first time, he wondered where all the Fokette servants were.
He was holding his breath when he pushed open the second door, disconcerted by all the silence. But this was a large room, full of bookshelves and display cases holding antiquities. And there, stretched out on a chaise beneath one of the large windows, a large tome open on her lap…
Barbara looked up at his entrance, and when she recognized him, her expression lit up. His breath caught; how had he ever considered her plain? When she smiled—truly smiled—his chest squeezed in response.
“Kenneth! You came!”
When she swung her legs off the chaise, the skirts of her pink gown rode up, and he saw her feet; the right foot encased in a typical shoe, but the left wrapped in a sturdy boot. Was that to protect what she’d called her malformed foot?
Pulled toward her by some inexorable force, Kenneth stepped into the room—the library. Her library. She had her own library.
“I…how could I not?” The words were charming, but he only spoke the truth. “I wanted to see you. See your collection,” he hastened to correct himself.
Barbara moved the book aside and stood, brushing wrinkles from her skirts. “I did not honestly think you would come.”
And she hadn’t been pining over the fact. He liked that; he liked her realism, liked her openness.
When he reached her, Kenneth bowed. “Ye look lovely, lass.”
Being this close to her bare skin made him warm in all the best ways. Part of him grew excited at the scent of the chase…and another, considerably less disciplined part of him, grew harder.
She didn’t blush or stammer in response to his compliment. “No need for flattery, Sir Kenneth. I am wearing my least interesting gown.”
“Anything would be interesting with ye in it, Barbara.” He couldn’t seem to step away from her. “And I like ye in pink.”
Finally, a bit of a blush. “Pink is my favorite color. I wear different shades at home.”
He could think of nothing to say other than, “It suits ye, Barbie.”
Her brows went up. “Barbie?”
“Babs?”
She turned away, but not before he saw her lips twitching. “Barbie was bad enough. I am certain you did not arrive here to discuss women’s fashion, Sir Kenneth. Allow me to introduce you to Amenemheb-seneb.”
About to protest that he didn’t mind discussions of women’s fashions, as long as they were with her, Kenneth was derailed by that offer. Particularly when she stepped up to what was unmistakenly a sarcophagus.
“Amena-who?” He stumbled after her. “Ye own yer own mummy?”
“Do not be silly, it is not my mummy. This is Amenemheb-seneb’s final resting place, but he is no longer here.
I adore the art of the sarcophagus, look.
” She pointed to a line of hieroglyphics marching along the edge of the stone.
“He was a scribe of the Royal Treasury in the Eighteenth Dynasty, and the Overseer of Granaries.” Her fingers traced a scene of birds—who looked remarkably like doves—pecking at seeds.
“These were done with more whimsy than usual, and make me wonder what sort of man he must have been.”
Kenneth had been distracted by the graceful line of her finger and hummed in encouragement.
Truthfully, he hadn’t cared about the antiquities, and had just used the excuse to get closer to Barbara.
But the expression on her face just now reminded him of the way she’d been studying those phallic satyrs on Standish’s cornices.
As she launched into an examination and explanation of the art before them, Kenneth grew distracted by the depth of her knowledge and understanding.
These antiquities actually were quite interesting, weren’t they?
He found himself asking questions out of curiosity and something more. He liked the way she lit up when she approved of his question and launched into another clarification. Barbara Fokette spoke with her hands as she became more animated, and he was positively enchanted.
How different this young lady was from the one Merevale had originally pointed out, sitting plain and dejectedly and alone along the wall at the ball.
Kenneth liked this one so much better.
To his surprise, that realization had no bearing on his mission to seduce her; he would have been just as pleased to do so when she was an unassuming wallflower.
But now he’d had the chance to meet the real Barbara, he suspected he would enjoy her so much more.
She was enthusiastic, and witty, and brilliant.
And he found himself utterly entranced.
Who’s seducing who, eh?
“Sir Kenneth?” Her prompt, midway through an explanation about a papyrus fragment, startled him from his thoughts.
“Please, love. Call me Kenneth.” The way she had when he’d arrived and seen genuine joy spark in her eyes.
Her brow twitched, then her lips slowly curved into a smile. “I was asking if you remembered the canopic jars from the Earl’s collection last night.”
“The vases with animal heads? Aye, of course. Ye were excited to see them.”
“I was. This piece is the closest I have.” Her fingers hovered over the top of a jar with a jackal’s head. “This is one of the canopic jars belonging to Khedebneithirbinet, a princess—daughter of one of the Psamtiks of the Twenty-Sixth Dynasty. The patina on this one is how I recall it.”
That was an odd thing to say, and an accompanying little furrow had appeared between her brows.
“What do ye mean?” he asked, stepping up beside her to peer down at the carved stone.
But she shrugged. “It is probably nothing. I thought…” As she inhaled, her shoulder brushed his. “Last night there was something tugging at my memory, but it is very likely I was imagining things.”
Frowning now, Kenneth twisted and scooped up her hand. “Dinnae downplay yer instincts, love. This is clearly yer area of expertise, and ye shouldnae hide yer talent.”
She made no move to pull her hand from his, and Kenneth began to rub the inside of her wrist with the pad of his thumb almost without a thought.
“Barbara?” he murmured.
“I…I think that might be the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. You are a charmer, sir.”
“Perhaps,” he found himself admitting. “Though it’s true.”
“Thank you.” She dropped his gaze, turning to look at her collection. “And thank you for listening to me go on about my passion. Few people, and fewer men, are interested in hearing me spout history and lineages.”
He wanted to protest, tell her it had been fascinating…but he suspected her life experiences had taught her such difficult lessons she may not believe him. So he softened his expression. “Then those men are fools who lost the opportunity to educate themselves with the prettiest teacher.”
Her cheeks were turning a becoming shade of pink. Now she cleared her throat and pulled her hand from his, stepping back. He wondered if he’d gone too far, pushed her too quickly, and tried to find a way to gain ground back.
But to his surprise, instead of chastising him Barbara offered an invitation. “If you truly are interested in learning more about Egyptian antiquities, Mrs. Nutt is hosting a salon tomorrow evening at her home in Mayfair, to show off her husband’s collection.”
Nutt? Kenneth’s pulse began to speed up a bit. “Mr. Ambrose Nutt?”
“The famed collector, yes.” She turned, moving toward the chaise once more, and Kenneth had no choice but to follow. “We are an insular bunch, academics who study ancient Egypt, and are quite interested to show off to one another. The Nutts have not hosted since last year.”
And what interesting timing. Ambrose Nutt had been in the gossip columns six months ago for a devastating fire on his country estate.
Apparently it hadn’t crippled him financially—obvious from the fact his wife was hosting a salon now—but he’d been forced to leave London for a time to oversee the clean-up efforts.
Kenneth found himself nodding, his mind frantically skipping from one connection to the next. The Home Office had suspected foul play, but had no reason to investigate. Accepting this invitation and meeting the man personally might open up future opportunities to study Nutt directly.
They’d reached the window but Barbara was watching him expectantly. Kenneth knew he would need to tread carefully.
“I think I would verra much enjoy the opportunity to meet this Mr. Nutt and tour his collection. Ye’re sure it will no’ be presumptuous of me to just invite myself to the salon?”
And her smile bloomed. “I invited you, and I assure you Mr. Nutt will be delighted to have someone else to boast at about his false door stele. If you would like, you could meet us here tomorrow evening and travel with Papa and me.”
There it was. Kenneth grinned in excitement that wasn’t even a little feigned. “Barbara, being able to attend with ye would make it truly memorable. Ye’ll explain everything to me as we tour?”
She cocked her head. “You must be the only man who actually wants a lady to display her intelligence to him.” Her blue eyes sparkled with something between amusement and anticipation. “Yes, I would be completely delighted to have a captive audience for my TED talk.”
“TED—”
“Totally educational drivel. Albert thought of it.” Barbara smiled. “Thank you.”
“Nay.” His voice cracked just a bit as he scooped up her hand yet again, unable to keep from touching her. “Thank ye.”
Was it his imagination, or did she sway toward him? Her head was tipped back, those big blue eyes wide as they stared up at him. A pulse in the base of her throat fluttered, making him want to press his lips there.
Taste her.
Barbara’s lips parted and he found himself reaching for her cheek, cupping it. Her skin was soft, supple…delicious. Tipping his head, he bent down to claim her lips in a kiss…
“Barbara! Darling, a guest!”
The shrill call from another level of the house had her jerking away, and Kenneth released her cheek with a disappointed sigh.
“Mother,” she whispered apologetically.
“Barbara! Heaven save us—your father says your knight is here! I am sending your brother to fetch him to the parlor for tea. Go put on your pink gown!”
Kenneth met Barbara’s gaze, and to his surprise, saw humor there. His own smile answered her expression.
“Which pink gown?” he murmured.
She didn’t even glance down. “I doubt it matters. Would you care for tea, Sir Kenneth?”
“I would be delighted, Miss Fokette.” He turned, offering his arm. “If we make it to the salon before Albert accosts me, I’ll consider it a miracle.”
Laughing, she slid her hand along his forearm, and aye, his cock responded to her touch again. Good God. “You have met the Fokette heir, then? He is a dear lad.”
“He tried to practice his bear-killing and skinning on me.”
“Yes, that is what I meant.” She peeked mischievously up at him as they exited her sanctuary. “My family might be…different, but they are delightful.”
“Aye.” Kenneth realized he was being honest, but speaking of only one Fokette, as he studied the woman on his arm. “Ye are.”