Chapter 4 #2
“Aye, but look, there’s little handwritten signs.” Before Barbara could decide if she was disappointed or not, he grinned unrepentantly. “But I did do some reading on the subject. Have ye heard of Giovanni Belzoni?”
“Heard of him?” Her eyes grew wide. “My father gave me a copy of his Narratives of the Pyramids for my birthday two years ago—he has a second edition releasing soon!”
He chuckled. “Then ye are much smarter than I. It took me most of the morning to get through the introduction and first chapter.”
“It is a little dry,” she admitted, still staring, impressed. “You really bought a book on Egyptian antiquities?” So was Mr. Sinter correct? Was Kenneth trying to impress her?
He shrugged, leaning to study the jars. “I wanted to ken how they got the brain out without cracking the skull. Do ye ken they scrambled it with a hook through the nose cavity? Disgusting.”
Unable to help her little laugh, Barbara pressed her fingers to her lips and joined him. “Yes, well. An embalmer’s job was a prestigious and well-trained position…”
Her words trailed off as her lips tugged into a frown. Something was wrong.
Without thinking, she slipped her hand from Kenneth’s arm and reached for the canopic jar. She was wearing her gloves, and vaguely she felt Kenneth move to stand at her shoulder, blocking the view of their host and anyone behind her.
She would have to thank him for that, just as soon as she… “Hmmm.”
“Hmmm like a good thing? Or hmmm this looks mighty suspicious?” Kenneth murmured in her ear.
Yes, he really was close, wasn’t he? Unfortunately that realization distracted her, and Barbara’s fingers fumbled with the jar. His response was lightning-fast; Kenneth’s hand darted out to grab the jar and the back of her hand, holding them both.
Keeping them safe.
“Th-Thank you.” She managed a shuddering breath as she tipped the jar back into its place on the display.
But he didn’t release her.
With her gloved hand cradled by his palm, his forearm framed hers as well. The warmth of him, even through the wool of his coat, soaked into her, making her shiver with need and sweat with overwhelm.
And also, because she was an academic at the heart of things even when her arousal was hopelessly piqued, she frowned at the canopic jar.
“Barbie.” His low murmur stirred the hairs at the back of her neck. “What did ye notice? What has ye worried?”
How did he know her so well? She turned her head just slightly, and the movement brought her lips within inches of his jaw. Focusing on the shadow of growth there, she parted her lips…
“Sweetheart.” His lips curled devilishly. “Ye’re no’ helping me in my efforts to forget how delightful ye feel in my arms.”
“What?” she blurted out.
He was the one to clear his throat and drop his hold on her hand, stepping away. She swayed, confused, room spinning, her fingertips still brushing the stone of the jar…
And he watched her with a faintly amused grin, one that showed off his dimple. Not mocking, but as though they were sharing a joke.
“The other night, when we were touring the Earl’s collection, ye noticed something on one of the jars.” He nodded to the one they stood before. “Now ye’re focused on something about one of Nutt’s canopic jars. I’m no’ wrong, am I?”
Barbara shook her head, forcing herself to focus on his words. On what she’d noticed. With a deep breath, she turned back to the set of jars.
It did not make sense.
“These belonged to Tanetmit.” She traced the air above the hieroglyphics.
“Beloved Singer in the Temple of Amun-Ra, one of the major gods. Only those of high standing had their tombs in the Valley of the Kings—members of the royal family, priests, that sort of thing. She was a priestess, making her interesting all on her own.”
“But ye’ve seen these afore, aye?” With his hands clasped behind his back—as if assuring her he wouldn’t reach for her—Kenneth moved beside her. “Ye’re familiar with Nutt’s collection?”
“I was here at his wife’s last salon, about six months ago. He had to leave town for a long while and has only just returned.”
“Aye, I ken,” he murmured, bending slightly. “Do ye think something’s changed?”
Barbara glanced about, and was relieved to see none of the other salon-goers were paying them much attention. She was loath to acknowledge what she thought she’d seen, knowing all too well how viciously academics could mock others, especially if she was presumed to be insulting the collection.
But Kenneth was the only one here, the only one who could hear her.
Carefully, she lifted the jar again, knowing her gloves would protect it from wear…if necessary.
“The patina is wrong,” she whispered.
“Patina?”
“The natural evidence of aging.” She pointed to spots near the base of the jar.
“The wear seems concentrated here, rather than all over the jar.” Gingerly, she replaced Tanetmit’s liver jar and picked up the one which once held the long-dead priestess’s stomach.
“See? There are no microcracks in the surface, which should be there.”
“All four follow the same pattern,” he pointed out.
“Yes, which means all four are wrong.”
Frowning, he glanced at her as Barbara carefully replaced the last of the jars. “What did ye see at Standish’s?”
She hesitated before blowing out a breath. “I am likely wrong.”
To her surprise Kenneth turned to her, expression serious, and reached for her hand. “I ken ye arenae wrong. Ye’re intelligent and insightful. Tell me.”
He seemed so intense, and his belief in her ability was tempting…
Biting her lip, Barbara dropped her gaze to his chin. “The canopic jars in Cousin Errol’s collection. They belonged to a noblewoman of the Fourteenth Dynasty. The patina color was wrong on them, too. I thought I was mistaken, but now…”
As she glanced at the canopic jars, worrying her lower lip, a servant stepped into the room and intoned in a booming voice, “Gentlemen, Mr. Nutt will soon begin his scintillating lecture in the drawing room. Please join him for refreshments.”
The antiquarians in the room began to drift toward the door but Barbara and Kenneth remained frozen, her hand cupped in his. The murmur of conversation slowly faded, and when she turned back to look at him, he was still watching her intently.
Barbara swallowed. “I might be misremembering…”
His grin was sudden, comforting. Kenneth lifted his hand to her temple, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and his touch sent a shiver through her. His gaze met hers as he rested his fingertips on her cheek.
“Barbara, dinnae doubt yerself. I dinnae doubt ye. If ye noticed something wrong about Standish’s jars, then there is something wrong.
” His head cocked toward the display beside them, but he didn’t look away.
“Ye noticed these were wrong right away, so much so ye nearly dropped one. What I think is interesting is that ye dinnae remember these being problematic the last time ye were here.”
She shook her head but not too strongly, being unwilling to risk losing his touch. “I…I cannot be certain I would have noticed then, but I do not recall there being anything out of the ordinary.”
“What about the Standish jars?”
She didn’t understand, and perhaps he could guess that based on her expression, for he explained.
“Had ye examined the canopic jars in the Standish collection before? Do ye remember the patina looking strange on them?”
Barbara began to shake her head, then stopped. Actually… “I did sketch them, a few years ago when I was beginning my collection. They were the reason I then acquired a set belonging to a woman—I loved the idea of connecting with someone who lived so long ago.”
A brief frown flitted across Kenneth’s forehead, and he finally glanced down at the display beside them. “They’re both women.”
“What?”
“Both sets of jars—Nutt’s and Standish’s—belong to women. Yers too.”
Her breath caught and she shifted to peer down at the jars. “Well, yes. They are rarer.”
“More valuable.”
“Yes.” When Barbara inhaled, her shoulders brushed his. “Something unsettling…problematic is happening.”
“Counterfeits?” He glanced at her. “Ye think these jars are forgeries?”
Her voice lowered. “I think…I think these jars have been replaced with forgeries.”
Kenneth didn’t speak for a long moment, then he exhaled with a whispered, “Fook,” and she found herself blushing at his curse.
As he dragged his hand through his hair, seeming genuinely concerned about the possibility, she hurried to reassure him. “It is possible Mr. Nutt and Cousin Errol are both aware of the replacement. Perhaps they commissioned them for a reason?”
Perhaps the originals were being refurbished or hidden away at the bank, and these forgeries were just on display to—to—to be displayed?
“It’s also possible they have nae idea.” Kenneth reached for her again but this time it was her shoulder, as if she were a friend. A confidante. An equal. The intensity of his gaze made her catch her breath. “Can ye think of any other likely victims?”
“Victims?” Her lips formed the word but no sound emerged—she was too overwhelmed by his touch, his nearness.
Kenneth ducked his chin, bringing himself closer. “Aye—if there’s another collection with the same mismatched patina, that pattern is what we’d consider suspicious enough to warrant a wee investigation.”
We?
“I—I do not…I mean, I suppose I could sit down and consider…”
“Barbie.”
His sharp tone interrupted her in the middle of her demurring, and she gaped up at him, lips parted, breaths coming too fast. With a little sigh of surrender—hers or his, she wasn’t sure—Kenneth slid his hand up her shoulder to the back of her neck.
When he squeezed, Barbara shivered at the remarkable sensation skittering down her spine then up again to end at her nipples.
Who had any idea nipples could be connected to her spine?
Judging from the way she was pressing her thighs together to capture that delicious pressure, the rest of her body had always had a fairly good idea.
“Barbara, love,” he repeated, his voice softer.
“I trust ye. Ye’re brilliant—I ken it, ye ken it, every man here kens it.
” His thumb was brushing small circles in the small hairs at the base of her skull, making it extremely difficult to concentrate on his words.
Which was a shame, because his words really were magnificent. “I believe ye can do this.”
Her free hand rose to rest against his chest. “Kenneth?”
His gaze dropped to her lips. “Aye?” he almost groaned.
“I should rather like to kiss you now, if you do not mind—”
Barbara almost swallowed her words as his mouth dropped to hers, but she didn’t mind; she was already smiling against his lips, reveling in the feel of him.
Over the years, she’d read her fair share of wicked novels, romantic novels, and everything in between. But this kiss?
Nothing she’d read could have prepared her for this kiss.
Who knew tongues were so relevant? Who knew they could do things besides speak and whistle and—
When his tongue slid across her lips Barbara opened them with a little moan, delighted by the sensation.
Still holding her, Kenneth stepped closer until her hand was flattened against his chest and she could feel his heart pounding a rhythm to match hers. She could also feel other things, a hardness which made her thighs clench so hard they spasmed and her fingers clutch at his lapels.
Thank goodness he was holding her upright.
With a little noise of approval—or perhaps pleasure—Kenneth deepened the kiss, his fingers massaging her neck while a thumb traced small circles on the inside of her wrist. He really was quite good at this kissing thing, wasn’t he?
Barbara recognized it; recognized him, recognized what he was doing to her. She was intelligent and well-educated, of course she recognized a rake when she saw one. He was seducing her. She was at the center of a seduction.
And in this moment, in this place…she absolutely did not care.
This was the experience she’d been waiting for: a man who treated her as worthy of passion, worthy of desire, worthy of understanding.
She wanted this. Wanted him.
Kenneth’s mouth left hers, kissing along her jaw. With a little moan of encouragement Barbara tipped her head back, offering him better access to her throat and thrusting her breasts into—
“Ho-ho-ho, what have we here?”
The jovial call was a proverbial bucket of unwelcome cold water. Between one heartbeat and the next Kenneth jerked away from her, dropping his hold on her to turn to face the display case as Barbara pressed her palms to her chest and tried to steady her breathing.
“M-Mr. Sinter…” She swallowed, wondering how disheveled she looked. “I am—we were merely—”
“Tut-tut, Miss Fokette.” The jolly, big-bearded man was waving his finger at her, as if she were a naughty child. “I wondered where you two had disappeared to, and now I see Sir Kenneth is doing his best to woo you with canopic jars, the bright lad!”
“I…” Barbara glanced to her right where Kenneth stood, his back to Mr. Sinter, his hands clenched into fists and his eyes screwed up tightly. He looked as if he were fighting for control.
Perhaps it was for the best he said nothing right now.
Mr. Sinter, still beaming, offered his arm. “Your hair and gown still look lovely, my dear. Come, let us join the lecture and no one will be the wiser.”
What a remarkably kind offer. Barbara found herself relaxing that this dalliance wouldn’t ruin her standing in the eyes of her mentor, and flicked one last glance at Kenneth.
His eyes were open but his gaze was hard as he stared at the counterfeit canopic jars. When his chin dropped, she thought that might have been a nod of approval. Telling her to go with Mr. Sinter? Nay, encouraging her to salvage her reputation.
Taking a deep breath, Barbara placed her hand on the older man’s arm. “Thank you,” she murmured.
As he swept her into Mr. Nutt’s drawing room, to hear about his acquisition of the valuable false door stele, Barbara didn’t look back at Kenneth.
And she regretted it all night.