Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Barbara threw herself into her new mission.
Their new mission.
Any time she stopped to think about that afternoon in the drawing room when Kenneth had kissed her so passionately over tea, she was surprised again. Oh, not that he would kiss her—he’d proven quite capable and even eager for such feats in the past, of course—but by what he’d revealed.
An agent for the Crown!
No one in the Ton suspected such a thing, not from a notorious rake such as him…and he’d trusted her with the truth, trusted her to help him. There was something so incredibly beautiful, so uplifting, about that fact.
He trusted her.
He trusted her not to reveal his secret, and trusted her to help him find the truth.
She wasn’t going to let him down.
Of course, at the time, she’d been rather more focused on his lips and his tongue. Good heavens, but the man could kiss. Then she forgot all about his mouth, at least temporarily, because his hands began to do all sorts of interesting things.
When he cupped her breast through the bodice of her gown, she’d gasped against his lips…
and when he’d dipped his hand into her stays and found her nipple and rolled it between his thumb and forefinger?
Well, she’d moaned loudly enough that he’d swallowed down the sound and grinned against her mouth.
Barbara had reveled in the sensations, the arousal, the need sparking between them. This was what she’d wanted, what she’d dreamed of…
But she’d always assumed, when the opportunity presented itself for such an experience, her heart wouldn’t be involved.
Why would it? What sort of man would actually be interested in her?
And although she’d just met Kenneth, although there was no reason to think what they shared was more special than his typical affairs with ladies of the Ton…
Barbara was beginning to suspect her heart was very much involved.
The last three weeks working together had only deepened that suspicion.
That afternoon in the drawing room they’d been interrupted by Missus Whinge.
One moment, Kenneth was clasping Barbara against him, his hands caressing her skin, his lips trailing heated kisses down her throat…
and the next, he was lounging against the opposite end of the sofa, sipping from his teacup as their housekeeper bustled in with more cakes.
It was astonishing.
He’d even managed to flirt with the older woman as she fussed over his love of her famous lemon cakes. Meanwhile Barbara had sat there looking—and feeling—ridiculously rumpled, marvelously mussed, trying to drag her focus back to the present rather than on the way he’d made her body feel.
And over the last three weeks, things hadn’t grown any easier.
Each time he visited her family’s home, each time they called on another collector as part of their mission, Barbara’s body seemed peculiarly attuned to his.
The fact they’d managed to sneak in more than a few kisses in carriages or behind pillars or—one particularly memorable time—hidden by a large fern in Lord Bottomley’s ballroom, only heightened her desperation for him.
Kenneth was now a frequent visitor and her family was charmed by him, the same way she was.
Well, hopefully not exactly the same way.
Papa was thrilled to have ‘another antiquarian’ to lecture, while Mother was just delighted at the thought of her daughter being courted by a gentleman who was solvent and had all his own teeth.
Annabelle had been his biggest admirer since the gift of that cactus, and Kenneth had even wooed Alfred over to his side with his remarkably realistic tales of adventure and spy missions—which he claimed he’d read in a book, so as not to add further proof to Alfred’s claim he was a spy.
One evening Margaret and her new husband even joined them for dinner. Kenneth and Barbara’s brother-in-law seemed to hit it off, but with Tosh’s background, it was a little disturbing to consider they might have anything in common besides their Scottish heritage.
After the meal Margaret took her aside to announce proudly how pleased she was with her suitor, and Barbara managed to keep a polite look on her face the whole time.
She was not, however, fully capable of pretending excitement at the future nuptial announcement her older sister was certain was coming soon.
Because Barbara knew this was all an act. Knew, and couldn’t tell anyone.
The only reason Kenneth visited so often, the only reason he escorted her to so many social functions, was because of his mission. Their mission. He had to give the appearance of courting her so her parents would grant them some semblance of privacy to pour over her notes or build new theories.
And each time someone in the family mentioned how delightful Kenneth was, and how he clearly cared for her, and how excited they were to welcome him to the family, Barbara’s heart hardened a little more.
Because their relationship was purely a ruse for the purposes of their mission; there was no future for them.
He certainly does not kiss you as if this is a ruse to him.
Well, yes, of course. He wouldn’t mind kissing—or more—on the way to completing their investigation; it was part of his reputation. He was a rake, and being an agent of the Crown didn’t change that.
The smartest thing she could do would be to grab onto this opportunity—the chance to learn about pleasure from a very qualified man—with both hands. To embrace it, not to expect it to last longer than their association. To have fun with him.
After all, Barbara was loving far more than the kisses.
She loved his humor, his easy acceptance.
She loved how he was interested in her passions, merely because they were hers, and he learned quickly.
He wasn’t intimidated by her intellect, despite his jest about bluestockings when they’d met, and clearly didn’t mind learning from her.
It was a heady feeling, indeed, to be so attended to, and the pleasure that brought her was on par with his kisses.
Which was why she returned his smile when she greeted him in the foyer of her townhouse on Wednesday afternoon. They were both dressed for a social visit, and Barbara was nervous.
“Are ye ready, love?” he murmured, bending down to brush a kiss over her cheek as Missus Whinge bustled off to fetch Papa. “Ye dinnae look at ease.”
He knew her so well? Barbara blew out a breath. “I am concerned. This is our last call, the last collector on our list.”
“Ye’re worried Woodcock’s canopic jars willnae be forgeries?” Kenneth twirled his hat around his finger, clearly just waiting for her Papa so he could jam it back on his head. “I am certain they will be, Barbara. Every other set we’ve examined has been.”
He was right.
In the last three weeks, under the guise of introducing Kenneth to the Egyptian antiquities world, they had visited Lord Bottomley, Mr. Pratt, Sir Reginal Fondlet, and Mr. Gropington’s collections.
Each one was as breath-taking as she remembered…
and in each case, the set of feminine canopic jars exhibited the same signs of false patina.
The carving was excellent, the hieroglyphs matched perfectly…but the patina didn’t show the microcracks of her set of jars, and the jars were discolored strangely in certain areas.
As if the patina had not been gently applied by time, but swiftly by chemical means—and the chemicals had pooled at the bottom or the side of the jar, depending how it was rested.
Barbara’s recent—quite frantic—research into forging methods had confirmed that patinas could be mimicked with a recipe of acetic acid. While Kenneth distracted Mr. Gropington on Saturday, she’d been able to smell the canopic jars, and confirmed a faint scent of vinegar.
They were forgeries, the same as the others, and they’d been made by someone truly gifted. Someone who could counterfeit everything except the ravages of time.
While she’d been busy confirming—proving, really—the pieces in each collection were forgeries, Kenneth had used his talents of charm and guile to introduce the subject of antiquities sales to each man.
Mr. Pratt and Mr. Gropington had both admitted to having to sell off a few pieces from their collections over the years, but neither of them named the feminine canopic jars, and both had been shocked at the suggestion that ‘some other collectors’ might replace their genuine objects with counterfeits to appear as if their collections hadn’t changed.
Sir Reginald and Lord Bottomley had both assumed Kenneth’s questions meant he was interested in buying certain pieces from their collection, and despite his hints at a fortune on offer, were offended by the suggestion.
Kenneth and Barbara both agreed this likely meant that they hadn’t sold off any of their pieces.
Which surely meant none of the men were aware their collections contained counterfeit canopic jars. As Kenneth pointed out, they were very good forgeries; only Barbara had been experienced enough to notice them.
“Barbara.” Kenneth took her hand, tugging her up against his side. “Even if Woodcock’s jars arenae forgeries, we have established enough of a pattern. There’s nae need for ye to be disappointed—”
“This is our last outing together,” she blurted, then winced and ducked her head. “I just…I meant, after this, whatever the outcome, there will be no more need for us to—to adventure together.”
He was quiet for a long moment before his thumb began to work small circles into her palm, warming her through her glove. “And…ye will be disappointed by that? I worried I was placing too much of a burden on ye.”
A burden? Barbara’s gaze jerked back up to his, almost indignant. “This is the most fun I have had in years. For someone like me, who never expected to have any excitement in my life—”
“What do ye mean, someone like ye?” He was frowning, which flustered her.