H
ow is your aunt?” Fielding asked as soon as Esme stepped into the dining room the following morning. He placed the newspaper
on the table.
“Still sleeping soundly.” Esme seemed quite determined to look anywhere but directly at him. “I fear I might have slipped
her a bit too much brandy last night. But I checked to ensure she’s still breathing, and she’s snoring quite contentedly.”
Fielding couldn’t help but notice that Esme looked lovely this morning. Her hair hung loosely down her back in russet-colored
curls that looked so soft he wanted nothing more than to run his fingers through them. She wore a plain and rather worn gown
of soft lavender that looked pleasant against her fair skin. When she finally looked up at him, her cheeks pinkened ever so
slightly.
“It smells heavenly in here,” she said.
He motioned to the buffet. “The marquess has spared no expense. Although I do believe our host is still abed this morning.
He had a late night.”
“I know the feeling,” Esme muttered as she piled her plate with smoked fish, eggs, and warm bread.
“Did you not sleep well?” He sipped his coffee. He certainly hadn’t, a fact that both annoyed and intrigued him. No matter
what was occurring in his life, he’d never been one to fight sleep. But last night as he’d watched Esme slip into her bedchamber,
he’d had half a mind to tell her to lock it behind her, so unsure was he about his ability to withstand her temptation.
He’d kissed plenty of women. There was no running tally, no notches in his bedpost, but he’d had more than his share of the
fairer sex. And it wouldn’t be sympathetic or romantic of him to acknowledge the fact that he’d never shared a more explosive
kiss with any other woman. With her willing body straddling his own, he’d wanted nothing more than to bunch her skirts up
around her waist and plow into her, yet while he was certainly not above bedding unmarried women, he was fervently against
seducing virgins.
It took her several breaths before she answered. “Merely thinking about a solution to our current problem.” She sat adjacent
to him, placing her plate atop the crisp linen tablecloth. “There simply has to be a way we can get this off. I would suggest
we try to saw it off,” she said with an impish smile, “but I suspect the metal has been treated for such an attempt.”
A saw. He grabbed her wrist, then turned her hand palm up. “I hadn’t even thought of that,” he said as he ran two fingers
along the pale flesh of her wrist. Her pulse flickered beneath his touch, and she uttered a breathy sigh.
He didn’t relish the thought of brandishing a saw that close to her perfectly creamy wrist. Drumming his fingers on the arms
of his chair, he stopped and reached for the newspaper.
She motioned to the paper. “Anything of interest occurring?”
He looked down at it again. “Mostly talk of the queen’s Golden Jubilee.”
She chewed thoughtfully. “I’d forgotten that was coming up. Fairly soon too, if I’m correct?”
He nodded, then sipped his coffee. “They’re timing the festivities with the eclipse.”
She piled eggs on top of a bite of bread, dipped it generously into her jam, then popped the morsel into her mouth. Fielding
enjoyed watching her. She, unlike most women he’d encountered, was not shy about eating in front of men. Quite the contrary.
It seemed Esme Worthington rather liked to eat.
He sipped his coffee and continued to watch her.
She stopped mid-chew, then swallowed. “Are you not eating?” she asked. Evidently she’d only just noticed that no plate sat
in front of him.
“Not this early. I’ll have something later.”
She nodded. “Is that coffee I smell?” she asked as she closed her eyes and inhaled deeply.
“It is.” He smiled. “Would you like some?”
“Oh, yes. I always have preferred coffee to tea,” she chatted as he poured her a cup. “But some believe that to be rather
uncivilized.” Her smile faded a touch.
He placed the cup in front of her. She poured enough cream in it to turn it a nice warm brown, dropped in a cube of sugar,
and gave the mixture a vigorous stir. Bringing the cup to her mouth, she inhaled again, then took a slow sip.
Until today he never would have assumed that one could seductively drink coffee, but Esme managed to do it. And although he
knew seduction wasn’t her intent, the look of ecstasy on her face and the moan of pleasure that escaped her lips had him shifting
uncomfortably in his seat.
“This is divine. Thank you.”
He inclined his head.
She went back to eating, interspersing bites with more sips of coffee. Fielding thought she’d never finish, but she was clearly
enjoying every morsel, so he didn’t interrupt her.
“Do you think those wretched men will find us here?” she asked when she finally pushed away her plate. She dabbed at her mouth
with a napkin, but the activity could not hide the tremor of fear in her voice. Her hands shook slightly. Perhaps this was
why she’d lost sleep last night. While he’d been imagining her and all the carnal delights he could mentally conjure, she’d
lain awake fearing the Raven. Fielding felt like an ass.
“No. They do not know of my association with the men of Solomon’s.”
She nodded. “You tracked them with such skill to the monastery. I don’t suspect I should question your ability to properly
hide us.”
Although he felt his own cheeks redden with guilt, he didn’t correct her. She need not know that Solomon’s had led him directly
to her.
“Did you know they had me with them?” she asked.
“No, I did not.”
“I thought I might die out there, and though I certainly hoped for a savior, I never expected one. But there you were, as
if you’d walked right out of an adventure novel.”
He noticed her absently fingering the necklace resting against her chest. “Your father gave you that? The key?”
“Yes. When I was a girl.” She chewed at her lip. “He brought it back for me from a trip to Greece.”
“What made him pick it up?”
“My father was a professor of mythology at Oxford. That’s where my extensive library comes from. He and I were quite close,
and he taught me much about myths and legends. It was something we shared, something neither my mother nor my sister ever
appreciated. So when he was visiting Greece, he happened upon the necklace in a tiny shop, and when he saw it was labeled
as the key to Pandora’s box, he thought I would enjoy it.”
She was so lovely when she smiled it was almost painful to look at her. His own father would have found her delightful, a
fact Fielding could not ignore. They would have shared a mutual love of books and history. A good reminder to Fielding of
why he couldn’t pursue a relationship with Esme. Fielding had never identified with his own father, so he certainly wouldn’t
ever understand the passions that captured Esme’s soul.
“Neither of us ever expected it would actually be the key. He was never particularly fond of the Pandora story the way I was.”
She wound the thin gold chain around her finger. “Earlier this year I ran across a bit of research that indicated Pandora
had worn a key around her neck, and I began to suspect my trinket might be authentic.”
“Whom did you tell about your pendant and your suspicion that it was the key?” he asked. Damned if he didn’t want to know
how the Raven had discovered that little fact.
The brightness in her green eyes dimmed. “I’ve tried to think of that myself. A few months ago a man approached me at the
Guildhall Library, somewhere I frequent, and he seemed fascinated by the pendant. I don’t know who he was, but since he shared
an interest in Pandora, I did mention my theory about my key. Aside from him, my aunt, my sister, and the two gentlemen I
correspond with also know. We share our research.”
“Two men?”
“Other scholars.” She shook her head fervently. “They would never associate with someone like the Raven. They are far too
civilized for that sort of thing.”
He wondered momentarily how she’d feel to know he wasn’t as civilized as she seemed to believe. Not only had he associated
with the Raven, he was related to the man. “Civilized or not, people are capable of all sorts of things if it serves their
purposes.” Perhaps they would have to pay visits to these two scholars at some point.
“How well do you know these men?”
“Mr. Brown and Phillip,” she provided. “I know them very well. That is, I’ve corresponded with them for quite some time.”
Fielding stilled, his coffee cup halfway to his mouth, and gave her a pointed look. “You’ve never met them in person?”
“I haven’t. But I know they would no sooner hurt the box than I would.” A blush flooded her cheeks as she looked down at the
bracelet on her wrist.
Yes, they would definitely have to visit these gentlemen scholars of Esme’s. Indeed, if the men were as “helpful” as she had
been, their situation might be dire. “How do you communicate with them?” he asked.
“Through the
Times
. In the advertisement section,” she said. “It is not uncommon for scholars to correspond with one another through academic
journals or newspapers.”
Fielding leaned back. “So, in effect, anyone who reads the
Times
can read your correspondence?”
“Yes, but not in the way you are implying. First of all, I never use my real name; both of the gentlemen know me as Mr. Spencer.
That was my father’s name. I suspected they would never believe me to be a serious scholar were they to know I was a woman.”
He nodded but made no comment.
“Additionally, we use shorthand and riddles in our communications since we’re dealing with a very sensitive subject. It’s
all very secure,” she assured him.
But Fielding was not so assured.
“What do you suppose this Raven character plans to do with the box?” she asked.
“He’s in the business of hunting antiquities.”
She said nothing for a moment, as if she wasn’t quite certain what to make of what he’d said. “Well, that’s a rather peculiar
business,” she said. “Does he keep them all?”
Fielding took a sip of coffee. “There is a fortune to be made in antiquities.” He went and stood next to the hearth. “The
Raven sees to it that he makes more than his share. But no, he doesn’t keep them. He usually has a client who commissions
him for a particular piece.” He leaned against the mantel. “He’ll do whatever it takes to get what he wants. Manipulate, bribe,
steal; the only thing that matters to him is winning.”
When Esme gasped, he turned away from her, staring into the flames. Standing this close he could feel the heat penetrate his
trousers, nearly burning his legs; still he made no attempt to move away.
He reminded himself that it didn’t matter what she thought. She would never understand him, never understand why he’d made
the choices he had and become the man he was.
If he wanted to break that silly spell she was under, believing him to be some honorable hero, he’d have to tell her the truth.
He’d have to tell her who he really was, and if she ran, all the better.
“But this isn’t merely an antiquity,” she said indignantly. “This isn’t a trinket to trifle with, something to collect and
put on a mantelpiece. This is a powerful box created to punish Pandora,” she argued. “It belongs in the hands of someone who
will understand and respect what it is.”
“Pardon me, my lord, a messenger has come for you,” the butler said from the doorway. “He said something about a Raven.”
Fielding had sent Esme to the reading room to wait while he dealt with the messenger. She’d crossed the length of the room
so many times, it was a wonder she hadn’t worn the carpet down. In the short amount of time she’d been waiting, she’d imagined
all sorts of terrible things. What would prevent the Raven from abducting her again? And this time doing her serious harm?
When Fielding came into the room, parchment dangling from his hand, he had a heavy scowl on his face.
“He’s found us, hasn’t he?” she asked. She knew she probably sounded hysterical, so she forced herself into a chair to at
least keep from pacing.
He shook his head. “No. He sent this to my home here in London. Or I should say, he left it there after he practically destroyed
the place.” He cursed and swiped a hand down his face. “He didn’t waste any time getting back to your house either. I’ll send
someone to assess the damage, and if we’re lucky, you’ll get away with just broken windows.”
“Oh, God,” she said. She sat on her hands to keep from chewing her nails. “But if the note arrived at your house, then one
of your servants must have brought it here.”
“My messenger has clear instructions to avoid being followed, Esme. You are safe here.”
She nodded. “What does the note say?” Unable to abide her nerves any longer, she stood and walked the length of the carpet.
“Only that he knows I was there in the ruins.” He pocketed the note. “And that I have you and the box.”
“His men returned to him,” she said.
“Thatcher would no matter what. I don’t know about Waters, though. I suspect he was probably too afraid of facing the Raven
and might be hiding somewhere. Once we figure out the puzzle of removing those bracelets, we’ll start with locating Waters.”
Esme winced. “I’m afraid we’ve exhausted my resources. It might be time to call upon one of my friends for assistance.”
“You know how to find them?” Fielding asked. “I thought you said they were strictly correspondents.”
“I had discussed a meeting with one of the men before I was kidnapped, as he wanted to see my pendant. I have his address.”
Fielding inclined his head. “We shall call on him tomorrow.”
“It must get tedious for the Raven to have you always come behind him and steal those antiquities from him. But you do the
right thing in handing them off to men like the members of Solomon’s.”
“Is that what you believe I do?” When she nodded, he said, “Esme, sit down.”
She did as he bade, but she did not like the expression on his face. His brow furrowed, showing lines deep in his forehead
and making him look far older than she knew him to be. She chewed at her lip.