Touch of a Scoundrel (Touch of Seduction 3) Page 9

  He noticed that Emmaline had settled into one of the wing chairs flanking the fireplace, positioning herself as far as possible from the rest of the group without actually leaving the room. She stared into the cold hearth without the slightest hint of interest in Teddy’s exposition. Well, she’d presumably heard this story before, he supposed.

  Or perhaps she was more troubled over that kiss in the orangery than he thought. Devon tried to put the lush softness of her lips out of his mind and concentrate on his brother’s new scholastic interest instead.

  It was an uphill battle.

  “What does the Hyksos invasion have to do with this statue?” Devon asked.

  “It establishes a precedent for what we believe this statue proves,” Theodore said. “The Tetisheri statue indicates that at some time in the distant past, a European group swept down into Egypt, much as the Syrians did. Moreover”—he paused to emphasize his next words—“they stayed to rule.”

  Dr. Farnsworth clapped softly. “Well done, Theodore. I want you by my side when I present a paper before the Society of Antiquaries on Tetisheri. In fact, I believe you should receive equal recognition for the find.”

  “Speaking of that,” Devon said, “just where did you find it?”

  “Therein lies the problem,” Dr. Farnsworth said. “Emmaline and I were strolling through a Cairo bazaar one day. If you’ve never been to one, I can only tell you, you have missed quite an experience. The smell of the spices alone is enough to fill a man’s head and—”

  “Father,” Emmaline said from her self-imposed exile without a glance in his direction, “you’re rambling.”

  “Ah, yes, well, a turbaned fellow there stopped us as we passed his stall and declared he had something for us. That’s a frequent opening gambit for a pretty hard sales pitch, but he disappeared behind a curtain and returned with the statue wrapped in cloth. Very excited he was, and adamant that we should take it.” Dr. Farnsworth leaned toward Devon’s mother in a confiding manner. “Most insistent, I tell you. He wouldn’t even accept payment, if you can believe it. He said he’d been expecting me and knew I was the one who should take the statue to where it belongs.”

  “My, that seems very mysterious,” the countess said, fanning herself in excitement.

  “Mysterious and in some ways, unfortunate,” Dr. Farnsworth said with a deep sigh. “Since the statue wasn’t discovered in a documented dig, its provenance is difficult. Moreover, it begs a number of tantalizing questions.”

  “Such as?” Devon asked.

  “Artifacts like this routinely find their way out of the desert and into the bazaars. This is probably a funerary statue for Tetisheri,” Theodore said. “The question is where is the rest of it? Where is her tomb? Someone must know where it is. If we could find that, we’d find the record of so much lost history.”

  “And I suppose you have no idea where to begin that search,” Devon said.

  If they did, the possible return on investment would be enormous. Back in 1799, when Napoleon’s forces commandeered the Rosetta Stone, scholars made much over the chance to decipher hieroglyphs. Earliest known bits of Egyptian culture were excavated and carted off to the Continent by the French forces, along with gushing reports of the splendor of tomb finds and tales of vast riches buried in the sand.

  But the Egyptian desert was an exceedingly large haystack and the tomb of a previously unknown female pharaoh who looked strangely European was an exceptionally small needle.

  “Actually,” Dr. Farnsworth said, “we may be making some progress on that front. As I said before, we’ve only translated one side of the base. The others may well give us the clues we need in order to mount an expedition.”

  Devon studied the statue’s enigmatic smile. Tetisheri seemed to be privy to a secret joke. “Other than this statue, has any mention of this unknown queen been found on other ancient markers?”

  Farnsworth blinked at him in surprise.

  “Unfortunately, no, though your lordship is correct in assuming there ought to be. I applaud your comprehension of such arcane knowledge.” The quick frown that pressed his bottle-brush eyebrows together seemed to indicate the opposite. “Tetisheri should be listed on other stellae alongside previous and subsequent rulers, but the fact that she has not been discovered there is not, in itself, informative. It was not unknown for names to be expunged from such lists as the rulers fell out of favor with those who came after.”

  “History is always written by the conquerors, you know,” Teddy said.

  “No doubt the Theban court regained its ascendancy later and may have been the reason for her eradication from other monuments,” Dr. Farnsworth said. “Even so, it seems we have a genuine mystery on our hands. One that begs to be unraveled by an expedition.”

  “Mounting an expedition is highly speculative,” Devon said.

  “But it would be a quest for knowledge,” Theodore countered. “Even if we failed, we wouldn’t lose anything but time.”

  “And someone’s money,” Devon said. While the potential payoff for such a gamble could mean great riches, the chances of success were slim. Even given the availability of cheap labor, an archaeological dig would be a logistical nightmare. Travel, equipment, bribes to the local officials for the necessary permits, food for the army of workers—a man could become deluged in debt quicker than the Nile flooded each year.

  “That’s why I wouldn’t dream of seeking investors until we have something more concrete to go on,” Dr. Farnsworth said, removing his spectacles and cleaning them on his handkerchief. His face was surprisingly pale for someone who’d supposedly been on site in the Egyptian desert. “To do otherwise would be tantamount to . . . well, to fraud.”

  The old man gave a devout shiver of distaste. Devon wondered how Farnsworth’s complexion could have remained so pasty when he’d arguably spent a good deal of time under the desert sun. It made Devon doubly suspicious of the professor and his highly questionable “find.”

  “We’ll keep working on it, though I wish you had better help than me.” Theodore slapped his thigh as an inspiration struck. “Perhaps there’s someone from the Society of Antiquaries who knows about hieroglyphs and could help us with the rest of the translation.”

  “A suggestion worthy of consideration,” Dr. Farnsworth said, “but I regret to point out that inquiries such as this are often fraught with layers of professional jealousy and bickering. Even among the very learned, the worst of human nature is likely to rear its ugly head. No, Theodore, we’d do well to keep the statue and our findings about it a secret until we feel confident enough to publish them.”

  “Would a month be enough time?” Devon’s mother wondered. “By then we’ll have moved out of the city to Devonwood Park for the summer and could host a large party of guests to view the statue and hear your paper.”

  Dr. Farnsworth cast a quick glance at his daughter, but Emmaline was still seemingly entranced by the cold fireplace. “Yes, milady,” he said. “We might very well have what we need by that time.”

  “How lovely. It’s settled then.” Lady Devonwood clasped her be-ringed hands together in delight over the prospect of hosting a large gathering. “I’ll start working on the guest list tomorrow and—”

  Dr. Farnsworth erupted in a deep hacking cough. Emmaline stirred herself from her place by the fire and hurried to his side.

  “Father, are you all right?”

  Farnsworth nodded, unable to speak between coughs. Emmaline said their hurried good nights as she shepherded him to the door. The old man muttered halfhearted protests, but allowed himself to be led away, supported by his daughter’s arm around his waist.

  Theodore hurried after them to offer his help, solicitous as a family beagle.

  After seeing the coughing fit, Devon realized Dr. Farn-worth’s pallid skin was probably due to illness and in no way detracted from his account of the Tetisheri statue. He shook his head at the way he’d suspected the professor of chicanery. He was in serious danger of becoming
a skeptic.

  “Let me know if I can help you with the guest list, Maman, ” Louisa said as she excused herself with a yawn. “There are several charming fellows I’d like to see in Devonwood Park.”

  “Don’t trouble yourself about that. The party will be sprinkled with your gallants,” his mother said. “After all, it’s your brother’s responsibility to make sure you marry well. Where better for you to make your choice than at a house party?”

  “Who said anything about choosing?” Louisa said. If Beelzebub had a daughter, she couldn’t have managed a more impish grin. “I don’t want to marry one of them. I only want to play with all of them.”

  She kissed her mother’s cheek and flounced from the room, her broad skirt swaying saucily.

  Devon frowned after her. His normally tranquil family life was becoming more chaotic by the moment. He was unexpectedly attracted to the woman his brother wanted. His brother was turning into a lap dog without any will of his own. And their baby sister was well on her way to becoming a flirt of monumental proportions.

  “Good night, Maman,” Devon said, as he gave his mother a dutiful peck on the cheek.

  “Do not think you’ll get away that easily, young man. I saw your face after you lifted that bit of black silk. You had a vision.” She grasped his hand and pulled him down onto the settee beside her. “Now what was it?”

  “Nothing,” he said, dragging a hand over his face. He didn’t want to tell his mother about the eerie sense of doom the image of the asp had left him with. “It was nothing. A flash Sight only. No true message. Once I realized the cloth was Sending, I dropped it.”

  That was true enough. His last vision was like nothing he’d ever experienced. It was like trying to peer through isinglass or interpret the shadowy remnants of a dream. He was certain the snake wasn’t real.

  But Devon was convinced the danger was.

  “No vision. No headache. Truly.” He had to distract her from this topic. No good could come from sharing his disturbing Sending. “Nothing for you to worry about.”

  “Then tell me, what on earth were you doing with your brother’s fiancée so long in the orangery?”

  His mother’s new subject of conversation was not an improvement over the old one.

  “I wasn’t doing anything with her, and she’s not his fiancée.” Yet. “We know next to nothing about her. I was hoping to remedy that.”

  “Hmmm.” Lady Devonwood leaned back and cast an appraising gaze at him. He’d seen the same look in her eye the last time she’d considered acquiring a new stallion for their herd in the country. The horse had already thrown a couple riders. She had to weigh whether the beast was already too riddled with vice for subsequent training to make a difference. In the end, she’d bought him, but no one other than Devon could ride him. “And what did you learn about Miss Farnsworth?”

  That she kisses like Aphrodite reborn. And if I don’t get her out of Theodore’s life quickly, our family may never recover. Of course, he couldn’t tell his mother any of that. “She enjoys Keats and a spot of botany.”

  “Hmmm,” his mother said again. “What a pity the girl doesn’t wear spectacles like her father. I suspect I could get a good Sending out of that sort of glass.”

  Despite her glowing praise for the ability that marked them as unique, Devon’s mother hadn’t willingly sought out an opportunity to use her gift of touch in years. Hers was a weaker gift than Devon’s. It was limited to discernment of a person’s past through contact with any glass object they’d handled, but using her abilities still carried a stiff price for Lady Devonwood. The last time she’d purposefully touched a glass object, the ensuing headache had left her bedridden for a week.

  “No, Maman, I don’t want you to subject yourself to that,” Devon said. “We’ll learn more of Miss Farnsworth in the days to come without resorting to Preston witchery.”

  “It’s not witchery. It’s simply something we’re born with. Would you call it witchery had you been left-handed or redheaded? No.” She gave her head an emphatic shake. “I’ll not have you denigrating Great-Grandmere Delphinia’s legacy to the lineage that way. Besides, according to all the family stories, it was love at first sight between her and your great-grandsire and—”

  “Love at first sight,” Devon grumbled. “Yet more proof of witchery.”

  “Bite your tongue, son. Love, however it arrives, is not something to be mocked.”

  He knew his parents’ marriage had not been a love match, at least, not at first. His mother often likened them to a pair of frogs set in a pot to boil. Their affection warmed so slowly, she only realized at his passing how deeply she’d come to love Devon’s taciturn father. His father had loved her just as intensely, even though he’d found it difficult to express.

  His mother rested a gentle hand on his forearm. “I only tell you these things because I want you to be proud of who you are, Devon, where you’ve come from and what you can do.”

  “There’s the rub, isn’t it? There’s not much I can do with my prescience.” He leaned forward, elbows balanced on his knees, and sighed. “What good is it if I can see the future but am powerless to change it?”

  “Devon, stop blaming yourself.” She palmed his cheeks and turned his face toward her so she could press her lips to his forehead. “I certainly don’t blame you. You did all you could.”

  She rose and bade him good night, leaving him to stare at the strange statue alone.

  Her words were cold comfort. Even if she didn’t hold him responsible, that didn’t change a thing.

  His father was still dead.

  CHAPTER 10

  “Now, children, stop fussing,” Monty said as Theodore and Emmaline helped him up the long staircase. She was surprised to notice how loosely his jacket draped around his frame. He’d lost more weight than she’d suspected, leaving him frail, his bones bird-thin. Another spasm of coughing shook his body. He pulled out his handkerchief again to cover his mouth, but wasn’t quite quick enough.

  Theodore stared at the faint pinkish tinge at the corner of Monty’s mouth and then met Emma’s gaze in wordless sympathy. He left Emmaline in the sitting room of the Blue Suite, hustled her father into his chamber, and rang for the valet, Fritz, who appeared almost instantly.

  Emmaline was prepared to help Monty, but the valet wouldn’t hear of it. He promised to take special care of “the good Dr. Farnsworth,” and disappeared into Monty’s room.

  “Fritz will get him ready for bed, and if I know our Fritzi, he’ll see that your father has a hot toddy to bundle him off to sleep as well,” Teddy said, his tone brittle with forced normalcy.

  Emmaline heard Monty’s voice through the closed door, rasping after his fit. She still detected his usual lilt of jocularity as he spoke with the man who assisted him into his nightshirt.

  “Tell Mr. Fritz to be sure to mix in extra honey and lemon,” Emmaline said. Her father wasn’t fond of the peaty, smoky flavor of scotch without plenty of other mitigating ingredients. Still, a toddy might be just the thing to quiet his cough and help Monty sleep.

  “Travel is exhausting and we’ve been on the move for months now. That’s all it is,” Teddy said. “With a proper bed, I’m sure the professor will be right as rain in no—”

  “No, he won’t.” She’d been lying to herself for a while now. Tonight, she finally had to face facts. Emmaline sank into one of the Tudor chairs and let her tears come. Her shoulders shook.

  She’d tried to fool herself into thinking Monty’s ailment was temporary, but she’d never heard of anyone who suffered from consumption getting better. Even if they were successful with this confidence scheme and managed to raise the ridiculous sum of money demanded by the Görbersdorf sanatorium, there was no guarantee of a cure at that German mountain retreat.

  Theodore knelt beside her chair and took her hand. “Do you want me to summon a physician?”

  She shook her head. “We both know what this is. All a doctor will do is bleed him and purge him. It’
ll only make him weaker.”

  It was hard to imagine her life without Monty and his outlandish schemes twirling at its center. The small scared child who still lived inside her shivered. With Monty gone, she’d go back to being plain Emma Potts, alone, cast adrift in the world.

  “Don’t be afraid, Emmaline,” Theodore said softly.

  His words startled her. She hadn’t thought him able to divine her emotions so accurately.

  “You have me now.” He pressed a kiss to her knuckles.

  Her breath caught at the shining goodness of his heart. Not for the first time, she wished there was something real, something true about her courtship with Theodore.

  Maybe she could will it to be so.

  She leaned down and cupped his chin to tip his face up to hers, inviting him to kiss her. She needed him to kiss her. Needed it to be more searingly real than his brother’s kiss in the orangery.

  Theodore’s mouth closed over hers for a few heartbeats.

  It was pleasant. A gesture full of comfort. Sweet enough to melt the heart.

  But Teddy’s kiss didn’t make her toes curl in the slightest.

  Why couldn’t she love this kind man? Theodore’s soul might glint with shining whiteness, but hers was black as a Stygian stream. She drew back. “You’d better go.”

  “I wish I didn’t have to. I wish we were already married so I could stay with you.”

  “Theodore, please, that’s inappropriate.” She bit her lower lip. “I haven’t even said yes yet.”

  “Why don’t you?” He plopped down on the floor beside her chair and rested his head against her knee. “You know how I love you, Em. What’s stopping you?”

  Yesterday she’d have told herself it was because she was a confidence huckster and he was her mark. She needed to maintain professional distance. But what if she convinced Monty to abandon the game? Maybe then she could accept Theodore’s proposal.

  Emmaline had picked up the pigeon drop in no time. Would love be so difficult a game to learn?

  She stroked his thick blond hair, feeling very tender. Teddy was sincere and attentive. He made her feel like a princess every time he looked at her.