Читать книгу A Rake's Midnight Kiss - Anna Campbell - Страница 12

Once Richard moved into the cramped back bedroom, his visions of lazy days flirting with Genevieve Barrett evaporated under the reality of vicarage life. Dr. Barrett was overjoyed to have an assistant who paid generously for the privilege, and even more welcome, an audience for his endless theorizing. Lucy Warren provided more agreeable company and was remarkably confiding about her niece. But Richard was staying ostensibly to widen his knowledge of all things Middle Ages, so he couldn’t devote too much time to the aunt without rousing suspicions about his historical interests. Lord Neville visited every day and proved an inconvenient presence, dogging Richard’s footsteps as if fearing for the church plate.

While his acquaintance, congenial or not, developed with the vicarage’s other denizens, Miss Barrett proved elusive. As did any chance to worm the Harmsworth Jewel away from her. If Richard hadn’t seen the jewel the night he’d broken in, he’d begin to doubt the artifact was in the house. Nobody, including Miss Barrett, mentioned it.

After three frustrating days meeting her only at meals, not to mention learning more than he’d ever wanted to know about the Princes in the Tower, Richard resorted to drastic measures.

Quietly he opened the door to the small upstairs room where he’d first encountered Genevieve. It was so early, the sky was dark. In Town, he often saw the dawn, but as the end of a night’s entertainment, not the start of a day’s scholarship. Across the faded carpet, candlelight formed a circle around the woman bent writing over the desk.

His breath caught as he stood transfixed, astonished anew at her beauty. She sat slightly turned away, revealing her profile. Straight, autocratic nose; determined chin; lashes lowered against high cheekbones as she concentrated too deeply to notice her observer. The sleeve of her faded dimity dress drooped from her shoulder, revealing the strap of her shift. A striped pinafore protected the front of her gown.

In Richard’s glittering world, female beauty was no rarity. But this dauntingly clever vicar’s daughter was the loveliest woman he’d ever seen.

He suffered a momentary pang that he didn’t pursue her as his real self. But then, Genevieve would despise the shallow Sir Richard Harmsworth. Hell, she didn’t much like Christopher Evans.

Without Sirius’s interruption, he might have watched forever, but he must have left his bedroom door along the corridor ajar. Sirius squeezed past him now and trotted up to the desk.

“Hello. Where did you come from?” Genevieve spoke with a warmth she’d never directed at Richard, damn it. When she glanced up, she started. Then her closed expression felt like a winter wind. To his regret, she tugged her sleeve over her pale shoulder. “Mr. Evans.”

“Miss Barrett.” At this hour, he couldn’t help thinking that they’d both be better off in bed. His bed. Not that wanting did much good. Lusting after a chaste woman promised only frustration.

“You surprised me.”

“Are your nerves on edge?”

She shrugged. “I’m jumpy after the break-in.”

Guilt stabbed him. She’d been so indomitable facing down his burglar self, it hadn’t occurred to him that she’d been genuinely frightened.

Masking her vulnerability, she extended a hand to scratch Sirius behind the ears. Ridiculous to be jealous of a dog, but Richard was.

“What are you doing awake?” she asked.

To confirm the uncivilized hour, a lark burst into a torrent of silvery song outside. He decided to be honest. Well, as honest as a man sporting a false name could be. “You’re avoiding me.”

She didn’t meet his eyes. “Nonsense.”

“I moved in three days ago and we’ve hardly exchanged a word since.”

“You’re here to work with my father.” Her dry tone indicated that she questioned his dedication to scholarship. Clever girl. With a doggy groan, Sirius stretched out beneath the windowsill.

“You’re more decorative.”

She pursed her lips. The expression didn’t look forbidding. It looked like she meant to kiss him. The thought lit the cool dawn to flame.

Gently he closed the door and stepped into the bookcase-lined room. Books and papers littered every flat surface. The shambles was endearing. The rest of the house was dauntingly ordered. When he’d broken in, he hadn’t noted his surroundings. The woman had occupied his attention. The woman and the Harmsworth Jewel.

She set down her pen. “I need to help Dorcas with breakfast.”

He didn’t shift. “Dorcas is still enjoying the sleep of the just.”

“We’ll wake everyone if we talk here.”

“I’ll keep my voice down.” The vicarage was old. Seventeenth century, he guessed. The walls and doors were so thick, no sound penetrated. After he’d locked Genevieve in, he’d barely heard her protests.

“It’s inappropriate for us to be alone.” She jerked to her feet, upsetting the horn cup of water on the desk. “Bother!”

He surged forward to hold her wrist. Her skin was warm and he caught a drift of her morning scent. Flowers and woman. “Let me.”

“No, I’ll fix it.” Ink-stained fingers fluttered in protest without making contact.

When he released her, he heard her relieved exhalation. Her eyes fixed upon a gold object on the crowded desk. It proved how distracting she was that he only now realized that, as on the first night, the Harmsworth Jewel sat for the plucking, if he was so bold.

He wasn’t so bold.

“I hope the water hasn’t damaged anything.” Drawing his handkerchief from his coat, he mopped up the spillage. Thank goodness, the cup had been nearly empty.

“Only some notes I’m working on.” With little ceremony, Genevieve pushed him out of the way and grabbed a crumpled cloth from the floor. Carefully she sponged the sheet she’d been writing on. The ink blotched and she tossed the cloth into a corner with a sigh.

With every moment, the day brightened. Soon he’d have no excuse to detain her. Richard wondered, not for the first time, if he’d find her so fascinating if she didn’t prickle with hostility. Then he remembered her serene beauty in the candlelight. She’d attract him whatever she did. Something about her made him feel alive. Was it just that she saw him as a man, not as the notorious Harmsworth bastard? Or was it something more?

He looked around with a deliberately casual air. “What do you do in here?”

She cast him a suspicious look as he lifted a pile of papers from the desk and perched his hip on the space. “What do you care?”

He cared more than she imagined. In his peripheral vision, the Harmsworth Jewel shone red, blue, and gold. Strategy suggested an oblique approach to his real interest. His real interests. Genevieve’s lure became at least as powerful as the family relic’s.

He met her challenge with a level stare. “Why so secretive?”

She slumped into her chair and regarded the soaked page with a disgruntled expression. “Do you like working with my father?”

“Yes,” he said, not altogether truthfully. He enjoyed reviving his rusty Latin and Greek, but the vicar wasn’t the intellectual powerhouse reputation indicated. Richard was yet to glimpse the brilliance that illuminated the articles. “I thought you acted as his assistant.”

“I do.” An unreadable expression crossed her lovely face.

He’d caught vague hints of an estrangement between the vicar and his daughter, but now he was sure of it. Genevieve was yet to join one of his sessions with Dr. Barrett. That suddenly struck him as more significant than her merely avoiding a guest’s company.

Idly he lifted a page covered with writing. She had a strong, almost masculine hand.

“Put that down!” She rushed around the desk and snatched uselessly at the paper.

“Indulge me.” He stepped sideways and started to read, then frowned. He put down that page and reached around her for the next. After a few minutes, he replaced the pages and lifted his head to stare at her in shock. “It’s you.”

She scowled, panting with annoyance at his high-handed behavior. He rather liked that she made no attempt to charm him. Women always strove to turn him up sweet, however disreputable his birth. “What on earth are you talking about?”

“Dr. Barrett isn’t the brilliant mind here. His daughter is. You write the articles.”

Genevieve paled and backed against the desk. Her hand clenched on her ruined manuscript, crushing the damp paper into a ball. “Don’t be absurd. I’m a mere woman.”

He laughed, genuinely delighted. “That’s the first coy thing I’ve heard you say.”

Her jaw set in a mutinous line. “Any article written in this house is published under my father’s name.”

“It’s all your work.” He watched her struggle to deny the truth. But the lightning intelligence and sharp perception demonstrated in the articles, and lacking in the vicar, were clear from the first line. “Come, there’s no point nay-saying. I know you’re the scholar here.”

Briefly he wondered whether he could turn this knowledge against her, use it to obtain the jewel. Would she sell him the heirloom in return for his silence on her authorship? He tucked the thought away to consider later, even as he recognized his reluctance to resort to blackmail. Ridiculous when the whole purpose of this masquerade was to winkle out the chit’s secrets.

“I have no qualifications.”

“Apart from a brain the size of St. Paul’s. And a lifetime in scholarly circles.” Still, he was impressed at what she’d achieved without formal education. Ignoring her resistance, he lifted the hand curled around the soggy paper and placed a kiss across her knuckles. For once he wasn’t being seductive. “Deny the fact until Christmas, but it won’t do any good. I’m in awe, Miss Barrett.”

She cast him an uncertain glance under her lashes. Another woman might mean flirtation, but he’d concluded that Genevieve Barrett had never learned the wiles of her worldly sisters.

When he let her go, she began to shred the paper, her hands working nervously in front of her extravagantly pocketed pinafore. “You can’t share your suspicions. They could destroy my father’s reputation.”

After lifting some books off the seat, he moved a chair from the wall to the desk. Dust flew and he sneezed. Sirius started up in surprise from where he lay in sleepy contentment. Sitting, Richard surveyed her with unfettered admiration. “Your brilliance should receive acknowledgement.”

Her voice expressionless, she retreated to sit behind the desk. “Papa offered to credit me as coauthor after I turned twenty-one, but that is yet to eventuate.”

Genevieve’s careful neutrality indicated that this was a sore point. No wonder she resented her father. As a man familiar with parental betrayal, Richard felt for her. “Surely people suspect.”

“There’s no reason they should.” In her eyes, he read displeasure at how quickly he’d uncovered her secret.

“I knew the moment I read that first page.”

“A lucky guess.”

“Perhaps we’re particularly attuned, Miss Barrett.”

Her expression didn’t lighten. “Stop flirting. This is serious.”

He laughed softly and leaned back in his chair. “Believe me, flirting is a serious business.” He sobered. “Fairbrother must have an inkling.”

Lord Neville strove to make Richard feel like an interloper. Richard had immediately recognized that the man protected his territory. The question was—what was his territory? Scholarly pursuits? The vicar? The vicar’s dangerously unsuspecting daughter? Or all three?

A cynical light entered Genevieve’s eyes. “Lord Neville’s interest is his collection, not scholarship for its own sake.”

An interesting opinion. And one that wouldn’t please his overbearing lordship, Richard thought with unworthy satisfaction. “You can’t hide in your father’s shadow forever.”

The tension drained from her shoulders and she answered with unexpected readiness. Perhaps the relief of sharing the truth with someone, even his unworthy self, encouraged confidences. “I’m publishing an article about the Harmsworth Jewel under my own name.”

Holy God above. No wonder she didn’t want to sell the artifact. He barely stopped himself choking with appalled astonishment.

He struggled to act as if this revelation incited only mild curiosity. “What?”

“That’s it.” She pointed at the enamel and gold object, as if he needed help locating it. “My findings should set the scholarly world abuzz. Or at least that section of the scholarly world interested in the Anglo-Saxons.” Her tone turned wry as she acknowledged that this esoteric field rarely impinged on the wider public.

She lifted the jewel, her hands sure, almost careless. His belly clenched with conflicting impulses. The urge to grab the girl. The urge to grab the jewel.

“A wonderful old lady bequeathed it to me. She was a disciple of Mary Wollstonecraft and until you, the only person to guess that I wrote most of Papa’s published works. It’s a family heirloom.”

Damn it, it certainly was. And not one that Amelia, Viscountess Bellfield, had any business handing on. Richard gritted his teeth against informing Genevieve that the jewel belonged to him.

“She must have been fond of you.” He hoped to hell his voice didn’t sound as strangled to Genevieve as in his ears. Patience, he reminded himself, patience. He’d get the jewel off her in good time.

“I loved her dearly too.” Genevieve’s admiration for Lady Bellfield was audible. “She was a noted bluestocking and owned an impressive collection of books and antiquities.”

“One would think she’d keep something so valuable in the family.”

“She’d had a falling out with the Harmsworths. She particularly disliked the current baronet. Some family scandal made him unfit to hold the title.”

Despite himself, Richard winced. The hell of it was that the disgrace never died. Call him a slow learner, but he now understood that it never would, whoever possessed the Harmsworth Jewel. Which made him no less determined to restore the trinket to Polliton Place, the family seat in Norfolk. It belonged to the head of the Harmsworth family. And, bastardy or no, that was him.

He’d always liked Great Aunt Amelia, for all her fearsome reputation. A shock to discover that because he was a bastard, she couldn’t abide him. Old anger tightened his gut. Anger and shame.

Luckily Genevieve studied the jewel, not his reactions. “That was a condition of inheriting. Under no circumstances was Lady Bellfield’s great-nephew Richard Harmsworth to obtain the jewel.”

God rot Great Aunt Amelia for an interfering old witch.

“I doubt the executors would prosecute if you sold it.” Richard tried to sound disingenuous. Genevieve cast him a questioning glance that indicated he’d failed. Hardly surprising. Genuine innocence had been a casualty of childhood bullying. “I imagine you’d get a good price.”

“Strange that you say that. A few months ago, Sir Richard discovered I had the jewel. He’s pestering me to sell.”

“At a bargain price?” He’d offered her a fortune. He waited to hear if any amount might change her mind. At least he now understood why his agents had failed. Part of him admired Genevieve’s loyalty to Aunt Amelia, while another part cursed this complication.

“Money seemed no object. Odd when Lady Bellfield indicated Sir Richard wasn’t interested in family history.”

Little do you know, sweetheart. “The jewel is very beautiful.”

“And reputedly powerful. There’s a myth that Alfred the Great presented it to a Harmsworth ancestor for foiling a Viking assassination. The jewel passed from Harmsworth father to son, confirming the heir’s right to inherit. Such tales abound in old families. That’s one fascinating element of my research.”

“Perhaps you should sell.” A critical light in his eyes, he surveyed the shabby room. “Think what you could do.”

She shrugged. “I owe Lady Bellfield better return for her generosity.”

Damn, why must Genevieve be such a stickler? “Did she forbid any sale?”

If there was a ban on disposing of the thing altogether, he’d have to steal it. Which meant he could never display it openly. With every moment, his quest became more tangled.

“It’s mine unconditionally, as long as I never sell to Richard Harmsworth or his heirs.” She paused. “I hope that my article creates opportunities for me. I’d only sell the jewel out of dire necessity.”

Relief flooded him. There was still a chance he could buy it. “Once your article comes out, people will know you wrote your father’s pieces.”

Irritation lit her gaze. “My father’s work has been devoted entirely to the high Middle Ages. He isn’t renowned as a Dark Ages specialist. Any similarities in style will be credited to my father being my teacher.”

Unable to resist any longer, he reached out. “May I see it?”

Her hand curled around the jewel as if she mistrusted his intentions. By heaven, nothing was wrong with the girl’s instincts. “It’s very fragile.”

“I’ll be careful.” He had more reason to respect the jewel than any man in England.

She sighed and he thought she might refuse. But after a hesitation, she passed it across.

The breath jammed in his throat and he lowered his eyes to conceal his possessive excitement. The gold was warm from her hands. What an intimate sensation, like touching her skin instead of inanimate metal. The jewel was unexpectedly heavy, as though it carried the weight of the centuries. Holding this heirloom left him surprisingly moved. Finally he claimed his right to the Harmsworth name.

He rose and stepped toward the window on mortifyingly shaky legs to inspect the piece in the light. And also to escape Genevieve’s all-encompassing stare. She mustn’t guess this moment’s significance.

The drawings he’d seen didn’t do the object justice. The jewel was about five inches long. A chased gold handle shaped like a dragon supported a gold oval containing an enamel image of a saint with large dark eyes like a child’s drawing. It was a thousand years old; beautiful, uncanny, unique. The blue and red enamels were as vivid, he was sure, as the day they were fired.

Here in Oxfordshire, he played at finding the past as fascinating as the present. But touching this tangible link to generations of Harmsworths, he sensed something of Genevieve’s passion for history. The need to guard this talisman was the most powerful emotion he’d ever felt. His hand closed around the relic. Every atom in his body revolted at the idea of relinquishing it.

He forced himself to look toward the woman, the woman he came to want almost as much as he wanted the jewel. “Shouldn’t you lock it away in a strongbox or a bank?”

Genevieve looked troubled. “I need it for my work.”

“The article is important enough to risk this priceless artifact?”

“My whole future depends on it.” For once he had no doubt that she revealed her soul. “If I establish an independent reputation, I can support myself as an antiquarian, doing everything that I currently do for my father. I’ve told you that I’ll never marry—a husband would constrain my pursuits—so I need an income.”

And, he guessed from what she didn’t say, a life away from the vicar.

Inconvenient it might be, but he couldn’t help admiring that she’d refused to sell the jewel to his agents. Ten thousand guineas would set her up in her own household for life. “Does Dr. Barrett know of your plans?”

Guilt shadowed her features. “I haven’t told him yet.”

“He won’t like the competition.”

She raised her head, a plea in her silvery eyes. “I want to present everything as a fait accompli.” She paused. “You must think me unnatural.”

He smiled and moved closer. “It’s time you claimed your due.”

“Thank you.” She flushed and glanced to where he clutched the jewel as though his life depended upon it. Right now, mad as it was, he thought his life did.

Genevieve continued. “I’m surprised the thief last week didn’t take the jewel. Aside from the historical interest, it’s solid gold. I’ve thought over and over about what he hoped to find. Anyone can tell there’s no money in the house, so why break in? The jewel is the most valuable item we have. Yet outside the family and Lady Amelia’s solicitors, the only person who suspects it’s here is Sir Richard Harmsworth. If Sir Richard sent the thief for the jewel, the fellow must have seen it. It was sitting on the desk as clear as day.”

“Perhaps he was blinded by your beauty.” Richard wasn’t entirely joking, even as he cursed her clever brain for narrowing blame for the burglary down to his real self.

She sent him a quelling glance. “He wasn’t much of a thief. We haven’t found anything missing.”

Bloody hell. What a stupid mistake. He should have lifted something worthless from downstairs. A burglar fleeing empty-handed aroused unwelcome curiosity. Too late now. “Would you rather he’d stripped the vicarage?”

“Don’t be absurd.” She sounded uncomfortable. Did she recall that thrilling moment when he’d held her close? It haunted his dreams.

He braced his shoulders. “Will you sell it to me? I’ll double Sir Richard’s offer.”

Silence crashed down. Even his heart seemed to stop beating. Shocked silvery gray eyes focused on him and the hands she laid on the desk closed into fists.

Her reply seemed to take forever. “It’s not for sale.”

His relief made no sense. He was here for the jewel. Buying the bauble after a few days counted as a major victory. Or at least it should.

He forced himself to continue negotiations. “You’d be welcome to keep it until you’ve finished your article.”

She already shook her head. “Thank you, but no.”

So the game played on. He tried to tell himself that he was disappointed. Even he didn’t believe that was true. It was a long time since he’d found a woman as intriguing as he found Genevieve Barrett. He wasn’t ready to abandon her.

Her eyes sharpened. “Can I have the jewel back, please?”

Surrendering the jewel felt like treason. In the transaction, his hand grazed hers. She jerked back as if his touch burned. Heat shuddered through him.

Her gaze leaped to meet his and he read renewed wariness in her eyes. “You offer more than the jewel is worth.” He shrugged and stared hard at her. “When I want something, I go to any length to get it.”

She paled. “You … scare me when you say such things.”

His eagerness threatened to send her fleeing in fright. If he wasn’t careful he’d lose both jewel and woman—it became increasingly inconvenient to remember that only a cad played fast and loose with a lady’s reputation.

He might be a bastard, but he wasn’t quite a cad. Or not yet.

“You mistake me. I merely found myself with a fancy to own a pretty thing.” Two pretty things, in fact. He adopted an innocent air as he stepped away from the desk to stretch ostentatiously. “I’m off for a ride before breakfast.”

“I trust you not to share anything we’ve discussed.” Unsurprisingly she regretted her confidences.

“You have my promise.” His carefree smile didn’t extinguish the doubt in her expression. “I’ll see you later, Miss Barrett.”

Beneath his nonchalance, his thoughts were troubled. Nor had he conquered the turbulent emotions that had stirred when he’d touched the jewel. After this morning, he knew more about the jewel and he knew more about Genevieve, but everything he’d learned fouled his path.