Ever since she’d settled herself across from him in his carriage-a conveyance which had seemed quite roomy until that moment-he’d been disturbingly aware of her. No doubt because of her scent… that delicious fragrance of freshly baked cake that whetted the appetite. Bloody hell, women weren’t supposed to smell like that. Like something sinfully edible that made a man want to take a bite.
A golden shaft of morning sunlight gleamed through the window, capturing her in its glow. There was something very vibrant about this woman. Underneath her calm, decorous exterior, he sensed suppressed energy. Vitality. Passion.
And then there was her coloring. Shiny midnight curls contrasting with a porcelain complexion, properly pale except for twin brushes of peach staining her cheeks. All set off by those striking blue-green eyes whose color reminded him of the turquoise Aegean, not to mention her full, deep rose lips…
Everything about her seemed so very vivid. Colorful. Outstanding. Like a single spot of bright color painted upon an otherwise white canvas. She reminded him of a sunset in the desert-the rich, vibrant hues of the evening sun painting the sky a stunning contrast to the golden beige of the endless sand.
She shifted, and an image-a most unwanted and vivid image-of him stealing up behind her, touching his lips to the vulnerable skin on her nape, pressing his body against her feminine form, flashed through his mind, leaving a trail of heat in its wake.
He shook his head to dispel the sensual image, shook it so vigorously his spectacles slid down his nose: Bloody hell, what was wrong with him? He was normally not prone to such lascivious thoughts, especially when he was working. Of course, he had never worked in such proximity to a woman before. A woman whose skirts rustled with her every movement, inspiring thoughts of the curvaceous form beneath. A woman who smelled like she’d just stepped out of the damn confectioner’s.
A woman who was not his fiancée.
That thought brought him up short and blinked the remnants of the disturbingly provocative image from his mind. He grimly set his jaw. Yes, she was not his fiancée. Excellent. Now he was back on the correct path. He found this woman imperious and annoying. Her goal was to turn him into some simpering, dandified, ruffle-cuffed fop. Yes, yes, that was much better. She was the enemy.
Yet, when he attempted to pull his gaze from the enemy’s enticing curves, he failed completely. He watched as she carefully lifted a wooden bowl from the crate and gently set it on the blanket spread on the floor. Turning, she made a notation in the ledger, affording him the opportunity to admire her profile.
Her nose tilted slightly upward, and her chin was set at an angle that could only be described as stubborn. She frowned, and worried her lower lip between her teeth, drawing his attention to her mouth. And bloody hell, what a lovely mouth it was. How could he not have noticed it before now? He couldn’t decide if it was more likely that those full, moist, delectable lips had been fashioned by an angel or by the devil himself. Miss Chilton-Grizedale portrayed the epitome of a proper lady, but there was nothing proper about that rosy, lush mouth, or the heated thoughts it inspired.
He closed his eyes and was overtaken by a vivid image of himself pulling her into his arms. He could almost feel her curves pressed against him. Lowering his head, he touched his lips to hers. Warm. Soft. She tasted delicious… like a rich, luscious dessert. He deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue into the heat of her mouth and-
“Is something amiss, Lord Greybourne?”
Philip’s eyes popped open. She was staring at him with quizzical concern. Heat crept up his neck, and he had to fight the urge to jerk at his already loosened cravat. He swallowed twice to locate his voice. “Amiss? No. Why do you ask?”
“You groaned. Did you hurt yourself?”
“No.” Aching was certainly not the same as hurting. As unobtrusively as possible, he shifted, moving his arm so the ledger he held shielded that which ached. Damn. This was a devil of an inconvenient time for his months of celibacy to catch up with him.
Ah! Yes, surely these uncharacteristic lustful urges she inspired were due to the fact that it had been months- many months-since he’d last had a woman. He grabbed on to that explanation like a mongrel with a bone. Of course, that was all this was. His body was simply reacting to her in response to his long abstinence. Why, he’d feel the same if confined in close quarters with any woman. The fact that this… termagant had inspired lustful thoughts just proved that theory.
He felt considerably cheered until his inner voice chimed in. You spent over an hour alone with Lady Sarah-your fiancée-in the privacy of the dimly lit gallery, and not once did your thoughts stray to that.
“Did you discover something?” she asked.
Yes. That you ‘re having the most unsettling, unwanted, uncharacteristic effect upon me. And I don’t like it one bit. “No.” He forced a smile he hoped didn’t appear as tight as it felt. “Just a bit of a cramp from all the crouching.” Nodding toward the pile of artifacts carefully lined up on the blanket, he asked, “Anything interesting in your crate?”
“All of it is interesting. Fascinating, in fact. But nothing even remotely resembling what we’re looking for.” She waved her hand in an arc encompassing the artifacts spread around her. “This is truly amazing. Incredible that you found all these things. Amazing that they were once held by people who lived centuries ago. You must have been filled with wonder every time you discovered something else.”
“Yes. Filled with wonder. That describes it exactly.”
“Did you actually dig these things from the ground?”
“Some of them, yes. Some were purchased with my own personal funds, others by funds allocated by the museum. And still others were bartered for English goods.”
“Fascinating,” she murmured. Reaching down again, she picked up a small bowl. “Who would barter away something this beautiful?”
“Someone who was starving. Someone who may have stolen it. Someone desperate.” Some perverse devil in him prodded him forward, almost as if daring his mind and body not to react to her, as if he required proof that the past few minutes were nothing more than an aberration. He stopped when only several feet separated them. “Desperate situations often force people to act in ways they might not otherwise.”
Something flashed in her eyes, something dark and pain-filled. In a blink that haunted look disappeared, and if it hadn’t been so stark and vivid, he would have thought he’d imagined it.
“I’m certain you’re right,” she said softly. She looked at the bowl cradled in her hand and ran a fingertip over the glossy inside. “I’ve never seen anything like this. It looks like flattened pearls. What is it called?”
“Mother of pearl. I estimate this piece hails from approximately the sixteenth century, and most likely belonged to a noblewoman.”
“How do you know that?”
“Mother of pearl comes from the inside of mollusk shells and is associated with the moon and water, thus making it very feminine in nature. While not as valuable as pearls, mother of pearl was still costly and would have only belonged to someone of wealth.”
Her finger continued to slowly move over the smooth inside of the bowl, a hypnotic motion that riveted his attention in a way that dispelled his hope that his body would not react further to her. “There’s something so lovely, so magical about pearls,” she said in a soft, trancelike voice. “I recall as a child seeing a painting of a woman with long ropes of lustrous pearls wound through her dark hair. I thought she surely must be the most beautiful woman ever born. She was smiling in the portrait, and I knew the reason she was so happy was because she wore those pearls.” A wistful-looking smile touched her lips. “I told myself that someday I would wear pearls like that in my hair.”