The hot flush that crept up her neck settled in her cheeks until they burned. So it had been a promise. Suddenly she found it quite difficult to breathe. She remembered his hands rubbing her sore muscles in the dungeon. Her internal temperature climbed several degrees.
Perhaps Mr. Grey was right: If she focused on the task at hand, she wouldn’t think about his long legs and the way his thigh muscles pressed nicely against his trousers. And she wouldn’t notice the crisp crinkle of brown hair on his forearms that his rolled-up sleeves revealed.
“Oh, for mercy’s sake!” She mentally shook herself.
Talk, Esme; put your mind off of him.
“I suspect most people believe Pandora’s box to be nothing more than a fable, but most of us who study the legend know the truth of its existence. Which clearly we were quite right about.”
“Clearly,” he said dryly.
“I’d always subscribed to the theory that the box was not actually a box at all, but rather a bottle or an amphora. Many agree with that assessment, I can assure you. But it does appear that we were wrong in that regard. It is, after all, an actual box.”
“So it appears,” he said.
“In all these years of studying, how did I miss the legitimacy of this theory?” She shook her head in confusion. “What we’ll be looking for in the books is information on the bracelets and precisely how we’re supposed to get them off.”
“Ah, yes, the books.”
“Mr. Grey, do you find humor in my being a scholar?” she asked. Her delicate chin rose, and she eyed him square in the face as if she weren’t head and shoulders shorter than he.
He shrugged. “It’s not you, but the practice. I find it a waste of time. Tell me you’re not the least bit interested in this antiquity because of its value.”
“Its value? Why, of course I am. Think of what we could learn by studying such an artifact. Think of the insight we could gain into ancient cultures. Not to mention—”
“Not academic value. Monetary value.”
“Monetary?” she scoffed. “That’s insulting.”
“It’s made of solid gold,” he said.
“That’s completely irrelevant,” she insisted. “Miss Worthington, you are vastly entertaining.”
“Splendid. Precisely what every woman longs to hear. I’ll have you know I was not attempting to be entertaining. I am quite serious about my studies.”
He almost believed her. Almost. But Fielding knew better. He’d seen his father’s fruitless research dry up the family’s fortune. Books and studies were a complete waste of time unless they brought a profit in the end. Anyone who thought otherwise was fooling themselves.
“There is a difference between a dreamer and a scholar, Miss Worthington.”
“And you are suggesting that I am the former rather than the latter.” She shook her head in annoyance. “You men are all the same.”
He ignored her comment, though it intrigued him. Instead he settled on giving her instructions about what would happen once they arrived in London. “We’ll need to make haste at gathering these books you need,” he said.
“Yes.” She nodded fervently. “I am most eager to remove this curse.”
“No, I meant we can’t stay at your home long. Waters and Thatcher know where you live, and they will likely return.”
She frowned. “But you said we needed to find them.”
“We do, but it would be better if we knew how to remove the bracelets first. I’ll take you somewhere to stay where you can be safe in the meantime.”
“Oh,” she said. Although no sound came out, everything on her face went round. Her eyes were like big green emeralds, and that mouth of hers parted in a silent “O.”
“And what of my aunt? My household?”
“We’ll bring your aunt with us.”
“And my cat?” she asked. Her cat?