“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.”