“Thank you. I will alert you if it appears my visit will last beyond a half an hour or so.”
The spry old man tipped his hat. Flashing a craggy grin, he threw a wink for luck.
Gathering her resolve, she marched up to the door of Benedict’s townhouse and rang the bell.
Roderick greeted her with a forced smile. “Good afternoon, Miss Quinn. I cannot say with any certainty that Marlsbrook—”
“Let her in,” Benedict said, his voice gruff as he approached behind the butler’s back.
Roderick’s throat constricted with tension. What in blazes was going on? The man was usually a pleasant fellow. But on this afternoon, tension pulled at his creased features.
“This way, Miss Quinn.”
“As you are well aware, I know the way,” she said, sweeping past him with a saucy grin. Benedict’s foul mood would not deter her. He should know by now that it would take more than a surly lack of greeting to keep her away.
She met Benedict’s gaze. Something that might have been a smile touched his lips. So, he was not unhappy to see her after all. He stood outside his study, attired in dark charcoal gray trousers, a crisp white shirt with the shirtsleeves rolled to the elbows, and leather braces. A slight growth of whiskers on his cheeks and jaw emphasized his features and added an unrefined air that appealed to her far more than logic would have dictated.
Ah, he was a fine specimen of a man. Perhaps it was his slightly crooked grin that had captured her heart. Or was it the way his eyes darkened to a mossy green when passion infused his kiss?
Did he know how much she’d come to care for him? They had exchanged words of love as Stockwell had brought his ugly plan to its final act. But since that brutal night, they had not spoken of their feelings. She’d wanted to speak the words again, to tell him how deeply she cared for him, but somehow, the time had never been right. There’d been a parade of visitors, all eager to speak with London’s newest hero as he convalesced from his wound.
She might have stood there and drank him in for a moment or two longer, but she’d come on a quest. If she did not act, she might well lose her nerve. And then where would she be?
“Hullo, Benedict,” she said.
“It’s good to see you, Alexandra.” He escorted her into the pleasantly cluttered room. “What brings you here today?”
“Might I suggest we close the door? I require a spot of privacy.”
He cocked a brow, but obliged her request. “I must say, this is an unexpected pleasure. What’s this about? Has something come up that I should know about?”
“I’ve come here today to discuss you. And me.”
His brow furrowed. “I must confess I don’t take your meaning. What is there to discuss?”
I love you, you dolt.The words perched on the tip of her tongue, but she held them back.
The blandness of his expression seemed calculated. Deliberate. Why was he shutting her out? Moving to one of the bookshelves that filled the walls of the small chamber, she avoided his assessing gaze. Focusing on the first book she spotted, an undoubtedly dull treatise on the reign of Oliver Cromwell, she pondered the most favorable approach. How should she best meet his frustratingly obtuse response?
“You and I…we share mutual interests,” she began cautiously. Too cautious. Where was her courage? Good heavens, she’d faced villains of the worst sort. Speaking her heart to Benedict should not prove so very difficult.
But it was. Her pulse throbbed against her ears. She watched him, studying his eyes, his mouth, for any sign of emotion. But he remained a blank canvas.
“Of course. What is on your mind?” His response was polite. Civil.
And so very cold.
“I propose a joint venture. The two of us…working together, side by side, to find the tomb. Stockwell would have wanted us to pursue it. He would’ve—”
“No.” The single syllable was bluntly spoken.
“If the professor was right…if the tomb does indeed exist, he would want you to go after it. Why else would he trust us with the amulet? And the map?”
“He trustedyou—not me.” Benedict raked a hand through his hair. “I want no part of it. If the treasure does exist, it should not be entrusted to the likes of me.”
“We would make a wonderful team. Imagine the adventure,” she persisted.
“God above, Alexandra. You did not even show faith in me to examine the blasted map. Now, you want me to find the tomb.” He laughed, an ugly, raw chuckle beneath his breath. “I’m the same man I was six weeks ago.”
