Amarna? That was too specific to be a coincidence.
Christian could see why the curator had jumped to conclusions.
“Now you’ve confirmed the artefacts are genuine,” Daventry began, but Christian stopped him.
“They appear genuine. We agree we cannot be certain.”
“But you’re right to consider trying other lines of enquiry.” Daventry sounded like a proud father. “You cannot storm Somerset House and demand to speak to the Society of Antiquaries. Not without evidence of misconduct. And it’s pointless questioning Purton until we know what we’re dealing with.”
Miss Lawton stood. “In my experience, bribing those on the lower rungs of the social ladder is easier. We should find the ship’s captain and crew. They’re often party to gossip.”
Daventry grinned and clapped his hands. “Excellent. You will accompany Mr Chance to the shipping office at the docks tomorrow. I’m toldThe Marigoldrecently returned from a trip to France. Let the captain believe you’re considering hiring him to move cargo.”
Hellfire!
Daventry treated them like chess pieces on a board, his every move strategic.
“Mr Chance would prefer to work alone, sir.”
Christian sighed. Currently, Mr Chance didn’t know his arse from his elbow. To make matters worse, he’d started thinking in the third person.
“Mr Chance gave his word he would see this matter through till the end, madam. As a man of honour, he will do whatever is necessary to get the job done.”
Curse the devil to Hades!
Daventry was a master manipulator.
Christian might have argued, but one look at Miss Lawton’s large brown eyes and his reserve crumbled. “I’ll visit the shipping office with Miss Lawton, but on one condition.” He couldn’t have her wandering around the docks alone. Until they’d got to the bare bones of this problem, he needed to know she was safe. “I must be honest with Aaron.”
Daventry contemplated the trade, his narrowed gaze shifting between Christian and Miss Lawton. “Very well. You can mention Sir Geoffrey but cannot reveal the other men’s names. Not until we have proof of treachery.”
Somewhat relieved, Christian agreed.
“You’ll visit me in Hart Street tomorrow and inform me of your findings.” Daventry turned to the beguiling lady in lilac. “My carriage is outside, Miss Lawton. Allow me to escort you home.”
“Thank you, sir. That’s most kind.”
Christian inwardly groaned. “I’ll take a hackney.” Daventry would have him squashed next to Miss Lawton, their thighs touching every time the vehicle bounced through a rut in the road.
Daventry nodded. “You know my man Gibbs. He’ll be at your disposal while you’re conducting the investigation. I’ll arrange for him to collect Miss Lawton at nine o’clock tomorrow before calling at Fortune’s Den.”
“Have him park outside the churchyard.”
Gibbs was handy with his fists and would be a useful companion when navigating the docks. Unlike other servants, the coachman spoke his mind, which made him an asset, not a liability.
“We’ll return the artefacts and leave you to gather your things.” With that, Daventry and Brown wheeled the trolley out of the room and left Christian alone with Miss Lawton.
The lady rounded the desk as the men’s footsteps receded, worry lines appearing on her brow. “Don’t listen to Mr Daventry,” she said, touching him gently on the upper arm, her dainty fingers resting against his bicep. “There’s honour in sticking to your principles. There’s honour in refusing to do anything that makes you uncomfortable.”
Christian froze.
Battling a rush of conflicting emotions left him dumbfounded.
He wasn’t unused to a woman’s touch. He had sex—had kept a mistress until a few months ago—though it was always a physical act, a release, not something that caused a flurry of strange sensations.
“I’ll tell Mr Daventry I shall visit the shipping office with Mr Gibbs.” Her fingers moved slowly, not quite a caress, more a gesture of reassurance. “If he’d rather you take the job, I shall find other work. You shouldn’t have to suffer for my father’s misdeeds.”
Mother of all heaven!
