A Rake's Midnight Kiss. Anna Campbell
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he let her go, she began to shred the paper, her hands working nervously in front of her extravagantly pocketed pinafore. “You can’t share your suspicions. They could destroy my father’s reputation.”
After lifting some books off the seat, he moved a chair from the wall to the desk. Dust flew and he sneezed. Sirius started up in surprise from where he lay in sleepy contentment. Sitting, Richard surveyed her with unfettered admiration. “Your brilliance should receive acknowledgement.”
Her voice expressionless, she retreated to sit behind the desk. “Papa offered to credit me as coauthor after I turned twenty-one, but that is yet to eventuate.”
Genevieve’s careful neutrality indicated that this was a sore point. No wonder she resented her father. As a man familiar with parental betrayal, Richard felt for her. “Surely people suspect.”
“There’s no reason they should.” In her eyes, he read displeasure at how quickly he’d uncovered her secret.
“I knew the moment I read that first page.”
“A lucky guess.”
“Perhaps we’re particularly attuned, Miss Barrett.”
Her expression didn’t lighten. “Stop flirting. This is serious.”
He laughed softly and leaned back in his chair. “Believe me, flirting is a serious business.” He sobered. “Fairbrother must have an inkling.”
Lord Neville strove to make Richard feel like an interloper. Richard had immediately recognized that the man protected his territory. The question was—what was his territory? Scholarly pursuits? The vicar? The vicar’s dangerously unsuspecting daughter? Or all three?
A cynical light entered Genevieve’s eyes. “Lord Neville’s interest is his collection, not scholarship for its own sake.”
An interesting opinion. And one that wouldn’t please his overbearing lordship, Richard thought with unworthy satisfaction. “You can’t hide in your father’s shadow forever.”
The tension drained from her shoulders and she answered with unexpected readiness. Perhaps the relief of sharing the truth with someone, even his unworthy self, encouraged confidences. “I’m publishing an article about the Harmsworth Jewel under my own name.”
Holy God above. No wonder she didn’t want to sell the artifact. He barely stopped himself choking with appalled astonishment.
He struggled to act as if this revelation incited only mild curiosity. “What?”
“That’s it.” She pointed at the enamel and gold object, as if he needed help locating it. “My findings should set the scholarly world abuzz. Or at least that section of the scholarly world interested in the Anglo-Saxons.” Her tone turned wry as she acknowledged that this esoteric field rarely impinged on the wider public.
She lifted the jewel, her hands sure, almost careless. His belly clenched with conflicting impulses. The urge to grab the girl. The urge to grab the jewel.
“A wonderful old lady bequeathed it to me. She was a disciple of Mary Wollstonecraft and until you, the only person to guess that I wrote most of Papa’s published works. It’s a family heirloom.”
Damn it, it certainly was. And not one that Amelia, Viscountess Bellfield, had any business handing on. Richard gritted his teeth against informing Genevieve that the jewel belonged to him.
“She must have been fond of you.” He hoped to hell his voice didn’t sound as strangled to Genevieve as in his ears. Patience, he reminded himself, patience. He’d get the jewel off her in good time.
“I loved her dearly too.” Genevieve’s admiration for Lady Bellfield was audible. “She was a noted bluestocking and owned an impressive collection of books and antiquities.”
“One would think she’d keep something so valuable in the family.”
“She’d had a falling out with the Harmsworths. She particularly disliked the current baronet. Some family scandal made him unfit to hold the title.”
Despite himself, Richard winced. The hell of it was that the disgrace never died. Call him a slow learner, but he now understood that it never would, whoever possessed the Harmsworth Jewel. Which made him no less determined to restore the trinket to Polliton Place, the family seat in Norfolk. It belonged to the head of the Harmsworth family. And, bastardy or no, that was him.
He’d always liked Great Aunt Amelia, for all her fearsome reputation. A shock to discover that because he was a bastard, she couldn’t abide him. Old anger tightened his gut. Anger and shame.
Luckily Genevieve studied the jewel, not his reactions. “That was a condition of inheriting. Under no circumstances was Lady Bellfield’s great-nephew Richard Harmsworth to obtain the jewel.”
God rot Great Aunt Amelia for an interfering old witch.
“I doubt the executors would prosecute if you sold it.” Richard tried to sound disingenuous. Genevieve cast him a questioning glance that indicated he’d failed. Hardly surprising. Genuine innocence had been a casualty of childhood bullying. “I imagine you’d get a good price.”
“Strange that you say that. A few months ago, Sir Richard discovered I had the jewel. He’s pestering me to sell.”
“At a bargain price?” He’d offered her a fortune. He waited to hear if any amount might change her mind. At least he now understood why his agents had failed. Part of him admired Genevieve’s loyalty to Aunt Amelia, while another part cursed this complication.
“Money seemed no object. Odd when Lady Bellfield indicated Sir Richard wasn’t interested in family history.”
Little do you know, sweetheart. “The jewel is very beautiful.”
“And reputedly powerful. There’s a myth that Alfred the Great presented it to a Harmsworth ancestor for foiling a Viking assassination. The jewel passed from Harmsworth father to son, confirming the heir’s right to inherit. Such tales abound in old families. That’s one fascinating element of my research.”
“Perhaps you should sell.” A critical light in his eyes, he surveyed the shabby room. “Think what you could do.”
She shrugged. “I owe Lady Bellfield better return for her generosity.”
Damn, why must Genevieve be such a stickler? “Did she forbid any sale?”
If there was a ban on disposing of the thing altogether, he’d have to steal it. Which meant he could never display it openly. With every moment, his quest became more tangled.
“It’s mine unconditionally, as long as I never sell to Richard Harmsworth or his heirs.” She paused. “I hope that my article creates opportunities for me. I’d only sell the jewel out of dire necessity.”
Relief flooded him. There was still a chance he could buy it. “Once your article comes out, people will know you wrote your father’s pieces.”
Irritation lit her gaze. “My father’s work has been devoted entirely to the high Middle Ages. He isn’t renowned as a Dark Ages specialist. Any similarities in style will be credited to my father being my teacher.”
Unable to resist any longer, he reached out. “May I see it?”
Her hand curled around the jewel as if she mistrusted his intentions. By heaven, nothing was wrong with the girl’s instincts. “It’s very fragile.”
“I’ll be careful.” He had more reason to respect the jewel than any man in England.
She sighed and he thought she might refuse. But after a hesitation, she passed it across.
The breath jammed in his throat and he lowered his eyes to conceal his possessive excitement. The gold was warm from her hands. What an intimate sensation, like touching her skin instead of inanimate metal. The jewel was unexpectedly heavy, as though it carried the weight of the centuries.