Mischief (20 page)

Imogen was his Anizamara, his lady of sunlight, life, and warmth. She was the one who could hold the ghosts at bay.

“And thus my investigations have shown that while there were certainly some Greek and Roman influences on the manners and customs of ancient Zamar, much of the literature and architecture of the people of that island was unique.”

Matthias tossed aside the last of his notes with a sense of relief. He gripped the edges of the podium and looked out over the large audience that had gathered to hear him. “That concludes my talk on lost Zamar.” He forced himself to add politely, “I shall be happy to answer a few questions.”

Polite applause rang out across the crowded lecture hall. With the exception of Imogen, who sat in the front row, no one clapped with a great deal of enthusiasm. Matthias was not surprised. He had not gone there to entertain. He had been intent only on impressing the one person in the crowd who could appreciate his research and conclusions: I. A. Stone.

Imogen, he noted, was applauding with gratifying energy.

As a rule, Matthias dreaded these events. Ever since Zamar had become fashionable, the crowd that gathered to hear him speak had been increasingly composed of the dabblers, amateurs, and dilettantes he detested. He was well aware that the interest of the vast majority of the people sitting in front of him was superficial, at best. But that day he had lectured to a worthy rival, and Matthias was already anticipating Imogen’s rebuttal.

He glanced down at her as the applause diminished.
She glowed in her seat, a bright, lively beacon in a chamber filled with dim, sputtering candles. Desire crashed through Matthias with the force of lightning. He would have her for his own. All he had to do was play his cards carefully. In her innocence and naiveté, she stood no more chance of evading him than Anizamara did of eluding Zamaris. He took a deep breath. His hands flexed on the sides of the podium. He would take the lead in this waltz. Whatever happiness he was fated to discover in life depended upon it.

Imogen was wearing another of her Zamarian-green gowns and a matching green pelisse trimmed with dolphins and shells. Her heavy hair was anchored beneath a massive green bonnet.

Matthias allowed himself to bask in the admiration he saw in her wide, intelligent eyes.
Intelligent, but so innocent
. He reflected on the fascinating accusations she had made during the drive through the park yesterday. Rather than admit to the passion that flared between them whenever they kissed, Imogen had actually convinced herself that he had employed secret Zamarian lovemaking techniques.

The last of the applause finally dissolved. Imogen leaned forward slightly in her chair, clasped her hands in her lap, and watched Matthias with rapt attention as he prepared to take questions from the audience. He had a fleeting, highly imaginative vision of her gazing up at him with a similar expression from the depths of the Zamarian dolphin sofa in his library. He was abruptly and profoundly grateful for the large wooden podium that shielded the lower portion of his anatomy from the view of the audience.

A portly man seated toward the back of the room hove to his feet and cleared his throat very loudly. “Lord Colchester, I have an inquiry.”

Matthias stifled a groan. “Yes?”

“You said nothing in the course of your lecture on the
possible influence of Chinese society on the manners and customs of ancient Zamar.”

Matthias saw Imogen roll her eyes. He knew precisely how she felt. Few things were more annoying than foolish questions.

“That is because there is no discernible influence,” he said unequivocally.

“But wouldn’t you say, sir, that the characteristics of the Zamarian script bear a striking resemblance to Chinese writing?”

“None whatsoever.”

The questioner grumbled and sat down.

Another man rose. He scowled at Matthias. “Lord Colchester, I could not help but notice that you failed to discuss the notion put forth by Watley that Zamar was actually an ancient English colony.”

Matthias endeavored to hold on to his patience. It was not easy. “Sir, the theory that Zamar was a lost English colony is as misguided, wrongheaded, and idiotic as the notion that Egypt was also an ancient outpost of this nation. No respectable scholar gives credence to either of those two opinions.”

Imogen jumped to her feet. Her elbow caught the large reticule of the lady seated next to her and sent it flying. Matthias watched with interest as a brief flurry of activity ensued in the front row.

“Oh, dear,” Imogen muttered. She bent down to retrieve the fallen reticule. “Do forgive me, madam.”

“Quite all right,” the lady said. “Quite all right.”

Imogen straightened and turned her attention back to Matthias. Her eyes gleamed with determination. “Lord Colchester, I wish to ask a question.”

“Of course, Miss Waterstone.” Matthias leaned negligently against the podium and smiled down at her with anticipation. “What is it you wish to ask?”

“In your book on the manners and customs of ancient Zamar you include several sketches which you copied from the walls of the Zamarian library.”

“Indeed.”

“One of those sketches distinctly shows a wedding ritual. In it the bride and groom appear to be receiving tablets inscribed with poetry. Would you say that the scene implies that Zamarian marriages were founded upon a notion of true equality between the sexes and that a strong metaphysical communion existed between husbands and wives?”

“No, Miss Waterstone, I would not draw any such conclusion,” Matthias said. “The scene on the wall of the Zamarian library was a metaphorical painting of the Zamarian goddess of wisdom giving the gift of writing to the ancient Zamarians.”

“Are you quite certain that it was not a wedding ritual? It seems to me that the inscription on the tablets in the lady’s hand constitute a wedding contract of some sort.”

“As it happens, Miss Waterstone, I was fortunate enough to discover an actual Zamarian marriage scroll.”

A murmur of interest went through the crowd.

Imogen’s eyes widened with excitement. “What was contained in the scroll, sir?”

Matthias smiled. “The inscriptions were more in the nature of instructions. They were accompanied by some extremely detailed drawings.”

Imogen’s brows drew together in a quizzical frown. “Instructions? On the respective rights and obligations of husbands and wives, do you mean?”

“Not exactly,” Matthias said. “The text provides directions and practical advice on certain delicate matters pertaining to the intimate side of the married state. Personal matters, if you take my meaning, madam.”

Titters, chuckles, and a few embarrassed laughs broke out across the crowd. Several older ladies frowned. A number of younger ones displayed a fresh interest in the discussion.

Imogen fitted her hands to her hips and began to tap the toe of one little kid half-boot. She glowered at those
around her and then at Matthias. “No, my lord, I do not take your meaning. Precisely what sort of advice is on that scroll?”

“The inscriptions advise married couples on specific techniques designed to ensure that both husband and wife find happiness and satisfaction in the marital bedchamber. And that is all I intend to say on the matter, Miss Waterstone.”

There were several shocked gasps from the crowd. The titters and chuckles in the back row grew louder. Imogen lowered her brows and looked as if she were preparing to fire another question. Matthias moved quickly to forestall it.

He drew his watch from his waistcoat pocket and surveyed the time with an air of surprise. “Ah, I see that the hour is concluded. I thank you all for your kind attention.” He scooped up his notes and started to descend from the podium.

Imogen met him as he reached the last step. Her eyes were sparkling with determination. “A very exciting talk, my lord.”

“Thank you. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

“Oh, I did. Immensely. I was particularly taken with your observations concerning the pictures on the walls of the Zamarian library. How I wish I could have accompanied you when you discovered it.”

“I would have liked to have had your opinions,” he said honestly.

“About that marriage scroll you mentioned, I would very much like to view it, if I may.”

“I have never made it available to other scholars,” he said with slow deliberation. “But I might be willing to make an exception in your case.”

Imogen brightened. “Would you, Matthias? That would be wonderful. When may I see it?”

“I’ll let you know when it’s convenient.”

Her face fell. “I trust you will not delay too long, sir. I am impatient to study it.”

“A charming thought.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Never mind.” Matthias smiled. “In the meantime, you might find a private tour of the Zamarian Society’s museum interesting.”

“Extremely interesting,” Imogen said. “But it has been closed to the public since I arrived in London.”

“That is because the trustees of the Zamarian Society are preparing to move the collection into a larger chamber. At the moment the museum is actually more of a storage room. But I have a key. I shall be happy to serve as your guide.”

Imogen’s face lit up once more. “That would be thrilling.”

He glanced around the rapidly emptying room. Only a handful of people remained and those few would soon be gone. He removed a key from his pocket.

“I see no reason why we cannot tour the museum now.” He paused. “If you are free, that is.”

“Yes, indeed. Perfectly free, sir.”

“The door to the museum is just around the corner.” Matthias indicated the direction with a slight inclination of his head. “Beneath the staircase.”

“How exciting.” Imogen set off toward the museum entrance at such a brisk pace that the skirts of her gown whipped about her ankles.

Matthias barely managed to grab hold of her arm before she vanished around the corner. “I fear you must wait for me, my dear. I’ve got the key.”

“I hope you will not dawdle, sir.”

“No, but neither do I intend to gallop across the hall.”

She sighed. “I keep forgetting that you are not inclined toward athletic activity.”

“I try to compensate in other areas.” Matthias guided her around the corner and beneath the broad staircase that gave access to the upper floors of the Zamarian Institution.

When they reached the door to the museum, he drew Imogen to a halt and inserted the key into the lock. Then he opened the door and stepped back.

He watched Imogen’s expressive face as she gazed into the gloom-filled interior. He was not disappointed. Her eyes filled with wonder and her lips parted as though in expectation of a lover’s kiss. Only Imogen could have been counted upon to react in such a fashion to a chamber crowded with dusty artifacts and the ghosts of a long-lost people.

“This is wonderful.” Imogen stepped into the room and gazed around at the array of objects that loomed in the shadows. “Did you bring most of these antiquities back from Zamar yourself?”

“No. I confess that I kept the pieces I brought back. They are in my library.” Matthias lit a wall sconce. “The items you see here are those that Rutledge chose to transport back to England after our first journey to Zamar. As you can see, he favored size over delicacy.”

Imogen tugged a shroud off a ten-foot-tall statue of Zamaris and blinked when she found herself at eye level with the god’s oversized genitals. “I see what you mean.” She hastily raised her gaze. “Oh, dear, it appears that the arm was broken off at the shoulder and repaired.”

“Unfortunately, much of what Rutledge found was damaged due to his poor excavation techniques. He had no engineering skills.” Matthias stroked the jagged edge of a broken column. “And little interest in the subtle details of the artifacts we uncovered. He was after treasure or items he believed he could sell to collectors.”

“Poor Rutledge.” Imogen walked around a vase that was as tall as she was. “Such a tragic ending. And so very mysterious.”

“I trust you are not going to tell me that you believe in that ridiculous business of the Rutledge Curse.”

“Of course not. But there is no getting around the fact that Rutledge did not survive his last trip to Zamar.”

Matthias flattened his hand on the column. “There is
nothing mysterious about his death, Imogen. He grew careless during his explorations of the labyrinth. He broke his neck when he fell down a stone staircase that he had apparently failed to notice in the darkness. I was the one who found him.”

She gave him a searching glance. “How terrible that must have been for you.”

A chill went through Matthias. He knew then beyond a shadow of a doubt that she sensed that there was more to the story. “Yes. It was.”

The questioning expression in Imogen’s eyes was instantly replaced by sympathy. Matthias breathed a small sigh of relief as she moved on to a large sarcophagus.

“Have the items in this collection been properly catalogued?” Imogen asked as she studied an inscription on the lid of the sarcophagus.

“No. I’m the only one who has the knowledge and skill to do it properly, and I have not had the time to take on the task.”
Or the inclination
, he added silently. Everything in this chamber was connected to Rutledge.

Imogen straightened and looked at him with an expression of gathering excitement. “I could do it, Matthias.”

“Catalogue the collection?” He hesitated. “Yes, you could. It might be interesting to have I. A. Stone’s opinions on these items.”

“Do you think the trustees would allow me to study and record the artifacts in this chamber?”

“I control the trustees,” Matthias said. “They will do as I say. But it would mean revealing your identity as I. A. Stone.”

She considered that. “Perhaps the time has come.” Then she sighed. “But first things first. I came to London to deal with Vanneck. I must get on with it. Have you given any thought to my new plan to lure him into a partnership, Matthias?”

“No.”

“I cannot waste any more time, sir.” Imogen
crouched down to inspect a large clay mask that was propped against the coffin. “I want to implement my new scheme as quickly as possible. Before everyone learns our engagement is a sham.”