Seduce Me (20 page)

Fielding kissed her in return. It occurred to him it would be impossible not to. He gently pushed her away to end the kiss
before he did toss her skirts up right there and then. A cold wooden floor was no place for a seduction.

He moved the lid back into place, then took a cleansing breath and shook his arms at his sides. “We need to find that diary,”
he whispered. He gave her a quick kiss on the nose before he pulled her to the door.

“I suspect we should start in the curator’s office. It might not be in there, but we should find cataloging records regarding
where the diary is,” she said.

Finding the curator’s office proved more difficult than Fielding had hoped. They made their way through the Egyptian room
and on to the Grecian room, past the Roman room and the special exhibit on prehistoric animals, then the newspaper library
in addition to two other offices before finally locating the correct one.

The curator evidently wasn’t a very tidy man, as his office was practically dangerous to walk through with all the boxes and
books on the floor. Likewise, the man’s desk was completely covered so that you could not even determine what type of wood
it was made from.

“We should make quick work of this,” Fielding said. “The evening guards will be here in less than thirty minutes.”

Esme glanced at the large grandfather clock in the corner.

“I’ll look for documentation of Biedermann’s donation,” he said. “That should indicate where his papers are housed in the
museum. You could look for the diary itself, on the off chance that it’s still in here.”

She made her way across the room and began going through the boxes stacked in the corner. “I still cannot believe I am doing
this.”

“Remember, it was your scholar friend who suggested it,” Fielding said. “And it is for a good cause.”

She nodded and went back to digging through the boxes.

Several minutes later Fielding asked, “How well do you read ancient Greek?”

She looked up from the pile of books she was flipping through. “Fair at best. Why?”

“I found the Greek text Biedermann was translating.” He held up the book. “The diary has got to be in here. There’s a note
attached about a translator coming in next week.”

Esme checked the clock again. “Fielding, we have less than ten minutes.”

“We’ll find it.”

She moved to a stack of books on a windowsill and had looked through nearly all of them when she picked up a small leather
volume. “I think this might be it,” Esme said.

Fielding came and stood beside her as she flipped through the book.

“I think this is actually papyrus,” she said, fingering the pages. “He must have specially ordered it.” Her voice was filled
with wonderment.

Biedermann’s handwriting was tight and small and completely illegible in the dim lighting.

“What do we do?” Esme asked. “We can’t very well read it in here without turning on the lights and thus alerting the guards
to our presence. Nor does it appear to be the sort of book one can quickly flip through in hopes of landing on the right page.”
She fanned through the bulk of pages to prove her point.

“Take it with us,” he suggested.

“Steal?” She pressed the book against her chest. “From the museum?”

“Do you have any better ideas? As you’ve pointed out, our options for reading it here are grossly limited.”

She eyed him, then the book, looking unconvinced.

Fielding pointed to the pile of materials from which the diary had been uncovered. “It doesn’t appear to be on their list
of most valuable items.”

She chewed at her lip.

Damn, but she was attractive and seductive in a way that only innocent women could be.

“Esme, I’ll take it; you’ll be nothing more than my accomplice. They’ll likely never miss it, provided we get it back to them
before the new translator arrives.”

She took a deep breath. “I suppose we don’t have a choice. I’m really rather desperate to get this cursed thing off my arm.”

“Indeed. Otherwise you might continue to act the brazen woman and take advantage of my weaknesses.” He gave her a toothy grin.

She frowned. “That’s not funny.”

The clock chimed the hour.

“We are out of time,” he said.

T
wo hours later, safe from the museum guards, Esme and Fielding sat huddled over the diary back in their study room at the
marquess’s, reading through the handwritten pages—which included drawings and diagrams Mr. Biedermann had evidently thought
important—but so far they had found nothing of use.

Fielding stood to stretch his legs. It seemed as if they’d been looking through Biedermann’s diary forever, and all they’d
read was a retelling of the mythological structure of Mount Olympus.

“This is all quite fascinating, but it doesn’t help in the least,” Esme said as she flipped through another few pages. Her
brow furrowed in concentration. “We must keep reading. I know we shall find something.”

Fielding leaned against the hearth and watched as she read a page, then turned to the next. Again and again, finding nothing.
“We don’t have to read through the entire thing tonight.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “That journal specifically mentioned this diary,” she said as she turned yet another page.
“And Mr. Nichols knew of it as well.” Another page. “Where is it?”

“Esme, go to bed. We can continue in the morning.”

She fanned the book’s pages and placed her hand randomly inside the diary, then perused that page. “Nothing.”

“Esme,” Fielding tried again.

Her right index finger landed on another page and followed the text to the bottom and then to the top of the next page. She
sat taller in her chair and looked up at him with a smile. “I do believe I might have found something.”

“Finally.” He shoved off from the fireplace and walked toward her.

She began reading: “ ‘The vices will appear as golden bands encircling the flesh of those bold enough to breach the box.’
” She looked up at him. “The Greek text was obviously right about that.”

“Obviously.”

Her forehead wrinkled. “ ‘Until all those who wear the cursed bands reunite with one another in the presence of the box, they
cannot be removed. If the bracelets are not returned to the box by the eclipse of the full moon, those enslaved will surely
perish.’ ” She bookmarked the spot with her hand and looked up at him. “It does appear my mortality is still at risk.”

He grabbed another chair and angled it across from her. “Esme, you’re not going to die. I’ll make certain of that.” He leaned
his elbows on his knees and exhaled slowly.

She released a shaky laugh. “Somehow I don’t think you can prevent an ancient curse from taking its toll.”

Fielding could only look at her in silence. Perhaps his fair maiden was finally beginning to understand that he was no hero.

“What about the Raven’s men? Should we locate them and try to warn them? Can they be reasoned with?” she asked.

“I don’t know. Thatcher has never been particularly steady. I do know that the Raven would never be so fond of an employee
that he wouldn’t use them as leverage.”

“Surely they would see reason if we explained to them the seriousness of the curse.”

He wiped a hand down his face. “These men are unscrupulous, Esme. They can be cutthroat and dangerous, and they are not to
be trifled with. And they are not afraid of curses. Or death. More than anything, though, they are loyal to the Raven. Without
hesitation.”

“But you said Waters was most likely afraid of the Raven,” she countered.

“Oftentimes fear and loyalty go hand in hand.”

“You are not taking into consideration the bands they wear.” She fumbled with her own as she spoke, the gold twinkling as
it twirled around her wrist. “The strong pull they have. The way they can make you do things you will only regret later.”
She met his eyes as she spoke.

Her words were well deserved, but they hurt nonetheless. He had gone out of his way to prove to her he was not the hero she
made him out to be. Evidently his hard work had paid off, as she clearly wished she’d never let him touch her.

“Where will we find Waters?” she asked.

“We?” He shook his head with a chuckle. “Oh, no.” He stepped over to the window.

“Oh, no, what?” Esme asked. “If you think to leave me behind, you are quite mistaken.”

“Damnation, Esme, I will not argue with you about this.” He turned away from the window to face her. “The places I’ll have
to go to look for Waters are not fit for a lady. It’s too dangerous in those parts of the city.”

“Fielding, I’m going to die in less than a week if I do nothing. I hear your argument, but in light of my circumstances, it’s
weak.” She slowly made her way over to his side and smiled sweetly. “I’ll be right by your side, and no harm will come to
me. Would you allow anything to happen to me?” She tentatively touched his chest.

He gritted his teeth, then rolled his eyes. “That is a ridiculous question. But whether or not I would protect you isn’t even
the point.” He grabbed her arms and looked into her eyes. “Putting you in a position where you could get hurt would be grossly
irresponsible of me.”

“Ah, but I managed to get myself kidnapped without your help. So it is not as if you’d be introducing danger into my life
for the first time.”

He exhaled in frustration and dropped his arms.

She straightened, her slight height gaining at least an inch. “I am a grown woman.” She frowned as she pointed a delicate
finger at him. “I certainly do not need you to tell me”—she jabbed him in the chest—“what I can or cannot do. If you won’t
allow me to go with you, I’ll simply hire a rig and follow you.”

He eyed her for several minutes, hoping his glare would make her back down, intimidate her, but it didn’t work. She was quite
serious; he could see it in the firm set of her chin and the unwavering look in her eyes. She would follow him, and then if
she got lost or too far behind he wouldn’t be able to protect her.

He swore loudly, which only made her smile as she recognized her triumph.

“I am not happy about this,” he said.

“Duly noted.” She slanted him a mocking frown.

“I’m serious, Esme. This is not a part of town you’ve ever been in. It’s dangerous; it’s dirty; it smells terrible. I cannot
prepare you for what you might see on the street.”

“I know about prostitutes,” she said defiantly.

“I’m only trying to warn you.”

“Consider me warned. I’ll try not to be too shocked by anything we see. Or smell.” She did nothing to hide her impish grin.

The following evening, Fielding and Esme sat in a darkened corner of a less-than-reputable tavern on the edge of the Thames.
Fielding had insisted she wear a cloak and keep the hood up around her face, which made seeing anything around her rather
challenging. He himself had worn a greatcoat, and together they kept to the shadows.

Esme did not want to touch anything, so she folded her hands in her lap. As it was the floor was so filthy, it stuck to the
soles of her shoes. She kept lifting her feet, simply to assure herself she wasn’t permanently glued into place.

Since discovering the bands had to be reunited in order to remove them from their wearers, Fielding had been using his sources
to try to locate Waters. If the man was hiding from the Raven he wouldn’t be visiting his regular haunts, so they’d had to
look elsewhere. The informant had been lucky and found the man at a dirty little pub near the St. Katharine Docks.

They’d been told that every evening for the last five days, Waters had come into this pub and stayed for nearly three hours.
Tonight, though, Waters had yet to arrive.

Fielding decided they should not approach Waters here but rather wait until the man left, and then they’d follow him. A perfectly
crafted plan wouldn’t matter, however, if the nasty man didn’t show. So for the time being they sat in silence, surrounded
by the filth and the noise. And there was plenty of both. For someone more accustomed to the quiet halls of museums and libraries,
this pub’s crowd of rambunctious men was an assault to Esme’s senses. It seemed every word spoken merited applause or cheers.
At least they were a mirthful bunch.

Her cloak prevented her from seeing much farther than the end of their table but did nothing to impede from reaching her the
foul stench of wretched body odor mixed with the smells of tobacco and whiskey. Her eyes watered.

“Where is he?” Esme whispered.

Fielding scanned the room once more. “I don’t know.”

A bar girl made her way over to their table.

“Evening,” she said and bobbed a deep curtsy clearly designed to display her tightly corseted breasts, which currently threatened
to fall out of her dress. “Can I get you and your lady friend something to drink?” She smiled widely, revealing several blackened
teeth.

Fielding waved his hand. “No.”

She turned to go. Before she could reach the bar, a man with long, beefy arms reached out and pulled her onto his lap. Immediately
the man began to fondle the girl’s breasts. She squirmed and fought, trying to get off his lap, but never lost her forced
smile.