Twelfth Moon (36 page)

He was dark. Black hair. Fashionable, but solidly traditional black attire. Swarthy complexion. His starched white shirt presented a striking contrast to the healthy bronze of his skin, his black silk cravat arranged in a simple, perfect knot.

But it was the man’s eyes that truly captured her attention. They were like two pale-blue diamonds, his measured glance taking careful inventory of every detail about her. Most men would have barely taken the time, quickly dismissing her as ordinary and unappealing. A woman past her prime, a spinster.

Not him.

His gaze was sharp, intelligent, assessing, sending a quiver running down Emily’s spine. She fought the impulse to run her trembling fingers down the front of her plain gown, to raise them to check her bonnet, to reassure herself that not one stray hair had escaped. The bonnet was the ugliest contraption known to mankind – or womankind – but her goal was to obtain the services of an investigator, not model for a fashion plate.

She’d come here looking for Mr. Roger Bellamy.

He stood, unfurling from his large chair, his lithe movements reminding her of a dangerous predator, so very confident in its position at the top of the food chain.

“And what is it, Miss Templeton, you wish me to investigate?”

His voice was deep and rich as melted chocolate.

She bolstered her courage. This was for Uncle Tobias. Her heart lurched with the familiar pain one feels at the loss of a loved one. She was no stranger to the feeling, having lost her mother at a young age, and then years later, her father. It’s the kind of sorrow that while no less devastating when fresh, only becomes muted with the passage of time.

She had to do this…she owed her dear uncle that much.

“Murder, Mr. Bellamy.” She held his gaze unflinchingly.

“Murder? Ah, I can see by the look on your face that you’re serious. And who’s the unlucky person to have gotten himself murdered?”

“My uncle.”

“Your uncle,” he replied in that decadent voice. “Did he have many enemies that would wish to do him in?”

Emily shivered involuntarily, for a moment feeling apprehensive about procuring the services of this man. That scar lent such a sinister quality to his countenance. His posture projected an air of underlying menace, one she was sure wasn’t just a surface affectation. Self-possession rippled off him in waves, along with the impression of a warning that seemed to say,
“Don’t get too close.”

She held no illusions that this man wasn’t capable of a great many things – dangerous things. She’d felt it from the very first moment she’d crossed the threshold of his office. It was in the way he held his head, the rigid line of his shoulders, the intensity of his stare.

But it was the knowledge of this side of him, and his reputation for success, however, that she’d sought him out in the first place.

Of course a man like Mr. Bellamy would ask about enemies. It was his line of work, after all – his forte. Snapping her attention back from her musings, Emily answered his question with barely leashed indignation. “My uncle was a scholar, Mr. Bellamy. He had no enemies.”

Emily sat, adjusting her drab skirts, smoothing out the wrinkles, and then rested her hands in her lap. When she looked up, she found him staring at her. His unswerving gaze made her want to squirm like a child in the schoolroom being confronted by a stern governess. Mr. Bellamy was a most astoundingly handsome man – one could even say he was beautiful in a dark, fallen angel sort of way. She suspected there was a Spanish conquistador lurking somewhere in his lineage.

Without dropping his gaze, he moved aside the only object on the desk besides the ink bottle and pen – the paper he’d been writing on when she’d walked in. Apparently it was to make room for his elbows, which he rested on the surface of the desk. He formed a steeple with his long, well-shaped fingers.

She had his undivided attention.

He most definitely had
her
undivided attention.

“Maybe you should start at the beginning,” he suggested. “Before I agree to take on your case, I need to hear the details.”

She swallowed past the annoying lump that had formed in her throat, licking her lips before beginning her story. There was an almost imperceptible flash in his piercing blue eyes when she did so.

“Very well, then,” she began in a surprisingly steady voice. “It’s a relatively short story, really. A week ago I returned home from an errand in the village and found my uncle slumped in his chair, dead.”

“And why do you believe he was murdered?”

“There was this artifact,
a very valuable artifact
, which was missing from its usual storage place. It was there when I left and when I returned to find my uncle murdered, it was gone.”

“An accusation of murder is serious business, Miss Templeton. What did the local magistrate have to say on the matter?”

Emily snorted softly, waving her hand in dismissal before replying, “He ruled it a death by natural causes, more concerned about the pint of ale waiting for him at the local tavern than getting to the truth.”

His sober mouth quivered at one corner. Was he laughing at her? And how would she know? There was barely a crack in his unbreakable expression. She maintained her prim and proper posture, perched on the edge of the chair, her spine straight as a lamp post. Her ability to keep her composure even under the most dire of circumstances had always been something she’d prided herself on.

“So you believe whoever the thief was that stole the artifact, also killed your uncle?”

“I don’t just
believe
it, Mr. Bellamy, I
know
it,” Emily answered with conviction.

“Was there any sign of a struggle?” he asked. “Anything else out of place, or missing?”

“No, nothing. Well, there was one thing that I found peculiar,” she said. Her brows knit together as she gathered her thoughts. “There was a small red mark on his neck, just below the ear, here.” She placed her fingers on her own neck to demonstrate the area she was describing. “It looked rather like a bee sting.”

His attention seemed to be drawn to her slender neck, to the spot where she’d indicated, and Emily suddenly wondered what it would be like to have him place a kiss there. Somehow, she was certain it would elicit a breathy sigh of pleasure. Good Lord. Where had that come from? What was wrong with her?

“Maybe he
was
stung by a bee and had a reaction.” His voice had lowered an octave. “It has been known to happen.”

That voice of his, rich and hypnotic, stroked her senses in a most alarming fashion. And it was quite distracting the way his mouth vied for her attention. She had to mentally shake herself into concentrating more fully on the discussion. “I know for a fact he is not allergic to bee stings.”

“It’s possible that he was poisoned,” Mr. Bellamy said. “But, it’s also possible he
did
die of natural causes, just as the magistrate ruled.”

“I’m convinced his death was the result of foul play. Will you take the case?” Emily was impatient to hear his answer. Everything – her entire life, it seemed, depended on finding that artifact.

“Have you no other relatives to turn to?” he asked. “No—” He hesitated. “—man in your life - a fiancé perhaps?”

“No. No fiancé.” Several years ago she’d taken measures to prevent such an occurrence, ever since she’d experienced first hand what sort of effect her outward appearance could have on the opposite sex. Her dowdy exterior was a ruse that had so far successfully served its purpose.

And now, at six and twenty, Emily was too independent, too scholarly for a woman, and she had no fortune. And since she’d already decided never to marry, her situation in life didn’t really bother her. Her devotion to her uncle and his research had taken her beyond the age for a coming out, to have a season – and as it were, to find a husband.

Her uncle’s work had kept her so busy she’d had no time to think about marriage. Emily had quite enjoyed working with her uncle – was comforted by the routine, stimulated by the challenge. The rigid discipline of researching a subject gave her a sense of control over her small world, and she’d been in no hurry to give that up to a husband.

Either way, her age, combined with her lack of fortune, eliminated her as marriageable material. Well, she was determined to remedy that situation. The fortune part of it, anyway. The sale of the artifact would bring enough to live in modest comfort for the rest of her life.

There was only the slightest of changes in his expression as he lifted one slashing-black eyebrow. “You are aware that the amount you just agreed to is only for the retainer fee, the remainder due upon completion of the investigation?”

“Yes, of course,” Emily replied without blinking.

He narrowed his eyes. “You will be responsible for the cost of my services, plus any additional expenses incurred along the way. You do have the funds, don’t you?”

“I understand fully. Will you take the case or not?”

He studied her for a moment longer before replying. “Yes, Miss Templeton, I’ll take the case.”

Emily released the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding, brightening at the prospect of finally finding her uncle’s murderer, along with the artifact. “Very good, then.” She held out her gloved hand over the desk toward him.

Mr. Bellamy stared at her outstretched hand as if it were an oddity on display at a traveling carnival. Emily had often seen her uncle and his cronies do the same when entering into an agreement, and felt it was the appropriate thing to do. Belatedly, she realized the gesture was unacceptable, a breach of womanly manners and etiquette. Her cheeks flamed at her mistake.

His face showed no evidence of disapproval, but his hesitation and the way he gazed at her suspended hand, made her want to snatch it back. But then his eyes turned the color of the Egyptian sky at high noon, burning through her kid glove like the hot sands of the desert. Suddenly, the air in the room seemed heavy and stagnant, time halting with a barely whispered hush.

Heat traveled up her arm to the rest of her body, a flash of fire rushing to her belly. And before she could retract the offending appendage, Mr. Bellamy reached over, clasping her hand in a firm grasp. She’d thought his
gaze
warm…his hand was like a branding iron, nearly searing her skin to cinders right through the thin leather. My goodness!

“We have an agreement, Miss Templeton,” Mr. Bellamy said huskily. He released her hand as they both stood, time resuming its normal pattern of forward motion. “I’ll need a list of all your uncle’s acquaintances. Every single one, even if you believe them to be insignificant.”

“Yes, of course, I’ll get on it straight away,” Emily said as she prepared to leave. She felt strangely out of sorts from her unexpected reaction to him. “I thank you, Mr. Bellamy, for agreeing to help me.”

His expression suddenly turned hard and forbidding. “I’m not agreeing to help you, Miss Templeton,” he said in a wintry voice that matched the frigidness of his pale eyes. “I’m agreeing to accept your payment in exchange for services rendered.”

Emily straightened her spine – outwardly this time – in an attempt to make herself appear taller than she really was. The effect was lost, however, since the top of her head barely reached his chin. He seemed quite perturbed at the moment, for reasons she couldn’t even begin to fathom.

She bristled at his sudden change in demeanor, putting her on the defensive, making her feel like she needed to exert some form of authority. “I’m quite aware that you are being paid for your services, Mr. Bellamy and, quite exorbitantly, I might add,” she said curtly. “Just remember that you work for me.” With that, she turned and walked briskly from the room, leaving him staring at her retreating back.

“
Just remember that you work for me.”
Emily nearly groaned aloud. Good Lord, what had come over her? Everything had gone well until she’d blurted that nonsense! Unfortunately, the years she’d spent working with her father and uncle in a male dominated arena had influenced her personality in ways that were not always considered suitable.

She was accustomed to digging in crates, cataloging artifacts, and researching antiquities. She was more comfortable with the many intellectual debates she’d had with Uncle Tobias and his colleagues than was spending time with younger people. On their expedition to Egypt, she’d organized their travel plans, hiring guides and workers, and ordering supplies – everything a male assistant would have done. Her uncle hadn’t seemed to notice – or care – that she was a woman. He collaborated with her as though she was his equal and, in turn, everyone from his learned friends to the lowest worker took their cues from him, treating her with the same respect.

Except one man.

There was one man from her past who hadn’t respected her at all. And it was because of him and his actions that she was now uncomfortable around handsome men. She didn’t trust them – didn’t trust their motives.

Emily was definitely not used to a man like Mr. Bellamy. But she
had
just hired him, so in effect, didn’t that make him…dare she say it – or think it, rather…her employee? He certainly didn’t appear to be the kind of man to be ordered, or controlled.