Free Second Sight by Amanda Quick

tightly in her right hand. “Actually, I made the choice for sentimental reasons.”
    His dark brows rose. “Indeed? But I thought you just implied that there was no need to conceal anything of a personal nature.
    “It was your decision to employ me to photograph the collection at Arcane House. The generous fee that I received for that project allowed us to open our gallery here in London. I thought that taking your name would be a tribute as it were.”
    “A tribute.”
    “A very private, very personal one.” she emphasized. “No one outside the family knows about it.”
    “I see. I can’t recall that anyone has ever before seen fit to honor me for merely having seen to it that a bill was paid in advance.”
    His low, dark, resonant voice sent a chill of awareness through her. He did not sound amused.
    She put the pen down on the blotter, sat forward and folded her hands. “Mr. Jones, please believe me when I tell you that I sincerely regret this entire situation, I am very much aware that I had absolutely no right to appropriate your surname.”
    “
Appropriate
is an interesting word under the circumstances.”
    “However,” she said, plowing on, “I must point out that the problem that appears to have arisen here would never have occurred in the first place if you had refrained from giving a somewhat detailed interview to that correspondent from
The Flying Intelligencer.”
    “Otford?”
    “May I ask why you spoke with him? If you had kept quiet, we could have passed this off with no one being the wiser. There are a number of Joneses in the world. No one would have made a connection between the two of us.”
    “Unfortunately I fear we cannot depend upon that assumption.”
    “Don’t be ridiculous.” She unclasped her hands and spread them wide. “If you had not spoken to the press no one would have paid the least attention to a coincidence in names. Unfortunately, you saw fit to declare to that reporter that you were looking forward with
fervent enthusiasm
to being reunited with your wife,
the photographer
.”
    He nodded. “Yes, I believe I did say something to that effect.”
    “No offense, sir, but I must ask you why, in the name of all that is sane and reasonable, you did such a featherbrained, mutton-headed, doltish thing? Really, what were you thinking?”
    He studied her for a moment. Then he crossed the room to stand directly in front of her, looming over the desk in a most unsettling manner.
    “I was thinking, Mrs. Jones, that you have greatly complicated my life and in the process quite possibly put yourself in mortal danger.
That
is what I was thinking.”
    She sat back very quickly. “I don’t understand.”
    “Is it the word
complicated
or the word
danger
that defeats you?”
    Her cheeks burned. “I fully comprehend the meaning of the word complicated, especially given the context.”
    “Excellent. We are making some progress.”
    She frowned. “What is this about my being in danger?”
    “That aspect of the matter is also complicated.”
    She flattened her shaking hands on the blotter. “Perhaps you would be so good as to explain yourself, sir.”
    He exhaled heavily, turned and walked back toward the window. “I will try, although it will take some time.”
    “I suggest you go straight to the heart of the matter.”
    He stopped and looked out into the tiny garden. “Do you recall the night you departed Arcane House via the secret tunnel?”
    “I am hardly likely to forget the incident.” A thought struck her. “Which reminds me, since you are obviously alive, who was the man whose body was found in the museum? The one the housekeeper and gardener identified as Gabriel Jones.”
    “He was one of the intruders you spotted moving through the woods that night. I regret to say the other one got away, although he did not succeed in making off with the relic that he and his companion had planned to steal. The artifact was quite heavy, you see. It would have required two men to