Free Bound by Your Touch by Meredith Duran Page A

amusement today. His incompetence endangered Papa. Mr. Hartnett would have realized that the forgery was not deliberately passed to him, but Sanburne had no cause for such confidence. If he made the news public, Papa's clients would abandon him. Worse yet, Papa's colleagues might begin to look on him with suspicion. Farewell, hopes of funding! His project could be delayed indefinitely. Not to mention, of course, the threat to Ana. A debutantes reputation was so fragile. What would Mr. Pagett's family say, if it were suggested that her father engaged in criminal activities?
    Her fingers had set up a nervous tattoo on the counter. She flattened them. "You will send the rest of Hart-nett's shipment to me at once, I'm afraid I no longer, feel confident of their safety here. And in the future, you alone will handle our shipments—provided, of course, that my father decides to retain your services."
    He sighed heavily. "Aye, miss. It hurts me to hear it, but I reckon I understand."
    "I should hope so. And now I will wire my father about this matter." The prospect afforded her a measure of calm. "No doubt one of his workers, or perhaps a dockworker in Cairo, is responsible for this switch. Which means the real stela is on sale in some bazaar right now—at a horrible discount, I might add!"
    "As you say."
    She looked narrowly at him. "You sound doubtful, sir.
    Carnelly shrugged. "I know your father as an honest man. But this is a bad business, Miss Boyce. Doesn't reflect well on me, either."
    Her hand slapped against the counter. "I certainly hope you're not implying that my father had a role in it!"
    "Of course not," he said hastily.
    "Because to think he would risk his reputation by trafficking in—in fraudulent material is beyond outra-geous!
    "I expect so," Carnelly muttered. "I humbly apologize, miss. I intended no offense."
    "I can't imagine what else you might have meant by it, then. Recall that this is my father you speak of, not some tomb raider like Overton or Colby. Henry Boyce is a scholar. He trades to support his work, not his bank account—and that work means everything to him! If you will only consider the separation he must endure from his own family, sometimes for years at a stretch—" She caught herself; she had started to raise her voice. "Well," she said, flustered. "I apologize for my... vigor. But it must be clear to you that he would never risk his reputation or his legacy—or the happiness of his family, for that matter—on such criminal shenanigans."
    "No, miss." Carnelly pulled at a ginger ringlet. "I'm right chastened. Mr. Boyce is a fine man, and don't I know it." But his face twisted in some unhappy thought.
    "Then what disturbs you? Be frank with me, please."
    "Nothing, only . .. there's still the matter of his lordship. I can't rightly figure what happened to the pieces he was owed. No doubt one of Colby's clients is sitting on them, having a good laugh at my expense. Oh, damn Wilkins! Begging your pardon, miss."
    She waved away his language. Here was an opportunity to put things right with Sanburne and hush his evil mouth up. "Give me the viscounts direction. I will see his lordship recompensed for the stela."
    Carnelly brightened. "Why, thankee, miss, that's right kind of you. I expect he will be a bit more cheerful at the sight of a pretty girl on his doorstep."
    She scowled to disguise the flutter of pleasure that this praise occasioned. Oh, vanity! She could not help it. She did not receive many compliments, but Carnelly always had a kind word for her. No doubt he thought it good business practice to flatter her: she mustn't take him seriously. "Thank you," she said, and pretended she meant the remark in response to the scribbled address he handed her. "I will send a note when I have dealt with the viscount."

    Chapter Four

    J ames rose four hours after he'd fallen into bed. Displeased to discover that the body was not, at present, as willing as the mind, he dismissed his valet and crossed