“Maybe.”

“Only maybe?”

“Temporarily. Until the next lie.”

“Maybe I won’t tell another lie tonight. Maybe I’ll be so virtuous, you’ll nominate me for sainthood.”

“Refraining from deception for one night is hardly virtue.”

“Mm-hmm. Expert on virtue, are you?”

“Expert on several things, but virtue isn’t one.”

“Happy to hear it,” he said with a conspiratorial grin. “You know, I always thought the wicked deserved their own sort of canonization. It’s tough being immoral. Requires skill and perseverance.”

“And a certain amount of natural talent, I’d think.”

“Most definitely. I like to believe I was born bad. Shifts the burden of blame to my bloodline.”

She chuckled softly.

“Fan,” he murmured in Swedish. “You should do that more often.”

The scent of laundry starch wafted when he lifted his good hand to her, slowly. The tips of his fingers traced the petals of the lily at her ear, sending a cascade of tremors through her hair, across her scalp, down her neck. It lit up her nerves and cells and spread like wildfire.

Pleasure.

She barely recognized the feeling. All her muscles tightened to hold back a shudder. Good God, it wasn’t even a real touch and she was drowning in it. Perhaps it was halfway real, because she realized he was still holding her hand. Or she was holding his. Someone was gripping harder. It might’ve been her.

His head dipped lower. He inhaled the blossom and whispered, “Intoxicating.”

He was so close. Close enough for her to catch a faint note of vanilla in his pomade. Close enough to shield her bare arms from the cool night air. Close enough that the lapel of his jacket brushed against her nipples.

Her breath caught as another wave of tremulous pleasure waterfalled over her skin, and she was drowning again. So very near. She wanted to lean her cheek against his. Wanted his mouth on—

A nearby booming voice tore into her thoughts.

“Dinner is served in ten minutes, ladies and gentlemen.”

SEVEN

WITH A START, HADLEY dropped Lowe’s hand and looked around. Across the courtyard, a servant held a door open and beckoned the stragglers.

The loss of Lowe’s warmth was acute and nearly painful to her confused body. Her mind slogged to catch up. “We should . . . dinner,” Hadley said dumbly.

He cleared his throat. “Yes, of course.”

“I was supposed to be helping Father with . . .” Helping with what? Why wasn’t her brain working properly?

“Introductions,” he offered helpfully.

“Right.” Introductions. Yes. Something to focus on. Good.

They shuffled inside the hall, a short distance that seemed to take years to traverse. In a daze, she managed to introduce him to a few board members and one of the other curators before they were forced to hunt for their place cards and sit down for dinner. Oliver was seated to her left and Lowe was across from her, next to her father. She guiltily kept her eyes on the silver and china, as if nearby diners could guess what had recently transpired in the courtyard.

“Say, are you all right?” Oliver murmured, not once, but twice. Yes, yes. Fine. Was he still asking? The tone of his voice sounded like her father’s nagging.

The soup arrived, but she was still in a trance. And when she dared look at Lowe, his waiting, heavy stare sent her heart racing again.

When the fish course was being cleared, her father patted along his place setting, and his beleaguered assistant emerged from the shadows to help. Father then dinged his spoon on his water glass until conversation sputtered to a halt. “Many thanks to the Widow Flood for opening up her lovely home for us this evening,” he announced. Cheers and hurrahs circled the tables. “This night is always a special time for us each year, not just because many of you are graciously opening your pocketbooks for your annual tax break—I mean donation to our fine museum.”

Laughter echoed off the marble walls.

“But it’s also a time for us to see old friends. To reflect on what we’ve accomplished this year, and to share our hopes for the coming one. And as you all know, my health is not what it once was. Now, now. Don’t pity me. I’m not at death’s door yet. But I am old and tired, and I have given the antiquities department twenty-five good years. It’s time to let someone younger and brighter have a crack at it.”

Hadley’s pulse doubled. The haze lifted from her brain. Was her father announcing his replacement tonight, right here, in front of the board of trustees and the director? She’d expected him to wait until next month’s board meeting, but he was doing it now.

Oh, God. A speech would be expected. Nothing long, but she wasn’t prepared to say anything in front of these people. It was a bittersweet surprise, but a thrilling one. All she had to do was say a few words and be gracious, and perhaps try not to gloat at George, who was whispering something to one of the patron’s wives down the table.

Hadley glanced at Lowe and felt her cheeks heat. Why she wanted his respect, she couldn’t say. Silly, really, but she was glad he was here to see this. All her hard work would finally be recognized.

Her father coughed before continuing. “As all of you know by now, Mr. Lowe Magnusson has just returned from a well-publicized excavation in Philae.” Hold on. Why was he talking about Lowe? “He has graciously offered to give the museum an exclusive opportunity to bid on the Philae finds.”