“Pshaw.” He slowly lowered himself into a kneeling position, moving so gingerly, his face twisted into such a grimace, Philip had to clench his teeth to keep from laughing.
“There,” Father said, his voice tinged with pride when he’d accomplished the task.
“Excellent. Just move carefully so as not to crush any fragments.”
While they worked, gently setting broken pieces of various colors on the sheet, Philip answered his father’s myriad questions regarding the rugs, furniture, silks, and other goods he’d brought from abroad for their joint importing business venture. More than an hour of surprisingly companionable conversation had passed when Father said, “Look what I found under this crate. It looks much too new to be one of your artifacts. Indeed, it looks very much like the one I carry.”
Philip turned. A knife dangled between Father’s fingers, its shiny, lethal blade reflecting the morning sunlight streaming through the windows. Philip reached out, and his father carefully passed him the handle.
“This is most likely the assailant’s knife. Edward said the bastard lost it during their scuffle.” Philip examined the piece but could not discern any distinguishing marks. It was simply a common boot knife. Most men he knew, himself included, carried one just like it-Andrew, Edward, Bakari, and, as he’d just learned, his father.
Slipping the knife into his own boot, Philip said, “I’ll hand this over to the magistrate.” He resumed the painstaking task of gathering the pottery fragments. They were nearly finished when the creak of the warehouse door announced someone’s arrival. “Lord Greybourne, are you here?”
His body instantly tightened at the sound of Meredith’s smoky, feminine voice, and he swallowed the humorless sound that rose in his throat. What defense could he ever wage, what prayer of restraint could he hope to achieve, against a woman who affected him so with merely her voice?
“I’m here,” he said, wincing at the strained, husky note in his own voice. Turning to his father, he said, “Miss Chilton-Grizedale.” The sound of a heavier, scraping tread reached his ears. “Accompanied by her butler, Albert Goddard.” Who loves her.
Both Philip and his father rose, and he pressed his lips together to keep from grinning at the dirt staining the knees of Father’s formerly pristine breeches. He’d never seen his father looking so untidy. Yet in spite of his ruined attire, satisfaction for a job accomplished gleamed in Father’s eyes. Seconds later Meredith and Goddard appeared around the corner. His gaze locked with Meredith’s, and for the barest instant a knowing, intimate look flared in her eyes. Then, as if a curtain shrouded her expression, her eyes filled with a cool indifference that set his teeth on edge.
Philip’s gaze flicked to Goddard, who stood next to Meredith like a knight errant guarding his lady, glaring at Philip. If Philip weren’t grateful to the young man for protecting Meredith, he’d most likely be highly annoyed at the visual daggers being thrown in his direction. He quickly introduced Father and Goddard. His father then made Meredith a formal bow.
“You are to be congratulated, Miss Chilton-Grizedale,” Father said. “Last evening’s party produced the desired results.”
“I’m not certain I know what you mean, my lord.”
“The goal was to find a suitable bride for my son. He told me this morning that one particular young lady made quite an impression on him. I’ve every confidence the wedding will take place on the twenty-second as we’d hoped.”
Twin crimson flags rose on Meredith’s cheeks. Her gaze flew to Philip’s. Myriad expressions flashed in her eyes, so rapidly he couldn’t read them. Confusion? Concern? Dismay?
“I’m happy to hear it, my lord,” she said, her voice tight. She averted her gaze, panning over the fragments spread out on the sheets. “Oh, dear.” Once again she looked at Philip, this time her eyes filled with distress. “These were broken last night?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“I’m so sorry. It hurts me to see this-I cannot even fathom how heartbreaking it is for you. You must be sick over the loss.”
Her sympathetic commiseration washed over him like a warm, soothing rain, overwhelming him with the desire to draw her into his arms. Not, of course, that he would have forgotten himself in such a way, but even if he had, he was certain the scowling Goddard would have happily reminded him-with his fists.
“How can we help?” she asked.
He explained the procedure, adding, “I think we’ve collected most of the broken pieces. Once we’re finished, we can start on the opened crates to see if anything is missing.” Guessing that Goddard might find it painful to crawl about on his bad leg, but suspecting the young man would rather die than admit as much, Philip said to him, “I haven’t as yet had the opportunity to look around the rest of the warehouse to see if anything else might have been disturbed. Care to join me?”
A muscle jerked in Goddard’s jaw, and Philip could almost read his thoughts. He was damning his physical limitations that had prompted Philip’s offer, knowing exactly why Philip had made the suggestion, and resenting the hell out of it. Finally Goddard nodded.
Philip slowly led the way through the labyrinth of crates, deliberately moving away from the area where Meredith and his father worked. When he was assured they were far enough away not to be overheard, he turned to face Goddard.
“You have something to say to me.” It was a statement rather than a question.
A dull flush crept over the young man’s face. Reaching out one hand to balance himself, he drew himself up to his full height and glared at Philip. “I don’t like the way ye look at her.”
Philip didn’t pretend to misunderstand. Damn it, he knew how he looked at her. And in all fairness, he couldn’t blame Goddard. Philip would feel precisely the same way about any other man who looked at Meredith with the desire he knew he himself was unable to hide. And he also couldn’t stop the sympathy coursing through him. He had no wish to stomp upon Goddard’s emotions. While he hadn’t suffered from a physical affliction as serious as Goddard’s, he’d been physically awkward, clumsy, and pudgy until he reached his majority. He recalled the pain all too well.
Yet he knew that while Meredith’s feelings for Goddard ran deep, she was not in love with him. She wasn’t the sort of woman who would kiss him as she had if her heart belonged to another man. What exactly was the nature of their relationship?
Keeping his gaze steady on Goddard, Philip said quietly, “And I can tell by the way you look at her that you love her.”
“Damned right I do, and that gives me certain rights. Like warnin‘ off fancy blokes what look at her like she’s some tasty morsel to sample, then spit aside when the flavor’s gone.”
“That is not my intention.”
“Is that so?” Goddard stuck out his jaw at a belligerent angle. “What exactly are yer intentions, then?”
“That is personal, between Meredith and me. But, knowing how you feel about her, I want to assure you that I… care for her. And would do nothing to hurt her.”
“Ye already have, you and yer bloody curse. Her reputation is everything to her. Ye’ve already damaged her business. And the way ye look at her makes it obvious ye think to ruin her as well.” Goddard’s lips curled back in a sneer. “Ye high-and-mighty lords think that any piece that catches yer fancy is fair game for yer attentions. But Miss Merrie’s too smart to fall victim to that. She’s run her whole life from it.”
“What does that mean? Run her whole life from what?”
Something flashed in Goddard’s eyes, something that clearly indicated he’d said too much, and he pressed his lips together. When it became clear Goddard wasn’t going to elaborate, Philip asked, “And how do you know that your feelings won’t get the better of you, won’t lead you to do something that could compromise her?”