Page 41 of His Revelation
“Forbidden and Delightful Arts,”he supplied helpfully as they waited to cross the street.
Right. She took a bracing breath. “I had no idea that existed. I only remember?—”
“From the time you spent reading to blind Mr. Ferguson?”
She risked a glance, wondering at his tone. Was this one of the things he was surprised by when it came to her? “He was not blind, but yes. I remember there being a box of Oliphant antiquities, and I was hoping some of the older manuscripts were still available.”
Lunzie snorted. “Well, the one that’s left is a bloody marvel.” He glanced down at her for a brief moment. “Why would ye want it? Just for the novelty?”
Tiffany frowned, and realized her irritation at him had driven away all thoughts of nervousness when it came to the possibility of acquiring the manuscript.
“There is a wealthy lady I know,” she finally said when they reached the other side of the street, “who is interested in collecting artifacts from our clan’s past, and is willing to pay handsomely. She is particularly interested in manuscripts, and knowing her, I suspect she would happily pay me a fortune for such a wicked manuscript, written by her ancestress.”
Somewhere around the second sentence, Lunzie had stiffened, then slowed to a stop there on the sidewalk, pulling her to a halt to finish her explanation. He was staring down at her intently,touching only her arm, his jaw working as if he were trying to decide what to say.
Finally, he ground out, “And ye have need of that money, I suppose?”
Why did his sarcastic tone make her stomach feel irritable?
“My sister does,” she snapped, wanting to defend herself. But then her irritation increased, realizing she’d been worried about his opinion of her.
An opinion he’d already admitted was negative.
How could he think so poorly of me, and do what he did last night?
Or had he done thatbecausehe thought poorly of her? Oh God in heaven, her insides—emotions and thoughts—were all a jumble. Her gaze dropped to his beard, because the unkempt bush was easier to look at than his eyes—perhaps she could claim she was looking for squirrels or missing dachshunds in its depths—and then to his chest.
Which is how she knew when he exhaled, really more of a sigh, and turned back toward the shop. “Well then, let us get ye yer manuscript.”
Bonnie’s. Had he not heard her when she’d said it was for Bonnie? Or had he not believed her?
The bell tinkled again as they stepped intoThe Curios Cabinet, and the tall, lanky man behind the counter looked up, blinking behind thick spectacles. “Yes?” he sneered. “May I help you?”
If this was Brother Jimmy, he was nothing like his welcoming sister or jolly father. Tiffany took a deep, shuddering breath,trying to push aside her early feelings to focus on this interaction, but Lunzie squeezed her arm. When she glanced at him, he sent her a small smile.
At least shethoughthe did. Good heavens, that beard certainly was atrocious, was it not?
“My good sir, we were here yesterday afternoon when ye were indisposed,” Lunzie launched into the explanation, tugging Tiffany toward the counter. “Yer sister showed us an intriguing little manuscript. Medieval. Horrible condition, quite in disrepair.”
“Oh yes, the Oliphant manuscript.” The man sniffed, then bent and picked up a small wooden box and placed it on the counter. “I had it moved to this carrying case for you, since Sister Mary thought you’d return. But don’t try to belittle it, sir, I know its worth.”
Oh, is that why Lunzie had tried to diminish how much she wanted—needed—it? Perhaps he was the better one to do the negotiating here, and she ought to be pleased he took control the way he did.
In fact, Lunzie had stepped up to the counter, a bemused Tiffany following beside him, to haggle with the man. He really was good at this sort of thing, wasn’t he? When she’d met him, he was dirty and hungry, begging for a place to stay and a bite to eat. But she would never guess that now; her Lunzie was just as haughty and imperious as the shopkeeper, and knew all the right things to say to haggle.
Unfortunately, it didn’t seem to be working.
The more the men argued over the worth of the manuscript, the deeper the pit in Tiffany’s stomach grew. It seemed that eachtime Lunzie tried to diminish its worth, he was saying something abouther. He’d already admitted to his low opinion of her, and yet he was doing his utmost to secure the manuscript for her? But when the two men began to debate the difference between worth and cost, Tiffany had had enough.
She tugged on his arm.
“That is enough, Laird Gaberlunzie,” she said softly.
He turned a surprised look her way. “What do ye mean? I almost have him argued down to?—”
“You havenosuch thing, sir,” the shopkeeper sniffed. “I know what I have and what I can get for it!”
“Lunzie.” She sighed and tipped her head toward the door. “It is no use.” Was she giving up because she didn’t think there was a chance at the manuscript? Or because of how she felt, deep in her stomach. “I cannot afford the cost, either way.”
