A Knight in Central Park(18)
At first he hardly noticed Alexandra move closer, but then her chin brushed against his arm and strands of long curly hair fell across his fingers. He’d never seen redder hair in all his life. Red wasn’t even the right word to describe the color. Fiery orange with copper highlights would be a more accurate description.
As he turned the pages, a sweet scent filled his senses, making it difficult to focus on what he was doing. “What is that smell?”
“’Tis jasmine,” Alexandra said, inhaling deeply. “A wondrous sweet-smelling flower, is it not?”
“Nice.”
“Verily I could not resist the temptation to pick them from your winter garden.”
Both he and Shelly grimaced. Cantankerous Mrs. Peacock next door treated her plants like children. She even had a special heated glass house for the plants she called “her babies.”
“Would you look at that!” Alexandra blurted, pointing to one of the pictures.
Mrs. Peacock was quickly forgotten.
“’Tis the same candlestick I saw in Sir Richard’s possession upon one of his visits to our manor. He wished to give it to my sister, but I refused in her name.”
Joe took a closer look at the candlestick. “You’ve seen this? Are you sure?” The metalwork was incredibly detailed and combined both Canterbury and Winchester stylistic elements.
“Aye. And that cross,” she said, pointing to another picture on the opposite page, “’Tis worn around the neck of the same man who owns the castle, the man you are to do battle with.”
Joe ignored her talk of battle and pointed a finger at the picture. “Are you absolutely certain this is the same cross?”
She nodded. “’Tis matching in design and craftsmanship.”
“When was the last time you actually saw Richard wearing it?”
“Many months ago.”
Joe rubbed his temples, tried to think more clearly. His collection of theories and findings on the Myths and History in Four Ancient Civilizations was nearly finished. For years now, to the detriment of all else, he’d spent endless hours studying journals, hoping to find the elixir, the one detail or tidbit that could guarantee him membership in the Academy. If he could get his hands on either one of these lost treasures...
“Professor, are you okay?”
The concern in Shelly’s voice removed him from his thoughts. “I’m fine.” His gaze fell on Alexandra. “Recognize anything else?” He pushed the binder in front of her, watched her skim over the pictures, turning each page with a gentle touch. Seconds felt like hours. Midway through his binder, her face brightened. “I have never seen these sculptures of The Last Judgment.”
He frowned.
“But these ivory carvings and a few of those tapestries,” she said, pointing to the previous page, “could easily be traded for two rabbits and a lean pig on market day.”
Peering into her eyes, he tried to define what he saw there. Was Alexandra Dunn a con artist? He always prided himself in his ability to spot a fraud. Before becoming a professor at NYU, he acquired ancient art for various museums in and about New York, and before that, Washington DC. On more than one occasion he had turned away fraudulent dealers who tried to sell counterfeit artwork.
But Alexandra wasn’t selling anything. And she didn’t show any of the usual signs of being a swindler. Not once had she taken her gaze from his when he questioned her. Her voice was steady and confident.
Whether Alexandra had truly seen these lost treasures had yet to be determined, but judging by the sincerity in her voice and in her eyes, it was obvious she believed she had. “Can you take me to Richard and show me either of these items?” he asked calmly, feeling anything but. The idea of actually beholding one of these treasures, made his blood pump rapidly through his veins.
A devilish smile tugged at the corners of Alexandra’s expressive green eyes. She leaned toward him, her face inches from his, and said, “Upon your agreement to rid my family of Sir Richard and his men, I will not only show you these lost treasures, I will help you to gain possession of them.”
With that said, she crossed her arms over her chest, and beamed, nearly taking his breath away. What was it about Alexandra that made him feel so darn light-hearted? He’d felt it last night when he watched her sleep...and now again. He couldn’t recall the last time he’d actually ached for a woman. In fact, he was almost sure he never had before.
“When he gets that faraway look of his,” Shelly informed Alexandra, “it usually means he’s pondering the emergence of Assyria, or the history of the Mediterranean world.”