“You mean to just suggest it to him, or to actually do it, if he agrees?”
A small shrug. “If it came to it, I could certainly schedule an audience with the curator of the museum through Wester Ross.”
The fine hairs had risen on his nape. If the pieces were on a train, they were mobile. Anything in transit was vulnerable. He knew an opportunity when he saw one even if the use of it was yet unclear.
“It is a good idea,” he said evenly.
“Wonderful.” She took one of his frontline pawns with one of hers and gave him another meaningless glance. “I’m afraid I must go now. Shall we play another day?”
He suppressed the urge to put his hand on top of hers to keep her from getting up and leaving. She was still hurt, and he couldn’t fix it, not while her chaperone was staring on, anyway. With a tight smile, he bid her a good day. On her way out, she stopped to chat with a white-haired, rosy-faced fellow who sat reading a book in a chair near the entrance, and the curve of her cheek said she was smiling throughout the conversation. A hot stab of irritation went through Elias, and he realized he was glaring at an old man. For some time after she had left, he kept sitting at the little table, frustration prickling under his skin like an itch he couldn’t reach for scratching. Obviously, his desire to make up with her went far beyond general courtesy. He still wanted her. Bury it, forget it. For now, he had to endure her assistance, which grated on him enough—his instinct was to be of use to her, not put her to work—but soon, they would part. Then he would find himself a lover, one with a wide smile and richly perfumed hair, and he’d drown out the memories by focusing on his business.
She returned the following day, wearing a plain green cotton dress and a purposeful expression.
“I received a note from Leighton this morning,” she told him. “He is joining us for dinner here on Thursday. They will want to look at the artifacts.”
Thursday. The day after tomorrow. This was good news.
“Let us discuss the exhibition during the dinner,” he said after she had taken her seat. “After dinner, Wester Ross could tell Leighton that we found that some of the pieces are not properly licensed. Then, I suggest possibilities for a return.”
Lady Catriona kept her gaze on the board, where their armies were on the cusp of serious mingling. “We shall do that,” she said.
After a pawn move each, he did steal her knight with the previously well-positioned bishop. She avenged the knight by unleashing her queen for the first time. The maneuvers took them over twenty minutes, during which her delicate scent distracted him, and then she again put an end to it and excused herself for the day—as though she could only bear him in small doses. She did turn back to him as if on second thoughts.
“Mr. Leighton will bring his niece, a Miss Regina,” she said. “Apparently, she’s an avid amateur archaeologist.”
“Ya Allah,” he muttered.
The corners of her mouth quirked. “I thought I’d warn you.”
He chanced it, then. “Stay for another move,” he said. “We will not finish this game otherwise. I might well be gone next week.”
A quietness came over her. “Ah,” she said. “I’m afraid I can’t.”
“Your book,” he said. “You are working on it?”
“No. It’s the suffrage business. I ought to be back at my desk and contemplate tactics.”
“I see.”
“Nothing but contrarian replies to my letters so far, if the gentlemen deign to reply at all.” She had to be frustrated indeed to confide in him of all people instead of stalking off.
“The victory will be yours,” he said.
Her lips parted, as though his encouragement had taken her by surprise. “You sound rather certain.”
“You make good decisions,” he said, and nodded at the board. “Many would be checkmated by now.”
She made a small, cynical sound, like an mmm. “Wouldn’t it be lovely if the real world were a chess game,” she said. “All black and white and logical.”
“I think that would be terrible,” he said.
“Well, I’m glad I don’t bore you,” she said with a last glance at the table. “I haven’t played since boarding school.”
“Then you are, unsurprisingly, greatly talented.”
She tilted her head to the side, dismissing it. “What is chess other than memorizing patterns.”
“It’s a lot of patterns,” he said mildly. “Thousands, in fact.”
Her false smile was back in place. “True. But I find we always gravitate toward playing the same tried and tested games. Unfortunately, I can’t seem to forget a pattern once I have seen it. Good day, Mr. Khoury.”
Chapter 17
Elias disliked Mr. Leighton on sight. There was nothing particularly offensive about the man’s appearance to merit this reaction; Leighton had a perfectly inconspicuous middle-aged English face, thin lips, thin nose, tufty sideburns. A remarkably fine coat hung off his wiry build. His train from Birmingham had arrived with a two-hour delay, which meant they couldn’t take a tour of the artifacts as the dinner was about to begin, but this was hardly the man’s fault. It’s his eyes, Elias decided while they shook hands; they stood a smidgen too closely together and held a mocking anticipation, as if anything could be a joke.
“It’s such a shame that our train was delayed,” said Miss Regina, the niece. She was a pretty brunette with a wealthy girl’s pearlescent complexion, her alert expression indicating a bright mind. “I was rather looking forward to seeing the pieces.”
“It’s a pity,” said Leighton, not sounding particularly perturbed. “Our Syrian expert here shall have to tell us all about them instead.”
He smiled at Elias, revealing teeth with brown tea stains. Above the college quadrangle walls, unruly clouds were piling high into the sky; already, an evening chill lay in the air, as if summer had briefly run out of breath.
“If you please,” Elias said, and gestured toward Hall. Leighton fell into step with him, as Miss Regina seemed to have attached herself to Catriona. The women followed them closely.
“I am such an admirer of yours,” came Regina’s young voice. “I devoured your handbook on Egyptian hieroglyphs. Oh, I know it is published under your father’s name, but rumor has it that it’s all from your pen.”
Catriona’s reply was too soft to decipher.
“I aspire to follow in your footsteps,” Regina went on. “If my parents allowed me to come up to Oxford, I should be the happiest woman in England—I can feel my spirits rising just by looking at these marvelous old buildings!”
Next to Elias, Mr. Leighton chuckled. “My niece is very passionate about her education,” he explained. “I daresay she’s keener on seeing my latest acquisitions than I am.”
Elias slowed. “You haven’t seen the pieces yet?”
“I haven’t,” replied Leighton. “They were in crates when they arrived, and I didn’t stay for the unpacking. Except for the bulls—splendid creatures.”