‘True, but you see, the problem is that it isn’t by him exactly.’
He picked up the offending sample. ‘But the paper– the penmanship– it is very like his.’
She smiled and couldn’t hide her pride, which lit the touchpaper to his temper. ‘It is, isn’t it?’
‘Yours?’
‘I’m afraid so.’
Though he’d told himself he wouldn’t mind, promised her that truth was better than not knowing, he couldn’t help the anger that rose up. ‘Meaning?’
‘I think I… er… created it in Leeds during Lent two years ago– there’s not much acting allowed in Holy Week.’
He’d known this was a possibility; he had merely thought he knew too much to be caught out. He’d set her loose in the library expecting his judgement to be vindicated. His pride was hurt even more than his collection; he’d hated forgery– and all forgers– with a passion, until he met Dora. Now he hated himself.
Taking the fake Dryden from her, he scrunched it up.
‘No!’ Dora made to snatch it from him.
He held it above her head.
She pulled a wry face. ‘It’s valuable– and took a lot of time to make.’
Saying nothing, he marched to the kitchen and threw it into the stove. It blazed and blackened. His fury eased a touch now the embarrassing evidence of his gullibility was destroyed. One less forgery in the world to ensnare a collector.
Dora followed him, an unconvincing penitent. ‘Do you want to take it out of my wages?’
‘I want to take it out of your hide. You know what I feel about forgery.’ He took some deep breaths and counted to ten. They were never going to see eye to eye on this, were they?
‘I wouldn’t mind being spanked if it makes you feel better.’ Her smile was sauce and daring.
Was there anyone else like this woman? It was hard to cling onto temper when his body was leaping in with other suggestions. ‘You’re only saying that to make me forget I’m angry.’
‘Is it working?’
‘I’m afraid to say it is. Where is my professional dignity?’ He backed her to the kitchen dresser and lifted her to the ledge. This emotion had to go somewhere.
‘Hopefully vanished in a cloud of unprofessional lust?’ Her hand brushed downwards from his waistband.
‘Damn you, Dora.’ He groaned at the truth of this as his fingers quested for that place between her thighs that would make them both happy.
‘Jacob!’ she squawked, apparently surprised her well-mannered lover was not feeling so polite this morning. He would happily discompose her in the most enjoyable sort of way in revenge for the humiliation she had dealt him. But they had guests.
‘Don’t come into the kitchen!’ he growled at the door to the dining room which stood ajar.
‘What? Why?’ asked Ruby from the other room.
‘Understood,’ said Alex. ‘Ruby, sit down.’ The door slammed shut.
‘Table!’ Dora breathed.
‘Why?’ Jacob undid his breeches and slid inside her with a strong thrust.
‘I don’t… want to… break any… storage jars– ahs!’
‘Damn the storage jars.’ He drove them both over the edge so that the pot on the end rocked, fell and smashed on the flagstones.
* * *
