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Her hand trailed across his hard chest. “Those jewels we diced for … did they come from the fabled City of Gems?”
“Ratnapura, yes,” he acknowledged. “I go every year.”
“You export diamonds, rubies, and emeralds to England?” she asked breathlessly.
“Yes, but actually I make as much money on the semiprecious stones like beryls, garnets, tourmalines, moonstones, and topaz. They mine every shade of sapphire in the world, blue, indigo, azure, gray, green. A handful of rupees will buy a chest filled with amethysts.”
“It’s not really that far from here, is it?”
He could hear the excitement in her voice and knew she was becoming aroused at the thought of the jewels. He pulled her gown up to cover her bare shoulder. “As the vulture flies it is not far, but you forget the Sabaragamuwa mountain range lies between. Those mountains are filled with thugs. Have you never heard of the practice of thugee? It is the ritual murder of travelers. Ratnapura is one of the most evil cities on earth. It is inhabited solely by thieves, murderers, and harlots. I forbid you to go there, Eve.”
She wondered how he could read her thoughts so easily. He was too wise in the way of women. She had been both attracted and repelled by his overt maleness for years. He drew her to her feet and cupped her face so that he could look into her eyes. “Promise me you won’t go and I’ll cover you with jewels.”
She swallowed hard. How could she resist such an offer? Here was her big chance. She must convince him she wanted him and not the jewels.
“Come to me tomorrow night?” she pleaded prettily, hating him for making her beg.
“I’ll try,” he said, half promising, half evading her plea.
Evelyn was not the only Lamb who had designs upon Savage’s fortune. Antonia checked her appearance in the cheval glass before she left her chamber. Her riding skirt and jacket were black as her period of mourning demanded, but to soften the severity her shirt and stock were snowy white muslin frilled with frothy lace. Tilted over one arched brow a small, saucy hat sat atop a powdered wig with one fat curl falling to her shoulder.
She saluted her elegant image with the tip of her riding crop, clicked the heels of her riding boots together, and set off like a soldier on campaign. Her destination was Edenwood at Gravesend, and since she rode alone and need not pay lip service to convention, she set a bruising pace and covered the dozen miles in record time.
James Wyatt, his shirtsleeves rolled up, recognized her immediately and strode from the portico to help her dismount. “Lady Antonia, I hoped you would pay us another visit.”
She smiled up into his intelligent eyes with genuine admiration. “I’m drawn to Edenwood as if it were a lode-stone. What you are creating here fascinates me. I’ve even begun dreaming about it.” She dimpled.
She took back her hand and they walked together toward the mansion.
“I am vastly flattered, ma’am. Perhaps you can help me decide upon one or two things. Your dreams might just become realities.”
“’tis I who am flattered, Mr. Wyatt. I am brimful of ideas.”
He was utterly charmed by the rapt attention she gave him. “I would guess you prefer elegance to grandeur.”
“I do, sir, but I’d bet his last rupee Mr. Savage prefers grandeur. I believe Edenwood should have both and when you think on it, there is no earthly reason why it should not,” she said gaily, planting her seeds.
He showed her the west front portico. The covered colonnade had classical columns that soared elegantly heavenward.
“Oh, it’s magnificent, but wouldn’t it be absolutely breathtaking if you extended it into a semicircular terrace with a stone balustrade? Dotted about the rail could be urns overflowing with flowers.”
“You paint such a vivid picture, I can see it,” Wyatt agreed. “I could use Norfolk stone with its soft, variegated earth tones.”
Antonia nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, Norfolk stone for the balusters and rail, but the terrace itself must be marble. Since you’ve designed a Roman portico, the terrace must be imported Italian—that exquisitely veined marble that comes in so many beautiful shades. I suggest a pale biscuit veined with a deep, tawny umber.” Though the cost would be almost prohibitive, the picture she painted was irresistible.
Inside the house Antonia continued with her ultraexpensive suggestions. “Italian marble of a different hue could be used in the front hall. Mr. Savage is a nabob and will no doubt wish to display his trophies in the entrance hall—elephant or Bengal tiger perhaps. I would suggest something dramatic. White with black veins or vice versa, perhaps.”
“I think you’ve convinced me,” James Wyatt said indulgently. “Come, I want to show you the plasterwork in some of the salons and bedchambers.”
Antonia stood gazing up at the exquisite plasterwork that encircled the room just where the walls met the high ceiling. It was on the tip of her tongue to suggest that fourteen-carat gold should be applied, but the pure classical beauty of the white-upon-white would have been ruined, if gilded. She bit her tongue and determined to find somewhere else for the expensive giltwork. Her eyes widened as James Wyatt took her into what would be a bathing room.
“Bathing rooms were one of Mr. Savage’s few specific requirements.”
This one was next to the master bedchamber on the top floor. Light and sunshine spilled down through what seemed to be a glass ceiling.
“This is called a skylight. It has been designed into larger buildings like museums and palaces, but I don’t believe it has been used in a private home before.”
There was a sunken bath in the center of the room large enough for swimming, with steps leading down from two sides. Crates of tiles were stacked about the walls in a delicate shade between aqua-blue and seafoam-green.
