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She harbored no hope or illusions that Ravenwood might cease being the most infuriating numbskull known to man, and go back to being her devoted childhood companion.
The one with the devilish grin. The one who loved her forher.
The warrior goddess on the copper coin that lay against her breastbone was a talisman protecting her from further heartache.
He’s not Daniel, the boy who stole your heart.
He’s Ravenwood, the man who broke it.
Her sworn rival. A cold iron gate on a wintry day that could only end in torment.
And that was why she wouldn’t even glance at him the rest of the afternoon.
She must stay intent on her mission.
As soon as the meeting began, she’d find a pretext to slip out of the room and go to the ground-floor library where she could examine the stone undisturbed. It should only take a short time to compare the hieroglyphics on the map in her pocket with the script on the stone.
“You know what they say about antiquarians, don’t you?” Ravenwood’s rich tones ended her reverie. “We like it dirty,” he said with a throaty chuckle.
Upending the flask over his lips he drained the last drops. “Have you gents heard the one about the archaeologist and the bone—” he began, but Sir Malcolm Penny, president of the Society, arrived before Ravenwood could regale his adoring public with more bawdy archaeological humor.
Seeing the two men together reminded Indy of the terrible day when Sir Malcolm had arrived to relay the news of the Duke of Ravenwood’s death.
“Gentlemen, order please,” said Sir Malcolm, taking his seat of honor at the raised table in the front of the room. The secretary seated behind him readied his paper and pens.
Indy shivered, and not because of Ravenwood’s proximity this time. She was about to become the very first female to attend an antiquarian meeting. A historic first, and no one even knew.
How she wished she could lord it over Ravenwood.
She glanced at him.
Hellfire.He was staring directly at her.
She ducked her head behind the back of the bench in front of her.
Ohthatwasn’t obvious.
Willing herself to appear casual and disinterested, she relaxed in her seat, fixing her gaze forward.
Sir Malcolm, with the aid of his secretary, began detailing a list of architectural etchings that had recently been bequeathed to the Society.
After what seemed like hours, Indy risked a sideways glance at Ravenwood.
He wasn’t looking at her anymore. His eyes were unfocused, and his chiseled jaw kept sliding closer and closer to his chest. When it made contact, his head jolted upright, and then the downward journey began all over again.
Was he...snoring?
Indy snorted under her breath.
She needn’t have worried about Ravenwood recognizing her.
The duke was obviously three sheets to the wind.
Or thirty.
Even from his slumped position Raven could tell that the stranger with the narrow shoulders and tinted spectacles was furtively watching him.
The pretend-to-be-drunk-and-make-an-arse-of-yourself routine definitely had its uses.
