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I snorted and winced as a sharp pain shot down my nose and caused my good eye to water.
“These Marshall letters, they that important?” Drake asked.
I shook my head, frowning.
“Elizabethan porn,” I whispered.
Drake’s eyebrows disappeared into his hairline.
“As in sixteenth-century Elizabethan porn?” Drake repeated, looking confused; I nodded.
“Holy shit, didn’t think they’d have porn,” Manny said; I snickered, which hurt like mad.
“Not quite. They were raunchy love letters sent by a courtesan Lady Downing to her many lovers. They are explicit and definitely hot stuff,” I whispered.
“This shit worth someone getting the crap beaten out of them?” Drake growled, and a flash of fear hit me as I felt my head slam into the wall again. I raised a hand and touched my forehead, and Manny’s giant hand covered mine.
“We’re here, girl,” Manny soothed me; I shook my head at Drake.
“They were written by Lord Marshall, the principal advisor to Queen Elizabeth. Marshall was a staid fellow who was faithful and loyal to his wife. These letters show an unknown personality of the man. It is true, though, that Lady Downing was able to bring many a powerful and private Lord to her boudoir,” I croaked. Then my voice cracked.
“Fusty old love letters led to this?” Manny asked, disbelief in his face and voice.
“These show Lord William Marshall in a very different light from what history has cast upon him. The staid, uptight Lord, who had the ear of the most powerful female in the world, had a sexy dark secret. I can’t imagine the family would want them to come to light.” I’d pushed my voice to its limit.
“Doesn’t lead to a beating. Fuck, I’d think the descendants would rejoice in knowing their ancestor had a kinky past. Takes away the stuffiness about him,” Drake drawled.
I shrugged. It wouldn’t bother me, but these letters showed the man had a passionate affair with Lady Downing. I don’t know, it wasn’t about me.
“Did the proper descendants register for the auction?” Manny asked. I nodded and pointed at the laptop, and Manny dragged it over, and I opened it up and logged on. I tapped in the address for the auction site and brought up the owner’s page. Curiously, I clicked on the page for the Marshall letters, and my mouth dropped open. The auction had already hit six figures.
Amazingly, the correspondence was twice the reserve price. I scrolled down to the private information only I could see on the bidders and saw that Marshall’s alleged direct descendant had the lead. I twisted the screen and pointed it at Manny, who leaned closer, and I got a whiff of his scent. Manny smelt of lemons and spice, and it was a clean, healthy smell. I liked it.
Manny’s eyes narrowed as he read down the list and made a noise. I peered up at his face and shrank at the anger there. He turned the laptop to Drake, and Drake gave a sharp nod and, pulling his phone out, sent a message. As they communicated silently over my head, I clicked on the other pages and saw that all of them had met their reserve prices so far. Even better, most were bidding above what Reid and I had predicted.
Manny remained looking over my shoulder, his eyes slightly wide at the figures being touted on the pages I was clicking on. I began humming happily for a few seconds before stopping when it hurt my throat. Reid may have spent close to our budget in England, the dratted man. But with these numbers, well into the mid-six-figure range, we’d easily make back what had been spent on the papers. Including what Reid had spent in England, we’d still be in the black with a wonderfully large buffer.
“Can’t believe people would pay so much for musty old love letters,” Manny said, sounding faintly perplexed.
“Lady Downing was famous, as were her liaisons. She’s notorious in historical circles, so historians will bid. The fact that we’ve correspondence from several important figures in history makes them more valuable. There had been rumours of powerful lovers, but never proof until these salacious letters. History is worth money,” I whispered.
Manny sat on the edge of my bed and flicked through the site himself. Drake gave him a look, and then he turned his attention back to his phone.
“Several museums are bidding too. I bet many of these are private collectors,” Manny replied. He pointed at a few names, and I nodded.
“Some of them will use a proxy. They’ll hire a company to bid, give them a limit and then let them do the bidding. Some are buyers who sit bidding for themselves. Others are, like you said, museums who’ll have an admin staff watching.”
“Did you do this?” Manny asked, settling back against my pillows; I nodded. “And you know the values and shit?” I nodded again, and respect flared in his eyes.
“I loved finding old papers and so on, didn’t enjoy losing them in bidding wars, though.”
“Museum gave you a budget and wouldn’t budge on it?”
“Yeah.”
“And you guess how much this shit is worth?” Drake asked.
I shook my head, feeling like a nodding dog in the rear of a car.
