“What the hell do you have in there?” Harry asked when he saw the chest lid move and almost dislodge Trevelyan.
“I’ll show you if you want to see.”
“No, thanks. I’ve seen enough of what you bring back from your trips.” He didn’t say anything for a few minutes as Oman came into the room and placed two glasses of whisky on a table by Trevelyan. When he was gone, Harry spoke again as Trevelyan handed him a glass. “Aren’t you afraid that man will slit your throat at night?”
“Oman? Those people living in your house scare me a lot more than Oman does. Speaking of terror, when’s your marriage?”
“Later,” Harry answered vaguely.
“And is your little heiress happy living under the old hag’s rule?” Trevelyan said with great sarcasm.
“Mother’s not so bad. You’ve never given her a chance. As for Claire, I believe she’s adjusting.” Harry finished his whisky and stood up. “I have to go.”
“Off to visit some exotic creature?”
Again Claire pushed up on the lid, but this time Harry ignored the movement. “Actually, I’m going south to look at a mare for her.”
“Her? Your little heiress?”
“Exactly.”
“Buying gifts for her, are you? It must be true love,” Trevelyan said snidely.
Inside the chest, Claire held her breath.
“I like her well enough. Her head is a bit too full of dates and history and the romance of the world, but she’s all right.” Harry’s voice changed from its usual easygoing tone to one of warning. “Keep your hands off her.”
“What would a man my age do with her if I did touch her?” Trevelyan said with great sarcasm.
“You heard me,” Harry said. “Hands off.”
“Tell me, is it her money or the girl you like?”
Claire, who couldn’t see the faces of the men, thought Harry took a very long time before he answered. And when he did respond, all he did was laugh, but Claire couldn’t tell what the laugh meant, whether Harry was saying he liked her a great deal or he only wanted her money.
Chapter Six
Well?” Claire said as she stepped out of the chest. Trevelyan hadn’t bothered to open the lid for her or to help her out when she opened it, but that wasn’t what was on her mind. She was growing accustomed to his not helping her.
He was already at one of his tables and writing. She went to stand in front of him. “What are you going to do about this man?”
“Would you sit down? You’re blocking the light.”
She stepped to one side but continued to glare at him. “Harry has asked you for a favor and you must do something about it.”
Trevelyan put down his pen and looked up at her. “Because you’re willing to give the man your life doesn’t mean I am. I have no intention of doing anything except what I’m doing. Do you want some breakfast?”
“Of course.”
She followed him into the bedroom, where there were two plates of steaming eggs on a table. She guessed they ate in the bedroom because Oman could not fit so much as one more table into the sitting room. She took a bite of her eggs. “Who is this man MacTarvit?”
“Enjoying your food?”
“I’ve never had anything like it and it’s delicious. Who is MacTarvit?”
“Curried eggs. From India.”
She glared at him.