She stared into his square face. Greed lit his eyes. “It’s not for sale.”
“Come, dear lady, price is no object. Name a figure.”
When Mr. Evans called her dear lady, she didn’t like it. When Lord Neville called her dear lady, she wanted to thump him with the inkwell. “Lady Bellfield left me the jewel. I will always keep it in memory of her.”
“I’ll pay ten thousand guineas.”
Dear Lord…
“That’s a fortune,” she said in amazement. It was the same sum Sir Richard’s representative had offered. She’d refused double that from Mr. Evans. Perhaps she should hold an auction. She’d be set for life.
“For something so rare, who cavils at price?”
Her brief amusement died. The hard light in Lord Neville’s eyes made her distinctly wary. Or perhaps her nerves were on edge after cavorting in a scoundrel’s arms. She extended her hand. “Please give me the jewel. I’d hate you to damage it.”
“I know how to handle precious objects,” he said, offended. “I’m a famous collector.”
A famous collector who’d set his sights on her treasure. She didn’t mistake his covetousness.
With visible reluctance, he surrendered the jewel. Genevieve resisted the impulse to whip the relic into the drawer, away from those beady eyes.
“So you accept my offer?”
Ten thousand guineas could change her life forever. “I told you, it’s not for sale.”
“Fifteen thousand.”
She shook her head. “It’s not a matter of money.”
“Everything’s a matter of money.” He leaned across the desk and grabbed her arm. He wasn’t hurting her, but she’d have difficulty shaking free. His touch always chilled her. “I’ll go to twenty, but that’s my final figure.”
“My lord—”
“Twenty thousand guineas and a promise to keep your secret.”
Horror flooded Genevieve. Had Lord Neville seen her with Mr. Evans last night? The thought made her sick with humiliation.
“S-secret?” she stammered, cursing the betraying fear in her voice.
Lord Neville looked more self-satisfied than ever. Something she would have thought impossible. “Don’t play coy, my dear Miss Barrett.”
Oh, dear God, he must have seen her at the pond. Shame kept her silent as she stared at him.
“I know you write your father’s articles.”
Stupid relief made her dizzy and she was almost grateful that he held her upright. Then she realized this was a disaster. Heartbreak and mockery loomed for her father if the true authorship became public. If she’d sometimes wondered whether she still loved her father despite his selfishness, the twisting fear in her belly now told her.
“What… what nonsense.”
Lord Neville’s laugh made her cringe. “Don’t bother denying it. I’ve known for years. If you want to convince the world that you’re nothing but a humble assistant, you should restrain your opinions at the dinner table.”
Two people now knew the secret of her father’s work. How ironic that her father’s benefactor threatened to expose the truth, not the man she suspected was an out-and-out scoundrel.
She mustered her courage and glared at him the way her aunt would glare at a cockroach in her spotless kitchen. “Even if it’s true, you can’t use that information to force me to part with the Harmsworth Jewel.”
“Can’t I?” His stare turned assessing.
“Do you stoop to blackmail, my lord?” she asked sharply.