Seduce Me (8 page)

“Hello? Anyone there?” she asked. Yet there was nowhere in the room for someone to hide and only the door through which she’d
entered.

She shook her head and looked at the box. Again she heard an unmistakable whisper. It was a sound filled with the promise
of fulfilled longing. Suddenly she was overtaken by the sweetest yearning. With a sense of hope and the possibility of joy.
Although the words were still undecipherable, she could have sworn she’d heard her name. But that was impossible.

She continued stroking the box, tracing each engraving, noting each detail. Something pricked her finger and she drew it back;
a fleck of blood bubbled from a tiny cut. Strange, considering the gold was perfectly smooth. She lifted the box for a closer
inspection and noticed a slight abrasion in the metal near the etching that matched her pendant.

Her heart quickened. It was as if the box were asking her to open it—no, begging. One little peek wouldn’t hurt. For so many
years she’d longed to open it, how could she now deny herself this moment?

She had the opportunity; she had the key.

She scanned the room once more before removing her necklace. Carefully she lined her pendant piece up with the carving, then
took a deep breath before pushing it into place. She heard something give way within. Slowly she exhaled.

In one swift movement she opened the lid and squeezed her eyes shut. She waited for a swarm of locusts or screaming—something.
Nothing happened.

One eye popped open to inspect the inside of the box, then she opened the other.

Empty.

There was nothing inside the box. She waited a moment to see if she felt any different, to see if some invisible power had
settled over her. But she felt nothing.

Disappointment poured through her, and she was about to close the lid when she noticed something at the bottom. It looked
as if it too might open, so she slipped her hand inside. Something touched her. She pulled back. A shimmering gold bracelet
dangled from her wrist. It was beautiful. Thin and unadorned, the band was simple and elegant.

Excitement fluttered in her belly. Perhaps this was it—Pandora’s charm. Was it possible that by simply wearing the band men
would want her? That she could finally know what it was like to walk into a room and have all men’s eyes turn to her?

A giggle erupted from within her. It was a mythical box, not a miracle box. She ought not get too encouraged. Perhaps it would
assist her in the ways of womanly charms, but the chances of her becoming an irresistible siren were slim.

She held her arm up in the air, moving her wrist about. The light played against the sliver of gold. Something caught her
attention, and she held the bracelet up to the light to admire it and noticed an engraving. A closer look proved the impression
to be ancient Greek; a language she could read, but not one she was proficient in. Luckily for her, the text to decipher was
short, only one word. She read the word and thought on it a moment, unsure if she’d translated correctly. Another glance and
she was certain.
Lust
.

With her other hand she attempted to remove the gold band, to put it back in the box, but it would not budge. No matter how
much she tugged, the bracelet would not move past her thumb.

Splendid
.

Her heart raced to a wild beating and her breaths came in short surges. This changed everything.

This wasn’t a charm.

This was a
curse
.

M
r. Grey! Mr. Grey.” Esme came barreling down the looming staircase and stopped just short of running headlong into him. “Oh,
there you are.”

Fielding nodded to the butler, and the servant turned and left. Here in his well-lit hallway, he could see now that her hair
was clean it was more of a reddish-brown, with hints of gold peeking through the soft curls. “What is it, Miss Worthington,
that is so pressing you must tear through the house bellowing my name?”

She frowned, and two small lines furrowed her otherwise smooth forehead. It transformed her face, and something about her
ridiculous expression tugged at his lips, urging him to smile.

“I was not bellowing,” she said, attempting to compose herself. “I merely needed to find you in a hurry, and this place”—she
made a sweeping gesture with her hand—“is rather large. I almost got lost on the third floor when you were nowhere to be found
on the second.”

“Yes, well, you’ve found me now. I’ve made arrangements for our travel, and I see you’ve cleaned yourself up and found something
suitable to wear. Although that dress is too long for you.” Not to mention a little snug around her generous hips. Esme Worthington
had a luscious bottom. He’d noticed that straightaway through her thin nightdress, and still she was unable to hide it beneath
this dress and all the underthings he knew women layered on. He cleared his throat, annoyed with his train of thought. “We
may leave.”

“Yes,” she said excitedly. “Yes, let us leave; you must take me home at once. And I’m afraid I must speak with you.” The frown
again touched between her eyes. “It is of grave importance.”

She fell into step beside him as he made his way to the study. He gathered the box and a stack of unopened mail. “How is your
head feeling? Thatcher struck you fairly hard.”

“Your maids were able to remove all the blood, and one of them rubbed on an herbal poultice, which has all but removed the
dull ache. I believe I shall recover quite nicely.”

“Glad to hear it,” he said.

“Now, then. There are many legends of Pandora’s box, and I’ve read quite a lot of them because, well, because as I said earlier,
I’ve been studying the legend of Pandora’s box. I have many volumes that cover nothing but that particular subject.” She scarcely
took breaths in between her sentences, and Fielding found himself growing anxious listening to her as they left the house.

He helped Miss Worthington into the carriage, and she never missed a beat.

“As you can imagine, with all the varied approaches and theories there are, a student of the subject would begin to lean toward
some of them and away from others.”

He shook his head, unsure if he was following her logic. “Precisely what are you trying to say, Miss Worthington?”

“I had come to favor one particular theory about the box.” She leaned forward, and for the briefest of moments her enthusiasm
was nearly contagious.

“You see, according to the legend, Pandora was known as a consummate beauty, and she was presented, as a gift, by the gods
to the brothers Epimetheus and Prometheus. Epimetheus walked away from her because he felt she was too much of a temptation
and would lead him astray, but Prometheus accepted her as his wife.”

Fielding didn’t bother trying to ask questions. He’d heard enough from the men of Solomon’s. Curses, Greek gods—it was all
rubbish as far as he was concerned.

“Some scholars theorize that within the box are all the aspects that made Pandora the temptress she was,” she continued. “Her
charms, if you will.”

Esme was talking so fast Fielding had a hard time following her words. He didn’t, however, neglect watching her mouth as she
spoke. Her lips were full and lush and ever so tempting.

“I had subscribed to this theory as well.” She took a deep breath. “But it seems as if they, and I, were wrong. Terribly so.”

“You can’t honestly believe Pandora’s box was created by the Greek gods,” he said, not even bothering to hide the bite in
his tone.

Esme stiffened. “Of course not. That would be blasphemy.” Light sparked in her eyes as she leaned forward, the insult apparently
forgotten. “However, I do believe that Pandora’s box exists and that it has powers, as unexplained as they may be. There is
simply too much evidence to be ignored.”

“So where do these powers come from?”

“No one knows, of course. But there are many references to Pandora’s box, dating back to 500 BC. Cleopatra herself was said
to possess a box that gave her the power to rule all of Egypt. By all accounts, she was a physically unremarkable woman, yet
the most powerful men in the world were devoted to her. What if she used Pandora’s box to control first Julius Caesar and
then Marc Antony?”

“Or perhaps she was simply beautiful,” he said. Beautiful in an interesting way as the woman before him was. Esme wasn’t a
conventional beauty; her features had too many angles, and with her narrow nose and straight eyebrows, her face was not one
of delicate curves. Still, there was beauty before him. Thick lashes framed her wide green eyes, while sweet freckles smattered
across her nose, and her pouty mouth had a heavier bottom lip that begged to be nibbled.

Annoyance flickered across her face, but she ignored his comment. “And then there is the theory that Pandora’s box holds not
charms but curses. There was the plague that traveled from Egypt to Byzantium along with a group of Egyptian traders who brought
with them a box that spread death.”

“Yes, yes,” he said impatiently, “and we mustn’t forget about the Black Death.”

Her eyebrows rose. “Why, Mr. Grey, I see you’ve done a bit of research yourself. Yes, some believe the box caused the great
plague. For example, Pliny the Elder described a box of mystical properties that spread greed and disease throughout the empire.
He believed the box was responsible for the sacking of Troy. Don’t you see,” she said, “there is one thing all these stories
have in common. A box. That can’t be a coincidence.”

His interest piqued, Fielding leaned forward. “Do any of these writings explain how Pandora’s box made it to jolly ol’ England?”

She frowned. “There is one. A modern scholar, George Winthrop, has found reference to a sixth-century Saxon warlord who gave
his wife a spectacular box he’d purchased from an Egyptian peasant. He described the box as a gift from the gods, but later
said it brought horrible death. I believe all these boxes have been the same box. Pandora’s box.”

“You have certainly done your research. But did you intend to merely dazzle me with your extensive knowledge or does this
conversation have a purpose?” he asked.

She glared at him. “There is another theory that, frankly, I’ve never spent very much time on because, well, because it seemed
ludicrous to me. But now I believe otherwise.”

He didn’t point out how ludicrous all of this sounded to him. Instead, he waited for her to finish.

She held her arm up to his face, and he pushed it back to see what she was trying to show him. With her other hand she shoved
back the sleeve of her dress, only to have it fall back into place. “This is why we must make haste to my home.”

“Because of an ill-fitting sleeve?”

She looked down and made a growling sort of noise before switching arms. “No, this,” she said, pointing at the gold band encircling
her right wrist.

The same sort of band that Thatcher and Waters had pulled out of the box. So, she had opened the box herself.

Sneaky little thing.

“I really wish I’d paid closer attention to those writings, that I hadn’t judged them so hastily.” She swallowed visibly.
“I need to put the pieces together and discover what we must do to get this infernal thing off my wrist.”

“It won’t come off?” he asked.

“No, I tried.” Once again she held her arm out to him.

He tried to remove the band by slipping it off her hand, but that did not work. Then he tried to open the bracelet somehow,
but there were no grooves or clasps to be found anywhere.

“It does seem to be affixed quite securely,” he said.

She looked up at him, her green eyes full of emotion. Apprehension, annoyance, anger. He wasn’t certain which, perhaps all.
“Yes, I see that,” she said tartly. “There is more.”

“More what?”

“More to my story. The bracelets, as I’m assuming there are more inside the box, have engravings that identify them. At least
this one does, so it stands to reason the others do as well.”

“And?”

“I have lust,” she said in a tight whisper.

“I beg your pardon.”

“
Lust!
On my wrist.”

He fought the urge to laugh at her. That would settle nothing. He’d been in mummies’ tombs and pirates’ caves, all of which
came with warnings of curses, and he’d come out unscathed. No, he did not believe in curses. But clearly Miss Worthington
did. As did the men of Solomon’s. They were all a bunch of superstitious fools.

“And what does all of this have to do with your house?”

“I have books on the matter, and journal articles. Ones I haven’t even read because, as I mentioned, I thought this particular
hypothesis imprudent.” Esme took a cleansing breath. “Perhaps I should contact my scholar friends, see what they make of the
situation.” Then she shook her head as if arguing with herself. “No, that will never do; no reason to alert them to my foolishness.”

His head was beginning to fog from trying to follow her circuitous logic. “Can we start at the beginning? Tell me about the
theory of the bracelets,” he said.

“Well, I can tell you all I know, but I admit it isn’t much.”