The London Deception (8 page)

“You’re young, single and healthy. Don’t think I don’t know it and don’t be pretending you haven’t noticed he’s altogether the same.”

“Grandpa!”

“Well.” He stammered slightly and Rowan couldn’t hold back the grin. “That’s all I’m going to say about that.”

“You miss nothing, Grandpa.”

“It’s only because my grandchildren honed that skill to a sharp point. If you all weren’t so hell-bent on giving your grandmother and me gray hair, I might have grown dull around the edges.”

Much as she wanted to argue, Alexander Steele made a surprising amount of sense.

“Seven sharp. And make sure Gallagher comes along.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart.”

“Some days I’m not sure why. You put up with a lot.” Rowan knew the events of the night before were close to the surface, but the words spilling from her lips still managed to surprise her.

“Now, now. What’s this about?”

“I’m difficult.”

“Hell yes, you’re difficult. I wouldn’t have you any other way.”

She smiled, the ready affirmation going a long way toward improving her mood. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then. Can I bring anything?”

“Just yourself, love.”

They disconnected and she lay in the dark, unable to fall back to sleep. The lure of work and her bright, shiny laptop perched atop the desk tempted, but old memories beckoned in louder voices.

“The Warrington home was broken into the other evening.”

“Bethany’s house?” The words tripped off her tongue, full of surprise and no small measure of shock. Rowan thought they sounded rather genuine and she mentally applauded herself as she gazed at her grandfather across his large teak desk, a beautiful piece that had belonged to a ship captain in the British Navy.

Grandfather nodded. “Bethany and her family were away, fortunately, but the damage has been done. Lady Warrington has lost a rather valuable piece of jewelry.”

“The Victoria bracelet?”

Her grandfather’s eyes had widened at her knowledge of the piece, his normal, unassailable poker face nowhere in evidence. “You know about it?”

“It’s all Lady Warrington and Bethany have been able to talk about.”

“That’s funny. Bethany’s father said they’ve been quiet about the acquisition. Didn’t want such valuable knowledge getting out.”

Rowan forced a bored note into her voice. “They should probably tell Bethany that. She was parading it around like it was a gift from a new boyfriend.”

The word
boyfriend
stuck in her throat, and Rowan swallowed the last word, images of a broken and twisted body taking root in her mind’s eye. She fought the tightening in her throat and willed the tears away. She’d vowed to take the night at the Warringtons’ to her grave, and she wasn’t going to break forty-eight hours into a lifetime of silence.

Even if her grandfather’s gaze was preternaturally sharp.

That gaze shifted toward his paper and he picked it up, his tone casual. “You sure there’s nothing else you’d like to tell me?”

“No, Grandfather.”

Rowan was unaccustomed to blatant lies—she much preferred her subterfuge on the down low—but she had to see this through. She had no idea the bracelet was such a secret but she’d already pointed the finger toward Bethany.

All she needed to do was play it out.

“That’s fine, then. You should probably run along to bed now. It’s a school day tomorrow.”

She nodded, the lump in her throat like a boulder. “Good night.”

It was only when she’d reached the door of his study, her hand on the knob, that his deep, cultured voice—full of the lofty strains of Britain—rang out once more. “Taking things from others won’t bring your parents back, Rowan.”

Early-morning light framed the edges of her windows as Rowan pulled herself from the memory of that night in her grandfather’s study. A long night that saw them still there as the sun came up, the paneled walls absorbing her confession of an endless litany of stolen items.

She’d never taken another thing from an innocent person after her conversation with her grandfather. When she did steal, it was a recovery and only because someone was paying for it.

Her days of assuaging her grief with the treasures of others had ended with the life of a young man.

Her grandfather insisted on therapy, which had ensured she stayed on the right path, but crawling up over the rooftops of Knightsbridge, a young man likely dead because of her, had stifled any and all urges to steal again.

With a resigned sigh, she threw back the covers and headed for the shower. It was strange how the past had shaped her future, even as she now understood some of that past was wrong. She’d spent twelve years living with guilt based on false assumptions.

Finn was alive. Alive and in possession of an identity. For so many years he’d simply been the young man in the mask, but now he had a name. A face.

A life.

She wanted to be angry. Knew she had a right to it, but she also knew enough about herself to know her path had turned that night. It was only the horror of a shooting and nearly getting caught as they had that made her finally understand the risks she was taking.

Risks that she still took, but ones that held vastly different consequences, for both herself and her family.

She was still thinking about those risks an hour later as Finn greeted her in the lobby of the Savoy, once again gifting her with a kiss on both cheeks. The greeting was elegant and somewhat at odds with the man she knew him to be by his actions. The thought left her off-kilter, and for the briefest moment she couldn’t help but wonder who was the real Finn Gallagher.

And then she pushed it aside, well aware she showed the real Rowan Steele to very few.

“Good morning. Where’s the three-headed dragon you led me to believe would be greeting me, deprived of caffeine and sustenance?”

She grinned at that, those strange thoughts fading away in the glare of his bright gaze. “He already went a few rounds with my grandfather at 6:00 a.m. and ordered an espresso from room service.”

“Let me guess. Someone told him you’re in town?”

Rowan was grateful for the easy banter. It allowed her to bluff her way through the sudden heat that warmed her at his simple touch, even as she attempted to forget all the reasons why she was still mad at him.

“This time it was my brother Campbell.”

“This time?”

“My grandfather has a surprising sixth sense about his grandchildren and at any given moment is craftily getting one of us to give up the whereabouts of the others. On the rare thing he misses, my grandmother does a stellar job running interference.”

“You love them.”

“To distraction. None of which eradicated my summons to dinner tomorrow evening.”

“Enjoy the time.”

“You’re coming with me.” It was only later, as she reflected on the moment, that Rowan could congratulate herself on two things.

One, that she’d ensured her gaze was level with his as she delivered the news of their impending dinner invitation. And two, that she’d somehow managed to catch Finn Gallagher unawares.

She knew full well it was unlikely to happen again.

Chapter 7

H
e didn’t
do
dinner. Not with grandparents. Especially not with grandparents who were considered some of London’s finest citizens and who would likely take him for a fraud at thirty paces.

Finn was still smarting from Rowan’s pronouncement on the summons from her grandfather thirty minutes later as he laid several quid down to pay for their breakfast. The small café near the Savoy hummed around him, oblivious to his impending inquisition, and he grabbed his takeaway cup of coffee off the table with greater force than necessary.

He’d spent his life avoiding brushes with every form of authority imaginable and he had no great interest in changing that at this late date.

Of course, he wasn’t a fraud any longer. He was a legitimate businessman with a successful company and interests that no longer needed to be hidden with secret ledgers or offshore accounts.

None of it changed the fact that Alexander and Penelope Steele were cut from the highest quality British cloth, while he was the son of a Northside Dublin man, transplanted to London for a fresh start after his wife died far too young.

A fresh start that had included a surprising number of old ways.

Rowan returned from the front counter, a box of pastries in her hand for her friend. “You look like you swallowed a mouthful of coffee grounds soaked in lemon juice.”

“I do not.”

“You just had a breakfast that could fell a truck driver. How can you be grumpy already?”

“I’m not grumpy.”

Her small shoulders—set off by a thin cashmere sweater in pale green—twisted as she dragged on a lightweight jacket. “It’s the dinner, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not the dinner.”

“Of course it is. You’ve been pissy since I mentioned it.”

“I’m not—” Finn pushed back his chair, wincing as it hit the wall with a heavy thud. “I’m not pissy about dinner. I fail to see why I need to join you at a family function.”

“I think my grandfather has some notion you’re going to hit on me in Egypt.”

He gestured for her to walk in front of him through the restaurant, holding his comments until they were once again out on the sidewalk. “I don’t need to go nearly four thousand miles to do that. I already hit on you here in London.”

“You pretended to hit on me at the museum to fool any onlookers.”

“Then you weren’t paying very good attention.”

Rowan stopped and turned toward him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You tell me. You were right there in the moment with me.”

“It wasn’t flirtation. Or...or something more. We’re working together, and by the way, I still haven’t forgotten that you deceived me. It’s going to take me some time to get over the fact you’re not dead.”

The words were so absurd Finn couldn’t hold back a small grin. “I wasn’t aware my company was so repugnant.”

She shook her head but he didn’t miss the small gleam that lit up her eyes. “Come on. Will’s waiting for us. And if I didn’t know better, I’d say the thought of facing my grandparents has you uncomfortable.”

“I’m not uncomfortable. I’m unnecessary for this little dinner party.”

“My grandfather doesn’t think so.”

“I know so.”

“Nice attitude.” She pointed toward the London Underground station. “Come on. This’ll be quicker.”

“I never take the Tube.”

“Why not?”

“I just...don’t.” He’d sworn to himself once he made his first million he was never going to take the subway. Public transportation meant a common life. An unimportant life.

“About two and a half million people think otherwise.”

“I have a car. And a driver.”

“Save the environment and give him a rest for the day.” She shook her head. “Sheesh, I never took you for a snob.”

“I’m not.” Even if his lifestyle suggested otherwise, Finn had to admit to himself.

She was already heading down the stairs, her voice floating over her shoulder. “Let me get this straight—you traipse the world over, sleeping in uncomfortable conditions and going days without bathing if it means you can get your hands on an antiquity, but you won’t lower yourself to take public transportation.”

Since he couldn’t just stand and wait for her on the street, he followed her down. “Would you stop yelling it?”

“If the shoe fits, princess.”

Finn hit the bottom step and followed Rowan to the ticket machine. Her joke hit a rather raw note and he wasn’t sure what he could say to change her mind. “C’mon, Rowan, it’s not like that.”

Her fingers flew over the electronic screen. “I’m getting us both weekly passes so we can ride unlimited for the next few days.”

“I have a car. This really isn’t necessary.”

“Oh, on the contrary. I’d say it’s quite necessary.” She dug a credit card out of a massive purse that hung off her shoulder, but he beat her to it, dragging his wallet from his pocket.

“I can at least pay for it.” He swiped his credit card into the machine and was rewarded with two shiny tickets.

“See?” Rowan handed him his and dropped a quick kiss on his cheek. “It’ll be painless.”

* * *

Rowan was still laughing to herself as they changed trains at the Leicester Square station. “Only a few more stops.”

“You’re good at this.”

“There’s no better way to get around London. Not to mention it’s a hell of a lot quicker than sitting in traffic.”

He kept pace at her side but didn’t say much else until they’d completed their transfer, on the final train that would take them to Will. “You know London well.”

“My parents brought us up in New York but we spent a lot of time here as kids. And then after...” The words trailed off and Rowan was amazed to find there wasn’t the customary stab of pain that came with discussing the loss of her parents. “After my parents died, I spent the longest time here of all my siblings because I was still in school.”

“How old were you when they died?”

“Twelve.”

“That’s awfully young to experience such loss.”

“Yes, it was.”

“You don’t have an accent.”

“Because I choose not to.” His smile was broad as she adopted the cultured tones that had always lit up her grandmother’s voice. “However, a well-employed British accent can take a woman far.”

“Tell me about it. I can only be grateful the cultured tones of England have such an effect on people.”

“I thought I detected the occasional hints of Ireland in your voice.”

“Occasional is the right of it. I’ve lived here since I was a kid.”

Rowan smiled. “Surely you must know the power of the accent. Nothing has an effect on people like the cultured notes of Britain. It’s as if they sit up and take notice. They stand straighter and are much quicker to accommodate a request.”

“American women certainly love them.”

“And will shed their panties in droves at a mere ‘hello’ from a British gent.”

He slapped a hand on his chest, his hand over his heart. “For which I am eternally grateful.”

She laughed at the silly gesture, but couldn’t deny the truth of his words. She’d had several college friends who’d swooned at the mere sound of a British accent, and she could hardly deny the effect Finn’s voice had on her.

Careful, girlfriend. Keep it up and you’ll forget you’re mad at him.

She wasn’t over her anger at him—she’d not been lying about that earlier—but it was hard to stay overtly mad in the face of such simple acceptance and warm companionship. And while she had a powerful attraction to him, she also enjoyed his company. Finn was easy to talk to, and even the subject of her parents didn’t seem so hard to talk about.

The public announcement system in the car trilled their upcoming stop. “We’re next.”

The easy banter faded as they exited the car with a multitude of others and walked the short distance to the college where Will taught.

“You think your friend can decipher the last few hieroglyphs on the back of the Ramesses statue?”

“I’ve no doubt he can translate them. I’m more interested in getting his take on what they mean.”

“The UCL Institute of Archaeology has a world-renowned reputation. Why’s he in the classroom and not out on sites?”

“He goes on the occasional adventure or two, as he calls them, but his decision to have a family changed his desire to wander the globe. He’s also one of the school’s premier lecturers and a postdoctoral research fellow, so he’s got his hands more than full of archaeology.”

“Would you give it up like that?”

“I don’t think I’m wired that way.”

“Even if you had a family?”

She was curious at Finn’s question. Even more so by the lack of clues on his face as to what he was thinking. Most everyone came to the subject of family—and one’s role within it—with a certain measure of personal opinion. It was a rare change to sense the absolute lack of judgment in him.

Rowan knew the loss of her parents had defined her life in a multitude of ways. The rush of adrenaline that fueled so much of her choices wasn’t easily satiated in other ways—nor had she looked all that hard for alternatives. But she also knew some of her choices were defined by her age and station in life.

Would she change if she had a family?

She certainly knew she’d put her children first, bar none. But was that even in the cards for her? No matter how she’d envisioned her future, a husband and children always occupied a sort of vague, hazy corner of her mind.

Nice to have but terribly hard to imagine in reality.

“I haven’t spent much time thinking about it. What about you? Would you give up the life?”

“I’ve never been one to tempt fate, so let’s just say it’s hard to imagine ever having to come to that choice.”

Rowan tried to detect something more behind his broad smile but Finn gave nothing away.

So why did she suddenly feel as if the sexy banter and get-to-know-you chatter they’d shared all morning had lost a bit of its luster?

* * *

Marriage and babies?

Finn was still cursing himself for the wayward questions as he followed Rowan down the long hallway toward her friend’s office. The evidence of higher learning surrounded them—a sensual mixture of the smell of old books and chalk, combined with the overtones of youthful excitement and anticipation.

When had he lost that?

He wasn’t that old. Hell, he’d done more before thirty than most men would do in a lifetime, and he still had a heck of a long life left. Or at least he hoped he did.

So why did he suddenly feel as if all his choices were on a pointless collision course with fate?

“Here it is.” Rowan stopped in front of a small office. “Will!”

A tall, thin man unfurled himself from behind a cluttered desk, and Finn was struck immediately by the warm light that filled the man’s eyes as he pulled Rowan into a tight hug. Aside from the odd picture they made, since Will was roughly six foot six to Rowan’s small, petite frame, there was a genuine warmth and a brotherly affection that spoke of long years of friendship.

“Rowan, my sweet.” Those cultured tones of England they’d laughed about earlier coated Will’s words before Finn received the brunt of his full attention. “Is this your friend?”

Rowan made brief introductions and it was only after Will had let go of his tight grip that the man spoke again. “I’m familiar with the work of your firm. The quality of the results is outstanding and we’ve placed a few students with your labs.”

“I’ve been well pleased with anyone who’s joined us from UCL.”

The tall man grabbed several folders off his guest chairs and gestured for them to sit down. It didn’t escape Finn’s notice Rowan pushed the office door closed before she perched on the edge of a stool next to Will’s desk. “Did you look at what I sent you?”

“I did. Let me pull it up again.”

Will began typing on his keyboard, dragging up whatever Rowan had sent him already, and Finn gave himself a few minutes to look around the office. Will’s small, disorganized space couldn’t be more different from the glass-enclosed environment Finn worked in at Gallagher, yet there was a commonality in their interests that was evident almost immediately.

Several books he kept on a small, sleek bookcase in his own office took prominence on Will’s shelves, and a monthly journal he had on his tablet sat in printed form on the top of a stack of mail on the desk.

Common interests, different choices.

Wasn’t that really what he and Rowan had been discussing on the ride over?

“I’ve been through all the files you sent me.” Will shot Rowan a lopsided grin. “You’re lucky I don’t sleep, although Debbie wasn’t all that happy with you last night.”

“I’ll send her a big box of chocolate in thanks for the help.”

Will’s grin was lopsided. “I already tried it. No dice.”

“I’ll call her and apologize. I’m usually nicer at it than you are. Knowing you, you probably grunted at her as you dug through all the information.” Rowan beat on her chest. “‘Me archaeologist. You my woman.’ All that flowery crap you’re so bad at and all.”

Finn couldn’t hold back the smile at the funny conversation between Will and Rowan—conversation that batted back and forth faster than a match at Wimbledon.

“Did you look at the glyphs?”

“Yes, and we’ll get to that.” Will tapped a few keys on his computer, and Finn saw a new web page load on the screen. “But first, how up are you on the chatter going down over this dig?”

“I ran the Egyptology forum sites the other night, after I accepted the job from Finn.”

Will nodded and Finn didn’t miss the narrow-eyed gaze. “You pay attention to the thread on the meaning of the jewelry.”

“What thread?” Finn shifted to the edge of his chair to get a better view of the screen. “I took a look at the chatter as well and didn’t see anything.”

“It’s buried pretty deep, but it’s there.” Will tapped a few more keys that brought up a message board. “Buried way down deep, but take a look.”

Finn scanned the screen, his gaze alighting on the repeated use of the words
curse, fate
and
high priest.
“You can’t be serious.”

Will shrugged, his gaze never leaving the screen as he navigated through several posts. “I’ve never been big on that sort of thing, but it doesn’t matter what I think. All you need is a fanatic with a mission and you’ve got a problem on your hands.”