"Um, James?"
"Hmm?"
"People are going to see us and assume you're courting me instead of Lady Amanda."
"We aren't acquainted with anyone here," he said easily, "so they're not going to assume anything." He looked up higher, to peruse a battered shield. "Fascinating, isn't it?"
Unsure whether he was referring to the armor or to the fact that no one would make assumptions, she tried to wriggle away without looking conspicuous. "I cannot really see it. I'm too short. Perhaps we should go see Napoleon's carriage instead."
"Use my quizzing glass," he offered, handing it to her with a smile.
She really had no choice but to take it. Like at the ball, he'd left the long chain around his neck, so she had to lean yet closer to raise the glass to her eye. Dear heavens, he smelled good. She couldn't seem to focus on the shield.
He moved behind her, which was a relief. But then his fingers brushed her neck, and a little shiver ran through her. She blinked through the lens at an ancient, pitted rifle. "What are you doing, James?"
"Just pinning up a strand of your hair that's fallen down."
Her hair was so straight it sometimes slid right out of its pins. But she'd never had a man fix it before. Studying the rusty edge of a cutlass, she wondered if she should stop him.
"I'd do the same thing for Lady Amanda," he said, apparently reading her mind. "It's very gallant, don't you think? I'm getting some excellent practice."
She switched to examine an old flintlock. "Are you finished yet?"
"Not quite."
That deep, chocolatey voice was making it difficult to pay attention, especially since it seemed to be coming from right behind her ear. "You're standing a bit close to me, James."
"You're holding my quizzing glass," he pointed out.
And whose idea had that been? "Do you expect Captain Cook used this pistol?"
"What pistol?" he asked, his hands leaving her hair to rest lightly on her shoulders.
She could feel his breath, warm on the back of her neck. "This pistol I'm looking at on the wall."
"That's part of Bullock's collection." His voice sounded even closer. "Captain Cook's artifacts are in a case to your right."
She turned her head to the right, and his lips met her nape.
Heavens, they felt hot and soft. She nearly groaned when the brief contact ended.
"You shouldn't do that," she whispered, scandalized—although, to be honest, she was mostly scandalized because it had felt so good. "I understand that you wish to practice, but you're taking things too far."
"What things?" James asked.
She dropped the quizzing glass and whirled to face him. "You kissed my neck."
"In public? I think not." His expression was one of studied innocence. "You have an active imagination, Juliana."
She'd been told that before, but she hadn't imagined this. "You'd better not do that to Lady Amanda," she warned. "She wouldn't like it."
"I wouldn't presume to kiss Lady Amanda. She's rather stuffy, isn't she? Rather like Castleton."
"The duke is not stuffy!"
He shrugged and motioned toward a glass case with a few people standing before it. "Did you want to see Captain Cook's artifacts?"
"Yes," she said and made her way over.
She'd wanted for months to see Captain Cook's artifacts, ever since the Morning Post had printed an article about their arrival at the Egyptian Hall. But they weren't nearly as interesting as she'd expected. As she stood before the glass case, her gaze wandering over yellowed shark's teeth and ugly specimens of cloth made from bark, she wondered how it would feel should the duke kiss her neck like James had.
Perhaps she ought to give the duke a few macaroons so she could find out.
"Do you expect those old bones are really from the grave of an ancient Hawaiian chief?" she asked.
"If Captain Cook said so, I'm sure they are."
She wondered if Amanda would find all of this more interesting. Probably, considering she was fascinated with crusty objects from ancient ruins. "Are there any Roman antiquities in this museum?"
"I haven't noticed any yet, but there might be." James slipped an arm around her waist. "Would you like to have a look around and see?"
"Not particularly." Remembering that he'd known the identities of the Egyptian statues outside, she asked, "Would you recognize Roman antiquities?"
"Most certainly," he said dryly. "My father and grandfather were both obsessed with the things."
"Really? Lady Amanda is, too." What an amazing coincidence. "Do you find Roman antiquities fascinating?"
"I wouldn't put it so strongly," he said, drawing her closer against his side. "Mildly interesting, perhaps."
Perfect. Amanda had said she wanted a man who was interested in Roman antiquities. Her friend was going to love coming here with him—as long as he didn't eat so many macaroons first. "Shall we go see Napoleon's carriage now?" she suggested, sidestepping away.
He sidestepped with her. "Absolutely, if that's what you wish."
As they headed to the next room, he kept his arm firmly around her. Endeavoring to ignore that, she opened the guidebook and read from it. "The Emperor's carriage was captured at Waterloo and later purchased from the Prince Regent for twenty-five hundred pounds," she reported. "And it's bulletproof."
"A wise precaution on Napoleon's part." He halted in the archway. "Good God, would you look at all those people?" The carriage was completely surrounded. "Perhaps it would be better to return another time."
She wouldn't be returning with him—his next visit here would be with Amanda. They would look at Roman antiquities.
"I want to see the carriage now," she said, picturing his arm around Amanda's waist instead of hers and wondering why that vision was so unsettling. Probably because Amanda wouldn't approve, she decided as she broke away from him and he followed her to the front of the crowd.
"Pardon me," he kept saying in a tone that sounded half exasperated, half apologetic. "Excuse me. Pardon." Short as she was, she was very good at burrowing her way through a pack of people, but apparently he wasn't.
Up close, the vehicle was beautiful, painted a rich dark blue and ornamented in gold. She
