She reached down for the small velvet-lined box that sat on the table. “Would you like to examine some of the items? These coins are quite rare. They’re Athenian.”

“And fake.”

“One of them.” She picked up the one in question. “It’s an ancient fake, just as old as the original, which gives it value on its own.” She caught the flicker of interest on his face.

“Rare, indeed. Not unheard of, but very unusual.”

She held out the coin in the palm of her hand. “The condition is astounding.”

He sauntered forward, produced a monocle, and regarded the coin.

He was so close, the scent of his soap tickled her nose. Like him, it was sophisticated, masculine, and elusive. The fragrance sent her memory tumbling back to a time when she’d held those broad shoulders, straddled his powerful thighs, and lowered herself onto—

“Fascinating.” His deep voice sent a shiver straight through her. He turned his head so that his gaze was level with hers. “How much is the opening bid?”

Her fingers closed over the coin, aware that her nipples had betrayed her, beaded in anticipation. How can he still affect me like this? It’s been years. This won’t do at all.

She turned and replaced the coin, then stepped to one side to put some space between them. “If you wish to bid on it, you should begin low. Most collectors won’t recognize the value of a fake that is this old.”

“Trust me, I know the value of a good fake,” he returned drily. “Better than most.”

Her cheeks heated, and she forced herself to look away from his eyes. Her gaze took in his French cuffs, and the immaculate stitching of his coat. Many men used corsets to fit into their clothing, but Robert was blessed with an athletic body that didn’t require such measures. She knew that body far, far too well.

She smoothed the black velvet about the coins and said lightly, “I don’t suppose you’d be interested in saving us both time and just tell me what it is that you want from me?”

His jaw hardened. “You know exactly what I want.”

“No, I don’t,” she returned, more sharply than she wished.

“It has to do with the onyx box.” Robert’s large hand, adorned with an ornate emerald ring, cupped the head of the cane as if he were ready to wield it. Though he carried himself with an air of ennui, his hands gave him away. They were strong, purposeful, and lightly calloused from all of the writing and riding that he did.

“I don’t have your onyx box anymore, which you well know. Your brother William took it from me the last time we met. Why do you ask about the box?”

Robert’s mouth thinned with anger. “There is more than one box and you know it. Why are you assisting that reprobate George Aniston?”

Her stomach tightened in a sick knot, yet she said smoothly, “I don’t know a George Aniston.”