Against the Tide by Elizabeth Camden Page A

poppies blooming in the French countryside.
    How dare he. How dare Bane pollute a priceless book with his petty games. Bane must have a connection with the auction house in Philadelphia, and the Professor would never do business withthem again. His lips tightened and his hands curled into fists as he glared at that postcard. Was there nothing sacred? Was there no place in this world Bane’s contamination did not reach?
    For years his men had been trying to track down Bane, but the man never stayed in one place long enough to be caught. Clearly, that approach had failed. Perhaps he could not find and punish Bane, but he could start attacking him in a more effective manner.
    The Professor’s eyes narrowed and he hardened his resolve. It was going to be a costly battle, but he was willing to undergo a few losses in order to wipe the earth clean of Alexander Banebridge.
    He turned to Boris. “I’ve had enough of that guttersnipe,” he said. “I want you to find something Bane loves. And then bring it to me.”

10
    L ydia stood before the dry docks, huddled in her thin cloak, waiting for Bane. The cry of gulls carried on the air as the birds scavenged along the marshy banks of the Charles River. Lydia wondered if they were as cold as she. Bleak November evenings like these made those sunbaked days on Papa’s fishing boat in the Mediterranean seem like another lifetime.
    If Bane didn’t have any more translating work, she didn’t know what she would do. The idea of marrying the admiral was absurd. It was like a peasant girl aspiring to become a princess, and Lydia had no such illusions about herself. Despite the tremendous ruckus with Bane, over the past week the admiral had not changed his demeanor toward her whatsoever. He was polite, gentlemanly, and businesslike. He greeted her precisely the same way he had greeted her for the past four years, touching the corner of his eyebrow in an almost salute. “Miss Pallas,” he would say with a quick nod of his head, and then walk straight into his private office.
    The thought of losing her apartment was bad, but after last week’s conversation with Bane, her situation was more precariousthan ever. If the admiral left his position to go to Washington, she could lose her job as well.
    Ever since learning the admiral might leave, Lydia battled with her nerves. A daily sip of Mrs. Winslow’s Soothing Syrup eased the headache that throbbed whenever her nerves got the better of her. It was the same medicine the staff at the Crakken Orphanage used to help the children sleep. The label showed a lovely mother spooning a bit of medicine to her delightful baby. Lydia was embarrassed to rely on baby medicine, and whenever she purchased a bottle, she immediately poured the contents into one of her pretty blue bottles so she would not need to see that disturbing picture on the label. Still, Mrs. Winslow’s Soothing Syrup was the only thing that had kept her headache at bay this week.
    “You look frozen. What on earth possessed you to stand out in the cold with only a scrap of fabric for protection?”
    She turned to see Bane looking as dashing as ever, his blond hair in sharp contrast to the rich black wool of his overcoat. Just once she longed to mess up that exquisite blond perfection. “I’ve been waiting for you,” she said through chattering teeth.
    Without a word he shrugged out of his coat and dropped it over her shoulders. The heavy wool was deliciously warm from his body’s heat and carried a trace of pine-scented soap. For a moment she allowed herself to bask in the comfort it provided. It was more than just the coat’s warmth . . . it was the casual way he tossed it to her without a second thought. Lydia was unaccustomed to someone looking out for her, and it was oddly comforting.
    “Let’s go get something hot inside you,” Bane said as he headed toward the Old Galley Coffeehouse. It took a few minutes for the warmth inside the coffeehouse to thaw her out, but the