outline of a shoulder holster under the man’s formal wear. The way his pants pulled suggested another weapon tucked in the waistband. And if his personal arsenal wasn’t enough, he hovered over Miss Q like a Saints’ defensive lineman.
“Agreed.”
Miss Q darted an approving gaze from one to the other. “I’m not surprised about the protesters, though. Given the amount of coverage the media gave us today.”
“I haven’t had a chance to look at the paper yet.” Lennon frowned. “They haven’t said anything awful, have they?”
Olaf met Josh’s gaze and laughed, a sound like the rumble of an avalanche. “Miss Q and Lennon resent the collection being termed a pornography exhibit.”
“Pornography, bah!” Miss Q waved an impatient hand. “It boggles my mind to see how many narrow-minded and misinformed people there are in this world. Sensuality is part of every culture. Even the earliest tribes had sexual rituals. Why shouldn’t those rituals be appreciated as part of history?”
“No reason I can think of,” Josh said. “I’m sure you and the Eastman Gallery will heighten society’s awareness.”
Miss Q beamed once more. “The media is doing its part, too, which is why we have detractors lining up at the doors. Nothing negative today, though, except Agnes, the old bat, made sure the cultural society wasn’t officially connected.”
“Agnes is the current president of the society,” Lennon whispered as an aside.
Josh nodded.
Miss Q fixed a laser-blue gaze over the rim of her champagne glass. “Agnes is miffed because I didn’t ask that smarmy grandson of hers to participate in the bachelor auction.”
Lennon shrugged. “Some might consider him a good catch.”
“Wilfred the weird, dear? Perish the thought. He may have money, but he didn’t earn a penny of it. It’s all his grandfather’s. Not to mention that Olaf caught him slinking around Bourbon Street with a person as tall as he is, who was dressed prettier than a debutante at her coming out party, if you take my meaning.”
Lennon must have, because she barely swallowed back a laugh at her great-aunt’s delicate description of a cross-dresser.
“If that’s where his tastes lie,” Josh said, “then you’re right not to include him in the auction. His grandmother would only be more annoyed if no one bid on him.”
Olaf laughed. Lennon arched a fine golden brow.
Miss Q passed her glass to Olaf and clapped delightedly. “You’re absolutely right, Josh Three. We couldn’t have that. The whole point of this weekend is to educate the public about erotic antiquities and convince the tight fists around here to contribute to the gallery, either with art from their own collections—if I deem the pieces worthy, of course—or by donating monetarily.”
“With the lineup of risqué fund-raising events you’ve got scheduled, I’m sure you’ll meet your goals,” he said.
Miss Q’s eyes glowed with amusement. “There’s something to appeal to everyone—the art exhibition, the masque, the scavenger hunt. I hope you’ll find something that appeals to you.”
Glancing at Lennon, Josh remembered pressing against her in the cab. He’d find something to amuse him, no doubt.
“When you’re done in the garden, dears, I want you to go talk to Louis Garceau and his cronies. See what they think about our first edition of Shakespeare’s Venus and Adonis. What a coup. Your grandfather and I tracked down that book right before he died. There was thought to be only one surviving copy and Louis has been trying to corner me to ask about it.”
She scowled. “You tell him it has been authenticated and any true literati would know the difference between a 1593 first edition and a facsimile reprint. That literary set always annoys me.” She lifted her gaze to Josh, blue eyes twinkling. “They get so academic about an orgasm. I always thought the whole point was not to think while I was having one.”
“It’s more fun that way,” Josh agreed.
Lennon said, “Auntie Q!” in a singsong exhalation that clearly conveyed her exasperation, but Josh found the old woman’s humor refreshing. He’d spent too many years at functions that were exercises in patience because his grandmother didn’t know the meaning of the word fun.
Plucking two flutes of champagne off the tray of a passing waiter, he handed one to Lennon. “If you’ll excuse us, Miss Q, Olaf. We’ve got to interrogate your guests.”
“You shouldn’t encourage her,” Lennon cautioned, once out of earshot.
“Why?”
“She doesn’t care who’s around, and she’s worse than a sailor when she gets going. When Great-uncle Joshua was alive, they could get me blushing so hard I thought my cheeks would melt.”
“Sounds like you went to the fun parties.”
“You think?” She eyed him as if that thought hadn’t occurred to her before.
Josh didn’t want her thinking he’d resented sharing his grandfather. Lennon had been dealt her cards just as he had. Neither of them had been given much choice.
“Come on. Let’s go talk to your guests.” Taking her hand, he led her onto a cobbled path that led around the garden.
A live band played on the piazza in front of the fountain, filling the garden with mellow strains of jazz. Twilight glazed everything in a starry haze, making it damned hard to differentiate between the walkway and shadowed recesses in the foliage. Josh could only follow the jagged slices of artificial light cast by strategically placed lamps.
“This place is so spread out,” Lennon observed, mirroring his thoughts as he tried to map the layout mentally. “Another grenade could come from just about anywhere, couldn’t it?”
“Not unless the assailant wants to be hauled off to jail.” At her look of confusion, Josh explained, “A twelve-foot security wall surrounds the perimeter. The only entrance to the garden is from inside the gallery, and museum security has it covered.”
“Oh.” Looking relieved, she cast her gaze around. “And Olaf promised Great-uncle Joshua he’d care for Auntie Q, so I know he will.”
“He will. I’m not surprised he transferred his attention to Miss Q rather than stay on at Eastman Antiquities. He picked the better of the jobs.”
Given his choice of staying on as part of the Eastman empire or tending a flighty, but sweetheart of an old lady and her gorgeous niece, Josh would have found himself part of the McDarby household, too.
“That’s very nice of you to say.” Drawing to a halt in a bower, Lennon lifted her gaze, the amber glow in her eyes deeper than ever in the lamplight. “I know you won’t let anything happen to me, either. You’ve come to the rescue like a knight in shining armor.”
Her voice was light, teasing, but there was no question in it, only a solid assurance that she trusted him to do what he’d promised. That she felt so safe with him came as something of a surprise. He wasn’t expecting that, hadn’t
