Poetic Justice by Alicia Rasley Read Free Book Online Page A

princess to these unsuspecting and unprepared shores? Yes, I deserve a medal for that little bit of smuggling. But a baronetcy?"
    "Really, Johnny, how did you accomplish this? Blackmail?"
    Devlyn cherished few illusions, but that was one of them—that John was capable of nearly any mildly wicked act. John might resent that, except that Devlyn, once upon a time, would have been right. Enough of the outlaw still lurked within the art dealer to make John doubt himself at times. But not in this instance. "I beg your pardon. This honor was earned the traditional way, I'll have you know. I forgave a debt. 1000 pounds."
    Devlyn whistled through his teeth. "1000? I'd've expected a peership at least for that."
    "There's been a great deal of inflation since your ancestor was named viscount, Devlyn. Even a barony would go for 5000 pounds these days." He gazed back at his name, unmindful of the wind whipping at the pages. "With any luck, everyone will think he's honoring my namesake poet posthumously."
    Devlyn gave him a curious look. "You're not pleased with this honor, are you?"
    For a moment, John couldn't answer. He smoothed the newspaper he'd crumpled and handed it back to Devlyn. "Oh, it's a generous act, you know. He didn't have to do this, and it might cause him all sorts of havoc. He knows Wellesley and Castlereagh and the rest will suspect the worst. I worked for the Foreign Office too long, you know. Learned too many secrets. But I'm out of it. They can't do anything to me now."
    "Certainly it will be good for your business."
    John shrugged. "Perhaps. Most collectors don't care about my position, you know, as long as I deliver the goods. But there might be one or two who will commission me first now. I don't know that I want that sort of client, of course."
    Devlyn considered this while he filled John's empty glass with more brandy. "Is it an inverse form of snobbery you are exhibiting? You were never so proud before you became a baronet."
    Baronet. The word sounded nonsensical, when applied to John Dryden. Sir John Dryden, Bart. He rubbed his temple with knuckles, wishing the Regent had just paid for the Jerusalem and had done with it. "It is rather amusing, isn't it? I have always fancied myself something of a democrat, and scorned such trappings. A man should rise by his own merits, not by his birth."
    "Well, you've risen, that's for certain. Was it truly only a forgiven debt that motivated Prinny?"
    "That and his gratitude for bringing the fair princess to our shores so long ago," John said ironically.
    Devlyn smiled. "No, had he thought of Tatiana, he would have made you an earl."
    John saw no profit in quibbling with this sentiment. He was fond of the princess, as a rule, but had never quite understood how his sensible friend chose to entangle himself with one of the world's more troublesome women. Diplomatically he changed the subject. "And I've just brought him a manuscript he'd been hoping for. The Jerusalem."
    "Is that where you've been all spring? Jerusalem?"
    "No. The manuscript is called the Jerusalem. But it's never been there, as far as I know. It was scribed in Alexandria more than eight hundred years ago. I found it in Greece, in a convent."
    "Eight hundred years ago? And the nuns still had it?"
    John said wryly, "They hadn't any sense of what it was. Used it for a doorstop. And they were all too eager to let it go for a pittance. Had to argue them into accepting the equivalent of ninety pounds."
    "Well, ninety pounds is quite a price for an old book," Devlyn commented.
    Annoyed by this dismissal of his great prize, John retorted, "Not at all. As I was leaving the convent, Franco Alavieri from the Vatican arrived. He told me he would have paid fifteen hundred pounds for it."
    Devlyn drew in his breath at this new figure. Then, thoughtfully, he folded up the newspaper and secured it on the table with the brandy bottle. "You might have given him the manuscript, pocketed the fifteen hundred, and told the Regent