“No.” Lyra lifted her chin. “I thought this invitation was to show me artifacts and tomes. Not to get reacquainted with each other.”
“Can’t we do both?” He leaned forward on the sofa, tilting his head to one side as if studying her. “I stil find you fascinating, Lyra.”
“Fascinating like a science experiment, I’ll bet.”
He stood and shook his head. “No, fascinating like an iris in bloom, or a caterpil ar transforming into a butterfly.”
Oh, he had to go and compare her to her favorite flower.
She desperately wanted to swoon right about now. Inside a French castle, facing this sexy Frenchman would be a perfect opportunity to swoon. But the pragmatist in her swal owed the urge and took a step back from his penetrating gaze.
“However much I’d love to be a butterfly, I would prefer to see the artifacts you have. Unless your boast of amazing artifacts is only that—a boast.”
He searched her face for what seemed like minutes before bowing his head to her. “Pardon,Lyra. My manners have left me for a moment.” He swept his arm toward a closed door on one side of the ornate hearth. “Of course, I wil be happy to show you my col ection.”
Without waiting for her reply, Theron walked toward the door. By the way he moved, with his chin raised and his shoulders stiff, she knew she had upset him. Guilt squirmed around in her gut, but she pushed it down, refusing to all ow it to soften her resolve. He was a lothario through and through.
However much she might have enjoyed his seduction, she wasn’t going to be a notch on his bedpost. Five years ago she had considered it, toyed with the idea of losing her virginity to him, but he had proved to her without a doubt that he was a cad. She’d never been a notch on anyone’s bedpost and she wasn’t going to start now with this man.
He could take his romantic designs, if that’s what they truly were, and shove them up his perfectly formed butt.
“Lyra?” He startled her from her thoughts.
“Yes. Right.” She marched to where he stood in the open doorway, an expectant look on his face. The moment she crossed the threshold, her breath whooshed out of her lungs.
His col ection room was awe-inspiring. She’d never seen so many historical artifacts and old leather-bound books in her life. She had thought her gran had an extensive col ection of old tomes, but it paled in comparison to what Theron possessed on the four-tiered shelves that wrapped around the room. She wandered across the room like a kid in a candy store. Eyes wide, tongue out, she nearly drooled at the sight of a large bronze cauldron displayed in a glass case in the corner.
Chalices in silver, bronze and wood were arrayed on one wal , along with a bronze oil lamp in the form of a horned bird standing on one leg.
There was a witch’s mirror from the 1400s, a wood-handled sickle adorned with black magical symbols, and a large display case of mandrake roots. She wanted to put her hand against the glass, hoping to soak up the history and magic.
“I can’t believe you have all this.” She circled the room, shaking her head. “I’m in complete awe.”
“Come.” He held out his hand. “I’l show you a few of my prize pieces.”
Absently, she took his hand, too overwhelmed to think twice about it. He drew her to the far corner of the room and stood beside a lit glass case.
Lyra looked in and nearly passed out. “Oh, bless me. A maze stone.”
“This is from 800 Ireland. It claims to be the map to Mother Earth’s underworld.”
“Goddess, it’s beautiful.” Lyra’s fingers itched to trace the lines of the labyrinth carved into the stone. Theron moved to the next item. “It took me five years to final y acquire this.”
Lyra glanced into the case. A silver dagger lay on purple velvet. Ancient symbols were carved into the black handle.
She’d seen a drawing of it in one of her witchcraft lesson books but never thought it was real. “Merlin’s sword.”
“C’est magnifique, non?”
“Yes, it’s spectacular.”
“And this?” He pointed to the next case, which was smal er but on a much higher pil ar. She looked in and lost her breath.
“It’s a medieval love ring.”
“Yes, from the fifteenth century.”
“Is there an inscription?”