How Sweet It Is Read Online Free PDF Page B

lions as the legs. The gold that had covered it completely in the past was faded except on the lions and the trim at the base.
    “The history of the chair includes much vandalism,” Potter said, wringing her hands. “Choirboys carving initials in the wood. Graffiti by tourists in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. A bomb attack in 1914. But it’s never been this bad.”
    To look at it from the front, it looked whole. He walked around to the back. Nodding, he saw what she meant: one of the lion’s heads appeared to have been hacked away, and a considerable portion of the frame and back were splintered. He bent down and ran his hand over the damage. “Do you know how this was done?”
    “A billy club,” she said, sounding like she was on the verge of tears. “I’m ashamed to say that one of our guards had a moment. It seems his wife left him for a member of the nobility. He’s been let go, of course.”
    “Of course.” Finn lowered his chin so she wouldn’t see his amusement.
    “Unfortunately he did quite a bit of damage before we were alerted of the situation.” She sniffed, as though deeply upset. “I need it restored right away.”
    He stood and faced her. “Expecting a coronation any day now?”
    “The Queen Mother is getting on in age.” She must have realized what she said, because she gasped and covered her mouth. “Not that I’m wishing an ill on the queen, may she live forever.”
    “Indeed,” he murmured.
    “But it’s my responsibility to make sure the chair is ready for the next coronation, whenever that is, and I’ve shirked my duty. If word gets out that King Edward’s Chair is unprepared, I’ll be sunk.” She leaned in, her face pale. “Cyril Archer has had his eye on my position for ages. If he finds out, he’ll use this to oust me and take over.”
    “I see.” Office politics. He could care less about mutiny—preserving the work of a master was his concern. Shaking his head, Finn kneeled again and ran his hand along the destroyed piece.
    “Philippe LeConte mentioned that you’d done a project at Versailles, as well as Notre Dame.”
    “Some woodwork at the altar was defaced by a tourist.” He shook his head, getting angry by the fools who had no respect for history or art, who thought carving their initials into it was a good idea. “Fine woodwork is my specialty.”
    She leaned in. “So you’ll be able to fix it?”
    He got a whiff of mothballs as he stood. “It’d likely take three weeks to restore this properly. Some carving, but mostly treating the wood so that the new piece had the same patina of age as the rest of the chair. And then adding the gold foil. That’s the trickiest part, making the gold appear seamlessly matching and appropriately worn away by age.”
    “But you can do it?” she asked again, her tone urgent.
    “Of course.” It was precisely suited to his skillset, not to mention that he’d give a lung for the commission. Whoever restored the Coronation Chair would be noted in history.
    Potter heaved a sigh of relief. “Philippe assured me you were the only person for the job. And you’re British, which I would prefer. Though I don’t understand why a proper gentleman would live in Paris. It’s the city of the depraved.”
    He arched his brow. He knew he shouldn’t take offense, but Paris was his heart. It’d treated him well the past twenty years. “Perhaps I’m not a proper gentleman.”
    She blinked at him in surprise, stepping back as though she just realized that she perhaps invited a wolf into her den. “But you can fix it?”
    “I can definitely fix it.”
    Wilting in relief, she clapped her hands together. “I knew when Philippe sent you, you had to be the right person.”
    “When could you send it to me?”
    She recoiled, a horrified look on her face. “Never. You’d have to come here to do the work.”
    He shook his head. “I work out of my atelier in Paris.”
    “The chair belongs to England. It can’t leave the