One Week As Lovers (Somerhart 3)

“Just before dawn. Now look at this.”

She heard the rustle of paper and smelled the ancient mildew scent of the journal. When she opened her eyes, she found a blur of faded ink and white paper only an inch from her nose.

“Fine,” she groaned. “Just let me sit up.” She pushed her arms against the mattress and twisted around. Nick helpfully propped the pillow behind her back and put the book on her lap so that his hands were free to light the lamp.

“See this?” He pointed to a line about halfway down the page.

“‘Down the bridle path,’” she read. “I know. I’ve read it a hundred times.”

“Right, but this journal was written in 1797, Cyn.”

“And?”

“He must mean the old bridle path, not the one we’re using now.”

Her heart finally stuttered to a waking state. “What old bridle path?”

“The one on the other side of the village. You can follow it all the way to the old breakwater, remember? I forgot you never rode as a child, but Timothy and I used to take it at least once a week.”

“The one past the town,” she murmured. A surge of anticipation swelled through her belly. “Nick…Nick! Oh, mercy, you might be right!”

“I know.” He beamed at her like a little boy proud of his ciphering skills.

Despite her exhaustion, despite the pain she felt at being near him, Cynthia grinned. He was as adorable as a puppy. And just as messy. Still wearing the clothes he’d worn to dinner, he looked either to have slept in them or planted himself in a chair to read all night. She had her suspicions. He smelled a bit strongly of wine.

“We’ll start today,” she said, clapping her hands in excitement.

Nick cringed. “I’d like to forbid you from coming.”

“But—”

“It’s not safe. That Bram fellow might be hanging about.”

“You don’t even know that it was him!”

He tilted his head toward her. “True. That’s why I’m going into the village this afternoon. But what I was going to say before you interrupted is if you insist on going to the cliffs with me, we’ll need to go now, before the sun rises. We’ll take the carriage to the head of the trail, and try to make the most of one or two hours’ work. Does that sound reasonable?”

“Reasonable?” Not quite able to hold back a squeal, Cynthia vaulted up and threw her arms around Nick’s neck. “Thank you.”

“My.” His hands folded around her for a brief moment. Too brief. “Get dressed now. I’ll send Mrs. Pell to help after I wake my coachman.”

“All right.” Well, he’d effectively taken her mind off her mortification, at any rate. All her heavy lethargy was gone, replaced by the excitement of the hunt. And it didn’t hurt that she could still feel the warm imprint of Nick’s hands on her back even as the door closed behind him.

The sun had disappeared behind rain clouds in the first hour of their search. They should have returned then, but Cynthia had insisted on continuing. Not that Lancaster could blame her. This old path offered a whole new landscape, one riddled with holes and caves.

Cynthia was giddy. She was giddy even now, soaking wet from an hour spent hunting for treasure in the rain. Now she formed her own puddle on the carriage seat as they slowly rolled back toward Cantry Manor.

Lancaster watched a shiver work its way up her body as she pulled the carriage robe closer around her and beamed at him.

“It’s got to be there, Nick.”

He smiled at the reckless hope in her voice. “Never count your chickens before they’ve hatched.”

“It’s there. All those caves…You’re so very, very clever.”

“Really? You’re the only one who’s ever recognized that.”

“I’m exceptionally perceptive then.”