Damn it, last night he’d suffered through sleepless hours tormented by such thoughts. Well, not the entire night. Part was spent indulging in erotic fantasies of touching her, kissing her, making love to her a dozen different ways, exploring every inch of her soft, fragrant skin with his hands and mouth and tongue. But part was also spent fighting back tormenting images of her sharing such intimacies with another man. When she returned to London she would choose a husband. One of her bloody earls. Or worse, Gordon or Colin, both of whom were clearly attracted to her. The real problem, however, was his own painful, ever growing, and extremely unfortunate attraction to her.

She turned to him. “Did my father believe you innocent?”

“He said he did.”

She nodded slowly. “If it makes any difference, I believe you innocent.”

His heart jumped in that ridiculous way, and with those simple words, she touched something deep inside him. Her belief in him shouldn’t make a difference. He didn’t want it to make a difference. But… it did. “Thank you.”

“I also believe my father innocent,” she continued, making it clear she understood the implications of believing Nathan innocent of wrongdoing. “There must be another explanation. And I’m determined to find out what it is. The answer lies in the jewels. So, shall we begin our search?”

“Yes,” he agreed, although he was beginning to suspect that he’d already found a treasure he hadn’t even suspected existed.


After nearly three hours of unsuccessfully searching a dozen rock formations in the first grid square, they arrived at a gurgling stream.

“This marks the northern boundary of the estate,” Nathan said. “I suggest we stop here to eat and allow the horses to drink and rest.”

“All right,” Victoria said, hoping she didn’t sound as grateful as she felt. Tired, sore, hungry and thirsty, she was more than ready to take a break.

Nathan swung from the saddle, removed the worn leather bag holding their picnic meal, then gave Midnight a gentle pat on the rump. The gelding immediately headed toward the stream. Nathan then walked to Victoria and lifted his arms to assist her. Flutters tickled her stomach, but his touch was impersonal, and the instant her feet touched the ground, he released her, leaving her oddly disappointed. Indeed, he’d spoken little during the past three hours.

Setting her hands on her lower spine, Victoria arched her back to relieve the stiffness and winced. Nathan looked up from where he crouched beside the saddlebag.

“I should have suggested we stop earlier,” he said in an apologetic tone. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“And have you accuse me of being a wilting hothouse flower? No, thank you. Not only that, but we were getting along so well in our silence, I hated to disrupt our accord. Besides, I didn’t want to stop searching. We’ve a great deal of ground to cover.” She looked around her, taking in the tall trees and vast landscape. “I didn’t realize how much.”

“It’s a huge estate.” He pulled two apples from the saddlebag and tossed them lightly up to her. “Why don’t you give Midnight and Honey a snack while I set up our picnic?”

“All right.” Apples in hand, Victoria walked to the edge of the stream, where the two horses were still drinking the crystal clear water. While she waited for them to finish, she removed her riding gloves and surveyed her surroundings. Sunlight glinted stripes of gold through the leaves, while fluffy clouds floated lazily against a dazzling blue backdrop. Lush greenery interspersed with patches of colorful wildflowers and uneven rocks lined both sides of the stream. The gentle gurgle of water running over time-smoothened rocks provided background music to the twittering of birds and the rustling of leaves from a breeze cool enough to offer relief from the sun’s warmth without providing a chill. Victoria drew a deep breath, enjoying the faint scent of the sea that lingered in the air even though they weren’t near the shore.

Honey lifted her head, and Victoria fed the mare her treat, while patting her neck and murmuring soothing words. Midnight nudged her, clearly wanting the same attention. With a laugh, Victoria awarded him his apple and bestowed an equal amount of pats and murmurs. Finished with her task, she rinsed her hands in the chilly water, then turned toward Nathan.

He stood in the shade of a soaring elm next to a colorful quilt upon which was spread a massive variety of food. He offered a low bow then grinned. “Your meal awaits, my lady.”

“Heavens,” she said, walking toward him, surveying the array of cheeses and tarts, meats and biscuits, fruits and bread. “How did all this fit in one saddlebag?”

“Cook is an expert at packing.”

Looking down at the blanket, she laughed. “There’s enough food here for half a dozen people. Are we expecting guests?”

“No. It’s just the two of us.”

Her head snapped up and their eyes met. Yes, it was indeed just the two of them. Her heart skipped a beat.

“Cook informed me that she doesn’t want any food left over. That we cannot return until it’s all gone.”

Good lord, that could take… hours. Another skipped heartbeat. Pulling in a calming breath, she smiled. “Then we’d best get started.”

She walked to the blanket, then sat in the place he indicated, arranging her skirts around her. He lowered himself next to her, folded his longs legs in front of him, and proceeded to prepare her a heaping plate. After preparing one for himself, he filled two pewter mugs with cider. Raising his mug, he pinned her with a look she couldn’t decipher but that rolled a wave of heat through her just the same. “Here’s to finding what we’re looking for.”

“Yes,” she murmured, touching her mug to his. She took a grateful sip, welcoming the coolness on her dry, parched throat. The food looked delicious, and since she was famished, she dug in with gusto. Nathan, she noted, did the same, and for several minutes they simply ate, surrounded by the sun-dappled shade and the sounds of the outdoors.

After helping himself to another thick slice of bread, Nathan pulled in a long, deep breath then exhaled. “God, I love the smell here. That bit of the sea that’s always in the air. Much as I love Little Longstone, it doesn’t smell like this. Neither does London.” He glanced at her and gave an exaggerated shudder. “How can you stand spending so much time there?”

“There’re the shops.”

He shook his head. “Crowds.”

“The fabulous parties.”

“Tedious conversation with tiresome strangers.”

“The opera.”

“People singing indecipherable songs in languages I don’t understand.”

She laughed. “I’m afraid we’ll have to agree to disagree. What about you? How can you stand to spend all your time buried in the country? Don’t you find it desolate?”

“No. It’s peaceful.”

“There’s no excitement.”

“Tranquil.”

“No Regent or Bond streets.”

“Thank God.”

“Lonely.”

He paused at that, a small frown burrowing between his brows. “Sometimes,” he said quietly. “But I have my books and my animals and my patients.”

“No woman anxiously awaiting your return?” She tossed out the question with a lightness that was in complete contrast to the hard thumping of her heart.

“No one.” One corner of his mouth quirked upward. “At least that I know of. Perhaps I have several secret admirers who are pining away for me even as we speak.” He popped a bit of cheese into his mouth. After he swallowed, he said, “I imagine Branripple and Dravensby eagerly anticipate your return to London.”

God help her, she almost asked Who? before her inner voice chimed in to remind her, Your earls. One of whom you‘re going to marry.

Were they eagerly awaiting her return? Most likely they were busy attending the whirlwind of parties associated with the Little Season. Where, given their eligibility, they would be much sought after by a bevy of marriage-minded young women. Who would fawn over them. Flirt with them. Dance with them. Perhaps even share kisses with them. The thought of which…

Didn’t bother her at all.

A frown yanked down her brows. Surely that should bother her. Surely she should feel something at the thought of another woman capturing Branripple or Dravensby’s attention. Some fissure of concern. A twinge of annoyance. A pang of jealousy. Yet she felt… nothing.

But then she turned to Nathan, who was regarding her with heated intensity, and suddenly she did feel something. A sizzling whoosh of something that curled her toes inside her leather riding boots. And it hit her in a lightning flash of realization that the thought of another woman kissing this man made her stomach cramp. Made her want to break something. Made her want to slap the other woman so hard that the lips that had dared to kiss Nathan fell off. Onto the ground. Where she could then grind them into the dirt with the heel of her shoe.

“Are you all right, Victoria? Your expression looks quite… ferocious.”

Victoria blinked away the image of a slapped, lipless woman and beat back the claws of jealousy that were as undeniable as they were confusing. What on earth was wrong with her?

“I’m fine,” she said, taking a hasty sip of cider.

“Good.” He set aside his empty plate, then patted his stomach. “Delicious. But now comes the best part of a picnic.”

“Dessert?”

“Even better.” He slipped off his jacket, folded it-none too neatly-then lay back, using the bundle as a makeshift pillow. “Ahhhh…” The deep sigh of contentment pushed from between his lips, and his eyes slid closed.

Victoria sat perfectly still and stared. Well, perfectly still except for her eyeballs, which performed a thorough downward ogle, er, survey. Skeins of sunlight illuminated burnished streaks in his mussed hair and cast his face into an intriguing pattern of golden light and smoky shadows. Snowy linen, marked with wrinkles from his jacket, stretched across his broad chest and shoulders. His hands rested on his abdomen, his long fingers loosely linked just above the waist of his fawn breeches. Ah, yes… those fawn breeches that hugged his muscular legs in that fascinating, speech-robbing way. The breeches disappeared just below his knees into well-worn black riding boots. The picture of utter relaxation was complete with his casually crossed ankles.

Good Lord, had she just claimed she was fine? She must be mad. The man was spread before her like a banquet feast. A feast from which she desperately wanted to partake.

When precisely had the male form become so fascinating? Clearly the blame rested on the explicit descriptions of a man’s anatomy in the Ladies’ Guide. While she’d always possessed a natural curiosity, she’d never felt anything like this. Neither Branripple nor Dravensby had ever inspired this desperate compulsion to touch. To explore. To remove their clothing.

With her eyes riveted on him, she had to swallow twice to locate her voice. “Wh-what are you doing?”

“Enjoying the last phase of a picnic.”

“I don’t think taking a nap here is a very good idea, Nathan.” Heavens, she sounded prim. If only she felt prim, as opposed to feeling like an overly ripe peach about to burst from its too tight skin.

“I’m not napping. I’m relaxing. You should try it. It’s very good for the digestion.”

“I’m perfectly relaxed, thank you.” Yes. And if liars caught on fire, she’d be incinerated on the spot. Nervous words gathered in her throat, and she knew she was about to start babbling. “Tell me, what made you want to become a doctor?” The words came out in a breathless rush, but she heaved an inward sigh of relief that at least they made sense.

“I was always drawn to healing, even as a boy. Birds with broken wings, dogs with mangled legs, that sort of thing. That, combined with my love of science and my curiosity for the workings of the human body, and there was never any question in my mind what path I would follow.”

She’d watched, as if in a trance, his beautiful mouth form each word, and her fingertips tingled with the overpowering need to touch his lips. To prevent herself from succumbing to the temptation, she raised her knees, wrapped her arms tightly around her legs and gripped her hands together. There. Now she was saved from making a fool of herself. “And if you hadn’t become a doctor? What profession would you have chosen?”

“A fisherman.”

“You’re joking.”

“What is wrong with being a fisherman?”

“Nothing. ‘Tis just not a very…” Her voice trailed off and suddenly she felt foolish.

“Not a very what?”

“Gentlemanly pursuit.”

“Perhaps not, but it’s honest work. Certainly more useful than the gentlemanly pursuits of gaming and running foxes to the ground. But then I’ve always made my own rules. I never understood why I should spend my life doing things I didn’t enjoy simply because it was what was expected of me. I think I’d have made a fine fisherman. Mount’s Bay is good fishing ground and offers protection even when the seas turn rough, as they often do. I’ve always enjoyed fishing, any time of year, but summer was by far the best. Every July, I eagerly awaited the annual excitement of the great catch of the pilchard.”