by Darcy Burke
They’d discussed this question many times—how the revelation of these works that were contemporary to Arthur and his knights might fuel interest in finding the thirteen treasures. “I thought we agreed that the thirteen treasures were likely lost, if they ever even existed.”
“As magical items you mean. I think they’re likely extant, but no, I don’t believe they can feed an army or tame any beast.”
She didn’t believe that either. But she was still intrigued by them. It was a shame Anarawd’s tales didn’t shed any light on where they might be.
Rhys turned his chair and brought her to stand between his legs. His arms encircled her waist and he nuzzled her chest, pressing a kiss to the flesh exposed above her bodice. “I was thinking that the poems might be lost or stolen en route to Septon.”
She looked down at him in surprise. “What do you mean?”
He shrugged. “What if Nash held on to them? We once discussed the treasure perhaps belonging to him, since his family commissioned the manuscripts from de Valery in the first place.” He looked past her and shook his head. “That’s one mystery I’d like to solve, but don’t think we ever will.”
“Why they commissioned them, you mean?”
He nodded. “I trust Nash to not only keep them safe, but to appreciate the privilege of holding them . . . for his grandson.”
“Kersey?” Rhys had told her about Penn’s true parentage and she understood the necessity to keep it secret, for now. She also understood how deeply the truth would affect Kersey some day and was sorry for it. Ensuring that his family’s legacy, of preserving the work of Anarawd, was passed on to him was the least, and perhaps best, they could do for him. Margery touched her husband’s jaw. “Nash will be thrilled . . . and honored.”
“But the Order must never know,” Rhys said solemnly.
“Know what?” Penn skipped into the room. He flung himself in a chair, having become a comfortable member of the household.
Margery stepped out from between Rhys’s legs and stood beside his chair.
“You’re still working on this?” Penn picked up one of the sheets Rhys had been copying into Latin. Penn’s brow furrowed as he tried to form the words, but he stumbled over the pronunciation.
“Would you like to learn Latin?” Rhys asked, eyeing him with interest, and perhaps hope.
Penn lifted a shoulder. “I s’pose.” He turned and looked at Margery, who frowned at his posture and gestured for him to sit up. He complied. “Yes, I’d like to learn Latin.”
“And I’d be delighted to teach you.”
Penn stood. “You’re supposed to come for tea. We can’t start without you, and Mrs. Thomas made Shrewsbury cakes.” His favorite. And Margery’s. She’d fallen in love with this boy as surely as she’d fallen in love with his foster father.
Rhys got up. “All right, we’re coming.”
Penn darted from the room, and Margery realized a kitten was dogging his heels. She smiled, amazed at how quickly and wonderfully her life had changed.
“He’s settled in quite nicely, hasn’t he?” Rhys asked, offering her his arm.
She curled her hand around his sleeve and let him lead her from the library. “Better than we could have hoped. You’ve never heard from his mother?” They’d both wondered whether she had passed.
Rhys shook his head. “And I suspect we never will. It’s all right. He has a mother.” He stopped and looked at her with love and joy.
She laid her hand on his chest, adoring this man who filled her life better than she could have dreamed. “And a father.”
He kissed her forehead. “And we all have a family.”
The end
Read the next exciting story in the Legendary Rogues series, Romancing the Earl!
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Lady of Desire is the first book in the Legendary Rogues Series. Read on for an excerpt from book two, Romancing the Earl. Be sure to check out my other historical series, The Untouchables and Secrets and Scandals.
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Romancing the Earl Chapter One
Wiltshire, July 1819
“My lord, you have a visitor.”
My lord. Would he ever get used to that? Like as not, he supposed, particularly after being called by a military rank nearly all of his adult life.
Major Elijah Hollister—rather, Lord Bloody Norris—looked up from the ledger he was studying. The enormity of inheriting an earldom when he had never planned on doing so weighed on him, almost as heavily as the shocking death of his brother Matthew, the previous earl, last year.
“Who is calling, Garber?”
The butler, a rigid, somewhat austere man who appealed to Elijah’s desire for order, stood in the doorway, his dark blue costume plain but immaculate. “She did not present a card, my lord, but says she is Miss Catriona Bowen. She is accompanied by someone called ‘Grey.’”
Elijah arched a brow, but said nothing.
“Would you like me to inform her that you are busy?”
Elijah glanced down at the ledger and decided an unexpected visit would be more diverting than trying to make sense of these numbers. Besides, he’d yet to make the acquaintance of more than a handful of people since arriving in Wootton Bassett just a fortnight ago. “No, I’ll come. Where is she?” He stood up from the desk and walked around it.
“The Egypt Room, my lord.”
Elijah fought a grimace. That was his least favorite room. The entire house was overdecorated and stuffed to the brim with antiquities the former earl—that is, the cousin who’d held the title before Matthew had inherited it two and a half years ago—had collected. However, the Egypt Room was particularly offensive and, frankly, disturbing, with a pair of sarcophagi flanking the massive fireplace and an array of paraphernalia that had no doubt been stolen from someone’s tomb.
Elijah left the study, which he’d already begun to simplify by removing much of the former earl’s collection. The ballroom was quickly becoming a depository for the excess of antiquities, which Elijah planned to sell at the earliest opportunity.
A medium-sized saloon, the Egypt Room was located at the back of the house with a view of the gardens. The day was overcast and mild, a far cry from the burning Australian summers he’d become accustomed to over the past five years.
His guest, a young woman with striking dark, nearly black hair turned from the windows where she stood with the second woman, a much taller female wearing a wide-brimmed hat, which he couldn’t help but notice she’d failed to remove, and a stoic expression. Elijah had no trouble discerning who was Miss Bowen and who was “Grey.”
“Good afternoon,” he said, striding into the room.
Miss Bowen moved forward and smiled at him, her dark pink lips curving up and forming dimples in her cheeks. She was quite pretty, though in an unconventional way with her dark hair and eyes and a complexion that could be described as the color of tea with a spoonful of milk. In a room of flaxen-haired, blue-eyed, pale-skinned debutantes, she would gleam like a vibrant jewel.
“Good afternoon, my lord. I must beg y
our forgiveness for our presumption in visiting. I hope you won’t mind. I am Miss Catriona Bowen and this”—she gestured to the other woman who angled her body toward Miss Bowen—“is Grey.”
Elijah glanced at the single-monikered woman and decided she’d make a good soldier. She was tall and stoic, with an air of self-discipline about her. Something about the way her gaze followed Miss Bowen yet seemed to still fix on him invoked a sense of fierce protectiveness. “Your visit is not presumptuous,” he said. “As I am new to the district, people have come to extend their greetings and I expect them to do so.”
Her smile faltered a bit and she blinked. “Yes, well, I am not from the district. My apologies. I am imposing. You are new to town—to England, from what I hear—and are likely trying to find your way as the new earl. Yes, I’m being quite presumptuous,” she said firmly, almost insistently, as if she would argue with him about her cheek.
And she wasn’t from Wootton Bassett? Curious. “Then do tell me why you’ve come.”
“Certainly.” She walked to a dark blue settee. “Shall we sit?” Grey moved to stand next to the piece of furniture.
“Of course.” His hosting duties required some refinement. But then, what about him didn’t? He’d spent the last five years on the other side of the world. Life didn’t get more unrefined than dwelling in a penal colony.
Her smile returned as she perched on the settee, and Elijah decided she wanted something. Why else would she behave so boldly—and be proud of doing so—and continue to smile at him as if he could make all of her dreams come true?
What a ridiculous notion.
“I’m visiting my friend, Lady Miranda Foxcroft. I think you’ve met her?”
He had, as well as her husband. They ran the local orphanage. Fox had seemed a good sort and had done a great deal to ease Elijah’s discomfort. Lady Miranda, on the other hand, was a whirlwind of energy and purpose, but with a sense of humor he appreciated. “Yes, I’m surprised she didn’t accompany you.”
“I’m afraid I didn’t inform her of my intention to call on you. You see, my errand today is rather . . . secret.”
What sort of game was she playing? He didn’t have time for nonsense, not when he was drowning in estate business and overwhelmed with creditors demanding to be paid for the bills his brother had run up during his brief time as the earl. “Miss Bowen, perhaps if you went straight to the point?”
She frowned up at him. “I thought you were going to sit.”
He tamped down his growing frustration and sat in a chair opposite the settee, glancing again at her companion who seemed to hover like a raptor awaiting its prey. “Tell me how I can help you.” To leave. The sooner she left him alone, the better. He didn’t have time or patience for ninnyhammer nonsense.
Her face brightened once more. “Yes, that’s precisely it. You can help me. I’m an antiquary and I’m looking for a small tapestry that Lord Norris—the previous”—she shook her head—“that is, the previous-previous, maintained in his collection.”
Blimey, another antiquary. Perhaps she’d be interested in taking some of this lot off his hands—provided she could pay for it. He had creditors to satisfy and an entire estate to overhaul. He looked at her intently. “Have you any idea how many tapestries Norris—the ‘previous-previous’—kept in his collection?”
Her eyes were warm as she nodded. “I do. I’ve toured Lord Norris’s collection on multiple occasions. It’s exemplary.”
It was bloody obnoxious. “I couldn’t say.”
“No, of course not. You’re a soldier, not an antiquities expert. I can describe the tapestry for you. It’s a medieval battle scene, about three feet square.” She gestured the size with her hands. “I believe it’s the only tapestry of that dimension. It’s a bit of an oddity. Lord Norris used to display it in the upstairs gallery; however, he liked to move his treasures around from time to time, and of course who knows what’s happened in the years since he passed.”
“While my brother was the earl.”
“Right.” Her forehead creased and her eyes filled with sympathy. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you. However, I haven’t seen the tapestry you describe and I’m afraid I wouldn’t know where to look. I’ve only just arrived a fortnight ago and I’m still trying to find my footing.”
“Of course you are, and this is why my presumption is terrible. I’m so sorry for bothering you. However, I’m afraid my need for the tapestry is quite urgent.”
He wasn’t sure what she was after. “Do you want to buy it?”
She answered with a quick nod. “Yes. Please.”
“I wouldn’t know what to charge you for it. I will, in fact, be selling the entire collection, but I need to consult with an antiquary before I do so.” He’d received a letter from a Lord Septon, who’d offered to assist him with cataloging and evaluating the collection, and he planned to respond to him with haste.
Her face split into a beatific smile. “That is where I can help you. I can tell you precisely what the tapestry is worth, and I can pay you for half of it now.”
Half? “That’s a bit dubious, isn’t it? You telling me the price for something you clearly desire most fervently.”
Her expression dimmed. “Yes, I suppose, but I’m a trustworthy sort.”
He leaned forward in his chair. “So you say, but I don’t know you at all. You’re here on a secret errand so that I can’t even verify your identity with Lady Foxcroft. In my situation, would you trust someone such as yourself?”
He chanced a quick look at Grey, who still lingered beside the settee, to gauge her reaction. Her gaze was steady, confident. If she took issue with his question, she didn’t reflect it. And why should he care? Was she Miss Bowen’s bodyguard? He realized that was almost precisely what it seemed.
Miss Bowen blinked at him. “Of course I would. I know myself to be quite honest and ethical.”
He resisted the urge to laugh. “It’s of no consequence, since I don’t know where the tapestry is and I don’t have time to find it. I will, however, contact you after I’ve located the piece and ascertained its value.”
She scooted forward and squeezed her hands together on her lap. “I understand your hesitation, but perhaps I haven’t made my need for this antiquity plain. I require this tapestry immediately, my lord.”
He sat back and set his hands on the arm of the chair, then speared her with an intense stare. “Why?”
She glanced at her maidservant or chaperone or whatever-she-was, who seemed to slightly nod her head as if they’d silently communicated something. When Miss Bowen returned her attention to him, she set her chin at an audacious angle. “Because I need it to find something.”
That made no sense whatsoever. “How?”
She stared at him and he could almost see her mind churning. “It contains a . . . map.”
Just like that, Elijah snapped to attention as if his commanding officer had just stalked into the room. He leaned forward once more and slitted his eyes at her. “Like a treasure map?”
Her eyes widened. “I didn’t say anything about treasure.”
No, but he could tell from her reaction that treasure was precisely what she was looking for. Suddenly, the note Matthew had penned just before his death took on a whole new meaning. Instead of the drunken ramblings of a man who’d always dreamed of a grander life, it now seemed like something far more disturbing.
“What do you know of this map?” Elijah asked.
“It’s a medieval battle scene and was likely stitched in the early to mid-fifteenth century.”
“How is it a battle scene and a map?”
For the first time, uncertainty crept into her gaze. “I don’t know. It only ever seemed to be a battle scene to me.”
“How on earth do you know it’s a map, then?” His temper was beginning to spark. He didn’t appreciate fools and suffered them even less.
“I just do.” She pursed her lips. “I’m afraid I can’t disclose
more than I already have. As I said, this is a secret endeavor. I shouldn’t have even told you this much, but you must understand how important it is that I obtain this tapestry.”
“What I understand is that you are likely trying to fleece me of something that is already quite valuable and that which possibly represents even greater value.”
Grey shifted her position, moving a few steps toward Elijah’s chair and lessening the distance she’d have to cover should she decide to launch an attack. He shook his head, wondering why he’d assumed she was on the offensive. He’d likely thought that because though he’d left military life, he simply couldn’t ignore his military sensibility.
She shook her head. “I’m not. The treasure it leads to is not monetarily valuable. It’s only important to the study of history. My brother is the curator of the Ashmolean Museum at Oxford and I plan to give it to him for display. The amount I would offer you for the tapestry is more than fair.”
Yet she hadn’t stated it as of yet. Elijah’s wariness intensified. Matthew had indicated the treasure was valuable. Had he been mistaken or was she lying? The latter, given her desperation to find this tapestry, seemed likely. He decided to go along with her—for now. “How much?”
“Two hundred pounds.”
Good Christ, where had she gotten that kind of money? “You actually have a hundred pounds with you to give me today—you did say you had half?”
“Yes,” she said evenly, her gaze briefly darting to her indomitable companion. “I am prepared to pay you a hundred pounds. But first we have to find it. I know Lord Norris kept an inventory. Perhaps that will reveal its location. Might we review it?”
There was an inventory and Elijah had given it a cursory overview. However, it wouldn’t help them. Not with this. “I’m afraid that won’t be necessary. I’m fairly certain the map is gone.”
