The Notorious Lord

earthenware pitcher of water. It was a hot day for an English summer, with a dry heat that reminded him more of archaeological excavations in Italy or Greece. He tilted the pitcher to his lips and took a long swallow. He felt the liquid spill from the pot and the refreshing coolness of the water run over his chin and down his neck under the linen shirt. After a moment he took off his hat and tipped the remains of the water over his head, slicking his fair hair back and shaking the droplets from the ends. The cold water raised the hairs on the back of his neck and he enjoyed the sensation of chill on such a hot day.

Despite the heat, the excavation site was a hive of activity. Sir Arthur Odell was directing operations in the far corner of the field, where the Odells’ footman and gardener toiled over a wheelbarrow, moving piles of earth from the largest burial mound to the spoil heap some yards away. Lavinia Odell was sifting the earth through a huge sieve and picking out a few bits and pieces that caught her attention. So far the excavation of the Midwinter burials had been disappointing. Sir Arthur had turned up a few battered pieces of gold and some broken bits of pottery dating from Anglo-Saxon times, but most of the tombs that they had opened had been robbed out years before. This had happened to Cory time after time, and he was too old a hand to let it dismay him unduly. Since he had another reason for being in the Midwinter villages that summer, the Odells’ excavation was a convenient and enjoyable excuse. Besides, Cory’s instinct, which had never failed him before, told him that there was something there to find. Something big. Hidden treasure. It was just a matter of discovering where it lay.

Perhaps they might even find the Midwinter Treasure itself, although Cory was sceptical. The legend related that the gold cup had been discovered by an awestruck peasant in the fourteenth century, but when he had tried to take it from the tomb, a voice had stopped him in his tracks and he had run away, too frightened to carry out his intended looting. When he told his story later, a group of Midwinter villagers more hardy than he had gone to find the treasure, but had never returned. Neither they nor the cup were ever seen again, and there was a myth that if anyone tried to take the treasure they would come to an untimely end.

Cory stretched, then replaced the battered hat on his head. In the dining room of Midwinter Royal House there would be a delicious cold luncheon waiting and no doubt they would all be in trouble with Rachel for neglecting it. He could see her now, making her way up the path that ran alongside the burial ground towards the house. She had removed her bonnet and the sunlight gleamed on the rich chestnut of her hair, so ruthlessly plaited that not a single bright strand broke free of its constraints. Her pale blue dress was pin neat and she stepped over brambles and rabbit holes with precision. Cory smiled slightly. He remembered Rachel as a child of seven lining up her abacus with absolute accuracy. Ten years later, he could remember her picking a loose thread off his evening jacket when he had attended her come-out ball. She had always been the epitome of order and he had always nursed a subversive desire to shatter that composure. In the interests of friendship, he had resisted it.

The same desire to shake her self-possession had overcome him that morning when he had met her by the river and she had been so stunned to see him in the nude. He had known then that Rachel was not completely indifferent to him as a man. Some of her embarrassment had understandably sprung from the shock any well-bred girl would sustain when confronted by a naked man. But, more tellingly, he had seen the first long, intent stare that she had given him before she had realised who he was, and later the struggle she had had to resist the impulse simply to forget modesty and look on his nakedness. Cory smiled to himself. He was no gentleman to have prolonged the encounter as he had done, but he had been enjoying Rachel’s consternation too much to put an end to it. It was fortunate that her flailing hands had touched his arm rather than any other more sensitive part of him. He would not have wished to make the situation any more difficult than it already was.

Cory deliberately dismissed the encounter from his mind and turned his attention instead to Rachel’s situation within the Odell household. In some ways it seemed to him that Rachel had exchanged roles with her parents, worrying about what they wore and what they ate, making sure that their lives ran smoothly whilst they ran around collecting antiquities like irresponsible children gathering conkers. It infuriated Cory. He felt that someone ought to be looking after Rachel rather than the reverse.

Cory scraped the sand off his boots with irritable swipes of the trowel. The only time that he had expressed his views to Rachel, she had accused him of hypocrisy. And it was true, Cory thought fairly, that he also enjoyed the sort of life that the Odells pursued. But he was not married and nor did he have any children. His love of travel was the reason why he had never married. He valued his liberty too highly to compromise it.

His gaze returned to Rachel. She had caught the hem of the blue promenade dress on a trailing bramble and had bent to release her skirts. She was by necessity displaying her very attractive ankles, which she had kept demurely hidden from him since she was about ten years old. Cory grinned. Rachel had a figure as luscious as any of the Greek statues that adorned her parents’ hall, but no one was ever likely to get a glimpse of it. Her necklines were always high and her hemlines low. She was as neatly tied up as a parcel packaged with string.

He felt a wayward male urge to unwrap that parcel.

Cory sighed and ran a hand over his hair. He was not sure when his feelings for Rachel had started to change. Certainly he did not feel remotely brotherly towards her. Cory had plenty of sisters and his feelings for Rachel were quite different. At some point he had started to notice her in an entirely masculine way, and having started, had been unable to stop. It was utterly pointless and he knew it. Rachel saw him as a reliable elder brother and he was honour bound not to step outside the part. Besides, even he was not so disreputable as to have dishonourable intentions towards the daughter of his mentor and friend.

‘My lord?’ Cory jumped, dragging his gaze from Rachel’s figure and his thoughts from the fascinating subject of all the things that he could not do with her. He turned to find Bradshaw, his valet, at his elbow. The man was holding out what looked like a gold coin on his grimy palm. Cory picked it up.

‘Very good, Bradshaw. That looks like a shield boss. We’ll make an antiquarian of you yet!’

Bradshaw grinned. He had thick, dark hair and a muscular physique, and his arrival had caused a stir amongst the female servants. Before he had entered Cory’s employ he had had a variety of jobs, but all of them had been on government business and none of them had been anything to do with valeting. That, however, was a fact known only to Cory and Bradshaw himself.

‘Not whilst I have my strength you won’t, my lord! I had no notion that these were the duties you had in mind for me.’

‘Excavation work isn’t to your taste?’ Cory had taken a small brush and was flicking the soil off the disk so that more of the inscription was revealed.

‘No, my lord. It is all too pernickety for me. I thought it would involve digging up big earthenware pots and shields of gold!’

‘The Midwinter Treasure?’ Cory murmured.

‘Something of the sort, my lord,’ Bradshaw said.

Cory laughed. ‘Digging for antiquities is mainly tedious, Bradshaw, with rare moments of excitement.’ Cory placed the shield boss carefully in the basket of finds. He lowered his voice discreetly. ‘And this is useful intelligence work. We are getting the lie of the land, talking to people, picking up information…There is plenty going on here.’

He glanced towards the corner of the burial field where the ground sloped down to the river. ‘There is some disturbance of the ground over in the eastern corner of the field, for instance. It’s my belief that smuggled goods have been stored there. Steady…’ he put a restraining hand on Bradshaw’s arm ‘…we cannot simply go rushing in there drawing attention to ourselves! Remember that this is part of a bigger game. We will have our chance.’

Bradshaw nodded reluctantly. ‘Aye, my lord.’ He grinned. ‘In the meantime, I shall concentrate on getting burned by the sun and developing muscles I was unaware I possessed!’

Cory clapped him on the back. ‘That’s the spirit! And I do believe-’ he looked over his shoulder ‘-that we have you to thank for the additional help we are getting from Kitty the kitchen maid. Lady Odell was commenting that the maids had not shown any inclination towards excavation work until this morning.’ He saw the valet’s face flush. ‘You are to be congratulated, Bradshaw. Kitty is surprisingly good at the job, as well as a fine source of gossip. If you could encourage her a little…’

Bradshaw nodded. He did not look as though he would find this particular task too onerous. ‘I can try, my lord.’

‘Splendid!’ Cory gestured towards the finds basket. ‘You could start by taking these over to Lady Odell for sorting. And whilst you are there, pray remind her ladyship that luncheon was ready an hour ago. Miss Odell will not forgive me if her parents fail to eat.’