The Notorious Lord

Chapter Four

Cory Newlyn straightened up, drove his trowel into the sand and reached for the 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.’

He watched Bradshaw scramble over the trenches until he reached Lavinia Odell and the maid at her side and saw Kitty’s face tilt up towards Bradshaw with a luscious smile. Cory sighed and turned away, his gaze searching out Rachel’s figure on the footpath that skirted the site. She had passed by without a word and now she had reached the stile that led on to the drive. He saw her hesitate before taking the longer route round through the wicket gate. Cory smiled to himself. Of course. Climbing over a stile was not very ladylike and not even the neat Miss Odell could scale it with decorum. No doubt she thought it far better to preserve her dignity by walking round.

His smile became a frown as he realised that Rachel had passed him by without a backward glance. Not long ago she would have made a point of stopping at the dig and speaking to him, even detesting excavation work as she did. This new distance in her behaviour was puzzling and uncomfortable. He had felt it when they had greeted each other earlier that morning. There had been a prickle of tension between them that previously had not existed. And now Rachel had deliberately passed him by. Perhaps she had been more embarrassed by their encounter by the river than he had imagined. Whatever the reason, it seemed that she intended to keep her distance. He did not like the thought.

It was late that same evening, and the heat of the day had faded from the air, when Rachel came looking for Cory down on the excavation. It was not difficult to find him, for a small campfire burned in the southern corner of the field, sheltered by the stone wall that separated the burial site from the meadow beyond. The evening was still light, for it was almost midsummer, but the sun was down and the sky paling. Against its washed blue light the warmth of the fire looked bright and welcoming.

Cory was sitting on the edge of a trench, his long legs dangling over into the ditch beneath. Beside him, away from the fire, a cloth was spread out, and on it were the parts of a dismantled rifle set out ready for cleaning. As Rachel approached, Cory looked up from the piece that he was polishing and gave her his slow, heart-shaking smile.

‘Good evening, Rae. What do you have there?’

‘I have brought you something to eat and drink,’ Rachel said. She put a packet of food beside him. ‘It is nothing much, merely some bread and cheese and an apple. Oh, and some of Mrs Goodfellow’s cider. I should warn you that it is strong stuff. I was drinking it this morning when I saw you come out of the river, and I thought I was having delusions.’

Cory flashed her a smile. ‘How flattering that you thought me a figure of fantasy,’ he said gravely.

‘A delusion is generally a sign of madness rather than anything else,’ Rachel pointed out crushingly, ‘so I do not feel you should take it as a compliment.’ She looked around. ‘There is nowhere to sit here. How very uncomfortable!’

Cory sighed, slipped his jacket off and spread it on the ground with exaggerated care. ‘There you are, Rae. I would not do that for everyone.’

‘I imagine most people would not want you to,’ Rachel said. ‘It is scarce cleaner than the earth.’

Nevertheless she sat down on it, curling her legs neatly beneath her skirts, and for a few moments there was a silence between them. It felt warm and comfortable and familiar. A sliver of moon was rising in the eastern sky and the air was still faintly warm and scented with summer. The fire hissed and crackled and Rachel watched Cory’s deft fingers as he thrust the bristle brush through the barrel of the gun.

She put a hand out and touched the shining rifle butt.

‘Is this new?’

‘Yes,’ Cory said. ‘A Baker rifle with a short barrel so that it can be fired whilst you are lying down. It is a new design-’ He stopped and looked at her. ‘You are not really interested, are you?’

‘Not really,’ Rachel said. ‘I was only being polite. But it does look very clean.’ She pulled a face. ‘I hope that there will be no call to use it around here.’

Cory sighed. ‘And I hope that your father still has his blunderbuss, Rae,’ he said, by way of reply. ‘At the very least, we know that there are smugglers operating in the area. There is digging around one of the tombs that suggests that they have been using it to store their booty, but I think the ground became too unstable for them.’

Rachel craned her neck and stared across the excavation. Away from the circle of firelight the fields looked dark, with the burial mounds standing like shadowy hillocks, black against the deeper darkness.

‘It would make a splendid hiding place,’ she said. ‘Most people wouldn’t dare set foot here with all those legends of treasure guarded by a curse.’

‘Exactly,’ Cory said. ‘And whilst I am here I intend to make sure that the smugglers do not return and ruin all our work by digging out the trenches.’

He picked up a wad of cloth and started to polish the rifle hammer.

‘What have you been doing this afternoon?’ he asked. ‘Your mother mentioned something about you tidying the books that used to belong to Jeffrey Maskelyne.’

Rachel nodded. The Maskelynes were the true owners of Midwinter Royal House and it was they who had let it to the Odells for the summer in order to conduct the excavation. Events that had fallen out so happily for Sir Arthur and Lady Odell had come about as a result of the Maskelynes’ misfortune-their eldest son, Jeffrey, who had been in residence at Midwinter until some three months previously, had drowned in the Winter Race back in March.

‘I am trying to solve the mystery of the Midwinter Treasure using books and maps instead of excavation work,’ Rachel said.

She saw Cory smile. ‘You want to beat us to the treasure?’

‘Exactly,’ Rachel said.

Cory laughed. ‘I had no notion that you were moved by so competitive a spirit, Rae. How far have you got?’

‘Not very far, I am afraid,’ Rachel said. ‘All the books and maps and plans seem to contradict each other. However, if I get stuck, Cory, you will be the last person I ask. I could not bear for you to solve the mystery and prove yourself cleverer than me!’

‘You never could accept it,’ Cory said.

‘Just because you have the advantage of six years on me, and were therefore ahead in your lessons. And you went to university whilst I was obliged to study at home, like a girl!’

‘You are a girl, Rachel.’ Cory smiled at her in what Rachel considered to be a thoroughly annoying fashion. ‘That is why you are treated as one.’

‘I do not see why girls cannot study at university,’ Rachel grumbled. ‘I should have been happy to do that whilst you and Mama and Papa travelled the world.’

‘I dare say. It is not the done thing, however.’

‘Which does not make it right.’ Rachel sighed irritably. She plucked a few blades of grass at random from the edge of the trench and shredded them between her fingers.

‘You are so smug, Cory! You have no notion how fortunate you are. You can choose whether you study, or travel, or debauch yourself-’

Cory pointed the ramrod at her. ‘Careful, Rae!’

‘Well…’ Rachel subsided, still feeling aggrieved but aware that they sounded like the squabbling youngsters they had once been.

‘You have had the opportunity to travel,’ Cory pointed out.

‘Yes, but I did not choose it. That is the difference. More to the point, I did not want it.’

‘And you are a bluestocking,’ Cory continued. ‘You did not suffer from being educated at home.’

His assumptions irritated Rachel.

‘Thank you,’ she said drily. ‘You have no idea how it warms me to have your admiration.’

Cory grinned. ‘Oh, you have that, Rae. More than you think.’

‘Now you are funning me,’ Rachel said.

‘Not at all. You know I admire your fine mind.’ Cory looked at her appraisingly. ‘And more besides.’

Their eyes met. There was a moment when Rachel thought about taking him up on his comment, but decided it would be safer not to do so. She had no wish to act as a practice target for Cory’s seduction until a more likely candidate came along, as they surely would.

She turned the subject. ‘Speaking of fine minds, did you know Mr Maskelyne, Cory?’

‘I knew him slightly,’ Cory said, buffing the rifle butt until it gleamed in the firelight. ‘What are you afraid of, Rae-that I might steal a march on your puzzle-solving through my superior knowledge?’

‘No,’ Rachel said. ‘I merely wondered what you thought of him. He had a great collection of local maps and histories and yet the rest of his library comprised of false books! What use is that?’

Cory put the rifle down and stared at her. In the firelight his face was shadowed and still. ‘False books?’

‘Yes. Book frontages with blocks of wood behind.’ Rachel looked disgusted. ‘No one could be a true scholar who fills his shelves with wooden blocks. I found them all when I was clearing the library in order to put out Papa’s journal collection.’

‘And where are they now?’ Cory asked.

‘The journals?’

‘No, Jeffrey Maskelyne’s blocks of wood.’ Cory picked up the rifle again and admired his work in the firelight. ‘What did you do with them?’

Rachel looked at him. ‘That is an odd question, Cory. I stacked them all in boxes and put them in the stables. Why do you ask?’

Cory shrugged. ‘No reason.’

‘Hmm. You do not generally ask pointless questions.’

‘Humour me,’ Cory said.

Rachel shrugged in her turn. ‘Your behaviour is of the most suspicious,’ she said. ‘And you have not answered my question, if it comes to that. What manner of man was Jeffrey Maskelyne?’

Cory put his head on one side. ‘Maskelyne was the sort of man that you would do well to avoid, Rae. He was a professional lover.’

Rachel gave a little crow of laughter. ‘What a splendid description! You mean that he was a rake?’

‘Of the worst kind. I believe that many cuckolded husbands and anxious fathers breathed a sigh of relief when he was drowned in the river.’

Rachel arched her brows. ‘A rake of the worst kind? Is there any other sort?’

Cory gave her a wry glance. ‘I suppose not. But Maskelyne was the worst of all for he had no scruples. And, no-he was not a scholar.’

‘It makes one wonder why he went to the trouble of collecting all those maps and making notes on them,’ Rachel said thoughtfully. ‘I am surprised that he did not find it too taxing.’

‘Oh, Jeffrey was not stupid,’ Cory said. ‘He merely chose to exercise his talents in other directions. All the same, Rae, I should be careful of deciphering Jeffrey’s notes. Knowing his interests, I fear that you might find it far too shocking.’

Rachel laughed. ‘Perhaps I should ask you to solve it after all. In all of our acquaintance I have yet to see you shocked.’ She pushed the packet of food towards him. ‘Are you not going to eat? Mrs Goodfellow prepared it especially for you, having heard how much you enjoyed my breakfast this morning!’

‘I hope that you did not tell her the full tale of how we met,’ Cory said feelingly.

‘Of course not,’ Rachel said. ‘I would not do that to you, Cory. At present Mrs Goodfellow labours under the misapprehension that you are charming. If she heard of your penchant for strolling naked through the undergrowth, she would very likely attack you with her rolling pin and denounce you as a pernicious influence of the sort we do not want in Suffolk. She already believes that London folk are a byword for depravity!’

There was quiet whilst Cory ate some of the bread and cheese. A curlew called down on the mudflat and was answered by the breathy hoot of an owl.

‘This is just like old times, is it not?’ Cory said. ‘Orkney, Egypt, Malta…A camp fire and a tent and the open skies…’

‘You make it sound idyllic,’ Rachel said. Her memories of the same events were far from rosy-cold, wet, dusty and dirty beyond toleration. She never wanted to see another tent as long as she lived.

‘It was idyllic for me.’ Cory looked up and gave her a faint smile. ‘Why do you think I am out here now instead of enjoying the comforts of Kestrel Court?’

‘I did wonder,’ Rachel said, unpacking some more of the food and helping herself to a piece of cheese. ‘It is beyond my comprehension that someone who has the hospitality of the Duke of Kestrel at his disposal should choose to be out here cleaning his own rifle by a camp fire under the stars.’

‘A good rifleman should always clean his own gun,’ Cory said. ‘Besides, I have volunteer drill tomorrow morning in Woodbridge and do not wish to disgrace myself.’

‘And you had an invitation to a card party at the Langs’ this evening,’ Rachel said. ‘Miss Lang told me herself when I saw her at the reading group today. She was looking forward to meeting you very much.’

Cory’s lips twitched. ‘I am desolated to disappoint her.’

‘No, you are not!’ Rachel looked accusing. ‘You always do exactly as you please, Cory Newlyn. It is the greatest mystery to me why the ladies fawn on you so much when you treat them with such indifference.’

‘There you have your answer,’ Cory said, with a shrug of his shoulders.

Rachel looked at him, the indignation swelling within her. The firelight was sliding in slabs of orange and gold across him as he worked, flame and shade, darkness and light. His lean face was shadowed, the expression in his eyes one of concentration as he put the barrel of the gun aside and reached for the pot of oil to grease the mechanism. The tawny hair fell across his brow and tangled in the nape of his neck. Looking at him, Rachel felt a strange rush of pleasure that she could sit here talking to him like this when he would not tolerate other company. Then she felt annoyed at his arrogance.

‘Your hair is too long,’ she said abruptly.

‘Thank you for that,’ Cory said, without looking up. ‘I shall not allow you to cut it for me. The last time you tried I ended with a fringe that would have graced a lady’s shawl.’

‘What did you expect? I was only fourteen at the time.’

‘And I was twenty-one and a laughing stock. I only permitted you to touch my hair because I did not wish to hurt your feelings.’

‘Handsome of you,’ Rachel said. ‘You would have done better to refuse since it evidently made such an impression on you that you remember it to this day.’

‘Whereas you do not?’

‘Of course not. I have far greater concerns than your sartorial disasters.’ Rachel put her head on one side and studied him. ‘On second thoughts, it is better that you do not attend any of the Midwinter social events. I would not wish the ladies to be disappointed in you.’

‘Do you think that they would be?’ Cory’s tone was mild.

Rachel laughed. ‘The temptation to give you a set-down is strong, Cory, but I cannot do it in all honesty. No, I do not think they would be disappointed. Your reputation precedes you. The combination of rake and adventurer is utterly lethal. They would expect you to look somewhat dishevelled and be dissatisfied if you did not.’

Cory threw back his head and laughed. ‘That is what I like about you, Rachel. Your company is so bracing. You tell it just as it is.’

‘Thank you.’

‘But I do have to dispute the charge of being a rake,’ Cory continued. ‘I cannot lay claim to such a title.’

Rachel opened her eyes wide. ‘Do you expect me to believe that?’

‘On my honour.’ Cory shifted. ‘I simply do not have the time.’

Rachel stifled a snort of laughter. ‘You are claiming that to be a rake requires an investment of time?’

‘Of course.’ Cory put the pot of oil aside and wiped his hands on his trousers. Rachel shuddered. ‘Time, energy and strategy,’ Cory said. ‘Those are the prime requirements for life as a libertine and I am simply too busy.’

‘You have evidently studied this in detail,’ Rachel observed. ‘Do you not have a cloth on which to wipe your hands? You will get oil on the food.’

‘What? Oh…’ Cory reached behind him for the greasy rag that lay in the grass. He rubbed his hands vigorously. ‘That’s better.’

‘No, it isn’t,’ Rachel said. ‘You have merely managed to spread the oil around more.’

Cory shrugged. ‘We are not all of us so orderly as you, Rae.’

‘I had noticed it,’ Rachel said, wrinkling her nose up. She drew her knees up to her chin, making sure that her skirts were neatly deployed about her ankles. ‘So if you did have the time and energy,’ she said, ‘would the life of a rake appeal to you?’

‘No,’ Cory said. ‘It is far too boring. Compared to antiquities…’ He sighed. ‘Well, there is no comparison.’

‘The charms of the female of the species cannot compare with the thrill of digging up ancient artefacts?’ Rachel frowned. ‘You are scarce flattering, Cory.’

‘You cannot have it both ways,’ Cory said, tilting the flask of cider to his lips and leaving dirty fingerprints on it that Rachel could see, even in the firelight. ‘You take me to task for flirting and then criticise me for saying that I prefer antiquity hunting to the pursuit of love.’ He delved into the packet of food. ‘Antiquity hunting is a thrill,’ he said, his mouth full. ‘The thrill of the chase, the pleasure of discovery, the excitement of exploration…’

‘Some people describe love in those terms,’ Rachel pointed out.

‘Would you?’ Cory said.

Their gazes locked, suddenly heated. Rachel could see the flame of the fire reflected in Cory’s eyes. The force of his gaze held her spellbound. It was intense and challenging and it asked questions that Rachel had never confronted in her life and stirred feelings in her that she had never experienced before. Her lips parted and she saw Cory’s eyes narrow on them, and the jolt of feeling possessed her and made her weak.

‘I cannot tell,’ she whispered. ‘I have no experience on which to judge.’

Cory nodded. He smiled a little. ‘I am glad to hear that.’

The tension between them broke abruptly. Released from the strange power that had held her, Rachel felt shaken and cross. She did not really understand what had happened there other than that it had been akin to the odd compulsion that had captured her that morning when she had seen Cory by the river. She wished wholeheartedly to be free of such disturbing emotions.

She fidgeted with the paper wrapper that had covered the food. ‘Why should it concern you anyway?’ she said crossly. ‘I suppose that as my honorary brother you feel obliged to defend my reputation?’

There was an odd note in Cory’s voice when he answered. ‘Something of the sort,’ he said. He looked out across the darkened fields and then suddenly back at her face. ‘You are too good for all that, Rachel, for the flirtation and the insincerity and the profligate waste of love. You are…’ he hesitated ‘…too honest to play those games.’

Rachel’s heart beat quickly and lightly. ‘Dear me,’ she said, trying to sound untroubled and only succeeding in sounding hard and unnatural, ‘it sounds as though someone has broken your heart, Cory, to turn you so philosophical! Was it Lady Russell, last autumn? I heard that the two of you were inseparable for a while.’

‘You heard wrongly,’ Cory said. He looked moody. ‘I have never had my heart broken, Rae.’

‘Perhaps it would be good for you,’ Rachel said. ‘Sometimes I wish that someone would teach you a lesson.’

Cory looked up and met her eyes. He was unsmiling. ‘That is a little unkind of you,’ he said.

‘Is it?’ Rachel frowned. She had been trying to inject some lightness into their banter and yet it seemed that Cory did not wish to respond. His expression was still sombre.

‘I suppose it was a little cruel of me,’ she said. ‘I beg your pardon, Cory. I thought that we were only funning.’

There was a small silence. Rachel felt awkward. It seemed as though something had gone wrong between them that evening, and yet she could not see what it was. Cory had displayed that masculine high-handedness that always irritated her, insisting that she should be a pattern card of female virtue whilst he, of course, could do as he pleased. She looked at him under her lashes. He still looked morose, which was so unusual for him that she felt a pang.

‘I did not mean to be unkind,’ she said, anxious to mend the hurt.

Cory glanced up again and smiled at her. Rachel felt her heart ease a little. ‘It is not important,’ he said. ‘It is only that I did not wish you to think that antiquities are the only thing that matter to me and that I cared for no one, Rae.’

Rachel stared, taken aback. ‘Of course not! I never thought that. That is, I know that you care for your family, of course, and for my parents, and…’ she stuttered, breaking off in unexpected confusion.

‘And for you,’ Cory said gently. ‘I care for you, Rae.’

Rachel looked at him and then looked swiftly away. She felt hot and awkward. ‘I…Yes, I know. I mean that I understand that, Cory.’

She heard Cory sigh. ‘Here,’ he said. ‘Take some of the cider before I drink it all and give away all my most closely guarded secrets!’

He passed her the flask. Rachel took it gingerly between her fingers and drank from it, taking care that the oily smears touched neither her skin nor her clothes. Cory watched her, a faint smile on her lips.

‘You will spill it if you don’t hold it properly,’ he said.

‘I only want a little,’ Rachel said. She felt the liquid trickle down her throat, heady and sweet. ‘It is far too strong for me. Indeed, I think it carries on brewing in the bottle. Much more, and I shall be seeing apparitions down here amongst the graves!’

‘No ghost would dare set foot out here whilst you are present, Rae,’ Cory said wryly. ‘Your stern common sense would soon scare them away.’

His words made Rachel feel a strange sadness. ‘Is that how you see me?’ she said, a little wistfully. ‘Stern and practical, with a dislike of dirt?’

‘Amongst other things.’

‘What other things?’

Cory’s head was bent and his expression hidden from her. She felt a sudden powerful desire to shake him until he looked at her. She felt a need to demand an honest answer from him. She was not sure why it was suddenly so important to her to know, only that it seemed the most urgent thing in the world.

Cory started to fit the rifle back together. It interlocked smoothly, with a little click each time a piece fitted into place.

‘Sometimes,’ he said, ‘it is better not to persist.’

Rachel thought about that and then persisted. ‘Why?’ she asked. ‘Do you hold an opinion of me that I would find unflattering?’

Cory sighed. ‘Not in the least,’ he said. He looked up and there was a smile at the back of his eyes and it made Rachel tingle with a most unforeseen pleasure. ‘I do not wish you to get yourself into unexpectedly deep waters.’

They looked at one another. Rachel felt a frisson of anticipation.

‘Are you about to pay me a compliment?’ she asked, eyes wide.

‘No,’ Cory said. He locked the barrel of the rifle with a final snap.

‘Oh.’ The warm feeling inside Rachel fizzled out.

‘I think I was about to kiss you.’ Cory looked at her for a heartbeat. ‘What would you have said then, Rae?’

Rachel crushed down the rogue flare of excitement that his words engendered. ‘I would have said that you had taken too much of Mrs Goodfellow’s inflammatory cider,’ she said steadily.

‘I do not think that it is the cider that is inflammatory,’ Cory said, still holding her gaze, ‘but no doubt you are correct, Rae. A kiss between friends is usually a mistake.’

‘You sound very knowledgeable on the subject,’ Rachel said, ‘Do you kiss many of your friends?’

‘No,’ Cory said. He sighed again. ‘When did I kiss you last, Rachel?’

‘About fifteen years ago, I think,’ Rachel said. ‘I had lost my pet rabbit and I think you meant to comfort me. I remember it was a sticky and wet kiss and I wished you had not bothered. And anyway, I found the rabbit the next day.’

Cory laughed. ‘A salutary tale! It is getting late. I will escort you back to the house.’

He put out a hand and pulled Rachel to her feet. His touch was warm and strong and she resisted the urge to hold on tightly and pull him closer. He let her go and bent to drag the charred branches from out of the fire, scattering the embers until they died away. Immediately the night seemed darker and less friendly. The crescent moon cast barely a glow. Rachel shivered.

‘I wish I had thought to bring a lantern. It is strange how different it feels out here when it is full dark.’

‘Take my hand and then if we fall over it will be together.’ Cory’s voice came out of the nearby shadows and sounded reassuring. Rachel gingerly put her hand out and touched the material of his sleeve. She jumped.

‘Oh, I had forgot that I was sitting on your jacket.’ She picked it up and started to brush the earth from it but Cory stopped her.

‘Do not take the trouble. It will not make the slightest difference. It is beyond saving, I fear.’ He shrugged himself into it and bent down to pick up the rifle, holding his spare hand out to Rachel. ‘Come on, Rae.’

Rachel took his hand. It felt odd to be holding hands like they had done when they were younger. The memories crowded in on her there in the dark. She was running along a white sand beach in Scotland, clasping Cory’s hand and laughing when she was eight to his fourteen; she was grabbing hold of Cory and holding him tightly with grief when her pet lizard had died in Egypt the following year; she was taking his hand in a country dance at her first ball…She interlocked her fingers with his and held him close. It felt familiar-and subtly different.

They managed to reach the stable yard without falling into a barrow and when they were at the back door of the house Cory let go of her and turned to face her, resting the butt of the rifle on the ground.

‘Goodnight, Rae,’ he said. He smiled into her eyes. ‘I enjoyed this evening.’

‘Cleaning your rifle?’ Rachel said lightly.

‘It has its own peculiar charm,’ Cory agreed gravely. He hesitated, then bent forward and kissed her. His cheek brushed hers, hard against her softness. Rachel’s skin shivered.

‘A kiss between friends,’ she said lightly. ‘One might even go so far as to say a brotherly kiss.’

For the second time that night she saw a flash in Cory’s eyes that was wholly masculine but far from brotherly. It was a look that spoke of desire and conjured wanton images of tangled bed sheets and naked skin and all the things that Rachel had read about and never associated with her own life and in particular had never thought of in conjunction with Cory Newlyn, her childhood friend. She opened her mouth to speak, though she had no notion what she was about to say, and in the same instant Cory took a very purposeful step towards her.

The door of the house opened abruptly and Sir Arthur Odell appeared in the doorway, the Antiquarian Review trailing from one hand and his reading glasses clasped in the other.

‘What the devil is going on here? Can a man have no peace in his own home? I am trying to concentrate on Crabbe’s report on the Lincolnshire excavations!’

Rachel dragged her gaze from Cory’s face, though the action seemed to take an inordinate amount of effort.

‘There is no need to create a fuss, Papa,’ she said. ‘It is only Cory and I. We have been down at the excavation site.’

‘Oh.’ Sir Arthur looked nonplussed. ‘I thought that some knavish creature was out to rob us.’

‘Not at all, Papa,’ Rachel said. ‘And I do not believe that we can have been making a great deal of noise.’ She took his arm. ‘Come along inside now. Goodnight, Cory.’

Cory’s gaze had not wavered from her during the entire exchange; though Rachel had not been looking at him she had felt him watching her. Now he bowed slightly. ‘Goodnight, Rae,’ he said. ‘I will see you in the morning.’

He walked off in the direction of the stable and Rachel shook herself out of the strange, heated lethargy that seemed to possess her. For a second she leaned back against the door, feeling the handle cold against her hot palm. Perhaps she had imagined that flash of desire in Cory’s eyes, but she did not think so. Nor could she dismiss the answering spark it had lit deep within her. From their very first meeting that morning, something had changed between them. She did not understand it and she was not sure that she liked it. She wanted their old friendship back, with all its comforting familiarity. She stood still for a moment, letting the cool breeze touch her face and calm her mind. Cory was her friend and her parents’ colleague. He would never flirt with her or try to seduce her. Very likely he did not even wish to and she had imagined the whole thing. There was nothing to fear at all.

Yet still she wondered.