The Rebel and the Heiress

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She moved into the centre of it, stomping impatiens and tea roses. She closed her eyes and shuffled three steps to the right. She took a dolly step forward and drew an X on the ground. ‘X marks the spot,’ she whispered.

CHAPTER THREE (#ulink_cba56b80-c8a1-5818-a739-4c7374b585a2)

RICK STARED AT the spot and cold sweat prickled his nape. What the hell was he doing here?

To run now, though, would reveal weakness and he never showed weakness. In the world where he’d grown up weakness could prove fatal.

Not showing weakness and acting with strength, though, were two different things. When Nell took one of the trowels from his nerveless fingers, he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. He couldn’t move to help her. He couldn’t ask her to stop.

‘The spade will be overkill, I expect. The ground is soft and although it felt like I’d dug for a long time I was only ten so I expect the tin shouldn’t be buried too deeply.’

It was only when she dropped to her knees in the dirt that Rick was able to snap back to himself. ‘Princess, you’ll get dirty.’

She grinned, but she didn’t look up. ‘I like getting mucky in the garden.’

She certainly knew how to wield a trowel.

‘Cupcakes aren’t the only things I’m good at, you know?’

‘I didn’t doubt for a moment that you’d be a gardening expert too.’ He wondered if he should climb into the garden bed and help her. Except she looked so at home and he had a feeling he’d only get in the way. ‘Can I help?’

Her grin widened. ‘Nah, you just stand there and look pretty.’

He couldn’t help it. He had to grin too.

‘I can cook other things too. I’ll cook you a Sunday roast some time and then you’ll know what I meant about the scent of rosemary.’

Something hard and unbending inside him softened a fraction. Digging in the garden, grinning and teasing him, she was the antithesis of the haughty, superior woman she’d turned into yesterday. He could see now that he’d done something to trigger that haughtiness because Nell used her supercilious shrugs and stuck her nose in the air as a shield. The same way he used his devil-may-care grins and mocking eyebrows.

As he continued to stare at her, some parts of him might be softening, but other parts were doing the exact opposite. He adjusted his stance and concentrated on getting himself back on an even keel.

He wasn’t letting a slip of a girl—any girl—knock him off balance.

‘Princess, I admire cooking and gardening skills as much as the next man, but it’s all very domestic goddessy.’ A bit old-fashioned. He was careful to keep the judgement out of his voice and the mockery from his eyebrows. He didn’t want her getting all hoity-toity again.

‘Oh, that’d be because—’

She froze. It was only for a second but he was aware of every fraction of that second—the dismay on her face, the way the trowel trembled and then the stubborn jut of her jaw. She waved a hand in the air, dismissing the rest of whatever she’d been about to say.

He frowned. What on earth...?

Metal hitting metal made them both freeze. With a gulp, Nell continued digging. Rick collapsed onto the wooden sleeper that made the border for the bed and tried to ease the pounding in his chest.

Within a few moments Nell had freed the tin, brushed the dirt from its surface along with the dirt from her knees. She dropped the trowel at Rick’s feet and settled herself beside him. The tin sat in her lap. They both stared at it as she pulled her hands free of the gloves. She reached out to trace the picture on the lid.

‘Marigolds,’ he said softly.

She nodded.

‘Why didn’t John let you plant marigolds here?’

‘Because my mother didn’t like them, remember?’

‘Nobody would’ve seen them all the way down the back here.’

She lifted a shoulder. ‘I found it was always best not to make waves if one could help it.’

‘I decided on an opposite course of action.’

She glanced up with a grin, her green eyes alive with so much impish laughter it made his chest clench. ‘You did at that. I’m going to take a leaf out of your book and fill this entire garden bed with marigolds.’

Good for her.

She held the tin out to him. ‘Would you like to do the honours?’

His mouth went dry. He shook his head. ‘They were your treasures.’ He couldn’t help adding, ‘Besides, you could be wrong and maybe John never knew about the tin.’

‘I’m not wrong.’

Her certainty had his heart beating hard and fast.

She sent him a small smile. ‘Well, here goes.’ And she prised the lid off.

An assortment of oddments met his gaze. Silly stuff one would expect a ten-year-old to treasure. And from it all she detached a small gold locket that he recognised immediately. She held it out to him and his heart gave a gigantic kick. ‘When I buried this I swore that if I ever had the chance I’d give it to you.’

‘Nell, I couldn’t—’

She dropped it in his hand. ‘Even now it brings me no joy. It reminds me of the trouble it caused. Throw it away if you want and spare me the bother.’

His hand closed about it and his heart thumped. In kid-speak their exchange of gifts had been a token of friendship. Not that the adults had seen it that way. But the locket shone as brilliantly for him now as it had back then.

‘While I keep this.’

She held up the tin aeroplane he’d given her and a laugh broke from him. He took it from her and flew it through the air the way he used to do as a boy. ‘You really did keep it.’

‘I wasn’t a defiant child. I generally did as I was told.’ Her lips twisted. ‘Or, at least, I tried to. This was the one thing I dug my heels in about.’

Along with this big old relic of a Victorian mansion. He wondered why it meant so much to her.

‘I should’ve dug my heels in harder about the rest of it too, Rick. I’m sorry I didn’t.’

He handed her back the plane. ‘Forget about it. We were just kids.’ And what chance did a timid ten-year-old have against bullying parents and glaring policemen?

‘Hey, I remember those—’ he laughed when she pulled out a host of cheap wire bangles in an assortment of garish colours ‘—the girls at school went mad for them for a while.’

‘I know and I coveted them. I managed to sneak into a Two Dollar Shop and buy these when my mother wasn’t looking, but she forbade me from wearing them. Apparently they made me look cheap and she threatened to throw them away.’

So instead Nell had buried them in this tin where no one could take them away from her...but where she’d never be able to wear them either. Not even in secret.

She dispensed quickly with a few other knick-knacks—some hair baubles and a Rubik’s Cube—along with some assorted postcards. At the very bottom of the tin were two stark white envelopes. The writing on them was black-inked capitals.

One for Nell.

One for him.

With a, ‘Tsk,’ that robbed the moment of its ominousness, she handed them both to him and then proceeded to pile her ‘treasures’ back into the tin and eased the lid back on. ‘Do we want to rip them open here or does it call for coffee?’

‘Coffee?’ His lip curled, although he tried to stop it.

‘You’re right. It’s not too early for a drink, is it?’

‘Hell, no. It has to be getting onto three o’clock.’

‘I don’t have any beer, but I do have half a bottle of cheap Chardonnay in the fridge.’

‘Count me in.’

He carried the spade, the secateurs and the letters. She carried the trowels and the tin. It touched him that she trusted him with her letter. He could simply make off with both letters and try to figure out what game John Cox was playing at. But the gold locket burned a hole in his pocket and he knew he wasn’t going anywhere.

Besides, Nell had been the one to decipher the clue and dig up the tin. So he helped her stow the garden tools and followed her across the weed-infested lawn, along the terrace and back into the kitchen. He set both letters onto the table. Nell washed her hands, collected two wine glasses and the bottle of wine.

He took the bottle, glanced at the label and grinned. ‘You weren’t joking when you said cheap, were you?’

‘Shut up and pour,’ she said cheerfully. ‘When it’s a choice between cheap wine and no wine...’

‘Good choice,’ he agreed, but a burn started up in his chest at all this evidence of the Princess fallen on hard times.

He handed her a glass, she clinked it with his and sat. He handed her the letter. She didn’t bother with preliminaries. She set her glass down, tore open the envelope, and scanned the enclosed sheet of paper.

Rick remained standing, his heart thudding.

With a sound of disgust she thrust it at him. ‘I don’t like these games.’

Rick read it.

Dear Miss Nell,

If you think he’s worth the effort, would you please pass these details on to him?

Yours sincerely,

John Cox.

She leapt up and snatched the letter back. ‘He calls you “him” and “he’s”.’ She slapped the sheet of paper with the back of her hand. ‘He doesn’t even have the courtesy to name you. It’s...it’s...’

‘It’s okay.’

She stared at him. She gave him back the letter. ‘No, it’s not.’ She took her seat again and sipped her wine. She didn’t grimace at its taste as he thought she would. In fact, she looked quite at home with her cheap wine. He’d have smiled except his letter burned a hole in his palm.

‘And just so you know,’ she added, ‘the details there are for his solicitor.’

Rick didn’t think for a moment that John had left him any money. It’d just be another hoop to jump through. Gritting his teeth, he slid a finger beneath the flap of the envelope addressed to him and pulled the letter free.

At least it was addressed to him.

Rick

If you’ve got this far then you have the approval of the only woman I’ve ever trusted and the only woman I have any time for. If you haven’t blown it, she’ll provide you with the information you’ll need for the next step of the journey.

It was simply signed John Cox.

He handed the letter to Nell so she could read it too. It seemed mean-spirited not to. She read it and handed it back. ‘Loquacious, isn’t he?’

Rick sank down into his chair.

‘The solicitor, Clinton Garside, is wily and unpleasant.’

‘Just like John Cox.’

She shook her head and then seemed to realise she was contradicting him. Based on all the evidence Rick had so far, ‘wily and unpleasant’ described John to a T. ‘I never knew this side of him. He was quiet, didn’t talk much and certainly wasn’t affectionate, but he was kind to me.’

Maybe so, but he still hadn’t let her plant marigolds.