Page 59 of The Lady’s No Angel

“Pirate treasure indeed!” Mr Grittle chortled, most diverted by this explanation. “Well, well. I’ve heard a few tales in my time, but that’s a corker.”

“Indeed,” Hart said with a thin smile, and gave the pony leave to walk on.

Mr Grittle was as good as his word, and a mere twenty minutes later, Hart was driving back through the still busy town to the neat little inn where he had left his small party to rest and recover.

He strode into the taproom and ordered a pint of ale, which the landlord duly provided. Standing at the bar, Hart downed it with brisk efficiency.

“Thirsty, was you, sir?” asked the landlord, who clearly considered himself a wit.

“Aye. Give me another,” Hart said, before asking the fellow to show him to the parlour where his ‘sister and her companion’ awaited him.

They all looked up as he walked into the room, the evidence of their meal still littering the table.

“Well?” Angel exclaimed, surging to her feet. For a moment, it looked as if she would run to him, but she checked herself at the last moment, remaining behind the table.

Yes, he had his work cut out for him there, he thought ruefully.

“All sorted. Mercy and Bill are tucked up nice and snug in the gaolhouse and men have been sent to retrieve Stan and complete their convivial party. I’ve promised to return tomorrow to explain everything in detail, but for now, they ought to be out of the way.”

Angel let out a breath of relief. “I don’t know how to thank you,” she said, looking at him and then quickly away again. “I shall never be able to repay you, Mr Cleaver.”

Oh, and they were back to Mr Cleaver. It was worse than he’d realised. Hart considered making a jocular comment in reply to her question, but feared she might take it amiss, so he just shrugged. “You owe me nothing.”

Angel looked as if she might argue but sat down without a word. Hart turned his attention to Toby, who looked like he was falling asleep where he sat. “All right, young shaver. None the worse for your adventures?”

Toby shook his head. “I’m grand, sir. Right as ninepence,” he said, though he rather spoiled the effect by giving a prodigious yawn and rubbing his bleary eyes.

“That’s the spirit, lad,” Hart said.

He leaned over the table and picked up a knife, cutting himself a large slice of the cold meat pie that had been part of their meal. Taking it in hand, he devoured it in several large bites before cutting another slice, aware of them all watching him. Standing with the second, even larger slice in his hand, he regarded them with amusement. “Well, then, are you ready to dig up that treasure, or do you all need a lie down in a dark room?”

“Oh, Leo!” Angel said, springing to her feet once more. “I was afraid you might want to wait—after—well, after everything.”

He laughed. “Are you quite mad? I’m champing at the bit to know just what it is your wicked grandfather has left you. Though I’m afraid Toby here might need a bit of rest after his ordeal.”

“Oh, no!” the boy exclaimed, appalled that he might miss out.

“I tell you what,” Hart offered. “We’ll beg some blankets and you can bed down in the cart while we do the digging. It won’t be any fun, I promise you. But the moment we find anything, we’ll call for you. Fair?”

“I s’pose,” the lad said grudgingly.

“But don’t you want something to drink and a rest?” Angel suggested, and the concern that lingered in her dark eyes warmed him. Oh, she was not immune to him. He still had a chance—a good chance, he hoped.

“You must think me a niffy naffy sort of fellow,” he said, shaking his head indignantly. “Indeed, I do not. Come, my wicked Angel, let us see what treasures lie hidden in the dark.”

Her eyes flashed at his addressing her so intimately, but whether it was out of annoyance or delight, he wasn’t certain. But he would find out soon enough.

Angel studied Leo’s broad shoulders in the moonlight as he negotiated the muddy track that would lead them back to the heath. He was ahead of them, driving the cart again, the shovels and pickaxe stowed with the refilled lamps safely stashed behind him. Toby sat at his side, wrapped in a thick blanket and speaking earnestly to Leo, his face tilted up to regard his hero.

Her heart squeezed in her chest, a sweet, painful ache as she knew Leo was listening intently, giving Toby his attention, his time, without an iota of impatience or resentment. He would make a wonderful father one day.

Not for you, she reminded herself. He was a good man, a kind one. But no matter how good or kind, he would not want a woman like her for a wife. His wicked Angel would never be respectable enough—and she could not bear to be second best. The idea of being his mistress might not be so terrible, but that someone else would always come first with him, would always have a greater claim upon him… that would eat her up and make her bitter and resentful. She could not do that to either of them. They both deserved better.

“What do you reckon you’ll find then, miss?”

Angel shook herself from her thoughts, only too glad to be distracted. “I don’t know. Spanish gold, jewellery. It could be anything.”

“Exciting, ain’t it?” Milly said, and Angel heard the grin in her voice.