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“Well, I thought, she’s reading a book. Perhaps there are words somewhere on the book that might give us a clue.”
“Of course! Why didn’t I think of it?” She pushed her spectacles up the bridge of her nose and peered at the book in her aunt’s hands. “She’s reading theRevelations. I didn’t notice because it was written in Latin instead of Old English. And the letters look like a recent addition—the paint strokes are fresher. And beneath the title”—she bent forward—“it says in French,unechamber avecvue. A room with a view.”
She grabbed hold of his arm. “Ford. We have to go back to the reading room. The view of the Thames and the steps leading down to the river.”
She raced back down the stairs. He’d known she would cleverly put it all together.
What an intellect. It made him want to kiss her in the worst way.
But they were on the hunt for an ancient manuscript.
When they entered the room, he pushed the desk out from the wall and dropped to his knees in front of the window, searching the floorboards for cracks. Almost immediately, he found what he was looking for. He pulled his trusty versatile tool out of his pocket and opened it to the blade.
He scraped around the edges of the board, working it loose, and then pried it up with the flat of hisblade. It lifted easily. He reached his hand inside the exposed cavity and found the wrapped parcel.
He brought it out and handed it to Beatrice.
She accepted it with an expression of awe, holding the bundle as if it were an infant. “My treasured one, you’ve found a good home. I’ll take care of you.”
Ford couldn’t take much more of her sweet words and the joy in her eyes. He made a show of replacing the board and moving the desk back into place.
“I don’t even want to unwrap it yet, Ford. I want to live in this moment of discovery forever.”
He wanted to unwrap her. She was too lovely in the morning sun, holding her precious book.
She set the wrapped parcel carefully onto the shelves he’d built her. “Ford, we’ll find a way to keep this property, I know we will.” She touched his cheek lightly.
“Beatrice, when you say we'll find a way to keep this property, it sounds like you think we could have a future together.” He placed his hand over hers. They stood like that for a few seconds, their hands joined, their gazes locked.
“When I'm here with you in this house, I believe that anything is possible,” she replied softly.
He kissed her fiercely, reveling in her sweet scent and the softness of her skin. The blazing intellect that burned through her words and the bravery with which she faced the world.
The mingling of their lips was nearly desperate, close to bruising, a driving urge to imprint themselves, to make this memory last forever.
She was wearing the same blue gown she’d wornin Cornwall, simple and pretty. “I like this one of your gowns the best.”
“It’s my favorite, as well.”
“And this hairstyle is so easy to undo,” he said in a husky voice, following his words with action.
Her red curls bounced over her shoulders, beckoning his fingers.
They were probably going to run back up those stairs in a few seconds.
“Beatrice? Where are you?” A high-pitched voice intruded into their idyll.
She jerked away from him, her face panic-stricken. “My mother!”
He dropped his arm from her waist. They stared at each other, frozen, for the space of a few seconds, and then they both began to move.
Pins back in her hair. His shirt tangling as he hastily fastened the buttons. The sound of footsteps on the stairs and another call of “Beatrice?”
“Mrs. Kettle and Coggins must have returned and they let my mother in,” she whispered. She touched her lips, which were pink and swollen. “She can’t see me like this.”
“No,” he said grimly. “She can’t. You’ll have to hide. Quickly, under the desk.”
Chapter Twenty-One
