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“What does that have to do with anything?” Truly, she was perplexed at the history.
“Patience, Lady Ravenscroft. It won’t due if you rush the telling.” One corner of his mouth tipped upward with the beginnings of a grin. “It would seem on the eve of the greatest battle of the war, this Lord Applewaite decided it was imminently important that he leave London post haste. But why?”
“Perhaps he wished to flee to a country estate to escape possible devastation?”
“One would think. However, if that were true, he would have ordered his townhouse to be packed and removed. As it was, while France readied for the events that would take place on that battlefield, Lord Applewaite took himself off on a post coach of all things, with one valise and three heavy trunks that he said carried candles, soaps, and other French staples he had become addicted to while spending years searching for some of those missing treasures Napoleon’s armies supposedly stole.”
Excitement curled through the pit of her belly. “I’ll wager that’s not what was in those trunks.”
“Of course not.” When the lane came to a crossroads, Hawk brought them to a halt. “But to all outward purposes, he had filled out the paperwork to reflect such pampering products. All receipts written for that trip and all ledgers from posting inns were legitimate.”
“Why would he lie?”
“Why, indeed, but it was a necessity if he wished to protect such valuable cargo and keep it in his sight.”
“Then therewasstolen treasure in those trunks?” Was that what Hawk searched for, and if so, why on Ravenscroft land?
“That is the assumption.” His grin burgeoned. “Gold coins, silver candlesticks and tea sets, jewelry, paintings, as well as anything Napoleon’s troops would deem valuable. And from all the intelligence the Home Office has managed to gather, Lord Applewaite’s trail ran cold here, on Ravenscroft land.”
Her bottom jaw fell slightly open. “Why?”
“Perhaps he considered this the safest place. Do you remember him ever visiting the manor?”
“Not that I’m aware, but then if he didn’t announce himself under that name, I would have no idea.” She frowned. “Besides, that battle was four and a half years ago. I was deep in mourning and wouldn’t have entertained. There was no Christmas Eve ball that year.” Since her husband had died earlier that year, she hadn’t felt right to go forward with it.
“Perhaps he disguised himself as a traveler or perhaps he landed in the village. It is difficult to say at this point.”
“Is he still alive?”
“He is not. In fact, his body was found three years before in an alley in London, which is what brought the case of the missing treasure to the attention of the Home Office, all due to a clue found within his possessions in the valise that was with his corpse.” Hawk narrowed his eyes as he stared at her. “My mission is to recover those valuables, for Applewaite did not bring them back to London.”
“And what, have all of those things locked up?”
“I would imagine they’d be donated to the British Museum.”
“Ah.” Belle crossed her arms at her chest. “Just because a piece of art is in a museum doesn’t mean it belongs there.”
“On that I agree.” His dratted grin would weaken her knees if they stood there too long. “Governments, despots, men with world domination on their minds have already stolen countless pieces of art either to hoard them for themselves or to sell them in order to finance whatever their next horrible plan is. Men like me return those stolen pieces to their rightful owners.”
“Yet there are times when antiquities and paintings do not belong in some rich man’s drawing room, especially if he illegally obtained it.”
“Another truth.” Amusement and respect warred for dominance in his ice blue eyes. “You are quite astute, Belle.”
Heat slapped at her cheeks, for she enjoyed his praise all too much. “Napoleon was a filthy thief and a bit of a coward in other respects.”
“I won’t argue about that.”
She held up a hand. “But artifact and treasure retrieval does not give you the right to stomp all over my property—”
“—your husband’s property, or rather your brother-in-law’s property as it were,” he interrupted with another grin.
“—very well, my brother-in-law’s property, as if you own it.”
“Ah, you are a doubting Thomas.” He took possession of her hand and held it. “I have permission to be here.”
“Surely not from Philip. The animosity between the two of you is too real to be faked.”
“No.” He winked and tiny fires lit in her blood. “From the Home Office. They were the ones who sent me. I have been staying at a boarding house in the village for the past few months—the same boarding house that our dead lord supposedly used—as I covertly search Ravenscroft grounds under cover of nightfall.”
