Page 23 of An Arranged Marriage with a Cruel Earl (Marriage Mart Scandals #2)

Andrew frowned at the map that his uncle had drawn. It detailed a part of the estate that he barely knew. Somewhere right up at the top, near the woodlands, was the river. It was that river that his uncle had drawn, noting the paths to it, some of which still existed. He had also drawn a structure of some kind on the riverbank. He could recall no such thing.

“A cottage?” Emmeline suggested. “An outbuilding, mayhap a stable?”

Andrew stared. A memory cannoned into him. He was eight years old, Ambrose almost twelve, and they had gone with Uncle on a ride to the river. On the riverbank had been an abandoned boathouse.

“The boathouse!” He frowned. “But nobody went in there. It wasn’t allowed. The place was falling down.”

Emmeline stared. Her beautiful green eyes were catlike in the light.

“It could be there.”

Andrew nodded slowly. “It could be.” If this treasure was hidden in a place where nobody ever went, it explained why nobody had discovered it accidentally. “But it’s dangerous,” he murmured. “I can’t take you in there.”

Emmeline shot him a look. “If I can ride my uncle’s horse, I can risk going into an old boathouse.”

Andrew drew breath to argue, then let it out in a sigh. “Very well. But if we hear the slightest sound, we’re both coming out. I am not sitting idly by while you get crushed by a roof beam.”

Emmeline giggled. “Good,” she replied.

Andrew smiled.

He took a deep breath and stood up from the desk. “Let’s go,” he said, staring out of the window. “While we still have light to see.” It was later than he had thought—the shadows were lengthening, and it was almost dinnertime.

“Very well.”

They went to the door and Andrew unlocked it, checking to see that neither of the cousins was there to see them. Then they hurried down the hallway and out into the garden.

Emmeline still wore his coat, and Andrew was glad because the afternoon was cold, clouds blowing in from the north. Only two paths to the river were still able to be used, and he led her up past the stables and across into the woodland.

“Uncle brought us here when we were children,” he explained as Emmeline hurried beside him.

“I wonder if that was when he had guessed the treasure’s location?” Emmeline asked.

Andrew shrugged. “I don’t know. It must have taken years for him to find out.”

They could hear the river now and Andrew walked faster, unable to shake the sense that they were being followed. Under the trees, it was dark already and his heart raced. They hurried to the riverbank.

“There!” Andrew called, the roar of the river drowning his words. The river was perhaps eight feet wide, but the recent rains had filled it and transformed it into a raging torrent that raced and roared past the bank. He could see the boathouse plainly—it was on the other bank, perhaps ten feet down from where they stood. “We can cross there,” he suggested, pointing to a log bridge. “I’ll help you,” he added.

Emmeline drew a breath. “It can’t be scarier than riding Firelight.”

“Your uncle’s horse?” he asked, recalling that first day when he had seen her.

“Yes.”

“Probably not,” he agreed. He took a deep breath and walked across. The bridge was quite wide, and if one forgot that one was walking over a raging river, it was not in the least frightening. He turned and looked at Emmeline.

Her face was hard, and he could see she was trying not to be afraid. She took a step onto the logs, and pride flooded through him as she walked slowly, hesitatingly, over to him.

“Hurrah!” he shouted as she jumped onto the other bank.

She exhaled wearily. “That was hopefully the only scary thing that will happen this evening.”

“Well, we have to cross in the same way when we’ve been in,” Andrew teased.

Emmeline made a wry face and he laughed.

They went into the boathouse together.

He shivered. The space was exactly as he recalled it—the roof was high overhead and the place smelled of damp creosoted wood. He breathed in and looked around .

“It doesn’t seem that tumbledown,” Emmeline stated.

“No, it doesn’t,” Andrew agreed. He frowned, wondering if the notion that it was unsafe had been Uncle’s doing, started to prevent other people from coming in to find what he knew was hidden there. “The map showed a mark in the centre,” he added with a frown.

“Then, let’s go to the centre,” Emmeline declared.

“Where?” They would need to measure the building and calculate where the centre was, and they did not have much time before it went dark.

“It should be there,” Emmeline answered briefly, pointing to a space about four paces from them.

“How do you know?”

“It’s under the central beam,” Emmeline said, “and opposite the door.”

Andrew blinked in surprise. “Clever.”

Emmeline blushed. “I should hope so,” she said primly.

They both laughed. Andrew walked with her to the centre of the room.

“You know,” he said as they reached it. “I won’t be sorry if we haven’t found the treasure. I’ve found my treasure already.” He gazed at her, his heart swelling with love. This love was a treasure, more precious than gold ever could be.

“Oh, Andrew,” she murmured. “You are my treasure.”

“You are mine.”

He stepped over and wrapped his arms around her. She rested her head on his shoulder, and he hugged her tight against him. The ache of desire that struck him when he embraced her earlier was replaced with deep, heart-melting tenderness, an indescribable need to keep her safe. He breathed in the scent of her hair and kissed her cheek.

Emmeline moved closer, nestling against him and his heart filled with so much care and warmth that it seemed as though it would surely burst. He held her close and for a moment he forgot about everything. There seemed no reason to look for treasure when all he wanted was right there in the span of his arms.

A sound in the corner, a rustling noise, made him step back. “A rat,” he said after a second.

Emmeline shuddered. “I hope it isn’t coming to find us.”

Andrew laughed. “They don’t find you,” he said, grinning at her frightened face. “But let’s hurry. We might find the rat.”

Emmeline laughed. “Let’s hurry. ”

He had brought a shovel with him from the garden shed and he reached for it and started to dig. When he was perhaps a foot down, his wrists jarred as the shovel grated on something solid. He gaped at Emmeline.

“There’s something in there,” he said. He stared at her in amazement and disbelief. He had not truly expected to find anything. “Perhaps it’s just a piece of wood,” he added, laughing at himself. There was no treasure buried on the estate at Rilendale Manor. It was impossible.

“Let’s have a proper look,” Emmeline declared.

Andrew shrugged. “Very well.”

He started to scrape the damp earth off the object he had found. It was indeed something wooden, but if it was just a plank or some part of the boathouse, he would have expected that it would be a bit longer. The object he was uncovering was little more than a foot long.

“It’s a box,” Emmeline declared. “It really is.” Her eyes were wide.

Andrew smiled. “You seem sure there really is a treasure here at Rilendale.”

“There really are such things as buried treasure,” she retorted. “So why not here?”

He laughed. “You’re right.”

He continued digging, and slowly he unearthed what was, as she had seemingly known, a box. It was a little over a foot long, and perhaps a foot tall. He shoved the shovel underneath and started to tug.

“It’s stuck,” he declared. The mud was clinging to it, refusing to let it budge, but he saw her face—imploring, interested—and slid the blade of the shovel underneath it and pushed down, gritting his teeth with effort and trying not to swear.

With a clinging, sucking noise, the wooden box slowly came loose from the mud. The wet, decaying smell of muddy earth came with it. Andrew crinkled his nose. Emmeline gazed at him.

“Do you think we can open it?” she asked.

He shrugged. “We can try.” He reached into his pocket, where he had the pocketknife that had been his father’s. He carried it often. He bent down and slid it under the lid and slowly worked it upwards.

Emmeline bent down to watch him, her skirt—already dirty—trailing in the mud. She didn’t seem to mind, and he admired her even more as she knelt there in the mud by his side .

“There!” He hissed out a breath as the lid creaked and then sprang open.

“Oh...” Emmeline breathed.

Andrew leaned forward, his breath catching as the contents came into view. Inside the box gleamed Spanish-minted gold coins, their intricate markings glinting faintly. Beside them lay solid gold bars, their surfaces dimmed by age yet still unmistakably precious.

“There it is,” Emmeline declared. Her voice shook.

“There it is indeed,” Andrew murmured. He gazed at it, feeling numb, surprised and confused.

He reached out to touch it. As he did, he heard a sound behind him. It was not the rustle of rats. It was footsteps. Human footsteps. And the unmistakable metallic click of a pistol being cocked.

“Hand over the treasure,” Ambrose’s voice said.