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A week. Seven solid days and still that brooch hadn’t turned up. Bram handed Eva the plan for today’s work, a latent anger crawling under his skin. He ought to be riding out into the glorious November morn with his crew instead of wasting time presenting a schedule to a woman who looked at him with mistrust clouding her gaze. If only Uncle Pendleton could remember where he put that relic!

“So”—he planted his hands on the worktable to keep from slamming his fist—“does today’s agenda meet with your approval?”

Eva pushed the paper across the table with one finger. “You make me sound like a harsh taskmaster.”

“The harshest one I know.”

Not to mention the most intriguing. For despite her wariness around him, he couldn’t help but continue to admire her. This was no woman to be so easily taken advantage of, a trait he could respect.

A sad smile brushed across her lips. “Have I truly been an ogre this past week?”

“Not at all.” He cracked his knuckles, working out his irritation. She had every right to be so vigilant. These were, after all, her antiquities. “Furthermore, I fully understand you wishing to tally our finds at the end of every day and going over the schedule each morn. Truth be told, I am growing rather fond of our time together.”

“You, sir, are a rogue.”

“I have been called worse.” He shrugged. “And by you, no less.”

She humphed, her gaze skimming along the line of relics they’d uncovered thus far. The room, with its grand chandelier now coated in dust, hung incongruously over the growing collection of Roman artifacts. The breakfast room had been transformed into a veritable nexus of history.

“We are compiling quite a lot of treasures in here.” Eva ran her finger along the table. “And while I enjoy their beauty, I do have taxes to pay, and I am thirty pounds short. Now that you have catalogued and priced the bulk of these items, I think it is time I see about selling some of them to make up that deficit.”

“Why not all of them?”

“Is it possible?” She rounded the table, eyes wide. “I do not mean to be greedy, but I really could use the funds.”

No doubt she could, if one judged by the mean state of the cottage he and the men were staying in, the missing shingles on the manor, and the repetitious meals they’d been served.

“These relics”—he swept out his hand—“would be perfect specimens to use in the classroom, for it is quite a varied collection. How long do you have?”

“Taxes are due on December thirteenth.”

“ Friday the thirteenth?” He chuckled. He and Uncle were set to face the board on that ill-fated day too. “How fitting.”

“Quite.” Her eyes changed to a ghostly blue, the melancholy sort that songs were written about ... and the sight drove a knife into his chest. Would that he could wave a magic wand and make things right for her. “Well then, how about I spend some time crating up these beauties, and we make a trip to Cambridge next Monday? I am certain I can persuade the powers that be at Trinity to purchase this lot for the college. The paperwork could take several weeks, which would be cutting it close to your deadline, but at least it is a possibility.”

“ We make a trip?”

“I hardly think you will let me take a load of valuables on the road by myself. Uncle Pendleton will join us, and we shall make a merry day of it.”

“Oh, Bram.” Sadly, she shook her head. “Please do not think I mistrust you so very much. It is just that I need to be cautious. I cannot afford to lose anything more that might bring in money.”

“I understand, Eva. Truly, I do.” But that didn’t mean he liked it. He’d do anything to regain that gaze of confidence she’d given him the night of the bonfire. Absently, he laced his fingers and cracked his knuckles.

Eva frowned. “When are you going to stop doing that?”

He picked up her hand, hovering her fingertips in front of her face. “When you stop biting your nails.”

The grin they shared did much to soothe the irritations of the past week.

“Of course, if we happen to unearth the Holy Grail, then I imagine you will be set for life monetarily. You shall never have to nibble your fingernails again.”

Her lips parted with an intake of air. “Do you really think it could be here?”

“My uncle seems to think so. Personally, I highly doubt it ... though I have learned to never say never.”

“Hmm.” Once again Eva wandered the length of the table before returning to his side. “Some say the grail has mystical powers. That it can heal. It would be lovely if that were true and Penny could regain her vision.”

He shook his head. “God alone heals, though I suppose He could choose any means He likes through which to do so. Then again, I am no theological expert.”

“Maybe not, but you are a man of faith.” She glanced up at him, a glimmer of appreciation in her pale eyes.

Was she beginning to rethink her doubts of him? He chewed the inside of his cheek, wishing to God it were so. But even if it was, once she learned the truth of his parentage, she would no doubt put distance between herself and him.

And he wouldn’t blame her.

Frustrated, he plowed his fingers through his hair. “Eva, I—”

Heels clicked into the room, the swish of the housekeeper’s skirts rustling with each step. “A letter arrived for you, sir.”

He took the sealed envelope. “Thank you, Dixon.”

He studied it as she clipped away. The penmanship didn’t look familiar, nor was there an official college seal. A simple paste glue wrinkled the edge of the back flap.

Eva handed him a pencil. “It is a far cry from a letter opener, but as you well know, I do not think my nails will be very effective at breaking the seal.”

His lips twisted wryly as he slid the thing beneath the flap and shook out the folded paper that’d been tucked neatly inside. The more he read, the wider his eyes grew. Mr. Toffit hadn’t been jesting about being impressed with his archaeological practices, initiative, and leadership. The curator position was his—with a hefty salary—all for the signing of his name on the bottom line ... a signature that was due in two weeks. Blast! Why could this not have been offered next May when his uncle would be settled into his retirement?

“Must be important,” Eva murmured. “You are quite engrossed.”

He peered at her, the sense of her words slowly coming together. “Oh, yes, I suppose.”

“May I ask what has you so pensive?”

“You may ask me anything.” He smiled. “It seems the Royston Historical Society is making good on their offer of employment. This is a document for me to sign as their curator.”

“I see.” She brought her finger to her lips, then caught herself and dropped her hand. “What will you do?”

There was a tilt of genuine curiosity to her head. Interesting, that. “Would you like me to move back to Royston?”

The blush of a summer rose spread across her cheeks. “I would not think my opinion should make a difference.”

“It matters to me.”

“I-I would not presume to tell you where to live nor what career path to take.”

No, of course she wouldn’t, not unless pressed or possibly threatened. He would do neither. “And yet, Eva Inman, I suspect you have very definite thoughts on the matter, for I do believe you know your own mind.”

Her chin lifted quite adorably. “You make that sound like a bad thing.”

“Quite the contrary. I admire a woman with a little pluck.”

A smile played on her lips. “Is it a good offer?”

“Yes, the salary is a bit more than I currently take in, and since I have been here this past month, I find that I rather like country living.”

She studied his face. “So you are going to take it?”

Actually, he was surprised at how strongly he did wish to sign on that confirmation line, but with his uncle to mind, there was no possible way to do so.

“I, em, likely not. And now, if you will excuse me, I have some things to do and think about. I will see you later, Eva,” he mumbled as he turned away, finished with the conversation and with the temptation to leave behind his teaching days.

He would pen a rejection letter later tonight.

It’d only been an hour since she’d last spoken with Bram in the workroom, and yet here she was, tethering her horse out at the worksite. She had been spending an inordinate amount of time with him, which was a mixed blessing. Bram was enjoyable to be around, and she found his insights into Roman antiquities to be educational and entertaining. Part of her wished he would accept that curatorship position. But it also meant time away from Penny, time that would have been spent reading or working on mathematics or history lessons.

Once again she felt that tug-of-war between caring for Penny herself and sending her off to school just like Bram, his uncle, and Mrs. Mortimer all urged her to do. Was she doing the right thing keeping Penny here, or was she being selfish? Was Penny ready to spread her wings and fly away, or would such a big move be traumatic for her at this age?

Sighing, Eva strode to the work tent—where a hundred more questions bombarded her.

Bram paced in front of the field desk, fists clenched at his sides. His jaw clamped so hard, iron cords stood out on his neck. The sight made her own stomach tighten. Whatever had him in such a high dudgeon couldn’t be good.

She stopped just inside the door flap. “I got word from Sinclair you wished to speak with me. What has happened?”

He wheeled about so quickly his coat tails flew wide. “Come see for yourself.”

She followed him—or tried to. His long legs ate up the uneven ground with bigger bites than she could manage. He led her to the farthest edge of the excavation site, where his students each hefted a shovel, digging out sand. Professor Pendleton stood nearby, supervising. Bram stopped abruptly, a low growl in his throat.

Eva peered up at him. “I do not understand. This is where you found the mosaic piece and had planned to see if any more might be discovered. Why did you fill it in with sand?”

“I had nothing to do with filling it in.” His voice was a wire that might snap at any moment.

“Then who did?”

“If I knew, I would throttle the scoundrel!” He threw his hands in the air. “First the ripped tent, then the broken tools, the missing brooch, and now this. What is to be next? A sudden invasion of sandworms devouring everything in their path?”

“Sandworms?” She scrunched her brow. “Is that a thing?”

“No, but it is just as plausible as the catastrophes that have been striking here with regularity. Perhaps Sinclair is right, and these acres truly are cursed. Blast it all!” He paced once again.

She nibbled on a fingernail, concerned, yes, but also a fair amount of relief made breathing easier. Bram wasn’t responsible for this, nor had he likely been for the other mishaps. Judging by the way his heels dug into the dirt and the fierce glower twisting his face, he was genuinely upset about the whole ordeal.

Or he was a consummate actor.

She discarded that thought and stepped toward him. “I shall report this to the constable at once.”

“No.” He faced her, crossing his arms against his chest. “That will mean interviews, paperwork, maybe even a site closure due to safety concerns. I would rather camp out here each night than risk such interruptions.”

“But, Bram, you are already getting interrupted.” She tipped her head at the crew diligently removing the sand.

“I know, and it is maddening!” He kicked a stray rock. “Every time we are on the brink of a breakthrough, something happens. It is like building a sandcastle at the edge of the tide, only to have the waves wash it away. This excavation is crucial. We cannot afford such setbacks!”

She stiffened at the raw fury in his voice. She’d hate to be the one to cross swords with this man.

His uncle approached, bold enough to pat Bram on the back. “Calm down. The fellows will set this to rights.”

“They should not have to set anything to rights. They should be working on the dig. We do not have time for this!” He stomped away and grabbed a shovel. The students gave him a wide berth. Good call, for he pitched a furious storm of sand into the air.

Eva turned to Professor Pendleton. “I understand Bram is upset, and rightfully so. As am I. These ill happenings are vexing. But what I do not understand is why he feels so rushed. You and your crew are welcome to take as much time as you need. I hope you are not feeling pressured by me in any way.”

“Oh, dear lady, you are ever so gracious.” A wry smile quirked his lips. “Unfortunately, Professor Grimwinkle is not.”

“What do you mean?”

His eyes glazed over for a moment as if Bram’s uncle had vacated his body and nothing but a shell stood in front of her.

“Professor? Are you all right?”

“Hmm?” He squinted, studying her as if they’d just met, then gave a hearty chuckle. “Why, yes! This dig is quite important. I feel certain this is the site of Caelum Academia. We just need to prove it.”

“To Professor Grimwinkle, I take it. But why the rush?”

“I’m in no hurry, but as I recall, there was something to do with someone’s job being on the line.” He massaged his temple with two fingers, late-morning sun glinting off the silvery hair he mussed. “I could be wrong about that, though. Sometimes things get a bit jumbled, you know. At any rate, it’s nothing to worry about. We’ll meet with the board at the end of the term, and all will be well.”

Eva glanced at Bram, a pile of sand now behind him. He clearly didn’t share the same calm as his uncle ... perhaps because he knew exactly whose job was on the line.