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“Who knows? Probably the rubbish still piled beside it in the strong room. Stones he’d collected from various beaches on their travels, wood and rusting tools, general rubbish from the ship.

I think a lot of the weight probably came from the thickness of the wood itself.

Sydney would never have carried the original chest, so he had nothing to compare the replica with when he carried it upstairs from the drawing room.

It’s more surprising the seamen didn’t notice the discrepancy when they unloaded it from the ship.

But they were probably concentrating more on getting to the Crown and Anchor. ”

“Tybalt was last to leave the ship,” Constance mused.

“So he had as much time as he wanted to unload the treasure and dispose of the original chest. And he shot Samuels so he could never give away how he had performed the trick.” She frowned.

“But then, why did Clarke change his name to Samuels on board the ship?”

“I suspect because Lloyd might have recognized his name as one of a previous tenant’s—not realizing that the Lloyds never notice the names of people they consider beneath them. He even grew a beard for the role.”

Constance nodded. “Then it was Tybalt who hit me, too? Why did he hang around so long? Clarke must have been dead for hours to be that cold—though, to be sure, he was in a draft from the partially open door. Had Clarke kept the treasure for him? Did he suspect Clarke was about to abscond with it?”

“It’s possible, though I can’t see him trusting the man with that much temptation in his house for several days. Perhaps he was looking for and removing any connection between himself and Clarke. He certainly made a mess looking for something.”

“Presumably, he found it and is now at least on his way to France with his lady love and the means to support her and himself in some style.” She frowned because it wasn’t quite right.

“Whatever her affection for Tybalt—or even her perfectly understandable desperation to get out of that house—I can’t see Audrey countenancing the murder of anyone, let alone a man she knew. ”

“No, I doubt he’ll tell her that part.”

“And why did she lie about Clarke’s nonexistent sister?

” Her frown cleared. “Aha! She and Tybalt met in Clarke’s house, to throw her controlling brother or anyone else off the scent.

Poor Miss Tybalt… Solomon, we have to stop her marrying him!

For her sake as well as ours. A wife cannot testify against her husband, can she?

And without her, we have no evidence of Tybalt’s motive. ”

“Actually, at this point, we have no evidence at all,” Solomon pointed out, “only speculation.”

“Then we need to go to Folkestone tomorrow—and on to France if necessary.”

Solomon’s eyebrows flew up. “You have a passport?”

She scowled. “No, actually. I have difficulties with official paperwork. But I can go as far as Folkestone.”

“We shall see,” he said smoothly. “In the morning.”

It was not an outright refusal, and she loved him for that.

Even while she knew that she would go anyway, with his escort or without.

Providing she felt well enough not to disgrace herself.

She wondered if she could rebind the dressing on her head, so that the bandage was hidden by her hat.

Just as she had done the last time a murderer had hit her over the head.

“Solomon? Do you think he’ll do away with her, too?”

He shook his head. “I would say she is the one person who is safe with him. He could have fled to France days ago if he was not waiting for. He didn’t need her to steal the treasure.”

“On the face of it, she is an unlikely Helen of Troy figure,” Constance mused.

“I imagine love is never very explicable, let alone convenient. Though I’m finding it very convenient right now.” He kissed her fingers and spread them on his warm, muscular thigh, his large hand over hers.

Her skin prickled. So did the pit of her stomach. And it was not remotely unpleasant.

She closed her eyes. I like being with you, Solomon Grey. She didn’t think she said the words aloud, but she might have, for she felt his lips on her forehead and smiled without opening her eyes.

Then she snapped them open. “When are you leaving? If I fall asleep, will you wake me?”

“I’m not leaving. I shall stay with you here.”

That was worth a smile too, though she was too sleepy and much, much too comfortable to know if her lips obeyed.

*

She woke at some point during the night to find his head still on the pillow beside her, his face toward her, his breath sweet on her skin. His arm was draped over her, with all the covers still between them. He lay on top of the bed, with his coat and a blanket draped over himself.

She wondered at his determination to treat her with such propriety.

Some might have called it priggish, in the circumstances, but she didn’t think he was priggish at all.

He was no stranger to women. With her, he was different.

And he wanted to be different to her, nothing like the other men who had used her years ago, and who now paid to use her willing friends.

Very lightly, she touched his face with her fingertips, then burrowed under his blanket and coat to place her arm around his warm body.

At once, he shifted closer without waking and gave a small grunt of annoyance at all the covers between them.

But it was not enough to wake him. His arms tightened around her, as though he were trying to gather her closer, and then relaxed.

Every night, she thought in wonder. She would have this closeness— more closeness—every night, once they were married. It was a delightful knowledge to hold as she drifted back off to sleep.

*

Solomon woke early, as he always did. It was sweet to feel her arm around his shoulder, and they seemed to be pressed as closely together as they could get with all the blankets between them.

Desire was not his friend. He knew she would be happy if he got properly into bed with her, and God knew he would probably have given in to the temptation had she not received such an injury yesterday.

Instead, he lay as he was, listening to the rhythm of her breathing.

He had dreamed last night that her fingers caressed her cheek…

Perhaps they had. It was not light yet, so he could not make out her features.

Nor did he wish to disturb her rest with the clumsiness of his touch, let alone his desire.

So he lay still at her side, just feeling her presence.

This remarkable woman, so improbably chaste and pure of heart.

He had never found compassion like Constance’s before, all the more important for being exercised in secret behind the brash exterior of the hardheaded courtesan.

He lay watching her until the night lightened into dawn and he began to see her features. She was uniquely beautiful, alluring in her fine nightgown with her hair spilling decadently across her forehead and breast. And she was his.

Protectiveness surged and had to be calmed, for she did not want that controlling kind of protection, and she did not deserve it. They could only protect each other.

Her long lashes fluttered. She saw him watching her and smiled. He had to kiss her. How long that might have gone on, he never discovered, for a knock sounded at the door.

Reluctantly, he threw off his blanket and climbed into his rumpled coat as he crossed the bedroom and opened the door.

It was Janey, bearing a tray of coffee and an expression of anxiety. “How is she?”

“She slept well,” he managed. “For the rest, we shall see in a little while.”

“I’ve brought coffee. Do you want breakfast together, or do you have to get home?”

Solomon ran his hand over the rough stubble of his jaw and eyed the limpness of his crushed coat with displeasure. “I do need to go home, don’t I?”

“You could,” Constance said, “have breakfast first.”

“I believe I will,” he said, glad he had given her the choice and happier yet to stay. “I want to see how you are.”

“I’ll open the office as usual,” Janey offered, setting down the coffee pot, and leaving them to it with a pleased expression.

“She’s an old romantic at heart,” Constance said.

So am I, God help me .

*

Two hours later, properly washed, shaved, and dressed, he was back with his comfortable, well-sprung traveling carriage.

He had left Constance being examined by the doctor, and having her dressing changed.

The doctor’s instructions would determine whether or not she journeyed with Solomon, but he had already decided that the carriage, where he could control the speed and the number of stops, would be smoother for her than the train.

As she had pointed out in no uncertain terms, if they found Miss Lloyd in Folkestone, Constance would be a considerable asset in persuading the lady to return to her imperfect family. She would have lots to say about the possibilities for a woman’s independent life without involving a man.

Not for the first time, it struck him what Constance was giving up to marry him.

She currently had no fetters except the law, and that she was managing to get around by means of her own.

Once she married him, he was legally and financially her master.

The world would no doubt see it as a wealthy man ensnared by a courtesan.

He knew better, and the level of her trust in him was humbling.

When the liveried footman admitted him, she was already in the entrance hall, elegantly dressed for an expedition, her bandage hidden beneath a wide-brimmed hat tied with ribbons.

“The doctor says I am quite well enough to travel,” she said by way of greeting.

“Not quite, he didn’t,” said Sarah, materializing behind her. She appeared to be Constance’s lieutenant. “What he did say was that a short, gentle outing with a little fresh air might be beneficial, but she’s still to rest.”

“Well, what else would I be doing in a carriage?” Constance asked tartly.

Solomon met Sarah’s gaze, and she gave the tiniest shrug. He bowed to the inevitable, offering Constance his arm, and was rewarded with a blinding smile that took his breath away.

*

“I’m sure we would be quicker by railway,” Constance said anxiously. She had removed her hat and drawn the loose hood of her warm traveling cloak over her hair instead.

“Not if we had to alight at every station because your head was so painful from all the rattling. Besides, the carriage will be handy if we have to find their lodgings in Folkestone.”

“And if we find they have already gone to France?”

“Then you must take the carriage back to London—the coachman will have his instructions—while I go on to France and try to find them there.”

She lapsed into silence.

He said, “We should set about adding you to my passport when we are married. Then we can go abroad on a wedding journey or whenever else we choose.”

“Really? You mean we could for no reason? Just for fun?”

He knew a twinge of pity for the girl who had never known leisure time and holidays.

For all her talk of happiness and friendship, they were snatched moments in the midst of work and responsibility.

Even when she took her household on little jaunts into the country, they were never for more than a day.

They all had their days off. Constance never did.

If she was not looking after the establishment or its denizens in some way, she was investigating with him.

The very idea of Constance focused only on happiness, on her own pleasure, was intoxicating.

“I look forward to it,” he said intensely, and to his secret delight, she blushed.