by Clare London
“Why should I be?” Joel’s laugh was shaky. “Is that how you feel? Scared you’ll be seen fraternizing with the enemy?”
“You’re not….” But he couldn’t finish the sentence, because Joel Sterling was the enemy. Wasn’t he? At least, he had been.
The next embrace was stronger, fiercer. They chased each other’s mouth, tongues lapping at lips, teeth nipping at a prickly jawline, hot breath puffing little pillows of steam around them as it hit the colder air.
“The station’s just over the railway bridge ahead,” Joel gasped. “We’re nearly there.”
Matt knew what Joel meant: streetlights, more traffic, partygoers, and late-night diners in the restaurants on the riverside. No more being alone, being undisturbed. No more of this startling intimacy. There was a sudden frozen pause as they stared at each other. Matt didn’t know how this was going to play out, though he knew damn well what he wanted—Joel to get on the train with him, to keep holding him, kissing him, all the way home to Norfolk and Matt’s bed. To hell with fraternizing!
And from the fiery look in Joel’s eyes, he wanted that too. His pupils were dilated; his lips looked too red against his pale face. Matt knew for the first time what the description kiss-swollen looked like.
But….
“We should split up here.” Matt’s throat felt too dry. His legs didn’t feel like his own, but he made them take a step away. “There’s no need for you to walk all the way to the station with me. It’s out of your way.”
“I can call for a car anywhere,” Joel murmured. “But… I guess that’s fine. Sensible.” He looked dazed, and he wasn’t making any move to or from the bridge. He shook his head once, as if to clear his head. “Sorry. I mean, that’s fine. I understand.”
Matt wondered what the hell Joel understood, because his own brain was a mess of confusion and thwarted lust at the moment. But Joel was right. Tonight, they should be sensible.
When Matt spoke again, his voice was hoarse. Sensible was a pain in the arse, in his opinion. “Good night, Joel.”
“Good night. See you tomorrow.” Joel nodded slowly as if he was trying to parse Matt’s words, his expression closed again. He ran his tongue over his lips, his breath misting Matt’s view of that soft yet so firm mouth. “Sleep well.”
As Matt strode across the bridge over the Thames, not daring to look back, his lips still tingled from the bruising touch. Sleep well. How the hell was he meant to do that, with the taste of Joel Sterling burned into his senses?
Chapter Twelve
JOEL arrived midmorning at the farmhouse, after Matt had texted him the address. It was a large house, sprawling across several outbuildings, though in need of some repair and redecoration. Joel could see a few sheep out in a field beyond the yard, and a large black dog ambled past an old Range Rover parked by the house. Joel drew his Mercedes in beside the other car and slid out of the leather seats.
Rain had started about an hour outside of Norfolk, a steady drizzle. It seemed to be getting heavier now. The cold damp seeped through his sweater, and his hair clung closer to his scalp. There were mud splatters all over the sides of the car. Taking a step nearer the house, his left foot landed squarely in a muddy puddle up to his ankle. The dog reappeared suddenly from behind the farm vehicle, barking loudly, its tail wagging happily. Before Joel could regain his balance from stepping in the puddle, it bounded across to him and jumped up, front feet on Joel’s chest. Muddy feet.
“Mortar!” came a yell from the farmhouse, and a woman rushed out. “Come here, boy. Right now!”
With a whine, the dog dropped away from Joel and slunk past him and the woman into the farmhouse.
“Are you Matt’s boss?” shouted the woman. Joel was only a few feet away, so he wasn’t sure why she thought she had to roar at him. “Come in before you get soaked. The cloud cover isn’t going to pass for another hour.”
He stumbled into the kitchen and was reassured to find a homely room. The woman threw a towel over to him, and he caught it clumsily. Assuming it was for drying off, he rubbed the worst of the rain off his hair and clothes.
“I’m Caroline,” she said in a warm country burr. “Call me Caro, everyone does. There’s no standing on ceremony here. Drop your shoes over by the door and sit down. I’ll get the tea on. You okay with dogs? Sorry about Mortar. He’s totally harmless but a tad overfriendly. I assume you want to see Matt? He’s out with my husband, Gary. They’re getting the dig under cover until the rain’s passed.” She didn’t stop at any stage for him to make any reply, turning to set the kettle on the top of the Aga to boil. “Toast? Nothing fancy, but the bread’s homemade. That’s if my boys didn’t demolish it all before they went on their Scouts field trip at arse-o’clock this morning.”
Joel sat on a chair at the kitchen table, feeling a little stunned. His left foot squelched in his boot and the mud on his trouser legs was stiffening. When he’d called Teresa that morning to tell her where he was going, she’d laughed for an embarrassingly long time.
“Joel Sterling, out on the land! You know it’s a dirty business? I’ve watched Time Team on TV. They’re always on their knees, scrabbling around in the earth.”
“Scrabbling. Right.”
“A dirty business,” she’d repeated, and was still laughing as he’d hung up.
A large white mug of coffee was plunked down in front of him, steaming, fragrant. It had a picture of a recent video game on the side. He took a careful but grateful sip, though he felt odd that Matt wasn’t there to introduce his visit. When Caro picked up a matching mug and sat down opposite him, he knew he was probably facing interrogation.
But first, she grinned widely, her gaze running him up and down. “Look at you! Handsome man. Handsome, posh, city man. Good to see you, Joel Sterling, Mr. Starsmith Stones.”
He found himself smiling in reply. She was an attractive, welcoming woman, and he instinctively liked her. “Not exactly—”
Caro interrupted with a noisy snort over the top of her mug. “Don’t mind me. We talk as we find up here, and I suspect it’ll be a culture shock for you.”
“Please, let me finish,” he continued firmly but with a smile. “I talk as I find too, when the occasion merits it. And I’m far from posh, as you put it.”
Caro raised her eyebrows. She looked delighted he’d answered her back. “Fair ’nough. Is your family from London originally?”
He couldn’t help it; he tensed up. It happened every time someone mentioned his family. He thought he’d conquered his instinctive reaction over the years, but… obviously not. “I don’t see my family anymore.”
“I’m sorry about that,” Caro said slowly. She frowned as if it were an alien concept to her, but she obviously wasn’t letting go of the topic. “Why not? Did they throw you out? Move to Outer Mongolia? End up in prison?”
Joel couldn’t hold back a soft groan. He put his mug on the table as carefully as he could, but his hands were shaking.
“Shit,” Caro said bluntly. “I hit dirt on that, didn’t I? I assure you, it doesn’t matter to me where they are, what they did.”
“It was financial fraud,” Joel said. He startled himself. He never talked about this to anyone. Yet something had loosened his inhibitions today. “All my childhood was spent following their pursuit of some scam or other, always fruitless in the end. Finally they tried to rip off a pension fund, offering fabulous investment returns in a product that was basically no more than a lick and a promise. Someone got wise to them before any money was transferred, they got caught, and this time they were prosecuted.”
Caro nodded, listening carefully with a wary look in her eyes.
“People could have lost huge amounts of money,” Joel said hoarsely. “Pensioners’ life savings. People deeply in need. It was despicable. Unforgivable.” Even now, his heart ached at the way his parents had manipulated the less cautious. They’d never even considered a legitimate job, had always looked for easy money. Yet Joel had spent most of his childhood wi
th his family on the breadline. Any money they’d made, they spent as fast. He had hand-me-down clothes from the charity shops, was almost always hungry, had never been able to join in with his school friends’ parties and clubs.
“As soon as I was old enough, which was luckily just as they started their sentence, I left that all behind. I’ve been solely responsible for myself ever since. Totally legal, totally, financially secure.”
“Oh Joel,” she said softly. “You poor love.”
He frowned. “No, you’re mistaken. I’m very happy with what I’ve made of my life.” He was determined he’d never have to pin up the waist of his trousers again because the charity clothes were two sizes too big. He’d never have to sneak bruised fruit from the supermarket rubbish when no one was looking. He’d never have to answer the door to the police and pretend his parents were traveling abroad, rather than hiding in the car. Nowadays he was well paid and had plenty of savings for a proverbial rainy day, if it ever came—though he was pretty sure he wouldn’t let it. He was in charge, he was in control, and money would never equate to fear for him again.
There was the sudden sound of voices, of excited laughter. The kitchen door swung forcefully open, the black dog leapt to his feet again, barking ecstatically, and two men entered, stamping the rain off their Wellington boots—a man as ruddy and cheerful-looking as Caro, and Matt.
“Boots off!” Caro roared.
The short delay while they toed off their muddy footwear by the doorway gave Joel the chance to catch his breath. He was disturbed at having confessed so much about himself to, in effect, a stranger. But he was also disturbed at seeing Matt again. It was only a few hours since they parted ways, yet the reminders of last night hit him like a physical blow. The excitement and glamor of the palace, the astonishing conversation between Matt and Paolo Astra, the new ideas for wedding gifts, the exhilaration of knowing the prince was on side with everything—and the kiss.
Jesus, the kiss.
Joel had traveled back to London last night with the taste of Matt’s lips still lingering—the mix of sparkling wine and exclusive canape pastry, and the unique flavor of Matt’s skin. This morning, the taste was still with him, in his mind, at least. It was just like the kiss at Claridge’s, and yet it was totally different. It felt like the first kiss, yet magnified, enhanced, multilayered on top of that. He’d started to believe he’d never be rid of the memory.
Oh God, what nonsense was he thinking?
“Is that kettle still hot?” The other man darted to the Aga, rubbing his hands in anticipation. “That rain’s bloody cold out there.” He turned to Joel and grinned. “I’m his cousin, Gary. You’ll have met Caro, I reckon.”
Joel nodded hello, realizing Caro was peering between Joel and Matt, her eyes shrewd. “Matt,” he said quietly in welcome.
“Joel. Hi.” Matt caught his gaze and nodded. He bit his lower lip, then let the plump flesh slide out from under his teeth.
Did he realize how bloody sexy that was? Joel was hit with another wave of memory—the steam of Matt’s breath, the woody smell of the night air in his nose, and Matt’s strong shoulders under his hands as he gripped him, to bring him closer….
Matt cleared his throat, breaking into Joel’s increasingly lurid dreams. He’d accepted a mug of tea from Caro and was blowing over the top of it to cool it down. “Didn’t know if you’d make it today.”
“I said I would,” Joel replied.
“Yes, you did,” Matt said, and something fierce, maybe even happy, flickered in his pupils.
“Sit down, the lot of you. You’re making the room look untidy,” Caro said heartily. “What’s all the excitement?”
“We found another stash!” Gary said with glee. “A whole pile of coins—we think they’re Roman.” Without checking whether it was okay, he heaved a small messenger bag off his shoulder and upended the contents on the table.
Caro rolled her eyes, and Joel gasped. It was a pile of dirty, muddy items, flat and round. There were tufts of hay and grass mixed in, and plenty of grit and small stones, but they were unmistakably coins. On a couple of them, there was a still recognizable imprint of an emperor’s head.
“Are they worth anything?” Caro asked pragmatically. “The barn needs some roof repairs.”
“Gotta report it to the local coroner,” Gary said. “But I’m confident it’ll be classed as treasure, because some of them look like silver, maybe gold, and….” He looked around with a grin, as if waiting for a drumroll. “There’s a whole pile more of ’em out in the west field!”
“But it also depends on whether they’re of special interest, and if a museum will want them,” Matt warned. “Then we also have to see what valuation or reward is offered. It can take months to determine what money we may actually get.”
“We could melt ’em down for a saucepan instead,” Caro grumbled, but actually looked as excited as her husband.
“Is this the first time you’ve found something as important as this?” Joel turned over one of the coins. It was heavier than he’d expected and surprisingly modern-looking. He could run his fingertip over the embossed head and trace the man’s nose and imperial neck.
“We think the merchant who once owned this farm had relatives in the king’s court. There’ve been renovations to the farmhouse over the years that a poor family could never have afforded,” Gary said.
“He would have had staff and possibly an army of his own too,” Matt added. “We’ve found buckles and strips of heavy cloth in the past that we reckon came from soldiers’ uniforms.”
The shake of excitement in Matt’s voice sent goose bumps down Joel’s spine. “It’s a period of history that you feel affinity for, isn’t it?”
Matt’s eyes met Joel’s, sparkling, glittering. “I’ve studied it for years. I like the Roman style, their love of good, strong designs and beautiful metals.”
“What’s this, then?” Joel picked up a triangular piece of hard, terracotta-colored material. He wondered what part it played in the currency of the time. “There are a few of these in the pile.”
“Ah.” Gary looked suddenly sober. “Now them’s something else. I’ll have to take professional advice about that. Maybe call up the British Museum.”
“Really?” Joel looked at the spiky thing with more respect. “What do you think it was used for?”
Gary’s eyes widened. “What? Can’t you see the astonishing story it tells?”
“No. I mean… well, it’s hardly my area of expertise.” There was a long silence, embarrassing for Joel. He put the item carefully back on the table and wondered how he could simply change the subject—
Then Gary and Matt both burst out laughing.
“They’re joshin’ you, Joel,” Caro said with a fond frown. “That is, takin’ the piss. That looks like a broken shard from a plant pot, probably one sold by Mrs. Edgeley at the post office. Its date? Circa 2017, I’d say.”
“You mean… not an artifact at all?”
Gary was still laughing. “We find a lot of rubbish when we dig.”
“It’s actually more of a filtering job than collection,” Matt said.
“Bastards,” Joel said, but with a grin.
Chapter Thirteen
WHEN the rain eased off, Gary and Caro pulled on their coats and went to check on the sheep. Matt finished his bacon sandwich—Caro’s were definitely the best Joel had ever been tempted into eating—and reached for Joel’s sheet of kitchen paper to wipe his fingers. His hand brushed Joel’s wrist, and Joel was pretty sure Matt hesitated before drawing it away.
“You okay?” Matt said quietly, his expression guarded. “I mean, about us laughing at you earlier. Didn’t mean to… you know. It was just a joke.”
“It’s always a good thing to be reminded of what you don’t know,” Joel said calmly. A lifetime of remaining on his guard had probably prepared him for anything.
“Yeah.” Matt nodded slowly. “You said it.”
Joel smiled at him. “Last
night was surprising, wasn’t it? All of it.” Was Matt worried about last night? Regretting it? God, Joel had never been so desperate to know what a man was thinking.
Matt’s hand stretched back across the table, but this time to take hold of Joel’s. That was enough expression for Joel’s heart to soar. Matt’s skin was warm from the sandwich, his fingers callused from working here on the farm. “Didn’t think you’d come today. Didn’t think you took time off.”
Joel wanted to tighten his grip. He didn’t want Matt pulling away just yet. Was that too aggressive? “Depends what’s at stake. You know how important this commission is to all of us. But I can take time off, if it matters to me.”
Matt’s gaze darted to a dresser on the other side of the kitchen. “You asked if we’d found anything else of importance on the dig….”
“Show me,” Joel said. He didn’t know what it was, but this was something Matt wanted to share with him.
“Gary’s all about coins and gold, and he’s right if we’re looking to make money. But there have been other items I’ve found that are just as exciting—”
“Matt!” Joel broke in. “The suspense is killing me!”
Laughing, Matt stood and went over to the dresser. He crouched down at the lowest drawer and brought out an old shoebox. He unpacked it on the kitchen table with as much reverence as if it were the Crown Jewels themselves. Instead it was a small but elegant pot with a lid and a carved handle on the side. Made of a silvered metal, there was barely a scratch on it.
“It’s beautiful,” Joel said. He didn’t even stop to think. He just felt the attraction like a punch in the gut.
Matt sighed. “Isn’t it? It’s only silver plated, so I doubt there’s any value in it from the materials.”
“But the shape is glorious. It flows and swells in all the right places. It’s pretending to be useful, I suspect. Maybe it held oil? Ointment? But look at the delicate etching along the rim, and there’s some kind of embossing in the middle of the handle—”