Would she? Could she? Her thoughts were whirling with a million fears about being too old or too late for all this, but when she looked into Jonny’s eyes Alice saw such love and such hope there that all doubt melted away. What was there to be afraid of? When life offered you a second chance then it should be seized with both hands.
“Yes, Jonny,” she said quietly. “Of course I’ll marry you.”
Chapter 20
As the first pinks of dawn streaked the sky with rose and peach kisses, Luke Dawson slammed the laptop lid shut and slumped at the kitchen table. His eyes felt dry and gritty with exhaustion, yet his system was so wired from a cocktail of black coffee and adrenalin that there was no way he’d have got a wink of sleep even if he’d gone to bed. How could he snooze when every instinct he possessed was telling him that the secrets of the Isabella were at his fingertips?
Luke yawned and ground his knuckles into his tired eyes. Bursts of colour every bit as vivid as the galleon’s lost jewels danced before his vision. He’d spent the small hours online, cursing the weak internet signal that had made downloading the documents he needed so painfully slow, and reading up as much as he could on the ship, the geography of the village and even the possible origins of Issie’s necklace. That coin was all the evidence he’d needed that there was truth in the stories. His expert contact in New York – whom Luke had tried to get in touch with a few days ago and then called again before he’d even left the beach yesterday – had suggested that this one coin alone could be worth twenty thousand dollars. The thought that this might be just one of hundreds was mind-blowing.
He exhaled shakily, unable to dare believe what could be about to unfold. The Polwenna Bay treasure was the sort of find people in his industry spent a lifetime dreaming of. And it had the potential to be his find; it could be the discovery that sealed his reputation and set him up for life. Luke just knew he’d been meant to see that news clip and make the trip to England. Yes, this was the start of something huge.
Stella certainly thought so, and when he’d finally accepted her Skype call at just after midnight she’d been beside herself. She was bored, of course, and it was a thrill for her to have something else to think about other than nail appointments or brunch. Unlike Luke she wasn’t experiencing the deep satisfaction that came with knowing that your instincts had been right all along. To Stella de Souza, funding this operation was just another way to spend her ex-husband’s money and, Luke strongly suspected, to enjoy spiting him by sponsoring the younger man she was sleeping with.
Not sleeping with, had slept with, Luke corrected himself sharply. As far as he was concerned, from the second Stella had put the business proposal to him she’d become his sponsor and nothing more. Whatever they’d had between them previously was well and truly consigned to the past. Theirs was purely a commercial relationship now.
“Oh my God!” Stella had gasped when he’d updated her on the latest developments. “That’s amazing! And this girl has part of the treasure? Baby! You just have to find the rest!”
“I intend to.” Luke had just about managed not to roll his eyes at this. Jesus. What did Stella think he was going to do?
“And it could be worth, like millions?”
For somebody who already had more money than she could spend in one lifetime, Stella certainly loved green, Luke had thought wryly.
But he’d nodded. “Absolutely. In fact I’d say several million, although there are strict treasure-trove laws here just as back home. I believe the Crown also has a right. But there could be a salvage award, based on the value of the find. And imagine the kudos it would bring us!”
“Oh my God!” Stella exclaimed again. Her red-lipsticked mouth was an O of amazement. “The Crown! That’s the Queen, right? I love the royal family! Especially Princess Kate! Does that mean that if we find it we get to meet the Queen?”
This time Luke really had rolled his eyes. He was starting to get why the Brits might laugh at Americans.
“I doubt it, but you never know.”
But at this point in the conversation Stella hadn’t been able to think about much more than garden parties at Buckingham Palace, chatting to William and Kate, and even meeting Hugh Grant (Luke hadn’t been able to make that link), so he’d given up listening. The call had ended with Stella deciding that if he was successful, she’d introduce him to a friend of hers who was right up there with Gates and Zuckerberg in terms of wealth and would love to sponsor him in the future.
“This English find is gonna be career-making, honey,” she’d promised. “Trust me. You’ll never look back once my friend Gerry signs on the dotted line. I swear to God this is the start of big things for you.”
Recollecting her words now as pink light crept across the sky and seagulls began to call, Luke tried hard to remind himself what this discovery at Polwenna Bay could mean.
A wealthy sponsor meant a big dive boat. The best crew. His reputation sealed. And best of all he could really flip Mal Dawson the bird. It could be everything Luke had always dreamed of. Wasn’t that why he’d come all the way to this damp, crowded and very old island in the first place? Of course it was.
The problem was that a small piece of Luke was feeling decidedly uncomfortable about the unravelling events of the past few days. This niggling doubt didn’t make any sense. The search for the Isabella’s lost hoard was going way better than he’d ever imagined it would, and the start of realising all his dreams was possibly only hours away. This was everything he’d hoped for. Everything.
So why did he feel guilty?
Guilt? What the hell was that all about? Professional salvage seekers didn’t feel guilty. Christ, thought Luke as he hauled himself up from the table and went to pour a glass of water, leaving the US hadn’t done much for his killer instincts. If he stayed much longer in England he’d be in danger of turning into a proper Brit with all that after you, old chap and sporting attitude baloney. That wasn’t the American Way, was it? Being frightfully polite and self-effacing wouldn’t have won the frontier.
But in Polwenna Bay everyone Luke had met had been polite and welcoming, with the possible exception of Teddy St Milton – and Luke could understand why Teddy had been riled. Luke hadn’t been here long, but already people said hello to him in the street, Adam in the pub knew to serve him a cold Bud Light, and the pasty shop was putting a large traditional aside for him every lunchtime. The villagers trusted each other and they were friendly. Maybe it was something to do with not carrying guns. They trusted him too, and were happy to tell him everything they knew. Would they all have talked so readily if they’d known why he was really here? Would Issie?
Just thinking about Issie made Luke groan. She was a complication he really could have done without. Getting involved with her was utter madness, but he simply hadn’t been able to resist.
He watched the waves roll across the bay, the spray flying as they crashed onto the sand. He saw Issie’s face everywhere, in the ripples and the surf, and recalled some old guy in a bar telling him once that there would be weeks, days or even just moments in his life that would have their own kind of intensity, as if the time had been concentrated. It was true, he realised now: when he’d held Issie in his arms for the first time and kissed her, Luke had passed through such a moment. And yesterday, too, a torrent of emotions had broken over him as they’d stood in that cave together. He’d known then deep in his heart that he should tell her the truth before things became even more complicated. But when Issie had kissed him back, Luke hadn’t been able to think of anything else but the closeness of her soft curves and the taste of her mouth against his. He’d been utterly lost.
With a dull ache he knew that soon he would have to tell her why he was really here – and that when he did, the disappointment in those eyes would be more than he could bear. She would walk away for good. Of course she would, because he would have betrayed her.
Luke’s hands curled into fists. He hadn’t come here to get involved. That wasn’t Luke Dawson’s
way in any case. He was a free spirit. He loved women and he loved the sea. Like the wind, he couldn’t be caged. Except that the problem now wasn’t that anybody was caging him in: it was that he feared being kept out.
As the kitchen clock had ticked away the hours until dawn, Luke had tried to focus on his research, but instead his thoughts had been full of Issie Tremaine; whenever he’d attempted to read, his mind had insisted on skittering off topic and back to her. Those sparkling blue eyes, the determined chin, the cute tilt of her nose with its sprinkling of freckles… Luke had struggled to concentrate on anything else. The incredible night they’d spent together replayed itself over and over again in his memory, until he’d seriously contemplated making use of the icy cold outdoor shower. Not that he was convinced this would help much.
Issie Tremaine had somehow managed to steal under his guard and straight into his heart. And was it any wonder? Issie was everything Luke liked in a woman. It wasn’t just her looks: she was as much a free spirit as he was, as well as sexy and funny and headstrong. She was fiercely independent and had a mind as sharp as his own. He’d found that he could talk to her for hours on end and yet it would only feel like moments; Luke had never known time to pass so quickly. She was as complex as the Cornish landscape – and, like Polwenna Bay itself, with its lemon-sharp light, harsh granite rocks and glittering water, she was drawing him in and captivating him a little more with every day that passed. If he’d believed in St Wenn and destiny and all that baloney, then Luke would have said that Issie Tremaine was his soulmate.
If only he’d met her somewhere else, under different circumstances. The Luke Dawson Issie thought she knew, the history student and intellectual, had existed in another life, just not in this one. No, this Luke Dawson was a mercenary treasure hunter, and not a wholly truthful one at that. He was starting to fear that he’d used her shamelessly to track down the loot. Beneath her fire and determination, Luke had sensed vulnerability in Issie. Somebody had hurt her badly, and instinct told him it had been a man. Unintentionally he was only going to make things worse.
As the daylight stole across the sky, Luke made a decision. He wasn’t going to spend any more time with Issie Tremaine. It wasn’t fair. Stella might have urged him to phone the girl and ask her to show him more places where the passage could be, but Luke wasn’t comfortable with this. It was lying by omission and he wasn’t going to be that kind of person anymore. Issie might be upset at first, but she was a big girl and she’d had holiday flings before – coming from Key West, Luke knew these were a rite of passage for anyone who grew up in a seaside town. She’d put him down to experience and move on. Wouldn’t she?
Still, he wondered what she’d thought when they’d found the hair slide. Had she fully understood the significance? Issie had been very pale, her blue eyes huge as they’d stared up at him, and he was certain that she’d made the connection. If only he could have told her the truth rather than having to keep it to himself. If only things could have been different. The idea of searching for the treasure without Issie beside him wasn’t nearly as exciting. In fact, if it hadn’t been for Stella and her investment, Luke was starting to think he would have given the whole thing up as a bad idea.
“Oh, Goddammit!” he said out loud, slamming his fist onto the draining board. How the hell had it gotten so complicated?
Fresh air was what he needed; he was going stir-crazy cooped up in this tiny cottage. Snatching his coat from the back of a chair and pushing his feet into the country boots that had swiftly replaced his flip-flops, Luke let himself into the new day.
It was a biting cold Cornish winter morning, so sharp that it snatched the breath from Luke’s lungs and made his nose and ears tingle the moment he stepped outside. The sky was pink and gold now and the sea an oily blue. A trawler was steaming out of the harbour and another was being filled with ice, but apart from that all was still. Even the gulls seemed to have given up. Frost had iced the grass and made the village sparkle like something Stella would wear for jewellery, except that no diamond would ever come close to the beauty of this place.
Hey! Slow down buddy, Luke told himself. What on earth was he thinking? Steep valleys, sharp rocks and hoar frosts weren’t what he found beautiful. No, he was all about palm trees and deep blue water and sunshine. That was what Luke Dawson loved: the warmth of Florida. England was damp and cold and not for him.
Right?
Still, whether or not it was damp and cold here, seeing the sun rising over the hill and the mists hovering over the top of the village was something else. There was a sense of something ancient slumbering beneath the surface, and Luke felt that familiar prickling sensation. The lost cargo was so close he could almost smell it.
He was heading for the small church that stood halfway up the hillside as though it was watching over the village. It was certainly a good vantage point: from St Wenn’s the view across the valley was uninterrupted. Anyone standing in the churchyard had a perfect eagle’s-eye view into the narrow lanes that wiggled between the tightly packed cottages, as well as being able to watch any goings-on from the beach. In other words it was the ideal place for a smuggler to keep a lookout. From the beach to here to that strange little well in the woods would be a direct line as the crow flew, and Luke suspected there was an underground stream running directly to the cave. His theory was that, over time, the stream had carved out a passage that Black Jack Jago and his ilk had exploited for their own ends, at least until a rockfall had thwarted their activities. This was how Issie’s flowery hair slide had found its way into the cave, and it meant only one thing: the big storm on New Year’s Day had shifted something in the tunnel and there was now a way through. How long this would remain the case he couldn’t tell. The English weather was as unreliable as the heating in his cottage, and another storm could blow in at any moment.
Time was of the essence.
Luke didn’t have a plan in mind. Tired and emotionally torn, he was making the climb up to the church as much to clear his head as anything else. Maybe he’d have some inspiration; maybe not. At home he would have put on his sneakers and taken himself off for a run – but no way was he trying that here, not with roads that were practically vertical and covered in ice. A walk seemed the next best option. After all the pasties, he figured he could do with some exercise. Treasure-hunting wasn’t foremost in his plans for the morning.
So when he passed through the lychgate and into the small churchyard, only to see Issie pacing across the grass with a look of fierce concentration on her face, Luke was taken aback at first and then impressed. She’d worked it out too then? Of course she had. She was Issie Tremaine, wasn’t she? Smart. Determined. And more than a match for him.
Just one look at her was enough to banish all Luke’s earlier resolutions; they melted away just like the frost in the sunshine, and with a wave and a smile he strode across the grass to join her.
Chapter 21
Luke! Whatever was he doing up here so early? Issie hadn’t expected to see him this morning – and especially not in the churchyard. He’d been so odd yesterday too, charging off like that and not even calling into the pub later to see her; she was starting to think he was having second thoughts about what had happened between them. If so, he wasn’t alone. Talking to Mark even for a few minutes had flooded Issie with so much guilt that she’d thought she would drown in it, which was ridiculous because she was a free agent. As soon as she’d taken his call, Issie had known it was a mistake.
She didn’t love Mark anymore, she realised with a start. When he’d spoken, she’d found that her heart wasn’t doing its usual fluttery thing and her throat wasn’t tightening with the usual knot of grief for him. Nor had she found herself longing to touch him. Rather than any of that, she’d felt a sense of irritation that he hadn’t once asked her how she was, but instead had launched into a tirade against his wife. Emma didn’t love him. Emma didn’t care about his work. Emma didn’t understand him. The words had turned Issie cold. Had he al
ways been this weak and this selfish? And if so, why was it only now that she could see it?
Was it because Luke Dawson’s slightest touch had burned through her like wildfire, and just the brush of his mouth against hers had been enough to make her melt with longing? She yearned for him to pull her against his hard body again and to the feel the corded muscles of his arms as she leaned into his chest. It was as though the bliss of being close to Luke had driven out all that had gone before; her feelings for Mark, which she’d once thought so powerful, had crumbled into dust. He was a weak man, she realised – the kind who would without so much as a second thought betray the woman who loved him if he felt there might be something better elsewhere. How had Issie been so stupid to fall for his lies? She was supposed to be clever, and yet when it came to men it seemed that Issie Tremaine was something of a dunce.
Teddy was turning into a liability. Mark was pathetic and a liar, and Luke Dawson was probably regretting what had happened between them. Maybe she should ask Jules about how to become a nun?
But seeing Luke heading towards her now, with his white smile dancing against his tanned skin, was enough to send her hurtling into confusion. He certainly didn’t look like a man who was having regrets.
“I don’t need to ask what you’re up to. You’ve figured it out too, haven’t you?” Luke drew alongside her and brushed a kiss against her cheek, his lips just missing the corner of her mouth. His cheek was unshaven, and dark stubble rasped against her skin.
“I think the tunnel ran up to St Wenn’s Well,” she said slowly, and Luke nodded.
“At some point there must have been a way down from the well and the village. It makes perfect sense. The church crypt would be the ideal hiding place, especially if the pastor was in on it too.”
“We call them vicars here: St Wenn’s is Church of England. My brother’s dating our vicar, Jules, but I don’t think she’d be big on smuggling. Only if it was packets of chocolate biscuits,” Issie told him.
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