Treasure Me

by Robyn DeHart

Had they been together the entire six weeks Jeremy had been in London? Vanessa longed to sit down, to take several slow breaths and think on the situation until it all made sense.

  “We’re in love, Vanessa.” Jeremy shook his head, his expression moving dangerously close to pity. “I’m sorry. It happened so unexpectedly.”

  Vanessa shifted her stance, crossing her arms over her body. “In love. Another thing you said you did not believe in. And when were the two of you going to tell me this bit of news?” She took another step forward. “On our wedding day?” Anger, like a spool of thread wound too tight, unraveled. “After the wedding? Or were you planning to simply ignore it and hope I wouldn’t notice?” she asked, knowing her voice was rising.

  All the while Violet simply sat there, not saying anything, nor did she even have the decency to blush. She would not, however, meet Vanessa’s gaze.

  “I don’t know,” was all he said.

  Vanessa didn’t wait for further explanation. Instead she simply turned and left the room. She didn’t know which one of them had angered her more. She was fond of Jeremy, but she’d thought their relationship had been built on mutual interest and respect. As for Violet, they shared blood, a childhood, memories. Granted those things were the extent of the commonality between the two sisters, but she was family.

  Vanessa entered her bedroom and closed the door behind her. Without another thought she opened her trunk, already partially packed with her wedding trousseau, and started tossing clothes into it. Violet was the youngest of the three Pembrooke sisters and undoubtedly the most attractive. Also the most gregarious. She was vibrant and spoiled, and people, mostly men, loved her.

  Vanessa loved her, too. Although they were different, they were sisters, and this was the ultimate betrayal.

  Three hours later when the carriage finally rumbled down the London street, Vanessa did not dare glance out of the tiny curtained window for fear of seeing her mother’s stricken face, or worse, her would-be groom’s relieved expression. She was officially a runaway bride.

  No one would realize that she’d gone until morning. She removed her spectacles and cleaned the lenses on her skirt. Oh, the scandal this would cause. She sighed heavily. So often it was the man who committed the indiscretion, yet it would be the woman’s reputation that lay in tatters.

  Well, it could not be helped. Vanessa carefully placed her spectacles back atop her nose. She straightened in her seat. Jeremy P. Morris. She’d carefully selected him as her future partner. An American scientist in need of money for his research—her dowry would have set him up nicely. Together they could have made great scientific discoveries.

  She pulled a stray thread off her bodice and wound it around one finger. He’d seemed perfect. Level-headed, analytical, intelligent, and not at all moved by the frivolities in life that consumed most people these days—love and lust and whatnot. He’d agreed completely with her thoughts on those matters. She unwound the thread and balled it between fingertip and thumb. Jeremy had seemed a perfect match for her.

  She had even come to terms with copulation with him. They wouldn’t be plagued with passion and delusions of love. Instead they’d share relations for reproductive purposes. He’d have made a fine father, being able to teach their children about all the meaningful things in life. But now she’d caught Jeremy in the arms of her sister. A passionate embrace, with nude limbs and moans of urgency. She shook her head to dispel the image.

  If anyone could bring about a passionate response from Jeremy, it would have been Violet. What choice had that left Vanessa? She could have gone through with the wedding, married the man whom she’d thought was her perfect match. Then her sister would have been miserable. As her husband would have been. And where would that have left Vanessa?

  Clearly the two of them had found something special together. Whether it would last any longer than a shooting star, Vanessa had her doubts. But who was she to stand in the way of two people who had deluded themselves into believing they’d found love? At least she’d discovered the truth before it had been too late.

  Besides, this had conveniently opened up her own schedule to allow for a most important trip. She clenched her fists to stop her hands from shaking, all the while telling herself this was what was important. Her research. This was what she cared about. Thank goodness she’d had a modest stash of money hidden away. It had been intended to purchase hair ribbons and the like, but she’d simply tucked away those funds every time her mother had doled them out.

  Once the carriage stopped, she’d board a train that would take her to Scotland. All the way to Inverness, to Loch Ness, where some most unusual finds had recently surfaced. Of course, those with limited imagination saw the fossil as merely a standard bone—they were speculating a bovine of some sort. But Vanessa thought better of it.

  Mr. Angus McElroy had unearthed evidence of the legendary creature that supposedly dwelled beneath the murky depths of the loch. She believed the locals called it a water kelpie. Had William Buckland not proved the existence of such massive creatures, though on land? Why would it be such a stretch in reality to believe there were those creatures who lived in water?

  But the paleontology community had scoffed at the Scotsman’s claims, and her fiancé—rather her former fiancé—had led the charge. He’d even published a paper refuting the find and claiming it as nothing extraordinary. She should have known then that Jeremy was not the right man to marry.

  He was narrow-minded and lacked creativity. Thank goodness, she would not be passing those qualities on to any future progeny. Worse still, his ideas were scientifically unsound. In short, he was wrong.

  And she intended to use her time in Scotland to prove precisely that.

  On the other side of London in a darkened carriage, Niall Ludley, Earl of Camden, took a shuddering breath. “I’m getting close. I know I am. I merely need more time.” His voice shook with anger or fear. He was not certain which.

  He was not accustomed to being questioned so. Under normal circumstances, he would be the one in charge. Not only that, but sitting in the darkness unnerved him. He didn’t like being unable to see with whom he was speaking. What kind of man entered into a bargain with someone he didn’t know? A desperate man. A man who had no other option.

  “More time,” the man said, his voice completely void of emotion. A crack of a match, then the small flame held to a cigar. A deep inhale, then a puff of smoke. The scent of sweet, spicy tobacco filled the small space. “How much more time?” the man asked.

  Niall shook his head, although he knew the man could not see him. “I don’t know. Two weeks. Perhaps longer.” The truth was he had no idea. Hell, he’d been searching for the treasure of Loch Ness for nearly six years, and he still hadn’t found it. Only recently had he discovered that there was another group of caves beneath Urquhart Castle. He’d searched the known ones, but hadn’t been able to get into the ones that reached beyond the fallen rocks that barricaded the rest of the caves.

  “I can be a very patient man,” the stranger said. “I inquired a very long time about this particular treasure, and I was told you were the expert, the man who knew the most and had gotten the closest. But my patience only goes so far. I could have done what you’re doing in half the time.”

  It was on Niall’s tongue to inquire why he hadn’t. This wasn’t the first time the man had mentioned such a thing. He’d said something very similar on their first meeting. Niall had asked some questions that day and received few answers, and then the man had evaporated as if he’d never been in the room. But he’d said something about how he couldn’t be seen in public anymore, that there was a bounty on his head.

  So this was what Niall had been reduced to. Bargaining with a man whose identity he did not know but who was undoubtedly a criminal. Not just bargaining with. Pleading with.

  “I will find the treasure. I promise.”

  “Of course you will.” Niall could hear a smile in the man’s tone. Not a cheerful, encouraging smile, b
ut a sadistic, cruel smile. “You know the consequences if you don’t.”

  “Yes, I know,” Niall said.

  “Do you know what they call me?” the stranger asked, then inhaled slowly on the cigar.

  “You told me your name was David,” Niall said.

  “It is. No one calls me that anymore. I have a much more interesting moniker.” He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, and Niall got the first glimpse of the man’s face. It was barely an outline, a fraction of a view highlighted only by the lamplight on the street outside. It was then that Niall noticed the pistol encased in his left hand. “My associates call me The Raven.”

  Niall’s blood ran to ice, and his hands clenched into fists. He had heard the name on more than one occasion. At Solomon’s. Other members had had run-ins with a man known as The Raven, a ruthless treasure hunter that had a proclivity for theft, blackmail, kidnapping, and murder. Niall tried to keep his breathing under control. Panic would not save his wife and son. He had to be strong for them, keep his temper under control, and do whatever this bastard wanted so he could get his family back.

  Graeme Langford swirled his glass of scotch as he listened to Fredrick Rigby regale him with the story of how he found the ancient scrolls of some obscure Byzantine king. Graeme took a sip of scotch, then rolled his eyes. As he stretched his legs out in front of him, the wool of his trousers felt heavy and oppressive against his skin. He knew it was time to go to Scotland. He was feeling the need to don his kilt and walk on the Highlands.

  It had never been his intention to join the ranks of Solomon’s Legend Hunters, but when the invitation had come, he’d readily accepted. Most of the time, he enjoyed his association with the club, as the majority of the men were good blokes. But there were a scattered few who were just plain peculiar.

  Nick Callum caught his glance from across the table and gave him a look of pure exasperation. Nick leaned forward and set down his glass, then laid his head on the table. Graeme swallowed a smile. Whenever Rigby was in the club, no one could have a conversation of their own. The damned bastard spoke so loudly and addressed the room like an assembly so everyone was privy to his stories.

  “He’s never going to shut up,” Nick said.

  “Move to the main room?” Graeme suggested.

  “Definitely,” Nick said as he came to his feet.

  When they entered the main room, Graeme immediately saw Max Barrett, Fielding Grey, and the newest Solomon’s member, Justin Salinger, seated at a table. He and Nick made their way over. Nick turned his chair around to straddle it.

  Graeme watched his friend. “It’s a compulsion with you to be different.”

  Nick cursed Graeme in response, then gave him a toothy grin.

  “Children,” Max said with feigned annoyance.

  It was much quieter in the main room despite the number of people. Once Rigby realized the larger crowd was in this room, he’d move in here. If they wanted to have a conversation, they’d have to do it fast. “How goes the Atlantis search?” Graeme asked Max.

  Max shrugged. “New research of late, but I’m not certain it will lead to anything.”

  “He got shot,” Justin added from behind his hand.

  “Not the first time,” Fielding said.

  Max laughed. “I forgot I told you that story.”

  “It was a woman that shot him,” Justin said with a smirk.

  Max had a way of getting himself into trouble. The fact that it had been with a woman didn’t surprise Graeme in the least.

  “Who was it this time?” Fielding asked.

  “What the devil, Salinger, if you tell all my bloody secrets, I’ll tell yours,” Max said.

  “Hello, darling,” Esme Grey said as she swooped down to kiss Fielding’s cheek.

  Graeme had been of assistance to both of them when they’d gotten into some trouble with Pandora’s box, not to mention a well-known criminal who happened to be Fielding’s uncle. There were those that didn’t believe either one of the Greys should have been granted admittance into the club, but Graeme hadn’t been one of them. Fielding had almost single-handedly saved the crown, and though Esme was the only female member of Solomon’s, she was smart and as much an authority on their subject as he was on his.

  Nick swiped a chair for her from an adjoining table.

  “Thank you,” she said as she sat next to her husband.

  “Did you spend all of our money?” Fielding asked.

  “Perhaps,” she said sweetly. Then she began pilfering through her shopping bag. “I know you will all be delighted to know I have purchased a new pair of gloves,” she placed them on the table, “a new hat,”—again, it went onto the table—“and some fancy face crème.” She set the jar down as well.

  “I knew if we allowed a woman in our midst, she’d start bringing in fancy-smelling whatnots,” Nick said dramatically.

  “I’ll have you know that none of this is for here. This is all for me,” Esme said emphatically.

  Max grabbed the jar of facial crème.

  “See there, you’ve already ruined Lindberg,” Nick said.

  Max shook his head. “Did you buy this at the little shop in Piccadilly Square?”

  “Yes,” she said with a slight frown. “A friend suggested it, said it’s all the rage right now. It’s supposed to remove unwanted lines from one’s face.” She smiled. “Perhaps we’ll use some on you right here.” She rubbed the skin between Fielding’s brows.

  He swatted at her hand. “Those lines make me look distinguished. Otherwise I’d be just as pretty as Nick here.”

  “Why do you ask?” Esme turned to Max.

  “I had the opportunity to meet Miss Tobias recently,” he said.

  “Isn’t she utterly charming and so beautiful?” Esme asked.

  “Charming and beautiful?” Justin asked. “You never mentioned that.”

  “So she’s the lass who shot you?” Graeme asked. He laughed at his friend.

  Chapter Two

  Vanessa made her way quickly through the noisy pub and took a seat at an empty table. Heavy wood paneling covered nearly every surface in the room. The floor currently acted as a small pool for spilled ale. But she needed to eat.

  Gingerly she opened Jeremy’s notes and smoothed her hand across them. This was precisely the sort of place that Jeremy would balk at entering. He would despair at even laying his precious notes on the sticky surface of the table. So she did it regardless, knowing that he wouldn’t be needing them anymore. Furthermore, he shouldn’t have left them lying around while he was off dallying with Violet.

  All around her, large and hairy Scottish men sat at the tables slamming their mugs together, cursing and picking fights with one another. Were it not for her considerable practice at ignoring noise to focus on work, she might have been more distracted.

  Vanessa was quite used to pretending that nothing around her was meant for her attention, a skill that had come in handy on more than one occasion when she’d been stuck beside a bore at a dinner party. Or been persuaded to dance with an arrogant, yet ignorant, oaf at a soirée. She’d learned such a skill at home with her family, where her mother and sisters spoke of nothing of more import than the next social engagement and which fabrics best complemented their coloring. Of course, they tried to include her, but Vanessa found none of that the least bit interesting. Instead she wanted to read or study, or more precisely, she wanted to dig. Until this very trip, she hadn’t yet had the opportunity.

  Now Vanessa was finally here in Scotland, where the history was mixed heavily with myth and the soil was rich with undiscovered fossils, all waiting for her to unearth and categorize them. First thing tomorrow morning, she would hike over to those castle ruins and find her way into the caverns beneath. Jeremy was wrong about Mr. McElroy’s discovery, and if the poor Scotsman were still alive, she’d find him to tell him so. It had been a point of contention between her and her would-be husband, but he’d taken the time to listen to her argument. She’d thought h
e’d been weighing her hypothesis. Now, though, she believed that he’d merely been humoring her. Well, she would prove him wrong—him and the rest of the scientific community who believed her to be utterly unqualified.

  She had tried to argue Mr. McElroy’s point by sending several letters supporting his theory that the bone belonged to what the Scots called the water kelpie. But not one of them had been printed in any of the scientific journals. No; Vanessa didn’t believe a mystical creature still lived in those peat-stained waters. But something had lived there many years ago, and the evidence was just waiting for her discovery.

  She put the tip of her pencil between her teeth as she collected her thoughts, then she jotted down a note.

  “What’s a purty lass like you doin’ all alone?” A largenecked man plopped into the empty chair adjacent to hers. His thick brogue, laced with inebriation, took some concentration to understand. As he looked over her notebook, his nose wrinkled. “What are you doing there in that book?”

  She closed the pages over her hand to mark her spot and glanced at him above her spectacles. “I am working, sir, and you are disturbing me.” Perhaps she should have stayed in her room. Still, she’d been hungry, and the barmaid had said this was the only place she could eat. So she’d sat to wait for her lamb stew.

  He laughed, a gritty, dark sound. “Disturbing you, am I? Well, we’ll see about that.” He reached over, and with one swift pull, he’d yanked her onto his lap, knocking the notebook to the floor in the process. She struggled against him, kicking at his legs and trying to pound on his chest, but he clasped both her wrists in his vise-like grip.

  “Unhand me, sir!” she said loudly, continuing to fight. She eyed Jeremy’s notebook lying facedown on the filthy floor. As gratifying as it might be to destroy something of his, she needed that research. “I must collect my notes!”

  “I don’t think so. You’re a nice little morsel, aren’t you?” He buried his face in her hair. “And you smell real nice. Like flowers and honey.”