by Sahara Kelly
“Well, this is intriguing indeed.” His face was devoid of expression for a few moments, then he shook his head. “I’ve never been a believer in coincidences. In fact, they bother me. But this…” he gestured to the box, “…this has some very surprising elements that go way beyond coincidence.”
“What are you talking about, Dev?” Bertie frowned.
“Yes, Dev, what the devil are you talking about?” Léonie added her protestations.
“Come on, man. Out wi’ it.” Even McPherson seemed to be impatient.
Dev looked around at them all. “This box belongs to Léonie, without a shadow of a doubt.”
She frowned. “How on earth can you say that with such assurance?”
“Because you hold the key that opens it.”
“What?”
Dev reached into the breast pocket of his waistcoat and produced Léonie’s gold and emerald ring, holding it high in the sunlight where it shone like the golden treasure it was. “This, my friends. This is the key to that box.”
Chapter Twelve
Dev prided himself on being completely devoid of dramatic tendencies. But even he admitted that at this particular moment, he was rather enjoying the reactions his statement had produced in his fellows.
Aunt Bertie was staring at him as if he’d gone mad, and McPherson had the same sort of look, coupled with a fierce—probably Scottish—frown.
Léonie looked at him, confusion and a dash of fear in her eyes.
“I don’t understand, Dev. I’ve never seen this box before. At least not that I can remember.”
“Don’t worry. I discovered this secret completely by accident as did the amazing jeweler who was responsible for the entire thing. I’ll show you.”
He glanced around. “Damn. I need something very thin and sharp. Like…like a tiny knife or sliver of something hard…”
McPherson reached into his pocket and produced a piece of metal, which he flicked, releasing a miniature knife.
“Ahhh, perfect.” Dev accepted it and blinked at the tiny thing. “For small crimes, I take it?”
McPherson sighed.
“Never mind.” Dev grinned. Then he placed the ring down on the table, and reached for his glass. Then he glanced up. “I need both hands. Léonie, would you hold the glass…right here, please?”
He showed her where to hold it and made sure he had plenty of light. Luckily, Bertie and McPherson were standing to his side.
Then, as he’d seen Harry do, he pressed on the tiny lip and watched the jewel tumble to the table.
He enjoyed those gasps as well.
“God, man, ye’ve buggered it up now, for sure…” McPherson whispered beneath his breath.
“Dev…” Léonie’s voice was firm but he knew there was a great deal of trepidation behind it, since the glass was shaking slightly.
“It’s all right, everyone. Trust me. The ring was designed with exactly this purpose.”
The mutual sighs of relief fluttered the lace around Léonie’s neck.
“I’m still puzzled, Dev. Does the jewel help unlock the box?” Aunt Bertie’s eyebrows drew together as she frowned.
“No, not the jewel. It’s the ring itself.”
And with the gentle dexterity of a magician, Dev held his breath and prayed he was right.
He examined the ring and the box under the glass, and then—to the best of his ability—slowly and carefully aligned the two. Sure enough, the notches in the ring matched the ridges in the box, just as they did the jewel. The ring seated against the wood, every tiny section settling into place as if content to be united at last.
Very, very carefully, Dev began to turn the ring. A circle of the wood turned with it, a piece so well designed that he never imagined it would revolve.
After a quarter of a turn, there was a soft click.
It sounded like a cannon in the silence that had fallen around the table.
And right after the click, the top of the box popped open.
“Oh.” Léonie almost jumped.
“Jesus.” Aunt Bertie clutched her chest and stared.
“I’ll be damned.” McPherson sat back on his chair and shook his head. “Just when you think you’ve seen everything.”
Léonie smiled. “You should see some of the amazing puzzles Russian jewelers can create. It defies the imagination.”
“So you think this is Russian, lass?” McPherson forgot the proprieties in his interest.
Léonie pursed her lips for a moment. “I don’t think so. If it were, there would be jewels everywhere. This craftsman worked in a different area, I’m thinking. Dev’s right…I’d say North Africa as well. The inlay is just too perfect.”
Dev cleared his throat. “Er, would anyone care to know what’s in the damned thing, or shall we spend another hour or so discussing its origins?”
“Don’t be a brat, Dev. You did very well and we’re all impressed as hell. Now get on with it.” Bertie gave him one of “those” looks.
The silence descended again as Dev reached two fingers down into the little box. He blinked as they hit something solid and a piece of paper.
With a firm but gentle grasp, he removed them.
And there was one more gasp from everyone at the table.
It was another identical ring.
And a small folded piece of paper.
*~~*~~*
Léonie’s heart thundered as she saw the second ring and the paper. Would there finally be an answer to why she’d been attacked? Was this what the villain was after, or was it why Lord Elwyn had been killed?
She sat, dropping into her chair as if her legs would no longer support her. If there was no resolution to all this, she didn’t know what she was going to do. Dev had given her security and her feelings for him were chaotic and intense. But all that aside, she needed something solid to hold onto, something that came from a time before Dev. Like why she was on that damn dock in the first place…
She watched Dev put the ring down next to the box and unfold the paper. It was thin, almost like tissue, and folded many times over. So she respected the amount of care he was showing, even going so far as to borrow a long hairpin from Aunt Bertie, which helped with the unfolding process.
At last it was done, a square of delicate paper laid out across the white linen table cloth.
There were marks on it – definitely writing.
“Damn.” Dev leaned close. “It’s in French. I can make out some of it, but not all. Léonie?” He looked at her.
She hurried around to his side. “Let me.”
He moved to give her room. “Do you need the glass?”
She bent over the sheet. “I don’t think so, but if you would leave it there just in case…”
Her eyes were drawn at once to the signature. She recognized the writing.
“Papa.” She breathed the words. “It’s from Papa.”
Dev put his arm around her shoulders. “You’re sure?”
“Absolutely. I’d know his writing anywhere.”
“Read it for us, love?” Dev rubbed her shoulder, ignoring the surprised look from Aunt Bertie and the quick grin from McPherson.
“Yes, do read it dear.” Bertie endorsed the suggestion. “Dev, give the girl some room.”
Léonie blinked to clear the tears that had rushed to her eyes as she saw her father’s writing. She took a breath and read.
“Où le sable coud la mer. Il faut y aller au coucher du soleil et trouvé ...” She paused. “There’s one more word, but I can barely make it out. It’s in the crease of the paper…”
Dev leaned over and smoothed it with a fingertip. “Better?”
“Not really.” She bent as close as she could. “Wait. It’s Russian, not French.”
“Better than code, probably.” McPherson sounded thoughtful. “Not many would know both languages. Maybe one, but both? A good way to protect information.”
Léonie glanced at him. “You’re right. Add a tiny piece of tissue paper, and a scr
atchy pen…I do believe that if this had been Wellington’s battle plan for Waterloo it would have been completely secure.”
She blew air through her teeth, fluttering the curls at her forehead. “Let me try once more.”
Everyone moved back a little to give her as much light as possible, although Dev stayed put, keeping his finger on the paper for her.
“Ahhh, there it is.” She smiled. “Zvezda. Star.”
And three faces stared blankly at her as she looked up. “I think it’s a set of directions. The French part says where the sand sews the sea. Go there at sunset and find, then the Russian word for star. So all we have to do is figure out where to go and what to look for when we get there.”
“Ah.” Dev rolled his eyes.
“But…” Aunt Bertie looked distraught. “I have no idea what any of it means. Do you?” Her gaze went from McPherson to Dev to Léonie.
“Well, ma’am, I believe we’re well equipped to solve this puzzle.” McPherson stood. “However, I do have some duties to attend to in Bow Street, so I hope you’ll forgive me for leaving now. I will take the liberty of dropping by later if that’s convenient? Just to see if you’ve learned anything new?”
“You mean in case we have solved the clue, right?” Dev raised an eyebrow.
McPherson looked a little self-conscious. “You know how you feel about those puzzle boxes?”
Dev nodded.
“I feel that way about word games.” He bowed and left the room.
“Well.” Aunt Bertie plopped down in a chair. “That was abrupt. No help from him, I assume.”
Léonie touched her shoulder. “We can manage without him. Between the three of us? No problem at all.”
Dev shook his head. “I agree, Léonie, but we’re promised to Mary and Eileen and we’re already running a bit late. What say you we set aside time after dinner for this? Get Lucius and Julia in on it as well?”
“That sounds like an excellent idea.” Aunt Bertie stood. “I must answer some letters. And then I need to review my wardrobe. I might need more clothes, since it looks like we’re set for a while longer on this adventure.”
She twitched her brilliant peach silk shawl around her shoulders and floated out, leaving Dev and Léonie staring after her.
“She’s wonderful, isn’t she?” Léonie couldn’t help grinning.
“Yes. Completely.” Dev moved nearer. “I’m surrounded by wonderful women, it seems.”
“I think she may have noticed your…your attentions to me, Dev.”
“She’d have to be blind not to.”
Léonie turned to look at him, hoping he would not close the distance between them. She couldn’t guarantee the propriety of her actions if he did.
“What are we doing, Dev? We are attracted to each other.” She swallowed. “And that is probably an understatement. But there are matters we should consider. Your reputation, for a start.”
“I don’t have one.” Dev’s face reflected his curiosity.
“Exactly. And I don’t want to be the woman who gives you one.”
“Give me a minute. That circuitous logic is going to damage a bit of my brain.”
She sighed. “If I remain here at Deverell House, and your attentions to me—and yes, mine to you—become increasingly obvious, then rumors will start. You will become the man who keeps a mistress in his own house. You know how these things grow, Dev. I’ve seen too much of it, more than you can imagine. The Russian court was a hotbed of such gossip. And the Congress of Vienna? Faugh.” The disgusted sound popped out of her mouth before she could stop it.
Dev did the one thing she’d hoped he wouldn’t do. He moved to her and took her in his arms. “There’s an answer.”
She had to take a breath before she could respond. Just his nearness sucked the air from her lungs. “There is?”
“Yes. Let’s get engaged.”
*~~*~~*
“Well if that isn’t the best thing I’ve heard in weeks!” Mary seized Léonie and enveloped her in a crushing embrace.
“You’re a smooth talking rogue, Dev.” Eileen hugged him in turn.
Dev grinned. “We think it’s a good idea. For the moment, anyway.”
Wee Brenna appeared with the obligatory tea tray and biscuits, which made Léonie’s eyes light up in appreciation.
Soon they were settled, and Mary fixed a firm eye on both of them as they made serious depredations to the tray. “Now. You’ll be wantin’ to go out and about more now, of course.” She glanced at Eileen. “That’ll mean some evenin’ gowns as well as a couple more day dresses. Maybe a pelisse or two…”
“Hats as well.” Eileen turned to Dev. “The lass’ll need shoes and boots. You’re to take her to be fitted. This very day. No arguments, now.”
“Yes ma’am.” Dev nodded. He was enjoying the enthusiasm for their announcement, and also seeing the light in Léonie’s eyes.
It occurred to him at that moment, that Léonie was experiencing what life was like in a loving family. He’d grown up with the stability of two parents who spoiled him terribly and loved him to bits. Léonie had been a wanderer through magic places, but it wasn’t the same kind of childhood.
Right now, Mary and Eileen and their talk of fashions—well, it was exactly what she needed.
She showed them the ring again, now on her third finger, and then pointed to his, telling them about the box, the clue and the second ring.
“We decided to flaunt tradition. Since the one in the box was definitely made for a man’s hand, we tried it on Dev. It fit like a glove.”
She smiled at him and suddenly he felt his heart miss a beat. There was so much he wanted to read into that smile, but was afraid to.
“It was lucky,” he gathered himself back into the conversation. “But I’m happy to wear it. Aunt Bertrande is thrilled as well.”
And that was the truth, although the older woman had expressed more than a few concerns when they had told her. Especially when they had told her the other parts of the plan.
Eileen glanced at them both. “And I’m thinkin’ that besides a happy event, this might be a wee bit more…” Her eyebrows rose in question.
“Smart and beautiful.” Dev grinned at her.
The snort he got in response was to be treasured as a unique sound.
“You’re right.” He reached for Léonie’s hand as she sat next to him on the sofa. “We shall announce our engagement of course. In the papers.”
Her fingers twitched within his grasp.
“And that’ll tell everyone that Mademoiselle Girard is now in London.” Mary nodded. “Clever.”
“Also that she’s under my care and protection. And that she has Aunt Bertie’s support and name to give her countenance. She is no longer wandering the docks alone. She’s amassed an entourage and that will grow as we begin to show ourselves to the Ton.” Dev spoke soberly. He hadn’t betrayed his concern, but it was there nonetheless. This single announcement was going to put Léonie in jeopardy, but it was the only way they could see to lure whoever was hunting her out into the open.
He would feel a lot better after discussing it with McPherson, which he planned on doing after he took his fiancée home and locked her up tight.
It was early afternoon before he had the chance to play jailer. Mary and Eileen now had an order for dresses that had made their faces glow with excitement, Léonie couldn’t wait to see what they produced, and Dev had begun to pray that this would all be short-lived, since he never wanted to hear the words lawn, dimity, or Valenciennes lace again in his entire life.
They said their farewells, and Léonie sighed as she leaned back in the carriage and looked across at Dev.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For this morning. For consenting to ordering so many clothes without a blink. For sitting through what must have been a boring time without complaint.” She grinned. “There has to be something wrong with you, but I have yet to find it. Nobody is perfect, so I shall
wait with bated breath for the terrible personality weakness you doubtless have hidden from me thus far.”
Dev grinned back. “There’s nothing wrong with me, my dear. At least I don’t think so. Of course, now that we’re engaged, things may change…”
She looked interested. “What things might those be, Mr. Deverell?”
“Oh, many things, Miss Girard. Many wonderful things that might—just might—make you cry out. Or even scream.”
“Really.” The color in her cheeks bloomed. “A good scream, I hope?”
“A very good scream.”
“And will you scream too?”
Dev chuckled at the impertinent smile on her face. “One never knows, darling…”
She did her best to conceal it, but Dev caught the tiny shiver of arousal that made her tremble and hardened her nipples to tight buds beneath her bodice.
He leaned back in the carriage, content with a job well done.
Chapter Thirteen
Léonie couldn’t deny that she missed Julia and Lucius. They had returned to Gordonstone, and she knew they must miss their son. She couldn’t ask them to stay, but she felt their absence.
Both she and Dev, and Aunt Bertie—not to mention McPherson—had discussed the obscure message over and over again. They’d turned it inside out, upside down and talked it to within an inch of its life.
But still there had been no brilliant breakthrough, no moment of enlightenment when all became clear.
In other words, they still had no clue about the clue. Dev was being cavalier about it, joking in that dry way he had. But she was in no doubt that he was as frustrated as she was at their inability to make sense of the odd words.
Where would the shoreline be stitched? It made no sense whatsoever. They had to work that out first, since there would be no chance of finding a star at sunset if they were standing in the wrong place.
Léonie prided herself on her control. She’d been raised to believe that was the ultimate achievement – never reveal your thoughts or feelings. She’d learned that from both her father and her mother, at an early age. But at this point, in the privacy of her room, she could have let out a shriek and ripped some hair from her head.
Then there was the engagement ring on her finger. It fit, of course, but it felt different on that finger, since she’d been used to wearing it on her right hand, not her left.