Save The Date!. Kate Hardy
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him than with her.
‘You keep hold of the ring and I’ll guard you.’ There wasn’t an ounce of compromise in his eyes. Slowly she pocketed it again, recalling his words when he’d demanded the jewels be removed from the cottage. I’ve been to prison, Nell, and I’m not going back.
Bile churned in her stomach. Jail must’ve been hell. Pure hell. She wished he’d been spared that.
‘Did you make an appointment for a valuation?’
‘Yes, we’re to meet with the evaluator in an hour.’
He stopped eating to stare at her. It felt as if his gaze reached right down into her soul. She swallowed and wanted to look away, but she couldn’t. ‘You sure you’re okay with this?’ he said.
Was he afraid she’d become hysterical partway through negotiations?
‘I wish things could be otherwise, but that’s just not possible. So, yes, I’m okay with this.’
And because she didn’t want him to read any of the other thoughts rising up through her, she backed towards the hallway. ‘I’ll just go powder my nose and get ready.’
He didn’t call anything teasing after her and she wondered if he’d read her thoughts despite her best efforts. Thoughts of kissing him, of the need that pummelled her whenever he was near...of how close she’d come earlier to throwing herself at him.
Oh, that would’ve been another sterling example of her brilliant judgement. Rick might want her. She knew enough to know what the heat in his eyes meant when he looked at her a certain way. She knew that these days men found her attractive. And she knew she found Rick attractive, but where would it lead? To heartbreak, that was where.
Rick wasn’t a criminal, but he was a heartbreaker. He’d made it clear that he had no intention of sticking around once he solved the mystery his father had set him. And she didn’t fool herself that she’d be the woman to change his mind.
She was through with fairy tales. From here on she dealt in reality.
* * *
‘I’m sorry, Ms Smythe-Whittaker, but this ring is a copy...a fake.’
The room spun, the ground beneath her feet bucked, and Nell had to reach out and grip the countertop in front of her.
‘Mind you, it’s a very good copy. It wouldn’t have been cheap to have had this made.’ The jeweller peered at the ring through his eyeglass again. ‘But there’s no doubt about it. The stone is just a very cleverly cut crystal and not a diamond.’
It was Rick’s hand at her elbow that finally stopped the room from spinning. It took all her strength, but she gathered the shreds of her composure around her. ‘How disappointing.’
‘I am sorry, Ms Smythe-Whittaker.’
‘I am too, but I do thank you for taking the time to look at it. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it.’
He handed her the ring. ‘Any time. It’s been a pleasure.’
Nell, with a silent Rick at her back, left the shop.
‘Could he have been mistaken...or lying?’
She shook her head. ‘The man has an impeccable reputation. He would never consider taking a bribe from my father to suggest the ring was a fake. He wouldn’t risk his professional standing like that.’
‘Nell—’
‘Please, not here. Let’s wait till we get home.’ A home she might not be able to keep for much longer. A lump lodged in her throat. She swallowed, but that only shifted the heaviness to her chest.
Could she give up the idea of her gorgeous Victorian high teas and get a real job?
Doing what? Who would employ her? And even if she could get a job, the likelihood of making a wage that could manage the upkeep of Whittaker House was so slim as to be laughable.
She didn’t realise they’d reached home until she found herself pushed into a chair with a glass of something foul-smelling pressed into her hand. ‘Drink,’ Rick ordered.
Obeying was easier than arguing. She tipped the glass back and swallowed the contents whole.
‘Omigod!’ She gasped for air. She choked and coughed and struggled to breathe.
‘That’s better.’
‘Better? What are you trying to do? Poison me!’
‘You’ve at least some colour in your cheeks again.’
She bit her lip. Dear Lord... ‘Have I gone pathetic again?’
‘There’s nothing pathetic about you, Princess. You’ve just had a nasty shock.’
She held her glass back out to him. ‘May I have another one of those? It was very...bracing.’
He took the glass with a laugh and handed her a soda instead.
‘I see we’re being sensible now,’ she grumbled.
‘If you want to get roaring drunk we’ll need to find you something better than cooking brandy.’
He had a point. Besides, she didn’t want to get roaring drunk. Not really. She hunched over her can of soda, twirling it around and around on the spot.
‘So...obviously my father ransacked the jewels before John hid the box.’
‘But why have a copy made? Why go to that bother?’
She stared at him. ‘That’s true. He didn’t go to the same trouble for the diamond necklace, did he?’
‘Unless John moved the box before he had a chance to.’
She turned the question over in her mind. ‘No,’ she finally said. ‘He wouldn’t go to that effort just for me. He’d simply laugh as if he’d bettered me, got one up on me. He’d tell me to suck it up.’
On the table Rick’s hand clenched. ‘I’m fairly certain I don’t like your father.’
Ditto.
She blew out a breath. ‘He must’ve pawned that ring while my grandmother was still alive. He’s not afraid of me, but he’d have been afraid of her retribution.’ She twirled her can around a few more times, running a finger through the condensation that formed around it. ‘Which means I’d better not pin my hopes on anything else in that box.’
‘Nell...’
She glanced up at the tone of his voice. She immediately straightened at the expression on his face. ‘What’s wrong?’
‘You’re aware that I had both the means and the opportunity to take something from that jewellery box and to have had a copy made.’
‘Oh, right, in all of your spare time in the what—one night it stayed there?’
‘I knew about it for two nights.’
She folded her arms. All the better to resist the urge to pitch her soda at him. ‘I’ve already told you more than once that I don’t believe you’re a thief. How many more times do I have to say it before you believe me?’ If her glare could blister paint, the wall behind him should be peeling by now. ‘Why are you so determined for me to think badly of you?’
He dragged a hand down his face and her chest cramped and started to ache. He didn’t want her to think badly of him, but he kept expecting her to because that was how people treated him. She didn’t blame him for this particular chip on his shoulder, but she wasn’t ‘people’.
He held up a hand to forestall her. ‘If a complaint were made, I’d be a major suspect.’
‘Oh, for heaven’s sake, who’s going to make a complaint? I can assure you that I won’t.’ Though it’d serve her father right if she did