Gemma didn’t venture up to the attics until after breakfast the next morning. She felt more at ease about the situation with Cam thanks to her discussion with her friends and her sister, and she was able to concentrate more fully on the search for the missing skull bone.
One thing had marred her evening, however, and that was finding some of her own notebooks in the workroom next to the collection had been disarranged. She was all but certain she’d reshelved them after looking through them that morning. But there they were, scattered over the worktable.
It was possible she had been so distracted by other things that she was mistaken, but she didn’t think so. When considered in context with the feeling of being watched and the threat left on Sir Everard’s body, the thought that someone had been in her workshop made her shiver.
By breakfast she’d convinced herself that she’d been imagining things, however, and putting it out of her mind, she headed upstairs.
It had been some time since Gemma had explored the attics, and she was surprised all over again by their tidiness.
She’d only just lit the lamps nearest the door when she heard the sound of footsteps in the stairwell.
“I hope you didn’t think we’d let you search up here without help,” said Sophia as she stepped into the cluttered, but tidy space.
To Gemma’s surprise, she saw not Daphne and Ivy behind her but Cam.
She tried to keep her expression neutral, but she felt a familiar jolt of awareness and relief at seeing Cam there. She might not be completely sure that marrying him would be the best thing for her, but she knew that more than just a small part of her wanted him to be.
“Where do you want us?” he asked with a lopsided smile that softened his blunt features and made her stomach flip.
She wished for a moment that he hadn’t been accompanied by Sophia, but then decided it was probably better that he had. It was far too early in the day for the activity that smile inspired her to want. And they did have work to do.
“I begin to doubt we’ll find anything of use,” she said aloud as she turned to survey the room at large. “If there were something that seemed likely to be associated with Lady Celeste’s collecting, I think we’d have discovered it by now.”
“Since your letter was cut short by her illness,” Sophia said, stepping up beside her, “perhaps Lady Celeste wasn’t able to extract the information she needed for it from up here. And we haven’t searched the attics thoroughly, you must admit. We looked at her personal diaries but that was all.”
“She was so orderly about everything else, though,” Gemma said, moving toward the far wall where she remembered she’d discovered a few items that might have gone into the collection room. “I don’t know that I believe she’d have left anything to chance.”
“She was quite ill, though, dearest,” Sophia said, placing a comforting hand on her sister’s arm. “She may not have trusted the task to anyone else.”
Before they could continue, Benedick appeared in the doorway.
“I’m afraid I just got word that Mrs. Wallace has fallen ill,” he said, his usual good humor replaced with concern. “I’ll need to go see to her at once, but you may remain here, my dear—”
But Sophia shook her head. “Of course not,” she said. “Her little ones must be frantic. And they do not care for her sister at all.”
In just a few short months, Sophia had adapted to her role as a vicar’s wife with an ease that made Gemma respect her even more than she had already. Far from dampening her enthusiasm for her art, her marriage had transformed her into a fuller, happier version of herself.
Still, she did wish her sister could remain here now.
Perhaps sensing Gemma’s disappointment, Sophia kissed her cheek and said, “It can’t be helped. I’ll see you tomorrow if I’m not needed there.”
“Of course.” Gemma hugged her, then made a shooing motion. “Go, go. I’m sure poor Mrs. Wallace’s children are worried sick.”
When they were gone, she and Cam stood silently assessing one another until Cam said with a touch of amusement, “Do not look so frightened. I won’t ravish you amidst the discarded furniture and disturbing dress forms of your attic.”
She bit her lip. Of course he knew precisely what she’d been thinking. “I thought perhaps you were frustrated at my change of heart yesterday.”
He stepped further into the low-ceilinged room and stopped just a foot away from her. “I won’t ravish you at all, Gemma,” he said softly. “If you’re not willing, then I don’t want you. Just say the word and we can end this betrothal now.”
His words sent a stab of fear through her—whether it was the thought of dissolving their betrothal or his frankness, she wasn’t sure.
“I meant what I said.” She lifted her chin and met his gaze with a boldness she didn’t feel. “I do wish to explore with you. It’s just that yesterday was…”
“You needn’t explain,” he said softly, running a finger over her cheek. “I can wait. Until you’re ready.”
She lowered her eyes at the intensity of his gaze.
When she looked up again, though, he was smiling. “I will tell you, however,” he said, his half smile revealing a dimple in his left cheek, “that exploration is my specialty.”
She couldn’t help her answering grin and she felt as if her heart would beat right out of her chest. Surely he could see it.
“Then perhaps we should—”
But he cut her off with a quick kiss. “We’ll wait until tonight, in your bed.”
“What if I don’t want to wait?” she asked, growing impatient. “What if I want to get it over with?”
At that his eyes darkened. He slipped his arms around her and pulled her close. To her surprise, she felt him—one part of him in particular—pressing against her. “This is what you do to me,” he said huskily. “And when I take you, I mean to take my time. You might not know it, but it makes a difference for a woman. The first time, especially, shouldn’t be done in haste.”
It was one area in which she was painfully ignorant. Despite having read as many of the books in the library on the subject, Gemma had no real experience, and even less understanding of the subtleties he described. And Sophia had been frustratingly vague, though Gemma was quite certain she and Benedick had anticipated their vows—in Sophia’s studio, no less!
“I suppose in this,” she said loftily, “I will have to trust you.”
He smiled. “You’ll trust me in more than this before it’s all over,” he said. “But for now, it’ll do.”
She shifted a little and he gave a hiss as she brushed against his arousal. Alarmed, she pulled away. “Did I hurt you?”
Huffing a laugh, Cam shook his head. “Not as such. I’ll just need a minute.”
He turned around and stared at the ceiling for a moment.
“How on earth do you manage to walk about like that?” she asked, curious now. She’d known of course about penises. Or was it penii? She’d have to ask Ivy when next she saw her. It wasn’t the sort of thing one could write in a letter after all.
“I was exaggerating when I said I’d been like this ever since we kissed,” he said. “But not by much.”
“That still doesn’t explain how—”
“Gemma?”
“Yes?”
“Perhaps you can begin searching now and we can save this discussion for later?”
She stared at his back for a moment. Well, if he didn’t want questions, he ought not have brought it up.
Then she remembered distinctly his laughter when she’d said that precise phrase before.
“Brought it up,” she said under her breath, understanding the double entendre now.
Stifling her laughter at the jest she moved to the trunk where she’d found some of Lady Celeste’s papers before and began her search.
* * *
Once he’d managed to lose his erection—thanks to a memory of a neighbor in the vicinity of his father’s estate who used copious amounts of scent in lieu of bathing—Cam wordlessly moved to Gemma’s side and began to sort through a trunk next to one she was looking in.
She’d said this area was where the items related to Lady Celeste’s interest in fossils and collecting were to be found, and a cursory examination of the first few pages on top affirmed that assessment.
They worked in silence for some time, both of them removing the contents of the trunks they searched and placing item after item, document after document onto the floor beside where they knelt.
He was almost to the bottom of his trunk when a brisk knock sounded on the door of the attic.
“I thought you might be ready for a break,” Serena said brightly, ushering the footman, William, into the room carrying a tray laden with sandwiches and the like. It had been a long time since luncheon.
“How did you know I wouldn’t want to stop?” Gemma asked, standing and brushing her hands off on her gown.
“I have shared a house with you for almost a full year, Gemma,” her chaperone said. “I think I should know your work habits by now.”
Cam had risen as soon as he saw Serena, and moved over to where William, the footman, was setting up a small table and two chairs just inside the door.
“A picnic in the attic,” he said dryly as he watched the servant place a small vase with what looked like one of Paley’s hothouse roses on the table. “What a perfect setting for a newly betrothed couple.”
He turned to eye Serena and she turned pink, confirming his suspicion. For whatever reason, she’d changed her assessment of him as a potential husband for her charge. He wasn’t sure whether to be pleased or concerned.
It wouldn’t make any difference in his own intentions, of course, but he did wonder what had changed her mind.
There would be no clues coming from Gemma, he thought wryly as she took her seat and impatiently gestured for him to be seated as well.
“I’m starving,” she said, and her stomach gave a rumble then, as if to confirm it.
Seeing that they were not going to ignore the repast she’d arranged, Lady Serena gave a brisk nod.
“I’ll be off and let you two eat, then,” she said. “Enjoy your meal.”
And before either of them could protest, she was gone, followed by the butler and footman.
Cam stared after her for a moment, then took his seat.
Gemma was indeed hungry, for she bit into a sandwich just then and sighed in a way that had him thinking of the scented neighbor again.
“Why aren’t you eating?” she asked when minutes had passed without him selecting from the assorted food on offer.
“I am,” he said, reaching for a bit of beef and cheese. “There, see?” he bit into it. And realized he was far more hungry than he’d realized.
Relaxing a bit, she continued to forage from the collation of cheese, fruits, meat and fruit tarts.
“You aren’t one of those silly creatures who pretends no interest in food, I’ve noticed,” he said with approval. He’d once thought—when he was fresh from university and full of himself—that a true lady would never deign to show interest in food or drink. No more.
“You know me too well now to have ever imagined that,” she said with a shake of her head. “I shall never see the sense in pretending to be happy when I’m sad. Or pretending to be full when I’m still hungry.”
“In some instances, pretending happiness might be necessary to prevent someone else from learning something painful,” he said, thinking back to his father’s behavior when the duchess had been ill.
“I suppose that’s true,” she said thoughtfully, “but I cannot imagine what—other than a need for gentlemen to feel superior—should make it necessary for a lady to pretend never to have human needs.”
“It does become rather absurd when you see all the men at table stuffing their maws with every sort of delicacy while the ladies nibble small bites and never finish any of the dishes.”
“Precisely,” Gemma said with an approving nod.
Cam basked in the feeling for a moment.
“You’ve changed somehow,” she said, tilting her head to really look at him. “It’s as if you’re—lighter. Less angry.”
Had learning about the reasons behind his father’s actions really wrought such a change in him in such a short time? Surely not.
She must have seen his skepticism, because she continued, “I don’t know if it’s something everyone would notice. But I see it.”
That made him feel somewhat better. He’d never thought of himself as an easy read, but it made sense that Gemma, whom he’d spent the most time with, and been the most intimate with, would be the one to see it.
But was it something he was ready to share with her?
For once, the man who always knew exactly what his next move would be was uncertain.
* * *
As the silence between them lengthened, Gemma turned her attention back to the trunk she was examining. It was filled with the sorts of bits and bobs every collector of fossils and geological oddities gathered over a career of hunting for important finds. Too interesting to dispose of without a pang of guilt and too unimportant to place on display with the truly great pieces acquired on a hunt.
A glance at Cam revealed he too was poring over the contents of the trunk he’d opened.
They had worked quietly for nearly a quarter of an hour, however, when she realized that the floor of this particular trunk was not painted brown as she’d originally thought, but was lined with large, leather-bound books.
Her heart thumped as she recognized them as the same sort of notebooks Lady Celeste had used for her personal journals she and the others had looked through earlier in the year.
Hurriedly, but careful not to damage any of the fossils, she removed everything from the trunk.
Cam must have noticed her haste because he looked over, his eyes alert. “What did you find?”
“I don’t know yet,” she said, taking out the last large stone. “But I have a hope it’s what we’ve been looking for.”
She didn’t name it aloud for fear of jinxing herself. She desperately wanted to find out if the fossil she’d discovered on the shore was actually the famed Beauchamp Lizard. She would accept the truth no matter what the outcome, but she could admit to herself, at least, that she’d be highly disappointed if it wasn’t. Not only because it would mean she might have been wrong about the value of the stone she found, but also because it would mean that Lady Celeste hadn’t, in fact, planted it there for her to find. The lack of her benefactress having made some kind of quest or plan for her enlightenment during the first year at Beauchamp House stung. And this seemed to be her last chance.
“Here,” said Cam, as if sensing her fear, “I’ll bring them out while you scan them.”
Grateful for his lack of questions, she moved out of the way, and let him kneel down in front of the trunk.
While he worked, she moved closer to the lamp they’d hung on the wall just over where they’d been searching. There was an abandoned armchair there and she perched on the edge, scanning the pages.
The hand was one she also recognized from Lady Celeste’s journals and the pages were lined with neatly inscribed dates, locales and descriptions of what she’d found there. In some cases, there were purchase dates and the name of the collector from whom she’d acquired the particular item or items, followed by a brief notation of where the items had been found.
The journal in her hands was dated some twenty years previous and contained five years’ worth of discoveries and purchases as well as pencil sketches of the items. But nowhere in this particular volume, however, did she find a mention of any fossil that matched the skull fossil she’d discovered on the shore.
Cam finished removing all eleven remaining journals and offered them to her just as she set the first one she’d drawn out down on the table.
“You take these and I’ll look in these,” he said, not bothering to note that she’d obviously not found anything about the lizard in the first one.
Once more the attic was silent, though this time there was an air of excitement as they scanned the diaries for some mention of the stone Sir Everard had been convinced was the Beauchamp Lizard.
At last Gemma found it. The sketch was the only one in this volume Lady Celeste had rendered in any great degree of detail. The unimportant finds, Gemma had concluded, were only given cursory drawings. This one, however, was as finely rendered as any pen-and-ink drawing on display in the great museums. And there was no question it was the fossil they were looking for.
“Here, Cam,” she said, her voice ringing with excitement. “A particularly fine fossilized skull of a marine lizard, found Beauchamp House cliffs, Little Seaford, Sussex, Ldy C. Beauchamp and Lrd Crutchley. 4 Sept. 1813.”
“Crutchley?” Cam frowned. “Doesn’t he have an estate near Lyme?”
Lord Richard Crutchley was not a particularly renowned collector, but he was known to have a small collection of finds he’d purchased from Mary Anning. He’d also written a few notes and letters to the various geological magazines.
“Yes,” Gemma said thoughtfully. “I do recall Lady Celeste mentioning him in her personal diaries, at social gatherings and the like, but this seems more friendly than those entries did.”
“She clearly had a large circle of acquaintances,” he said wryly. “I suppose working for the Home Office can expand one’s reach like that.”
While Sophia and Benedick had been investigating a local art forgery ring, they’d discovered, among other things, that Lady Celeste had been an agent for the Home Office for a time. It had not come as a shock to the heiresses, who had come to understand that their benefactress was not only intelligent and kind, but also had her finger in far more pies than they could ever have imagined.
“How did you know about that?” Gemma asked with a frown. She’d thought the heiresses had agreed not to spread word of Lady Celeste’s work for the crown.
“I overheard Sophia telling Ben,” he said ruefully. “But I promise not to say anything to anyone. I’m quite good at keeping secrets.”
Turning her attention back to the notebook, Gemma considered what they’d discovered. “It would appear that we’ve found evidence that here was a Beauchamp Lizard, at the very least.”
“Whether the specimen you found was the same fossil, however…” Cam said, trailing off at her glare. “I admit the signs are all there,” he said, holding up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “It’s just a matter of corroborating that information with someone who’s seen the one Lady Celeste unearthed.”
Rising from her chair, Gemma began marching toward the attic doors.
“Where are you going?” he asked, climbing to his feet.
“To change into something warmer,” she told him over her shoulder. “You should call for your curricle. We’ve got a long journey ahead of us.”
She felt the reverberation in the floor as he jogged to catch up with her.
“You might ask me if I wish to drive nearly to Lyme first,” Cam complained as he reached her side. “Perhaps I’m tired.”
“My dear Lord Cameron,” she said with a raised brow. “If you are too tired to drive to Crutchley’s estate then I fear you are too fatigued for any other activity.”
He paused, then shook his head a little. “Point taken. I’ll meet you in the entrance hall in thirty minutes.”
“Fifteen,” she said, “and don’t be late.”