Page 3 of Seduction Under the Southern Stars

“Hello, Zoe, pleased to meet you.” He turns to Hallie. “And hi, Hallie.”

“Linc,” she says warmly, “I’m so excited to meet you. I’ve never met a real divvy!”

My eyebrows rise. “A what?”

“A divvy,” she replies. “You know. A diviner? It’s usually used in antiques. It means someone with the ability to find artifacts or distinguish fakes or forgeries from the genuine article.”

My jaw drops. “What?”

She laughs as Linc’s lips twist. “He works for iDigBritain. They made a program about him last year, singing his praises. Jeez, Elora, you didn’t see it? He’s quite famous.”

I’m not surprised. There was always something exceptional about him. I am shocked that he’s here, though. Standing in front of me looking so… real.

He walks up to me. “Hello, Lora,” he says softly. He always used to call me that, or occasionally add my middle name, Elora-Rose.

“Hello, Linc.” Should I shake his hand? I look into his eyes, and then he smiles, and I can’t help it—I lift my arms around his neck, and he wraps his arms around my waist. He squeezes, tight enough to force the air out of me, and lifts my feet off the ground a fraction before lowering me back down.

“It’s good to see you,” he whispers, releasing me.

Touching him scrambles my brain, like an egg whisked with a fork on a hot plate, and I step back, head spinning. “So… um… you did become an archaeologist?” I say breathlessly, conscious of the others watching.

“I did,” he says. “Thanks to you.” He glances at my brothers. “And your family.”

“He discovered the Framlingham Hoard,” Hallie says. “It was the second largest hoard of Roman coins ever found in the UK. Over ten thousand coins, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Linc says, “nearly fourteen thousand.”

“You must have made a fortune from that find,” Zoe says, mouth open.

“Zoe,” Hallie scolds.

“That’s all right, I don’t mind,” he says. “The British Museum bought them for 1.75 million pounds, split between me and the landowner.”

“And you found the Heacham Hoard too, didn’t you?” Hallie continues. “All those Iron Age torcs and bracelets. The article said you had a nose for gold.”

“The Midas Touch,” he says, and smiles.

Oh my God, I didn’t know any of this. I read a lot of books, but I’m not as well-versed in today’s archaeology news as Hallie.

There’s an awkward silence as the others watch Linc and me stare at each other. There’s so much I want to say, so many questions I want to ask, and yet my lips refuse to form a single word.

Eventually, maybe sensing how flustered I feel, Zoe rests a comforting hand in the middle of my back as she says to him, “I’d ask if you want to help clean some artifacts, but you look as if you’re going to a funeral.”

“I am, as it happens,” he says. “In an hour, so I should get going soon.”

“Shit.” Zoe looks aghast. “I’m so sorry. I’m always putting my foot in it.”

“Not at all.”

“Is that why you’re in New Zealand?” I ask him, wondering whose death would bring him back.

Linc nods. “I wanted to make sure they nailed the coffin shut.” It’s a throwaway comment, said with some amusement, but bitterness drips from the words.

“Your father died?” I conclude.

He nods again, sliding his hands into the pockets of his trousers.

I stare at him, tongue-tied. I feel that I should say I’m sorry, except I’m not, and he obviously isn’t, either. But even though at times I’m sure we’ve both wished his dad was obliterated from existence, nobody remains unscarred by the death of their father, and he must be dealing with a confusing array of emotions right now.

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