Page 41 of Every Duke Has His Thorn
“I’m not sure what Mr. Sparks might do if he is there and I find the treasure. You must be safe.” He added quickly, “I must ensure you and my aunt are safe. Your father would never agree to your being involved in this.”
The young woman let out a sigh. “You’re right. As much as I would like to help you, you have a better chance of drawing Mr. Sparks out if he believes you are alone.”
He shouldn’t be amazed at her level-headedness. She understood him completely. “The plan is for me to be at the folly at eight o’clock.”
“My father and I enjoy a late tea together. I will casually mention to him your idea that the treasure may be in the folly.” She chuckled. “All the while behaving as if I don’t believe there is a treasure.”
“I have every confidence in you, Miss Davies.” He’d said the words more warmly than he’d intended. The lady smiled ever so softly, and he felt his pulse quicken. Suddenly, he was short of breath. “I think we’ve been out here long enough. We wouldn’t want chins to wag, and it is terribly hot. Good afternoon.”
He jumped to his feet, touched the brim of his hat, and strode away.
Chapter Seventeen
Marina returned to the dower house, feeling too giddy for words. The duke was worried for her safety. And the way he’d looked at her- She wasn’t quite sure what it meant, but she did think he liked her at least a little.
Although disappointed she wouldn’t be at the folly to discover the treasure, the duke’s plan was a good one.
She retired to her bedchamber and undressed down to her chemise. The room was warm, and she opened the windows in an attempt to catch a cool breeze.
Lying on her bed, she soon fell fast asleep.
There was a knock at her door. “Miss? Are you coming down to tea? Your father is waiting for you in the drawing room.”
“Tell him I’ll be downstairs in a moment, Anne.”
She rushed to dress, relieved her hair merely needed a quick brush, and then she could tuck it into a chignon.
“There you are!” Her father was seated on a sopha, a teacup in one hand, a lemon biscuit in the other. He grinned and asked with a wink, “You had an eventful afternoon?”
“Actually I did,” she retorted spiritedly, remembering her mission. “I have some interesting news.”
Anne had exited the room as Marina made her last statement. She counted on the girl being curious enough to eavesdrop.
“Do tell,” her father replied, leaning forward.
“The duke believes he knows where the treasure is. He solved the clue by remembering a rhyme his mother would sing to him.”
Her father whistled. “How extraordinary. Where is the treasure?”
“His Grace says it is in the folly. He didn’t give me an exact location. I don’t think he wants anyone else to know precisely where it is.” She paused to add softly, “He is going to the folly at eight o’clock, alone, to see if the treasure is there.”
“I’m glad you aren’t asking for my permission to go with him,” her father replied with a frown.
She shrugged. “His Grace is wasting his time. I don’t think there ever was a treasure. Finding clues has been a lovely diversion, but as Lady Barton told us, the treasure is merely a story made up to entertain children.”
“And tomorrow morning at our meeting, His Grace will be empty-handed and will agree with you.” Her father popped the biscuit into his mouth.
Despite her excitement about the duke’s plan, she would change the subject. Surely, Anne had heard enough to pass along to Mr. Sparks.
“How is the restoration work in the bedchambers coming along?” she asked her father, pushing down concern for the duke’s safety.
The duke would be in the company of Mr. Bailey at the folly. He would be safe. He had to be.
* * * * *
The sun was setting as Preston exited the hall, a pair of old leather gloves in hand. His aunt approved of his plan, although she was disappointed not to be present when he dug for the treasure.
Mr. Bailey would be in the forest, crouched low, attempting to remain unseen. Earlier in the day the steward had placed a shovel and lantern out of sight against a short wall of the folly.
