Page 95 of Impetuous

“Yes.” He sighed and repocketed the book. “Unfortunately, I could not seem to get either map. When I got the book and there was no map, I knew that you must have retrieved it from Bigby. Well, I had no choice but to follow and see what you came up with. I must tell you, I was quite disappointed by the results yesterday. All that tramping about fair wore my man out, having to hide as he did. That’s why I set about watching your house today. Thank God I did.”

“What about David Miller? Was he in on it? Your partner?”

Simons laughed, and Cassandra wondered why she had never noticed before that there was an ugly undertone to his laughter. “That innocent? Heavens, no. Of course, it was rather handy when he showed up again and wanted to visit you. I heard a good deal of useful gossip from him after he returned to London. But help me pull off such a scheme? Not likely. He would be shocked, I assure you.”

Cassandra shot Philip a triumphant look. “I told you he was not the sort to steal the dowry.”

“Since you also told me that Mr. Simons was not the sort, I can hardly give you much credit for prescience,” Philip replied sourly.

“Now, now, children, that’s enough. Time to end the chitchat. Miss Verrere, please be so good as to bring that lovely objet d’art over here to me. Remember, I will have the gun on Miss Verrere the entire time, so please don’t try anything foolish, Sir Philip.”

“I won’t.” Philip’s voice was grim.

Cassandra rose slowly, cradling the heavy statue in the crook of her arm. She started toward him, walking deliberately. He held his gun on her the whole time. As she grew close to him, she tripped and stumbled forward, flinging out her arms. The elegant golden leopard went tumbling to the ground. Instinctively Simons reached for the falling statue, his shotgun lowering. Philip, who had been watching closely, certain that Cassandra would not meekly hand over the fortune she considered her family’s, leaped forward and grabbed the gun.

The two men wrestled over it. Cassandra rolled out of the way and rose lithely to her feet. She glanced around for the leopard, thinking to pick it up and bash Simons over the head with it, but the two men were struggling right over it. It did not matter, anyway, for at that instant Philip wrested the gun away from Simons and tossed it away. Simons started after it, but Philip grabbed his arm and whirled him back around, sending a fist crashing into the other man’s chin. The rotund little man was no match for Philip’s strength, and in a few more moments he was facedown on the ground, with Philip’s knee planted in the small of his back and his arms crossed behind him.

Cassandra quickly tore off the sash of her dress and tied it around Simons’s wrists. He moaned and fussed that she was tying it too tightly, but Cassandra merely let out an unsympathetic grunt. She reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out the prayer book.

“This belongs to Mr. Bigby, I believe.”

They made an odd little group, walking back down the track to the church and then to Haverly House. Mr. Simons walked in front, his hands secured behind his back, and Cassandra marched a few feet behind him, shotgun trained on him. Philip brought up the rear of the procession, carrying the small casket of treasures on his shoulder. They passed a farmer on the road between the church and Haverly House, and he stared at them oddly but only tugged at his cap and offered them a good day.

When they reached Philip’s house, he turned both the gun and their prisoner over to his gamekeeper, instructing him to deliver Simons to the constable in the village and to assure the man that Sir Philip would be down shortly to inform him of the crime that had been committed.

With that responsibility taken care of, he and Cassandra walked into the house and up the stairs to the nursery. They found the twins and the two girls there, all looking rather glum. All four of the youngsters looked up at Cassandra and Philip, goggling at their dirty and tousled appearance.

Philip marched solemnly over to the window seat, where Crispin sat. The other three instinctively moved closer. He set the chest down in front of the window seat and with a grand gesture flung open its top, revealing the glittering leopard recumbent on the bags of jewels and coins. “Lord Chesilworth—the Spanish Dowry.”

* * *

THE REST OF the day was spent in celebration: showing off the contents of the box to the other residents of the house, retelling their story time and again, laughing and talking, dreaming with the twins and Olivia about what they would do with the money. True to his word, Philip had given the Verreres the entire contents of the strongbox.

When Cassandra protested that half of it was his, earned by his efforts many times over, he had simply shaken his head and smiled, saying, “No. ’Twas your scheme from the very start. I would not even believe you at first. If it had not been for you and your persistence, that box would have lain in the ground forever, unless some lucky farmer happened to plow it up one day. Besides, it was the Verreres’ treasure to begin with. Margaret did not marry a Neville, and I cannot see that the Nevilles have any claim on it.”

“Margaret wanted it divided between the two families.”

“Margaret wanted the rift healed between the two families,” he corrected. “She thought that the only way to do it was to split the treasure. But you and I will heal the rift by marrying. The money is unnecessary.”

“You are a kind and generous man,” she told him, going up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

He smiled, placing a hand on her back to keep her close. “I am glad you think so. I fear that when you are Lady Neville, you will cease such accolades.”

Cassandra felt a warmth stir deep inside her in response to the gleam in his eyes as he gazed down into her face. “Indeed? Do you intend to be such an ogre of a husband that I shall stop thinking you are kind?”

“Not an ogre.” His grin broadened, and he leaned closer by degrees, whispering, “Just very demanding.” His lips brushed hers, leaving no mistake as to his meaning.

“Philip!” Cassandra put her hands between them, flat against his chest. “Your mother could come in at any moment.” They were in the sitting room downstairs, unexpectedly alone for the time being.

“Then she would be shocked.” He kissed her again, more lingeringly. “However, I think she already suspects that I cannot keep my hands off you.”

Cassandra could not deny a thrill of pleasure at his words. Philip was quite open about his desire for her, and his passion both stirred and pleased her. However, she could not help wishing that his desire had a basis in love. Passion, she suspected, could easily die, probably would, in fact, and then what would be left between them? Would Philip resent her then? Would he wish that he had never married her? Cassandra did not think that she could bear it if Philip turned away from her. She was falling more and more in love with him by the hour.

She had not told him, of course, except once or twice, when he had fallen asleep. She was scared to say it to him, afraid that he would think she was pushing him, trying to coerce him into responding that he loved her, too—but even more afraid that he would not say the words in return.

The lack of Philip’s love was not the only worry that niggled at her that day. After all the initial excitement had died down and the treasure had been stored away in the study safe, after Philip had set off for the village to inform the constable about Simons’s wrongdoing, Cassandra had begun to reflect on the events of the past few weeks. One thing kept recurring: it made no sense for Simons to have had her locked in the windmill.

She simply could not see how hurting or killing her or even delaying them for several days could have helped Mr. Simons. Until she and Philip came to London and told him about the book they were searching for, he had had no idea where the second map was. Delaying their search in that way would have gained him nothing. Besides, there was the fact that had made her suspect Philip of having locked her in there—the note had told her to meet Philip at the abbey. How would Mr. Simons, who had never even been around them, have known that their favorite destination on their rides was the ruined abbey? It made no sense, and things that didn’t make sense bothered Cassandra.