Alex glanced sideways at the woman next to him. Those same qualities could be applied to her. Beauty without vanity. Courage without ferocity. She’d accepted her fate without resorting to bitterness or treachery, with grace and even humor. What was he going to do with her? He had to make a decision by the time they returned to London.
“The grave of a dog wasn’t Father’s first choice of hiding place,” she said, unaware of his seething thoughts. “He tried several others before deciding on this. He submerged them in a pond at first, in a tin box wrapped in oilcloth and weighted down with rocks. That proved very messy to retrieve. Luc and I eventually rebelled againstwading through pond slime every six months to add a new jewel. In the winter, we had to crack the ice. It was awful.”
She shook her head in memory. “Then he considered burying the box with a large number of truffles and using a specially trained truffle pig to find them.”
“A truffle pig?” Alex choked out. “You’re joking.”
She grinned, enjoying his surprise. “I swear I’m not. Camille suggested it. Her first husband had them at his country estate near Périgord, which is, as everyone knows, the truffle center of France.”
Alex gave a reluctant laugh. “And here I was, thinking things couldn’t get any worse. I take it back. Imagine if we’d had to transport a great stinking pig with us.”
“They’re ill-tempered beasts, apparently. Camille used to say you could recognize the pig owners by their missing fingers.”
“I wonder what it is about truffles that makes them so attractive to pigs?”
“To lady pigs,” Emmy clarified.
He wrinkled his forehead. “Only female pigs like truffles?”
“Oh no, I’m sure male pigs like them too, but it’s the lady pigs who are used to seek them out.”
She sent him a cheeky grin, and he just knew she was going to say something outrageous.
“Females find them irresistible because they smell just like virile man pigs. The girl pigs work themselves into a frenzy, trying to locate the source.”
“Good God.” Alex shook his head, bemused. Then again, who was he to scoff? He fully understood the strength of desire that could be aroused by smell. One whiff of Emmy’s blasted perfume was enough to drive him crazy. He’d probably break down doors to get to her.
His heart twisted in his chest as he realized how muchhe enjoyed her company. She was an amusing companion, and he felt as at ease with her as he did with Benedict and Seb. He liked her. Were they becoming friends? That would be a fatal mistake; it would only make it harder when he had to turn her in. Damn it.
Emmy knelt on the ground at the foot of the steps, heedless of the mud and her dress, and ran her fingers along the mortar strips between the stones.
“What do we have to do?” Alex asked.
“Pry off the front of this stone.”
With a sigh of regret over his pristine breeches, Alex knelt beside her and nudged her aside with his shoulder. “Don’t hurt your hands. I’ll do it.” He scraped away some moss and tried to pry the slab forward. “There isn’t really a dog buried under here, is there? I’m not going to come across bones?”
She chuckled. “No, you’re safe. The real Lily’s buried up near the hunting lodge. This is more symbolic. Father used to say it represented the death of the French monarchy, the end of France as it was before the Revolution.” Her face fell, and Alex kicked himself for making her remember something that brought her pain. He wanted her to smile.
The stone shifted beneath his fingers, and she made a sound of delight. “Yes! There you go.”
He pulled it forward and away, dislodging a bank of dark brown soil that had been packed behind it. Emmy started to scrape it away, and he did the same, their hands touching occasionally as they worked. A dull metallic thud sounded when his knuckles hit something hard, and Emmy gasped in anticipation. She reached into the dark hole they’d made and pulled out an unassuming black tin box, about eighteen inches long and a foot square. She rearranged herself to sit cross-legged on the grass.
Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkled in excitement, and Alex curbed the impulse to lean over and kiss her.
She lifted the lid and he caught his breath. There, glittering in the dying rays of the sun like some magical hoard of leprechaun gold, lay a seething mass of diamonds, emeralds, pearls, and precious metals.
The missing crown jewels of France.
Chapter 32.
Alex could hardly believe his eyes. He reached into the tin and pulled out a gold crown, almost simplistic in design, with huge gems studded like barnacles around the sides and four large jeweled fleur de lis protruding from the top. He didn’t know much about antiques, but it looked ancient.
“That’s the crown of Charlemagne,” Emmy said matter-of-factly. “Kings of France have been crowned with it for hundreds of years. It was rumored to have been destroyed during the Revolution, but Father managed to steal it before it was melted down.”
She pulled out an earring and dangled it carelessly between her slim fingers. The pear-shaped diamond pendant was as big as a musket ball. “These were Marie Antoinette’s favorite earrings.”
She dropped the earring back onto the pile and withdrew a yellow-tinged faceted stone as large as a walnut and, in the other hand, a peachy-pink stone of at least twenty carats that was almost heart shaped. Tinyrainbows glittered on her palms as she held them up for inspection.
