we’ll have more luck in the bedrooms.’
But, other than a bed, a mattress encased in plastic—presumably to protect it from the dust—and some linens, they found no trace of John Cox’s presence in either of the two bedrooms. It was as if he’d been washed away when the cleaners had come in. Whoever her father had hired, they’d done their job to perfection.
Nell dropped to the wooden chair that sat at the desk in the smaller of the two bedrooms. Had John used this room as a study? If so, what had he studied? What, other than gardening, had he been interested in?
Other than avoiding his paternal duties, that was.
She glanced at Rick. She couldn’t tell what impression the cottage had made on him. If any.
He turned as if he’d felt the weight of her gaze. ‘You were hoping we’d find something.’
‘Of course I was. Weren’t you?’
‘I thought it a fool’s mission from the beginning.’
Oh, great. She glared at the ceiling. So not only was she a spoiled little rich girl, but she was a fool too? She straightened when she realised what she was staring at. ‘A loft hatch.’ She rose and set her chair beneath it and then gestured for Rick to investigate further.
‘If there’s anything at all up there, Princess, it’ll only be porn magazines.’
‘Look, I’m not tall enough to reach it properly so just humour me, okay?’
He didn’t move. He just stared at her instead. She lifted her arms and let them drop. ‘If I have to go and get the ladder from the shed to do it myself I will.’
With a smothered something she was glad she didn’t catch, Rick hauled himself up on the chair and pushed the loft cover to one side. Pulling himself up, he peered inside.
Nell surveyed the way his forearm muscles bunched and the promise of bulging biceps. Not to mention the long clean line of his back. Her heart pitter-pattered. Her fingers curled into her palms, even as her tongue touched the corner of her mouth.
Rick had been a good-looking youth, but it was nothing to the man he’d become. And in those jeans there was no denying that he was all man.
And the stupid fluttering in her throat reminded her that she wasn’t the kind of woman who was immune to Rick’s particular brand of masculinity. Not that she had any intention of doing anything more than looking.
‘There’s something up here.’
That snapped her to. ‘What is it?’
If only it’d give them another piece of the puzzle. Or, barring that, a clue as to how to solve that stupid coded message.
‘I’m going up.’
With that, he disappeared completely into the ceiling space. Nell paced down below. ‘What is it?’ she called up again.
‘Some kind of box.’
‘Are there any photos in it? A family tree or birth certificates or—’
His face appeared at the hole and he laughed down at her. ‘You really are the eternal optimist, aren’t you?’
Her face fell.
‘It’s locked,’ he said. ‘Here—I’ll pass it down to you.’
She had to stand on the chair to reach it. When she was on the ground again, he swung himself back down beside her. ‘Don’t worry, Princess. I’m a dab hand at picking a lock.’
She couldn’t drag her gaze from the box.
‘Nell?’
She swallowed and forced her gaze up to his. ‘We won’t need to pick the lock.’ She handed him the box and reached up to open the locket at her throat. She removed the tiny key it contained.
His gaze narrowed. ‘Where did you get that?’
She touched the locket. ‘This was my grandmother’s. And that—’ she nodded at the box ‘—is her jewellery box.’
He stared at her and the lines around his mouth turned white. ‘John Cox stole your grandmother’s jewels?’
She laughed. It held little mirth, though it was better than sitting in the middle of the room and bawling her eyes out. ‘I don’t think he stole them. I think he probably saved them.’
Comprehension dawned in his eyes. ‘From your father?’
‘From my father.’ Before she’d died, her grandmother had owned a couple of nice pieces. Nell had thought them long gone.
He slung an arm about her shoulders and led her back into the living room. He placed the box on the tiny kitchen table and pushed her into one of the two chairs. He sat in the other. Even though he’d removed his arm she could still feel the warm weight of it and the lean coiled power of his body as he’d walked beside her. He smelt like dust and something smoky and aromatic like paprika.
‘Aren’t you going to open it?’
Of course she was. It was just...she’d never expected to see this box again. She missed her grandmother. Seeing this only made her miss her more.
His face darkened. ‘Or would you prefer to take it back to the big house and open it in private?’
Her spine stiffened. Her chin lifted. ‘I never once thought you a thief, Rick Bradford!’ A temptation, definitely, and one she fully intended to resist, but a thief? No.
For a moment his slouch lost some of its insolence. ‘Goes to show what you know, Nell Smythe-Whittaker. My teenage shoplifting is on police record.’
‘I’m not even going to dignify that with an answer.’ She pulled the box towards her, unlocked it and lifted the lid. Her breath caught. ‘Oh, her rings! I remember her wearing these.’ She had to swallow a lump. ‘My grandfather gave her this one.’ She touched a large diamond ring. ‘And this emerald belonged to her grandmother. The gold signet belonged to her mother.’ She lifted them out one by one and passed them to Rick.
‘The diamond and the emerald might fetch you a bit.’
‘I couldn’t sell them!’
She knew he wouldn’t understand her sentimentality, but...her grandmother was the only person in her life who’d loved her unconditionally.
‘How old were you when she died?’
‘Seventeen.’
‘That must’ve been tough.’
Sure, but it was nothing compared to all Rick had been through in his life. ‘Oh, look.’ She lifted a shoulder in a wry shrug. ‘John has left me a letter.’
He rolled his eyes. ‘He’s turning out to be the regular correspondent.’
Dear Miss Nell,
