ran away.” Nell gestured to the upper right-hand corner of the painting. “You can see the stone arch that Angus built for her. So she sat for this portrait after they’d been here awhile. In my book, they married onboard the ship that brought them here. I had them renew their wedding vows beneath the arch once it was completed.”
“In celebration of their first anniversary,” Reid murmured.
She turned to stare at him. “You read It’s All Good?”
He picked up a strand of her hair and rubbed it between his fingers. “Several times. I enjoyed it. Their story has always intrigued me, and you captured the heart of it in your book.”
When she said nothing and continued to stare at him, he said, “You seem surprised that I enjoyed it.”
“I’m trying to imagine you reading a children’s story.”
He smiled then. Because he wanted badly to do more than touch her hair, he dropped the strand and turned to the portrait. “Eleanor has always fascinated me. That summer when you and your sisters first showed us this painting and told us her story, my brothers immediately focused on finding the missing jewels. I was struck by the woman.”
He had to wonder if that was because, even then, she made him think of the woman Nell would become. They had the same gold hair, pale skin, delicate features, stubborn chin. And the mouth. Eleanor’s lips were slightly parted as if they were just waiting for a lover’s kiss. His mind slipped back to that moment in the car when he’d been staring at Nell’s mouth and nothing had mattered to him but kissing her. And more.
He could so easily have more. She was standing close enough that, if either of them moved, he would feel the brush of her body against his. If he turned ever so slightly, he could pull her into his arms. She wouldn’t resist, and he could once more lose himself in the explosive heat of her response. Lose himself in her.
He shifted his gaze to the necklace. That was what he should be thinking about. “Perhaps the painting does hold the key. If we assume she was the one who hid them—”
“She did,” Nell interrupted. “I’m certain of it.”
“Why? Why not just pass them on to her heirs?”
Nell frowned at the portrait. “According to the story that was passed down, the jewels were Eleanor’s dowry. But Deanna Lewis told Piper that they didn’t belong to Eleanor, that she and whoever her partner was had a stronger claim. Maybe Eleanor felt the same way—that the jewels really did belong to someone else. After all, she eloped with Angus. That suggests that he may not have been someone her family approved of.”
“Interesting.”
“Deanna and Gwendolen may hold the answer.”
He glanced at her. “What about your theory that you and your sisters are meant to find them? How does that fit?”
“I don’t know exactly. But if I were going to hide something as beautiful as those jewels, I’d leave a clue. What better place to put it than in this portrait? Maybe that’s why she had it painted in the first place and why she wore the sapphires. It’s probably why this painting has survived all these years.”
“Good point.” Reid used her theory to study the portrait through a new lens. This time instead of focusing on Eleanor and her jewels, he concentrated on the other details. “She’s sitting in the garden on a bench. There’s a pile of books or notebooks next to her.”
“Sketch pads, I’m betting. She drew,” Nell said. “All of the illustrations in my book are based on her sketches.”
“I read about that. The two of you share a talent for bringing images vividly to life. The location of that spot is somewhere in the gardens within sight of the stone arch, but I don’t recall that latticework directly behind her.”
“My father believed she was sitting in the gazebo,” Nell said. “The wood structure rotted away years ago, but the stone foundation is still there.” She sent him a smile. “You should remember it. You spent a day there playing tea party with me.”
“What I remember is a pile of rocks.”
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.” Nell took a step back. “And so is the clue to the location of the necklace if we could just see it.”
Still intrigued, he continued to study the painting. To hell with talking her into going to bed and getting a fresh start in the morning. His best strategy was to indulge her desire to be independent and encourage her to take the lead. And maybe it was time he surprised her. “If your theory is right and Eleanor is pointing the way to the jewels in this portrait, you’ll want to start at the stone arch. Let’s go out there right now.”
She turned to stare at him. “I was going to suggest that, but I was sure you’d argue.”
He grinned at her. “Waste of time. You were going to make the point that, as long as the autograph lady and company are depending on you to lead them to the necklace, you’ll be safe. And if someone is out there watching, they’ll see you’re doing exactly what they want.”
She shot him a frown as they moved out of the room. “I don’t like that you can practically read my mind.”
The feeling was mutual, but he wasn’t about to admit that to her. Instead, he said, “Your mind works in a very logical way.”
Her smile held a hint of mischief. “Not always. I think it’s time that I filled you in on the fantasy box that my sisters and I buried in the stones a long time ago.”
“I’VE ALWAYS LOVED the gardens,” Nell said. “Especially at this time of night. All I have to do is take a breath and I can almost taste the roses and the freesias.”
All Reid could smell was Nell, and his desire to taste her again was growing with each step they took. In spite of his belief that their trip to the stone arch put her in minimal danger, he still kept himself alert.
The full moon gleamed off the lake, and stars, undimmed by city lights, sparkled in the clear sky overhead. The illumination provided by Mother Nature made them fairly visible to anyone who might have stationed themselves in the hills that jutted up on three sides of the grounds. There could be someone up there right now, keeping an eye on the castle and specifically on Nell’s movements.
When a sudden turn in the path caused her to brush against his arm, the desire that simmered constantly now in his blood shot to full boil. His awareness, previously attuned to their surroundings, narrowed to her as swiftly and dramatically as a spotlight on a stage. God, he wanted to touch her, really touch her. To slip that drab little suit off her and let his hands slowly, very slowly, mold every inch of her. Temptation grew as he imagined just how quickly he could edge her off the path and into the cover provided by the flowering trees that filled this particular part of the gardens. He wanted to give in to it—to throw caution to the wind, pull her into the shadows and just take her. It would be wonderfully crazy, and the certainty that she wouldn’t resist him—that she’d deny him nothing—gave an unprecedented power to the images filling his mind. He might have made them a reality, if they hadn’t stepped into the clearing in front of the stone arch.
Reid
