“Good Lord!” He slipped his hand inside the giant conch shell and removed a leather pouch.
“You see!” Vivienne’s teeth chattered as she gripped the statue. “Did I not say we’d been left a legacy?”
They swam to the bank and headed back to the house. Mrs Elkin fussed about, had hot baths drawn, had the fire stoked in their bedchamber. Once warm and dry, they sat before the fire and Evan emptied the contents of the pouch onto the rug.
The vibrant assortment of gems glittered against the firelight.
Vivienne giggled as she held up a large blood-red ruby and observed the facets. “Imagine if the gardener had gone to clean the fountain and thrust his hand inside the shell.”
“I doubt Livingston cared who found the treasure. Finding each other was the true prize.”
She pushed the gems aside as if they were glass beads of little importance, raised her nightgown to her hips and came to sit astride him. “We should stay in bed for the rest of the day. Lord knows we might catch a fever if we don’t.”
“My skin is already aflame.” He thought of the night she reached into her thigh belt and produced the scroll. What if he’d thrown her out without reading the contract? What if he’d been too blind to see the beauty before him? “And I feel the need to prove I’m
not a bore in bed.”
“You’re never a bore in bed.”
“You’re contractually obliged to love me, regardless.”
She arched a coy brow. “And if I fail to abide by the contract?”
“Then I can make a claim against you.” He slipped his hand into her damp hair, cupped her nape and drew her mouth to his. “I can settle between your sweet thighs and take up permanent residence.”