Page 68 of An Arranged Marriage with a Cruel Earl
He continued digging, and slowly he unearthed what was, as she had seemingly known, a box. It was a little over a foot long, and perhaps a foot tall. He shoved the shovel underneath and started to tug.
“It’s stuck,” he declared. The mud was clinging to it, refusing to let it budge, but he saw her face—imploring, interested—and slid the blade of the shovel underneath it and pushed down, gritting his teeth with effort and trying not to swear.
With a clinging, sucking noise, the wooden box slowly came loose from the mud. The wet, decaying smell of muddy earth came with it. Andrew crinkled his nose. Emmeline gazed at him.
“Do you think we can open it?” she asked.
He shrugged. “We can try.” He reached into his pocket, where he had the pocketknife that had been his father’s. He carried it often. He bent down and slid it under the lid and slowly worked it upwards.
Emmeline bent down to watch him, her skirt—already dirty—trailing in the mud. She didn’t seem to mind, and he admired her even more as she knelt there in the mud by his side.
“There!” He hissed out a breath as the lid creaked and then sprang open.
“Oh...” Emmeline breathed.
Andrew leaned forward, his breath catching as the contents came into view. Inside the box gleamed Spanish-minted gold coins, their intricate markings glinting faintly. Beside them lay solid gold bars, their surfaces dimmed by age yet still unmistakably precious.
“There it is,” Emmeline declared. Her voice shook.
“There it is indeed,” Andrew murmured. He gazed at it, feeling numb, surprised and confused.
He reached out to touch it. As he did, he heard a sound behind him. It was not the rustle of rats. It was footsteps. Human footsteps. And the unmistakable metallic click of a pistol being cocked.
“Hand over the treasure,” Ambrose’s voice said.
