Page 48 of Stolen By the Rogue
Three days later
George wasn’t angry—he was livid.
“Bloody hell, where are you?” he grumbled.
The scant note Jane had left crumpled in his fist.
Following a clue. All may not be lost. J.S.
He would give a gold coin right now for a blazing fire into which he could throw Jane’s piece of nonsense and stand back to watch while it burned. His instructions had been clear; she was to remain at the house and await his return.
Instead, she had gonelord knew wherein search of the treasure—a fanciful bounty that George had finally accepted likely didn’t exist.
“Pig-headed, intractable, stubborn . . .woman.”
The moment Jane returned; George was going to have firm words with her. He would take her in hand and show her just who was in charge.
“And then you will start doing what you are told,” he huffed.
Or at least I hope so.
* * *
Several days later, George was seated at the table, still steaming over Jane’s sudden disappearance, when the front door clicked shut and a moment later, she walked into the kitchen. One look at her crestfallen face had him biting back the words of rebuke which had sat bitterly on his tongue since his return home. “Jane?”
She shook her head and promptly burst into tears.
All thoughts of giving her a stern lecture were cast aside as George took Jane into his arms and wrapped her up in his embrace. He would have it out with her later. All that was important was that she was home, and she was safe.
Thank God.
He placed gentle kisses on the top of Jane’s light brown hair. This was what really mattered—holding the woman he loved in his arms while she cried all over him.
* * *
“One hundred and thirty odd miles there, and the same all the way back, with yet again nothing to show for my efforts,” lamented Jane.
Her shoulders and hips ached from long hours tightly crammed in with the other passengers in the mail coach. She hadn’t slept a wink on the return journey. The gentleman seated next to her had liked to spread his elbows and knees, leaving her little room to move.
“Yes, but you discovered the secret of the note, which is quite a feat in itself.” George was seated next to her on the mattress in the parlor, a blanket thrown over their legs for warmth. He held the cryptic letter in his hand.
She could sense he was aching to give her a right bollocking over her having disappeared and gone all the way to the Welsh border on her own, but he was holding his temper. Her tears had done much to calm her emotions, but disappointment had left a nasty taste in her mouth.
“So, tell me what happened when you arrived at Boscobel House,” he said.
Jane lay her head against the parlor wall and closed her eyes. Apart from the drudgery of a protracted coach journey, there wasn’t much to report. “I got all the way to Boscobel House and found that the tree was gone. Apparently, Charles the Second’s exploits of hiding in the oak tree were more famous than I had realized. In the years after it happened, hundreds of people came and took souvenirs of the original tree. And, of course, it eventually died. They dug it up, thus disproving my theory of Jane Whorwood having buried the treasure around the base.”
Using an acorn from the original, another royal oak tree had been grown nearby. It too garnered a solid number of daily visitors all milling around its base. Even if she had wanted to dig, Jane would never have been able to manage a time when she was alone.
“And that’s when I realized I had gone off in search of something that doesn’t exist. If the treasure had been buried at that spot, I expect someone would have found it long ago and kept it a secret.”
A warm hand took hold of one of hers, and she opened her eyes. When she chanced a look in George’s direction, her heart did a little flip. He was softly smiling at her. “You did what you could. Jane, I am sorry you didn’t find the treasure. After all you have been though, if anyone deserves to have found the boon, it is you.”
Jane shifted and rose up on her knees. George placed his hands on either side of her hips as she straddled him. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore tonight. I just want you,” she whispered.
A gentle hand was placed at the back of her head and he drew her to him. The heady sensation of his lips and mouth on hers soon had Jane thinking of nothing else but giving herself to this man. Their tongues settled to tease and play in a familiar, welcome dance.
It had only been a matter of days since they had last been together, but she ached with need for his touch.
