“A forgery,” Connor said, his face grim. “Serena deduced that.”
“Yes, but why? Why prepare a fraudulent sentiment? Surely there’s a meaning behind it.”
“It’s possible,” Gerard said. “Ye believe it’s a code?”
She pictured the words and numbers in her mind’s eye. For Allegra. 8 December 1819. Excitement surged through her.
“The date…the numbers correspond to those in my brother-in-law’s message. The numbers follow the sequence.” She twisted the first gear to the eighth position on a clock dial. The sound of metal against metal met her ears, and it settled into place, just as it had earlier. Leaning closer, she turned the second dial. “December will be replaced by one and two, just as in the sequence I memorized. But December is the twelfth month. This time, we shall combine the two digits.”
Leaning closer, she placed the notch at the top of the dial. “Twelve.” And then, she heard it, the quiet snick, the faintest of sounds, but as joyous as a chorus. The gear settled into place.
She slanted Connor a glance. He met her gaze. The respect in his eyes warmed her, even as she forced herself back to the task at hand. Her breath hovered in her throat as she set the next dial into place at one. Another quiet click. Then the gear, set to eight, settled into place. She’d deciphered the code.
Gerard leaned over her shoulder. “Bluidy hell, she’s done it.”
In short order, she set the two remaining gears into the correct position. The latches released.
Rising, she smoothed her crinkled skirt with her palms and drank in the way Connor looked at her. Daft American author, indeed.
“Which one of you wishes to do the honors?” she asked, motioning to the trunk. “Your treasure awaits.”
Connor cut her a look that heated her to the core, as if he’d realized the precise nature of the treasure he craved. A treasure that had nothing to do with gems and curses.
“God’s teeth, just open the bluidy box,” Gerard said with a glare.
“Ye may have that honor, brother.”
Gerard’s brows formed an inverted vee. “Ye believe the chest is rigged in some way…it’s a trap?”
“Nay,” Connor said, even as he took Johanna by the hand and drew her back. “But since ye’ve left yer bollocks in some doxy’s coffers, I’ll do it.”
Disregarding his protective gesture, she stepped forward. She’d come this far. She wasn’t about to turn away from the first sight of the jewel that had inspired Cranston’s ruthless quest.
A thick, strong arm blocked her. Gerard stared down at her. “He means what he says. Ye cannae take the chance. If ye’re injured, who will save the wee lass?”
The kindness in his eyes startled her. This was a man accustomed to brutality. Yet he showed concern for a child he’d never seen.
“Very well,” she said, peering over Gerard’s brawny limb as Connor revealed the contents of the chest.
“By Satan’s mistress, they were a clever lot.” Connor removed what appeared to be a musket ball, inspecting it before placing it to the side. “They filled the chest with iron. No wonder we damn near broke our backs heaving it out of that hole.”
“But no sign of the stone?” Impatience marked Gerard’s question.
“Aye, it’s here. They wouldnae have gone to such trouble over ordinary riches.”
Gerard joined him, pulling weights out of the way. He produced a small, surprisingly crude wooden box that had been nailed shut. With his dagger, Connor pried up the lid.
“Behold—Deamhan’s Cridhe,” he said with mocking flare.
The stone… God above, Johanna had never experienced such a visceral reaction to an object. She’d expected a large, elegant gem. But this…this jewel defied her expectations a hundred fold. Its deep, crimson radiance intrigued her, drew her in. The size of her thumbnail, the stone had been intricately cut, reflecting light with a dazzling brilliance. Burgundy and red and the color of flame flickered against the facets. Fit for a queen, indeed.
Yet, at its core, the ruby gleamed dark as heart’s blood. Something about the jewel she couldn’t quite explain repelled her, an energy that triggered a warning deep within. She wanted to look away from the gem and never again lay eyes upon the cursed stone.
Heavens, she was doing it again. She’d allowed the legend to set her overly active imagination into full gallop. Banishing the superstitious notions to the corner of her mind reserved for rubbish, she edged closer.
“How very peculiar. So lovely, and yet—”
“Serena’s ramblings have got to ye,” Connor said, though his own features revealed a grim awareness she hadn’t anticipated.
“Perhaps,” she responded blandly.
Gerard’s gaze flicked between them. “Now that we’ve got the blasted thing, can we move along with our plan?”