He felt a wayward male urge to unwrap that parcel.

Cory sighed and ran a hand over his hair. He was not sure when his feelings for Rachel had started to change. Certainly he did not feel remotely brotherly towards her. Cory had plenty of sisters and his feelings for Rachel were quite different. At some point he had started to notice her in an entirely masculine way, and having started, had been unable to stop. It was utterly pointless and he knew it. Rachel saw him as a reliable elder brother and he was honour bound not to step outside the part. Besides, even he was not so disreputable as to have dishonourable intentions towards the daughter of his mentor and friend.

‘My lord?’ Cory jumped, dragging his gaze from Rachel’s figure and his thoughts from the fascinating subject of all the things that he could not do with her. He turned to find Bradshaw, his valet, at his elbow. The man was holding out what looked like a gold coin on his grimy palm. Cory picked it up.

‘Very good, Bradshaw. That looks like a shield boss. We’ll make an antiquarian of you yet!’

Bradshaw grinned. He had thick, dark hair and a muscular physique, and his arrival had caused a stir amongst the female servants. Before he had entered Cory’s employ he had had a variety of jobs, but all of them had been on government business and none of them had been anything to do with valeting. That, however, was a fact known only to Cory and Bradshaw himself.

‘Not whilst I have my strength you won’t, my lord! I had no notion that these were the duties you had in mind for me.’

‘Excavation work isn’t to your taste?’ Cory had taken a small brush and was flicking the soil off the disk so that more of the inscription was revealed.

‘No, my lord. It is all too pernickety for me. I thought it would involve digging up big earthenware pots and shields of gold!’

‘The Midwinter Treasure?’ Cory murmured.

‘Something of the sort, my lord,’ Bradshaw said.

Cory laughed. ‘Digging for antiquities is mainly tedious, Bradshaw, with rare moments of excitement.’ Cory placed the shield boss carefully in the basket of finds. He lowered his voice discreetly. ‘And this is useful intelligence work. We are getting the lie of the land, talking to people, picking up information…There is plenty going on here.’

He glanced towards the corner of the burial field where the ground sloped down to the river. ‘There is some disturbance of the ground over in the eastern corner of the field, for instance. It’s my belief that smuggled goods have been stored there. Steady…’ he put a restraining hand on Bradshaw’s arm ‘…we cannot simply go rushing in there drawing attention to ourselves! Remember that this is part of a bigger game. We will have our chance.’

Bradshaw nodded reluctantly. ‘Aye, my lord.’ He grinned. ‘In the meantime, I shall concentrate on getting burned by the sun and developing muscles I was unaware I possessed!’

Cory clapped him on the back. ‘That’s the spirit! And I do believe-’ he looked over his shoulder ‘-that we have you to thank for the additional help we are getting from Kitty the kitchen maid. Lady Odell was commenting that the maids had not shown any inclination towards excavation work until this morning.’ He saw the valet’s face flush. ‘You are to be congratulated, Bradshaw. Kitty is surprisingly good at the job, as well as a fine source of gossip. If you could encourage her a little…’

Bradshaw nodded. He did not look as though he would find this particular task too onerous. ‘I can try, my lord.’

‘Splendid!’ Cory gestured towards the finds basket. ‘You could start by taking these over to Lady Odell for sorting. And whilst you are there, pray remind her ladyship that luncheon was ready an hour ago. Miss Odell will not forgive me if her parents fail to eat.’

He watched Bradshaw scramble over the trenches until he reached Lavinia Odell and the maid at her side and saw Kitty’s face tilt up towards Bradshaw with a luscious smile. Cory sighed and turned away, his gaze searching out Rachel’s figure on the footpath that skirted the site. She had passed by without a word and now she had reached the stile that led on to the drive. He saw her hesitate before taking the longer route round through the wicket gate. Cory smiled to himself. Of course. Climbing over a stile was not very ladylike and not even the neat Miss Odell could scale it with decorum. No doubt she thought it far better to preserve her dignity by walking round.

His smile became a frown as he realised that Rachel had passed him by without a backward glance. Not long ago she would have made a point of stopping at the dig and speaking to him, even detesting excavation work as she did. This new distance in her behaviour was puzzling and uncomfortable. He had felt it when they had greeted each other earlier that morning. There had been a prickle of tension between them that previously had not existed. And now Rachel had deliberately passed him by. Perhaps she had been more embarrassed by their encounter by the river than he had imagined. Whatever the reason, it seemed that she intended to keep her distance. He did not like the thought.

It was late that same evening, and the heat of the day had faded from the air, when Rachel came looking for Cory down on the excavation. It was not difficult to find him, for a small campfire burned in the southern corner of the field, sheltered by the stone wall that separated the burial site from the meadow beyond. The evening was still light, for it was almost midsummer, but the sun was down and the sky paling. Against its washed blue light the warmth of the fire looked bright and welcoming.

Cory was sitting on the edge of a trench, his long legs dangling over into the ditch beneath. Beside him, away from the fire, a cloth was spread out, and on it were the parts of a dismantled rifle set out ready for cleaning. As Rachel approached, Cory looked up from the piece that he was polishing and gave her his slow, heart-shaking smile.

‘Good evening, Rae. What do you have there?’

‘I have brought you something to eat and drink,’ Rachel said. She put a packet of food beside him. ‘It is nothing much, merely some bread and cheese and an apple. Oh, and some of Mrs Goodfellow’s cider. I should warn you that it is strong stuff. I was drinking it this morning when I saw you come out of the river, and I thought I was having delusions.’

Cory flashed her a smile. ‘How flattering that you thought me a figure of fantasy,’ he said gravely.

‘A delusion is generally a sign of madness rather than anything else,’ Rachel pointed out crushingly, ‘so I do not feel you should take it as a compliment.’ She looked around. ‘There is nowhere to sit here. How very uncomfortable!’

Cory sighed, slipped his jacket off and spread it on the ground with exaggerated care. ‘There you are, Rae. I would not do that for everyone.’

‘I imagine most people would not want you to,’ Rachel said. ‘It is scarce cleaner than the earth.’

Nevertheless she sat down on it, curling her legs neatly beneath her skirts, and for a few moments there was a silence between them. It felt warm and comfortable and familiar. A sliver of moon was rising in the eastern sky and the air was still faintly warm and scented with summer. The fire hissed and crackled and Rachel watched Cory’s deft fingers as he thrust the bristle brush through the barrel of the gun.

She put a hand out and touched the shining rifle butt.

‘Is this new?’

‘Yes,’ Cory said. ‘A Baker rifle with a short barrel so that it can be fired whilst you are lying down. It is a new design-’ He stopped and looked at her. ‘You are not really interested, are you?’

‘Not really,’ Rachel said. ‘I was only being polite. But it does look very clean.’ She pulled a face. ‘I hope that there will be no call to use it around here.’

Cory sighed. ‘And I hope that your father still has his blunderbuss, Rae,’ he said, by way of reply. ‘At the very least, we know that there are smugglers operating in the area. There is digging around one of the tombs that suggests that they have been using it to store their booty, but I think the ground became too unstable for them.’

Rachel craned her neck and stared across the excavation. Away from the circle of firelight the fields looked dark, with the burial mounds standing like shadowy hillocks, black against the deeper darkness.

‘It would make a splendid hiding place,’ she said. ‘Most people wouldn’t dare set foot here with all those legends of treasure guarded by a curse.’

‘Exactly,’ Cory said. ‘And whilst I am here I intend to make sure that the smugglers do not return and ruin all our work by digging out the trenches.’

He picked up a wad of cloth and started to polish the rifle hammer.

‘What have you been doing this afternoon?’ he asked. ‘Your mother mentioned something about you tidying the books that used to belong to Jeffrey Maskelyne.’

Rachel nodded. The Maskelynes were the true owners of Midwinter Royal House and it was they who had let it to the Odells for the summer in order to conduct the excavation. Events that had fallen out so happily for Sir Arthur and Lady Odell had come about as a result of the Maskelynes’ misfortune-their eldest son, Jeffrey, who had been in residence at Midwinter until some three months previously, had drowned in the Winter Race back in March.

‘I am trying to solve the mystery of the Midwinter Treasure using books and maps instead of excavation work,’ Rachel said.

She saw Cory smile. ‘You want to beat us to the treasure?’

‘Exactly,’ Rachel said.

Cory laughed. ‘I had no notion that you were moved by so competitive a spirit, Rae. How far have you got?’

‘Not very far, I am afraid,’ Rachel said. ‘All the books and maps and plans seem to contradict each other. However, if I get stuck, Cory, you will be the last person I ask. I could not bear for you to solve the mystery and prove yourself cleverer than me!’