The Rebel and the Heiress. Michelle Douglas

just a rarity; they were non-existent.’

      He said her name in a way that made her wish he’d called her Princess instead.

      He leaned in towards her. ‘And what am I afraid of? I’m afraid this isn’t some hoax your gardener has decided to play and that everything he’s said is true. I’m afraid I have a thirteen-year-old brother somewhere out there growing up by the scruff of his neck the way I did and with no one to give him a hand.’

      Her stomach churned.

      ‘I’m afraid he’s going to end up in trouble. Or, worse, as a damn statistic.’

      She pressed a hand to her stomach and her mouth went so dry she couldn’t swallow.

      ‘Is that good enough for you?’

      It wasn’t good. It was horrible. Her parents might not have been all that interested in her, but she hadn’t been allowed to roam the streets unchecked or at risk of being taken advantage of. Her parents might not have been interested in her, but she had been protected.

      ‘I remember exactly where I buried it, Rick.’

      He stared and then he half laughed. ‘You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?’

      She leapt up and dusted off her shorts. ‘We’d better hope John put it back in exactly the same spot or we’re going to be spending a lot of time digging.’

      She led the way to the garden shed. She grabbed a spade, secateurs and a couple of trowels. And gloves. Rick merely scoffed when she asked if he’d like a pair too. ‘On your own head be it,’ she warned. ‘We’re heading for the most overgrown part of the garden.’

      He took the spade and secateurs before sweeping an elegant bow. ‘Lead the way, Princess.’

      It was crazy, but it made her feel like a princess. Not a princess on a pedestal, but a flesh and blood one.

      She led him across to the far side of the garden. ‘I’ll trade you a trowel for the secateurs.’ He handed them to her and she cut back canes from a wisteria vine gone mad. ‘That’s going to be a nightmare whenever I find the time to deal with it,’ she grumbled. She cut some more so he had room to move in beside her. ‘Believe it or not, there’s a garden bed there.’

      She trimmed the undergrowth around it, found the corners. It wasn’t as big as she remembered, but that still didn’t make it small.

      She moved into the centre of it, stomping impatiens and tea roses. She closed her eyes and shuffled three steps to the right. She took a dolly step forward and drew an X on the ground. ‘X marks the spot,’ she whispered.

CHAPTER THREE

      RICK STARED AT the spot and cold sweat prickled his nape. What the hell was he doing here?

      To run now, though, would reveal weakness and he never showed weakness. In the world where he’d grown up weakness could prove fatal.

      Not showing weakness and acting with strength, though, were two different things. When Nell took one of the trowels from his nerveless fingers, he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. He couldn’t move to help her. He couldn’t ask her to stop.

      ‘The spade will be overkill, I expect. The ground is soft and although it felt like I’d dug for a long time I was only ten so I expect the tin shouldn’t be buried too deeply.’

      It was only when she dropped to her knees in the dirt that Rick was able to snap back to himself. ‘Princess, you’ll get dirty.’

      She grinned, but she didn’t look up. ‘I like getting mucky in the garden.’

      She certainly knew how to wield a trowel.

      ‘Cupcakes aren’t the only things I’m good at, you know?’

      ‘I didn’t doubt for a moment that you’d be a gardening expert too.’ He wondered if he should climb into the garden bed and help her. Except she looked so at home and he had a feeling he’d only get in the way. ‘Can I help?’

      Her grin widened. ‘Nah, you just stand there and look pretty.’

      He couldn’t help it. He had to grin too.

      ‘I can cook other things too. I’ll cook you a Sunday roast some time and then you’ll know what I meant about the scent of rosemary.’

      Something hard and unbending inside him softened a fraction. Digging in the garden, grinning and teasing him, she was the antithesis of the haughty, superior woman she’d turned into yesterday. He could see now that he’d done something to trigger that haughtiness because Nell used her supercilious shrugs and stuck her nose in the air as a shield. The same way he used his devil-may-care grins and mocking eyebrows.

      As he continued to stare at her, some parts of him might be softening, but other parts were doing the exact opposite. He adjusted his stance and concentrated on getting himself back on an even keel.

      He wasn’t letting a slip of a girl—any girl—knock him off balance.

      ‘Princess, I admire cooking and gardening skills as much as the next man, but it’s all very domestic goddessy.’ A bit old-fashioned. He was careful to keep the judgement out of his voice and the mockery from his eyebrows. He didn’t want her getting all hoity-toity again.

      ‘Oh, that’d be because—’

      She froze. It was only for a second but he was aware of every fraction of that second—the dismay on her face, the way the trowel trembled and then the stubborn jut of her jaw. She waved a hand in the air, dismissing the rest of whatever she’d been about to say.

      He frowned. What on earth...?

      Metal hitting metal made them both freeze. With a gulp, Nell continued digging. Rick collapsed onto the wooden sleeper that made the border for the bed and tried to ease the pounding in his chest.

      Within a few moments Nell had freed the tin, brushed the dirt from its surface along with the dirt from her knees. She dropped the trowel at Rick’s feet and settled herself beside him. The tin sat in her lap. They both stared at it as she pulled her hands free of the gloves. She reached out to trace the picture on the lid.

      ‘Marigolds,’ he said softly.

      She nodded.

      ‘Why didn’t John let you plant marigolds here?’

      ‘Because my mother didn’t like them, remember?’

      ‘Nobody would’ve seen them all the way down the back here.’

      She lifted a shoulder. ‘I found it was always best not to make waves if one could help it.’

      ‘I decided on an opposite course of action.’

      She glanced up with a grin, her green eyes alive with so much impish laughter it made his chest clench. ‘You did at that. I’m going to take a leaf out of your book and fill this entire garden bed with marigolds.’

      Good for her.

      She held the tin out to him. ‘Would you like to do the honours?’

      His mouth went dry. He shook his head. ‘They were your treasures.’ He couldn’t help adding, ‘Besides, you could be wrong and maybe John never knew about the tin.’

      ‘I’m not wrong.’

      Her certainty had his heart beating hard and fast.

      She sent him a small smile. ‘Well, here goes.’ And she prised the lid off.

      An assortment of oddments met his gaze. Silly stuff one would expect a ten-year-old to treasure. And from it all she detached a small gold locket that he recognised immediately. She held it out to him and his heart gave a gigantic kick. ‘When I buried this I swore that if I ever had the chance I’d give it to you.’

      ‘Nell,