Unbuttoning Miss Matilda. Lucy Ashford

too, was surveying the mess on the floor—he’d lost interest in her—but she was still unnerved, because when he’d touched her just now, she’d felt that touch ricochet all through her body. Matty spent her time avoiding men, not encouraging them. She didn’t even like anyone to come near her. But something about this man made her wonder what it might be like if he touched her again... Ridiculous.

      He was shaking his head as he looked round the room. ‘I suppose,’ he was saying rather regretfully, ‘that I’d better start clearing up this mess.’

      Matty shoved at the pieces of shattered pottery with her booted foot. ‘You could look on the bright side, Mr Rutherford.’ In control again, thank goodness. ‘At least you know now that your pottery wasn’t worth the shelf space you gave it.’

      He put his hands on his hips and laughed outright. ‘You’ve certainly received quite an education from somewhere.’

      ‘I had an excellent tutor.’

      ‘And did this tutor of yours teach you how to fight, too?’

      ‘That? Oh, that comes naturally.’

      Again he laughed, but this time she refused to allow herself to be distracted by his sparkling blue eyes or his merry grin; instead she straightened her hat and headed directly for the door. Come on, girl. Get out of here while you can.

      ‘Wait.’ His voice from behind stopped her in her tracks. ‘Wait,’ he repeated. ‘Those brooches you were telling me about. I would be quite interested in seeing them, you know.’

      She almost gave a snort of disbelief. ‘Too late.’ Her hand was already on the door.

      ‘Very well. Though could it be—’ and his voice softly pursued her ‘—that your so-called treasures are fakes? Just as you say mine are?’

      This was a challenge she couldn’t refuse, so she swung round and headed towards him once more, already extracting her silk purse from her pocket. ‘I don’t imagine,’ she said with a fresh edge to her voice, ‘that you’ve actually come across genuine objects like these. But here—’ and she laid them on the counter ‘—are two Celtic brooches.’

      He whistled under his breath. ‘Even I can see these are quite something. So you weren’t joking when you told me they’re valuable?’

      ‘I don’t joke about matters that are important, Mr Rutherford.’ She gathered up the brooches to slip them in her purse again. ‘And I came here because I wanted an expert opinion on their value. A pity I came to the wrong person.’

      ‘You certainly did.’ He looked mildly regretful. ‘But what’s that?’

      Because as she was putting away her brooches, the Roman coin fell from her purse. And before she could stop him, he’d picked it up and held it to the light. ‘It’s beautiful,’ he said quietly.

      ‘Yes.’ Her eyes never left the coin as it winked between his fingertips. ‘It dates back to the first century, when Tiberius was emperor of Rome. You can tell by the image—do you see?—which changed in the year of—’

      ‘Stop. Stop!’ He was almost laughing again. ‘How do you know all this?’

      ‘My father was a historian.’

      ‘And where did he find this coin?’

      ‘He dug it up in a field.’

      ‘Dug it up in a field? But—’

      Just at that moment the door opened again and they both turned quickly. This time, though, it wasn’t ruffians, but two women with aprons over their plain brown gowns and merry smiles on their faces. And they weren’t smiling at her.

      ‘Jack,’ they called, ‘we need your help! Two days ago that thieving innkeeper down the road ordered five dozen of our pies and he’s not paid us for a single one! The horrid man takes no notice of us when we ask for our money, so will you close up for the day and come to sort him out for us? Please?’

      It was only then that they noticed the shattered pottery lying on the floor. ‘What’s been happening in here?’ Then they saw Matty. ‘Who’s this?’

      Jack nodded towards Matty and began, ‘Here we have a young scholar, who has certainly proved his worth—’

      Only then he broke off and he was saying, ‘No. Please, wait,’ because Matty grabbed back the coin and was heading for the door.

      ‘I can see it’s time for me to go,’ she called over her shoulder. ‘Goodbye, Mr Rutherford. This has certainly been an...interesting encounter.’

      The girls were staring at her, open-mouthed. ‘Ooh,’ said one. ‘Now, don’t you speak in a fancy way? Just like our Jack. Only our Jack’s friendly and nice—’

      Matty was already out of there and walking down the street—in fact, she’d gone quite a way before she stopped to steady herself. Jack Rutherford knew nothing about antiques, but doubtless he had plenty of other skills. Vain, witless man.

      * * *

      She hurried on towards the wharf, where as usual the quayside was lined with horses and heavily laden carts and the air was filled with the banter of the teams of Irishmen building the new warehouses close by. Once on board The Wild Rose, she stowed her purse in the cabin locker, then went through her list of jobs to be done.

      I need to put more varnish on the tiller, she reminded herself. And I’ll take my mattress on deck to air for an hour in the sunshine...

      She began to roll her mattress in order to carry it up the steps. But as she did so, she caught sight of her reflection in the little mirror hanging on the cabin wall.

      Something seemed different somehow about her eyes and her expression. And there was an unfamiliar sensation fluttering in her stomach like a light and teasing touch, making her restless and unsettled. Unfortunately she thought she knew exactly what—or rather who—had caused it. Shaking her head, she carried her rolled cotton mattress up on deck and spread it out.

      Jack Rutherford was a rogue, undoubtedly. He truly hadn’t a clue about the fact that the majority of his goods were worthless trash—and even worse, he didn’t seem to care. But he’d also shown he could be rather formidable—his ruthlessness in tackling those villains had been quite chilling. Despite his teasing ways there was a stark maleness about him that thoroughly rattled her—and when he’d rested his hand on her shoulder, the warmth of his fingers had sent little sparks of surprise tingling all along her veins.

      She thumped hard at the mattress. That man must have more dark secrets than she’d had hot dinners. Yes, his smile was light-hearted, but Jack Rutherford was made for trouble—trouble she could most certainly do without.

      She went back down to her cabin. There were plenty more jobs to be getting on with, but something made her want to take out her silk purse again from her locker and examine her treasures once more.

      So she did. And it was then that she realised, with a jolt of sickening shock, that the most precious of them all—the golden Roman coin—was not there.

      For two years now, she’d been haunted by memories of the day her father found that coin. He’d believed it marked the site of an old Roman settlement—believed, in fact, that he was on the verge of the most exciting discovery of his career—but he’d died soon afterwards. On the day of his funeral, Matty had stood beneath the solemn yews by his grave and silently repeated the vow she’d made to her father as his life slipped away. She would pursue his dream and she would find that site herself, whatever it cost, whatever it took, to ensure that her father’s name was always remembered with reverence.

      But instead, she’d lost the only proof of the site’s existence—the Roman coin.

      For a moment Matty couldn’t move. Then she went over to check her coat, just in case, but both pockets were empty. Her heart was