something hard, and Emmy gasped in anticipation. She reached into the dark hole they’d made and pulled out an unassuming black tin box, about eighteen inches long and a foot square. She rearranged herself to sit cross-legged on the grass.
Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes sparkled in excitement, and Alex curbed the impulse to lean over and kiss her.
She lifted the lid and he caught his breath. There, glittering in the dying rays of the sun like some magical hoard of leprechaun gold, lay a seething mass of diamonds, emeralds, pearls, and precious metals.
The missing crown jewels of France.
Chapter 32.
Alex could hardly believe his eyes. He reached into the tin and pulled out a gold crown, almost simplistic in design, with huge gems studded like barnacles around the sides and four large jeweled fleur de lis protruding from the top. He didn’t know much about antiques, but it looked ancient.
“That’s the crown of Charlemagne,” Emmy said matter-of-factly. “Kings of France have been crowned with it for hundreds of years. It was rumored to have been destroyed during the Revolution, but Father managed to steal it before it was melted down.”
She pulled out an earring and dangled it carelessly between her slim fingers. The pear-shaped diamond pendant was as big as a musket ball. “These were Marie Antoinette’s favorite earrings.”
She dropped the earring back onto the pile and withdrew a yellow-tinged faceted stone as large as a walnut and, in the other hand, a peachy-pink stone of at least twenty carats that was almost heart shaped. Tiny rainbows glittered on her palms as she held them up for inspection.
Alex whistled softly.
“The Sancy diamond,” she sighed reverently, inspecting the jewel in her right hand. “A pale yellow, shield-shaped diamond. It weighs over fifty carats and was purchased in Constantinople in the sixteenth century by the French ambassador to Turkey, the Seigneur de Sancy. He brought it to France, where Henry III, who was sensitive about being bald, used it to decorate the cap he always wore to conceal his head.”
She smiled at the jewel, clearly delighted by the history behind it. “During the next reign, when Sancy was made Superintendent of Finance, Henry IV borrowed it as security for a substantial loan to hire soldiers. A messenger was dispatched with the jewel, but never reached his destination; thieves had followed him. Knowing that the man was utterly loyal, Sancy searched for him, and when his body was discovered in a shallow grave, Sancy had him disinterred and cut open.”
Her eyes widened at the gruesome tale. “And guess what? They found the diamond in the servant’s stomach. He’d swallowed it to prevent it from being stolen!”
Alex grimaced. “I hope it’s been thoroughly washed.”
She grinned. “It ended up in the possession of Cardinal Mazarin, who gave it to Louis XIV.”
She held up the pink stone in her other hand. “This is the Hortensia diamond, from India, named after Hortensia de Beauharnais, Napoleon’s stepdaughter. Napoleon used to wear it on the fastening of his epaulette braid—until Father stole it from the Ministry of the Marine.”
“Amazing,” Alex muttered, and he wasn’t sure if he was talking about the treasure or the woman in front of him. Her joyous spirit was infectious. He loved the way she was always game for an adventure. She was one of those women who would follow their man anywhere, even into battle, like the wives and mistresses who’d followed the drum around the Peninsular and even to the fields of Waterloo. He wanted to catch her up in his arms, swing her around, and kiss her.
She dropped the jewels back into the tin with a clatter and dusted the soil from her hands, then glanced over at him with a mischievous grin. Alex looked down to see what was so amusing and groaned inwardly at the state of his clothes. He’d absentmindedly wiped his muddy hands on his thighs. His breeches were covered in grass stains from where he’d been kneeling, and his boots were never going to be the same. His bootmaker, Hoby, would be horrified.
Her teasing laughter bubbled up. “What a sight! The illustrious Earl of Melton, covered in mud like a pig in a sty!”
Alex narrowed his eyes and feigned indignation, but all he could think of was how good she looked. Her skin was flushed, her pelisse molded to her figure in the most provocative way, and his body warmed despite the evening chill.
He took the box from her lap, placed it beside her on the grass,