“Yes.”
“And you needed the coins as proof that your ancestor didn’t steal them?”
Smiling, he dipped his head in a slow nod. “Exactly right, Mrs. Thomas.”
What a load of ballocks. She didn’t doubt that there was some truth to his tale of being an heir and of lost titles, but the history of those coins would have been revealed when Thom put them up for auction, and Southampton’s family’s name would have been cleared then. So that could not be his only reason for taking such drastic measures to secure the coins—and the most probable reason was the same as the one she’d first suspected: money. Those coins were worth a fortune. A clever man could claim that he’d only recovered half their number from the wreck, return those to the Crown as proof of his ancestor’s innocence, then sell the remainder on the sly.
Georgiana didn’t know what his ancestor had been, but this would-be Lord Southampton was likely nothing but a thief, after all.
But she didn’t say so. “You must have been searching for these coins for some time—along with the other treasures that your ancestor took with him.”
“As my father did, and his father, and his father. We have hoped to hear any mention of the items.”
“So that is how Thom’s salvage dealer knew to contact you.”
Southampton nodded again. “I would not miss any opportunity to gain proof of my ancestor’s innocence. My children will not be raised under the shadow of shame that I was.”
Perhaps in Manhattan City, that shadow had been a painful one. But considering that he would likely try to deny Georgiana and Thom the chance of having any children at all—or a life that lasted longer than a few more days—she could not feel sympathy for him.
“Why didn’t you send your own divers to Dublin, then?”
“We didn’t know exactly where the items were, in truth. The weeks following the invasion were complete chaos. No one was certain which ship he’d boarded, or even if he’d made it onto a ship at all. The treasures might have shown up anywhere.”
So he hadn’t known much of anything until Thom had found the coins. “And what would you have done if they’d been found elsewhere?”
This time, the smile that touched his lips wasn’t amused. Just determined. And a bit frightening. “The same thing I am now: make my best offer, then go about securing them any way necessary.”
“And you will let us return home after Thom retrieves the coins for you?”
“Of course.” Southampton shrugged, the coldness falling away. “Just as I said I would.”
“So you did.”
And Georgiana didn’t believe a word of it.
* * *
Their dinner arrived shortly thereafter—fish and potatoes, and just as coarse as she would have expected from a mercenary cook—and they spent the remainder of the meal speaking of pleasant trifles. Georgiana was glad to finally return to the stateroom, where her time would be spent in a worthwhile purpose.
It was almost midnight when she and Thom finished running the air hose through the tub—at least five hundred feet of it. Probably more than would be used in a hundred-foot dive, but he would need at least some of the extra length to move around when he reached the bottom, and it was always better to have too much than too little.
She rose to her feet, rolling her shoulders to loosen stiff muscles. “Are you coming to bed?”
Shaking his head, he hauled the giant coil of hose out from the middle of the floor. “I’ll make do with that big chair.”
Big chair? Georgiana glanced toward the porthole. He meant the settee—but to a man of his size, it probably looked the same.
And it would be ridiculous for him to sleep there, whatever he called it.
“No, Thom. You’ve just spent days in a fever, recovering from a bullet wound. You will share the bed with me.”
Once again, her husband proved himself a sensible man. He didn’t argue with her. He just nodded.
Mrs. Winch hadn’t brought any of her nightgowns. By the soft glow of the lamp, Georgiana unpinned her hair. She removed her dress and stockings, then quickly climbed into bed wearing only her chemise. She watched as Thom stripped down to his drawers and snuffed the lamp. Darkness filled the cabin, but the silvery moonlight through the portholes allowed her to follow his progress to the bed. She waited, holding her breath. He lifted the blankets. The bed creaked, the mattress dipped.
As soon as he settled onto his back, Georgiana turned against his side, flattening her hand over his heart. Crisp hair tickled her palm. His hard body tensed against hers before he relaxed. His fingers slid down her spine, steel whispering over cotton, and with a tightening of his arm drew her a little closer against him. Smiling, she rested her head against his biceps.
A few seconds later, she began shaking with silent laughter.