Read Online Regina Scott by The Irresistible Earl - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: The Irresistible Earl
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bay to cover, and already the tide was a foot higher than when she’d started. Every day the tides grew closer together, more shallow. Every day her chances of finding the shell grew smaller.
Lord, help me!
“Are you really looking for seashells?” he asked with remarkable restraint behind her.
Meredee sighed. No one ever seemed to believe her quest. “Yes. A particular shell to be exact. The tellina incarnata, otherwise known as the carnation tellin.” Just the name conjured up warmer waters and exotic shores. “It is a rare clam with a delicate pink shell.” She scanned to the left and back to the right, then took another step as her father had taught her. She’d been so certain last night’s storm would have washed a few ashore. Why couldn’t she find one?
“And is there some reason you need this shell?”
Confusion laced every word. Meredee smiled to herself. Lord Allyndale clearly could not imagine anyone so devoted to shells. He’d never met her father.
“There is no need for you to tarry, my lord,” she called back as she scanned and took another step. “I’m quite used to searching on my own.”
“Does the shell hold some monetary value?”
This was beginning to feel like a game of twenty questions. She’d always been rather good at that game, but she wasn’t entirely sure what she’d win if she stumped him now. “I believe some collectors would pay for the shell, but that’s not my purpose in searching for it.”
“Then does the shell have medicinal properties?”
My, but he was persistent. “None that I am aware of. Nor, before you ask, is it used for any industrial purpose. The incarnata only has value to me and a handful of conchologists around the Empire.”
“Conchologists? Men of science who catalogue shells?”
Meredee took another step. “Not just men, my lord.”
He was so quiet for a time that she thought perhaps he had abandoned her. She wouldn’t have blamed him. Mrs. Price refused to brave the waves, and Algernon had long outgrown his amusement for the sport. She’d sometimes wondered why she’d bothered following her father on his hunts. He never acknowledged her presence, rarely responded to her questions with anything more than vague grunts. Oh, but when he found the perfect shell, when he knelt and drew it from the sands, his face held such an awed reverence that she knew she was looking at the very handiwork of God.
“Won’t you tell me, Miss Price,” he murmured, closer behind her than she’d thought, “why a seashell should require you to rise at dawn and roam the sands barefoot?”
Oh! She could feel her face heating in the cool morning air. Her feet had gone numb after the first quarter hour, and she’d completely forgotten the picture she must make. “I am barefoot,” she managed with strained dignity, “the better to feel the sand and its treasures. Boots, like your horse’s hooves, crush shells.”
She risked a glance back and noticed that he was keeping his brown leather boots well away from the waves that slid in with the tide. They were not as stylish as she would have expected; worn, comfortable-looking, well-fitted to his large feet. She dared not look at his face to see what he thought of her explanation.
“I am impressed that you take this so seriously,” he said, but she didn’t hear another word. There! Just peeking from the moist sand, the thinnest edge of pink. Afraid even to breathe, she bent and brushed the grains of sand from the shell and lifted it into the sunlight.
The shell was long and thin and striped a vibrant hade of salmon pink, the edges pearlescent. It felt like fine porcelain against her trembling fingers. Then she looked closer, and her breath hissed out in a sigh. he right half was missing, cracked off in a jagged edge. Meredee returned it to its place.
Lord Allyndale bent and retrieved it. “Ah, I see. It’s broken. I suppose you need a whole shell.”
Meredee nodded, afraid to talk lest she start
Lord, help me!
“Are you really looking for seashells?” he asked with remarkable restraint behind her.
Meredee sighed. No one ever seemed to believe her quest. “Yes. A particular shell to be exact. The tellina incarnata, otherwise known as the carnation tellin.” Just the name conjured up warmer waters and exotic shores. “It is a rare clam with a delicate pink shell.” She scanned to the left and back to the right, then took another step as her father had taught her. She’d been so certain last night’s storm would have washed a few ashore. Why couldn’t she find one?
“And is there some reason you need this shell?”
Confusion laced every word. Meredee smiled to herself. Lord Allyndale clearly could not imagine anyone so devoted to shells. He’d never met her father.
“There is no need for you to tarry, my lord,” she called back as she scanned and took another step. “I’m quite used to searching on my own.”
“Does the shell hold some monetary value?”
This was beginning to feel like a game of twenty questions. She’d always been rather good at that game, but she wasn’t entirely sure what she’d win if she stumped him now. “I believe some collectors would pay for the shell, but that’s not my purpose in searching for it.”
“Then does the shell have medicinal properties?”
My, but he was persistent. “None that I am aware of. Nor, before you ask, is it used for any industrial purpose. The incarnata only has value to me and a handful of conchologists around the Empire.”
“Conchologists? Men of science who catalogue shells?”
Meredee took another step. “Not just men, my lord.”
He was so quiet for a time that she thought perhaps he had abandoned her. She wouldn’t have blamed him. Mrs. Price refused to brave the waves, and Algernon had long outgrown his amusement for the sport. She’d sometimes wondered why she’d bothered following her father on his hunts. He never acknowledged her presence, rarely responded to her questions with anything more than vague grunts. Oh, but when he found the perfect shell, when he knelt and drew it from the sands, his face held such an awed reverence that she knew she was looking at the very handiwork of God.
“Won’t you tell me, Miss Price,” he murmured, closer behind her than she’d thought, “why a seashell should require you to rise at dawn and roam the sands barefoot?”
Oh! She could feel her face heating in the cool morning air. Her feet had gone numb after the first quarter hour, and she’d completely forgotten the picture she must make. “I am barefoot,” she managed with strained dignity, “the better to feel the sand and its treasures. Boots, like your horse’s hooves, crush shells.”
She risked a glance back and noticed that he was keeping his brown leather boots well away from the waves that slid in with the tide. They were not as stylish as she would have expected; worn, comfortable-looking, well-fitted to his large feet. She dared not look at his face to see what he thought of her explanation.
“I am impressed that you take this so seriously,” he said, but she didn’t hear another word. There! Just peeking from the moist sand, the thinnest edge of pink. Afraid even to breathe, she bent and brushed the grains of sand from the shell and lifted it into the sunlight.
The shell was long and thin and striped a vibrant hade of salmon pink, the edges pearlescent. It felt like fine porcelain against her trembling fingers. Then she looked closer, and her breath hissed out in a sigh. he right half was missing, cracked off in a jagged edge. Meredee returned it to its place.
Lord Allyndale bent and retrieved it. “Ah, I see. It’s broken. I suppose you need a whole shell.”
Meredee nodded, afraid to talk lest she start
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