Inside, everything seemed to be in order. All the notes he’d left there were accounted for, as were the ledgers, and the Shelldrake diamond. He lifted it out and admired it, a single pear-shaped fifteen-carat drop, suspended from a filigree bail riding on a fine gold chain. He recalled with sinking heart how he’d envisioned it resting in the hollow of Demelza’s throat. He snapped the velvet case shut on that memory, chucked it back inside, and closed the chest. He’d promised himself that he wouldn’t think about that… about her, but she was all he could think about. Her hair was just as he’d imagined it, soft as spun silk to the touch, warm and fragrant. She tasted golden, of honey and the sun, and her skin was softer than anything he had ever dreamed. And he had dreamed. Often. It was the exact color of the peach silk nightdress that followed her curves inviting his touch, the curves that had aroused him the night of the fire, when the sight and touch of her body alone had ravished him.
