It made her giggle. They’d perhaps just found something worth thousands of dollars, but he could still act silly. Nothing was too serious for Ky. As she brought him into frame, Kate felt the same foolish pleasure. She’d known the hunt would be exciting, perhaps rewarding, but she’d never known it would be fun. She swam forward and reached for the vase herself.

Running her fingers over it, she could detect some kind of design under the crust. Not ordinary pottery, she was sure. Not utility-ware. She held something elegant, something well crafted.

He understood its worth as well as she. Taking it from her, Ky indicated they would bring it and the rest of the morning’s salvage to the surface. Pointing to his watch he showed her that their tanks were running low.

She didn’t argue. They’d come back. The Liberty would wait for them. Each took a handle of the mesh basket and swam leisurely toward the surface.

“Do you know how I feel?” Kate demanded the moment she could speak.

“Yes.” Ky gripped the ladder with one hand and waited for her to unstrap her tanks and slip them over onto the deck. “I know just how you feel.”

“The teapot.” Breathing fast, she hauled herself up the ladder. “Ky, it’s priceless. It’s like finding a perfectly formed rose inside a mass of briars.” Before he could answer, she was laughing and calling out to Marsh. “It’s fabulous! Absolutely fabulous.”

Marsh cut the engine then walked over to help them. “You two work fast.” Bending he touched a tentative finger to the pot. “God, it’s all in one piece.”

“We’ll be able to date it as soon as it’s cleaned. But look.” Kate drew out the broken vase. “This is the mark of an English potter. English,” she repeated, turning to Ky. “He trained Wedgwood, and Wedgwood didn’t begin manufacturing until the 1760s, so—”

“So this piece more than likely came from the era we’re looking for,” Ky finished. “Liberty or not,” he continued, crouching down beside her. “It looks like you’ve found yourself an eighteenth-century wreck that’s probably of English origin and certainly hasn’t been recorded before.” He took one of her hands between both of his. “Your father would’ve been proud of you.”

Stunned, she stared at him. Emotions raced through her with such velocity she had no way of controlling or channeling them. The hand holding the broken vase began to tremble. Quickly, she set it down in the basket again and rose.

“I’m going below,” she managed and fled. Proud of her. Kate put a hand over her mouth as she stumbled into the cabin. His pride, his love. Wasn’t it all she’d really ever wanted from her father? Was it possible she could only gain it after his death?