Warm-er, at least. The sun chose that moment to come out from behind the clouds, and Olive had to admit archaeology was bloody hot work at times. Blowing out a breath, she used the back of her hand to swipe an errant strand of hair away from the sweat of her forehead, then leaned back over her three-foot-by-three-foot section of the grid.
By Saturday afternoon, they were ready to begin the—as Phineas called it— “fiddly work.” This required them to scrape the soil away in quarter-inch increments, using the side of a trowel to ensure if they did find an artifact, they didn’t damage it.
Olive rested on her knees, or sometimes on her side, and a few times even stretched out on her stomach just to give her back a rest. Luckily, Phineas kept her entertained with stories of various digs he’d participated in over the years, including the one in Aberdeen, which had gifted him his dubious sobriquet.
Each time they reached about six inches down, they’d move on to another square in the grid, so the entire area was slowly excavated at around the same pace. Olive hadn’t realized quite how many rulers were involved in archaeology.
Yes, it was hot, exhausting, meticulous work, but Olive couldn’t call it boring. It was the most exciting thing she’d ever done in her life, barring that encounter with Phineas on her desk, which was exciting for an entirely different reason.
Each time her trowel tinged against something, her heart leapt into her throat. By the eighth time it happened, she was an expert at knowing what to do: switch to a smaller pick and brush, outline the item, determine if it was a rock or artifact, and record it. But no matter how many times it happened, it was still exhilarating.
By that evening, she’d personally excavated three broken pieces of crockery, what looked to be roofing tiles, and a magnificent example of a Roman era belt, complete with delicate silver scrollwork. The two of them had rather a lot of fun speculating on why an ancient man might’ve removed his belt while along the riverbank, but otherwise Phineas suggested the river was used as a sort of midden, or trash dump.
By Sunday, their excavation was much deeper than the depth from the previous dig. That made sense since they were trying to find something which would be at a lower elevation, hidden in the river mud.
But as the days passed, Olive began to wonder if they’d find the sphaera after all. She could tell Phineas was wondering the same thing, judging from the number of times he straightened up and propped his hands on his hips as he surveyed their dig site with a frown.
If it was here, they should’ve found it by now.
Rainclouds hung heavy in the sky on the morning when Phineas finally threw up his hands and muttered something in a language Olive didn’t understand.
Concerned, she drew herself to her knees. “What was that for?”
Instead of repeating himself, Phineas began to pace, his mud-covered boots covering long strides over the now-cleared excavation. He was wearing his tweed trousers again, which had been clean at the start of the day, but the jacket he’d been wearing on the day she’d run to find him in the billiards room, was missing.
“Olive, I dinnae think—” With a scowl which turned into a wince, he blew out his breath and turned to face her, his fists propped on his hips. In this pose, she could well imagine him in some far-off land, his hat shading his eyes as he surveyed his next venture. “I’m sorry, love, but the sphaera simply isnae here.”
Slowly, she pushed herself to her feet. “If it isn’t, then I’m the one who should be sorry.” In the distance, thunder rolled, but neither of them acknowledged it. “I was so certain it was here.”
Frustrated, she mirrored his pose, then turned to survey the full site. “Look, you can see where the river once turned. The whole town was built right up against the river.”
“Aye. From their notes, the original excavators thought it represented a street, with the buildings only reaching the edge.”
The defeated tone in his voice nearly broke her heart. “Imagine what treasures the riverbank must hold!”
“Nay, lass,” he corrected with a bitter tone. “Things were thrown into the river because they were broken or useless. No’ treasures. Broken crockery, utensils and weapons.”
Thinking he was ignoring the belt she’d found—although there were any number of reasons why that might’ve been in the river—Olive stepped toward him, trying to comfort Phineas as the thunder moved closer. “And sphaerae, which rolled down the roofline to drop into the riverbank.”
Shaking his head sorrowfully, Phineas reached for her. “I’m sorry, Olive. It’s no’ here. Ye cannae deny we’ve dug well below the strata for where it should be and we havenae found any Roman artifacts in the last eighteen inches. We cannae keep hoping.” He sighed and tucked her head under his chin.
With the chill wind that had picked up with the incoming storm, it felt good to be snuggled up against him like this. The last few days had involved more than a few kisses, but none as hot or as desperate as the one they’d shared—the kiss and more—in her room. But being pressed against him like this reminded her of how he could make her body sing.
Still, the situation was disappointing.
“Damn,” she whispered.
He made a little noise which might’ve been a chuckle, before squeezing her. “I’m just sorry yer first excavation has been a failure, love.”
“Oh no!” Refusing to allow him to believe that, Olive reared back to stare up at him, loving that he smiled at her despite how disheveled she must look. “This has been anything but a failure! I’ve learned so much, and perhaps we didn’t find what we were seeking, but I found so many other artifacts!” And each one was a treasure to her, even if they were but broken pottery. “Besides…” She lowered her eyes to his chin as she paraphrased his earlier words. “At least I’m with you.”
With a groan, his hold on her tightened. “Lass, ye’re doing that thing with yer lip again.”
A crack of thunder overhead made them both jump.
“What thing?”
“The thing ye do which— Never mind.” When he blew out a breath, it feathered the hair around her forehead. “Suffice it to say, ye’ve been slowly driving me mad. Do ye have any idea how much I’ve wanted to kiss ye? No’ these little pecks we’ve been sharing, but really kiss ye again.” Before she could reply, he leaned closer, his breath caressing her ear. “The kind of kiss we shared in yer bedroom. The kind of kiss which ends with ye screaming my name as ye find ecstasy.”
Something between a shiver and a shudder ran through Olive, starting under her chin and rushing lower, before being caught in the middle, in the suddenly warm space between her thighs.
Likely because of the chill in the air.
Even she didn’t believe that.
She was pushing herself up on her toes to meet his lips when the first big plop of rain hit the crown of her head, and she felt him relax the same moment he blew out a frustrated breath. She was still standing, suspended, when he offered her a rueful grin.
“I suppose ye finally get to experience the joys of scrambling to cover a dig site in canvas.” Before she could respond, he dropped his hand to hers so he could pull her toward the storage shed. “Come on!”
It took the two of them to manhandle two of the tarps out of the building, then open them up. By this time, the rain was pouring in earnest, and Olive was grateful the brim of her hat kept some of it from her eyes so she could still see Phineas’s commands. As it was, her spectacles were becoming difficult to peer through, but that wasn’t as difficult as the way her sodden skirts threatened to trip her with each stumbling step.
Trousers? Hell, why not wear breeches? Or short pants!
Anything would be better than these thick skirts.
At least I’m not wearing a bustle.
The thought sent an unexpected giggle escaping her lips, but Phineas didn’t notice. He was too busy trying to manhandle the other end of the tarp over the opposite edge of their excavation.
As he’d explained on their first day
, the canvas would offer some protection to the soil, which hadn’t been exposed to the erosive qualities of rain in centuries, and whatever artifacts might still remain in it. More importantly, especially considering they both assumed their excavation was likely complete, the rain wouldn’t wash away their careful measurements before they could record everything.
But the canvas was heavier than her skirts, and as the rain beat down, it became heavier still.
Eventually, Phineas was satisfied and gestured to her to precede him to the storage shed. He might’ve said something, but she couldn’t hear it over the pounding of the rain. She lifted her sodden skirts in both hands and began to run toward shelter, glad when he joined her.
The door slammed shut behind him, and Olive stood shivering as he squeezed around her and reached the old worktable. At some point in the last few days, he’d brought out a new lamp, which he now lit and turned up brightly. The light did much to alleviate the gloom in the small space, but nothing to chase away the chills.
Olive wrapped her arms around herself to try to maintain some of her warmth and watched him bustle about the shed. Luckily, it was fairly clean, and the shelves were mostly empty except for the supplies he’d brought that first day. The piles of canvas still took up most of the floor space, and she wondered if she could use one of the tarps to warm herself.
As she turned to ask him the question, she was surprised to find him holding his dry jacket toward her. Had it been inside the shed all along? It did look terribly warm but…
Wryly, she glanced down at herself. “Thank you, but I suspect I’ll do it more harm than it would do me any good right now.”
He blinked, then his expression cleared in understanding. “Aye, and the storm doesnae look to end any time soon.” He nodded to the small window on the shed’s north side. “Lucky we had this shelter, I suppose.”
“Aye,” she drawled, imitating him. “Now we just have to keep from freezing to death.”
Chuckling, he tossed his jacket back on the worktable. “I can think of a few things we could try…”
Her breath caught, remembering the embrace they’d shared before the rain started. She glanced out the window, and yes, it was clear they weren’t leaving anytime soon. Which would mean plenty of time to…warm up.
In fact, she was already a bit warmer, wasn’t she?
Her muscles began to relax as Phineas stepped in front of her, his gaze heated. As he lifted his hands, she realized she was holding her breath.
Slowly, without dropping her gaze, Phineas untied the sodden ribbons holding her hat in place. When the backs of his fingers brushed against her jaw, she sucked in a breath so quickly, she became dizzy. And then, as he lifted the blasted thing from her head, Olive’s breaths became jerky and far too fast, as she watched him carefully place it on the worktable.
With infinite care, he reached for her spectacles and pulled them from her face. She couldn’t be quite sure what he was doing, but it seemed as if he’d pulled his shirt from his trousers and wiped the glass. She helped him slide them back onto her nose, and when she could see once more, she enjoyed the show of his untucked shirt.
“Better?” he whispered.
She could see now, and the hat wasn’t flopping in her face, but… “I’m still rather chilled.”
His gaze held hers. “We cannae have that,” he murmured, running his hands down her arms to her hips. “If only there was something we could do—”
Unable to contain her desire for him any longer, Olive surged up on her toes, crushing her lips against his. She thought he might’ve chuckled, but it was quickly smothered as he took control of the kiss. With her arms around his neck, she held on for dear life, loving the way he felt against her.
Funny. She wasn’t cold at all anymore.
“We should…get ye out of…these wet clothes,” Phineas murmured, as he trailed hot kisses down her jaw to her neck.
“Yes! Yes!” Olive arched her back, giving him better access to her skin as she dropped her hold on him to begin fumbling with her buttons.
He helped, and in moments, the only thing between her skin and his warm, appreciative gaze was her corset. When he hesitated, she reached for his waistcoat.
“Fair’s fair,” she told him when he looked as if he might object.
In moments, she had his shirt hanging from his shoulders, and before he could take the time to push it off, she reached for him, running her bare palms up the skin of his sides and loving the way he shuddered under her touch. His torso was lean and well-muscled, and she took the time to trace the ridges of his stomach, and the intriguing vee leading down to where his trousers hung low on his hips.
“Olive,” he growled, almost in warning.
Impishly, she peeked up at him. “Aye, Phineas?”
“If ye dinnae stop looking at me that way…”
His threat trailed off, and she was suddenly feeling quite bold. Taking a step back, she reached for the hooks of her corset, glad it wasn’t so tight she’d need help getting out of it.
She wanted this. She wanted him.
And here, in this small shed, with the rain pounding above them and the ghost of their failed excavation hanging over them, she meant to have him.
“Olive—”
That was as far as he got when the corset popped off. She took a deep breath, knowing her wet chemise did nothing to hide her body, and he groaned.
Then he was reaching for her, and she was pressed up against him, and soon, his mouth was everywhere. Her lips, her throat, her shoulder, her—
Her breasts.
Oh. Oh my.
The sensation of his warm tongue against her air-cool skin was almost more than she could stand. “Phineas!”
“Aye, love,” he growled. “I ken what ye need.”
And then his hand was there, between her legs, giving her exactly what she needed. He stroked her damp curls, and she whimpered and lifted her arms around his neck once again.
But that wasn’t enough. She needed more. Her hips flexed, urging him on, and she lifted one leg to throw around his thigh, then his hip, trying to get closer.
The heavy bulge in his trousers was now pressed right against the place she needed it, and his skin was warm and smooth under her palms as she scrambled at him, trying to pull him even closer.
“I need— Phineas, now!” She knew she wasn’t making any sense, but hopefully, the man had some idea how intercourse was supposed to go, because she was too overcome with need to draw him a diagram.
“Are ye— Olive, are ye certain?”
“Now please!”
With a groan, he quit protesting and allowed her to push him backward against the pile of canvas tarps.
They fell with an oof, but he cushioned her fall, the momentum of which only managed to push his hardness against her again.
As he shifted into a more comfortable position, she scrambled to her knees, pulling her chemise over her head with a triumphant flourish, leaving her completely nude, except for her spectacles. Which she wasn’t going to take off, because doing so would mean missing out on the sight of this glorious man reaching for the buttons of his trousers. She grabbed a handful of material and yanked everything down to his knees.
When his manhood burst free, already stiff and desperate and crowning with a bead of moisture, Olive gave a little sigh of relief.
Oh good, he does know how this is supposed to go.
Smiling with eagerness, she met his eyes.
“Olive—”
She didn’t give him time to finish whatever he was going to say. Instead, she surged to meet him, throwing her arms around him, at the same time she threw one leg over his torso to straddle him.
His hands found her breasts, then his mouth closed around one nipple, and she mewed in desperation as his thick member slid along the cleft of her rear end.
Since his hands were occupied—excellently so—she reached between them and stroked herself. The simple movement nearly sent her over the edge. How ma
ny times had she done this, imagining him under her in this position?
Almost nightly since meeting him.
“Olive…ye…” he murmured against her skin.
She almost told him to hush, but she had other plans. Leaning her weight on her knees—which brought her breasts even closer to his mouth, huzzah—she reached between her legs and grasped his manhood.
It was strangely hard and soft, all at once, and she was determined to explore it to her heart’s content.
Later, later!
His groan of need was all the encouragement she needed to position herself over him and slide home.
They both exhaled together.
He had frozen, his hands still on her breasts, and she forced herself to breathe. The sensation of him inside her wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was full, and it took a moment for her to adjust.
“Love…” His voice sounded strained, and when she glanced at his face, his eyes were squeezed shut, as if he were fighting for control.
Well, she didn’t want that, did she?
“Phineas, please focus. I would like to orgasm around your male copulatory organ. Do you think you could facilitate that?”
His eyes had flown open at her prim tone, and she had to smile at his confused expression.
“Ye’re no’ too—”
“I was a virgin, now I’m not, but I’m quite comfortable. Could we please get on with it?”
He blinked at her, his expression slowly easing from one of strain to a grin. “Gladly, love."
Chuckling, he pulled her back down with one arm while his other hand reached for her curls.
Oh.
Well, as it turned out, Phineas Prince didn’t need a diagram after all. He was rather good at this sort of thing.
His hands—his lips—were everywhere as he stroked and suckled her closer to her goal, showing her how she could control the speed, and meeting her thrust-for-thrust. Beads of sweat had broken out on his forehead, but she appreciated he was letting her set their pace, a leisurely build which soon had her mewing with need each time his tip touched her womb.
“Lass, it’s time.” His voice was hoarse. “Hold on.”
The Scholar and the Scot Page 10
