She resumed walking and reached the site quickly, only to find Molly, Sir Hugo’s mare, munching on the tender spring grass. Sir Hugo had to be nearby. Annabell frowned as she searched the area for him. Movement caught her eye and she angled to watch him saunter toward her.
He moved with athletic grace, only a slight hitch betraying his bad left leg and then not with every motion. Funny, she had not even noticed it last night when he danced. He was very adept at concealing any hardship the wound might cause.
‘I forgot you were wounded.’ The words were out before she realised she had said them. Awkward even for her bluntness. ‘You move so gracefully.’
He waved his arm as though pushing away her comment, but his eyes darkened as though he remembered a past pain. ‘It was nothing. Many others were hurt worse.’
‘Many were killed,’ she said softly, ‘but that does not make less of what happened to you.’
She was nearly as surprised at her gentle words as she had been at her blunt ones. He made her erratic. Not a good thing for someone who prided herself on her sensibility.
He looked carefully at her, as though seeing something that had not been there before. Perhaps he did. She had not felt compassion for him until this instant and, even so, it was quickly gone. He might have been hurt, but he was still dangerous. To her.
‘Tell me exactly what you do here.’ He closed the distance between them.
She studied him for long minutes, trying to decide if he really wanted to know. He wasn’t laughing.
‘I am carefully, and consequently quite slowly, uncovering this villa.’ She edged away from him and glanced around the area. ‘I believe I told you that much before.’
He nodded. ‘I am more interested in how you are doing it and how it was discovered and how Tatterly chose you. Antiquities are not his area of interest, and his letter explaining everything was brief to the point of uninformative.’
‘One of your tenant farmers found it after ploughing up the field that runs with your orchard and hitting a large stone, which turned out to be a water basin in one of the rooms. As I said last night, I heard about it quite by accident.’
She walked to where a cloth lay over a large expanse of ground. She lifted the corner and pulled the cover to one side. ‘I contacted Mr Tatterly.’ She paused, even now discomfited by how she had misled the man. ‘I wrote to him through my man of business, offering a specialist in antiquities free of charge to excavate the newly discovered site. I told him I came highly recommended by the Society of Antiquaries.’ She glanced up to see what he was thinking, but his face was noncommittal. ‘I believe Tatterly was relieved to have the matter so easily resolved.’
‘I believe he was. His letter to me on the solution was briefer than the first.’ His words were as dry as the Egyptian desert.
She knelt down, took a nearby brush and began to carefully sweep away dirt from the mosaic that lay beneath. ‘It was not his fault. By the time he knew I was a female, I had already arrived.’
‘He should have sent you packing.’
She paused in her cleaning to look up at him. ‘As you would have?’
He nodded curtly.
‘He has not your determination and coldness.’ She brushed back a strand that had come loose from her braid and slipped out of her bonnet. ‘Besides, I gave him no choice. Just as I gave Susan none when she would have left, particularly after she learned whose house we would be staying in.’
‘She was not happy? That doesn’t surprise me.’
‘No respectable woman would be happy.’
‘Except you.’
‘I have an overriding purpose for being here.’
‘Ah, your calling.’
‘Sarcasm will not deter me, Sir Hugo.’
‘I believe that.’ He ran his fingers through the thick locks that fell over his forehead. ‘Shall we change the subject, Lady Fenwick-Clyde? This is getting us nowhere and keeping you from your work.’
It was her turn to nod curtly. The man always distracted her from her goal. No matter that they were discussing how she came to be here. If he didn’t distract her with his masculinity, he distracted her with his questions that implied doubt of her abilities.
‘Why don’t you hire someone to help you?’ He squatted down beside her.
She blinked. ‘I intend to do so, but I thought we were changing the subject.’
‘This is. We are talking about the present, something we have the power to change, not the past, which is done.’
‘A hedonist and a pragmatist.’ She angled her head to study him. His mouth was still sensually mobile and his clothing comfortably loose. He had not changed, yet… ‘Somehow I had never put the two together in one person.
‘I am eminently pragmatic, as you will see.’
His eyes spoke of actions that were far from practical for her to be doing with him. She ignored them.
‘Back to your question, Sir Hugo. I did not want to spend your money freely, and I wanted to get a better idea of what is here. Now that I’m nearly positive it’s a Roman villa, and probably belonged to a very prosperous farmer, I will have a better idea how to tell a crew to go on. I also intend to pay the workers myself.’
‘This means a lot to you, doesn’t it?’
She paused in the act of carefully scraping mud from what appeared to be a woman’s face. ‘Is there anything wrong with that? Just because I am a woman doesn’t mean I don’t have a brain or that I don’t find the past interesting and worth preserving.’
He shook his head. ‘I never said it did. You are very sensitive.’
She bit her bottom lip. ‘I am very independent.’
‘That too. But I will pay for the workers. This is my property and…my villa.’
She scowled. ‘Yes, it is your…villa. And the more help I have the sooner I will be gone. You are right. You will pay for the workers.’
‘Of course.’ There was an underlying rumble to his voice, as though he laughed at her to himself. ‘And what if I get tired of all this and decide you must stop? After all, this Roman antiquity is on my property. I might not like all the activity.’
She set the brush carefully down and twisted to face him. ‘If you meant to do that, I believe you would have already done so.’ She quirked one brow. ‘Do I misjudge you?’
‘Probably not, but it is still on my property. Doesn’t it bother you to spend time and a great deal of effort digging on someone else’s land? Particularly when I might not preserve it as you would wish.’
She twisted into a cross-legged position, which she always found comfortable, for this conversation seemed to be expanding. ‘Of course that bothers me. But what can I do about it? Not excavate it at all, or let someone else do it?’
‘Some people would likely do that.’
She snorted. ‘Well, I cannot. No, I will do whatever it takes to uncover and preserve the thing and then I will leave it to you and hope you will take care of it.’
‘Aren’t you afraid I might not?’
She looked into the blue sky and let go some of her tension before replying. ‘You cannot be all play and no responsibility. After all, you rode out to inform your tenants you were home the very first day you arrived. Not many men of my acquaintance would have been that diligent. So, I have to hope you will feel the same about this when I am done and you see what a beautiful thing it is.’
She gave him a sly look. ‘And besides, you could earn quite a bit of money from this, you know.’
‘Really?’ He smiled as though he did not believe her.
‘Really. I have seen it done not far from here. The owner is still excavating, but he has already opened it to the public for a small entrance fee. He seems to be doing very well.’
Sir Hugo laughed. ‘Very good, Lady Fenwick-Clyde. An antiquarian and a business woman. What else have you dipped your interesting head into?’
She was not sure whether to feel complimented or insulted. He implied she was intelligent and interesting, but he had
also laughed as though he found the entire situation amusing and not very serious. This was not funny to her.
‘My affairs are none of your concern, Sir Hugo. I merely mentioned a way you might turn this to a profit when all is said and done.’
He stopped laughing. ‘So you did. But I’ve an aversion to strangers tramping my land, and you already said this will take months or years. Just the thought of people mucking all about leaves me unenthused.’
She sighed. ‘Very likely. But I don’t intend to be involved that long. I find there is never a shortage of gentlemen willing to come in and finish a project or share the work involved.’
He looked intrigued. ‘You have done this before?’
She smiled in remembered pleasure. ‘I didn’t start it. I was one of the latecomers who helped finish the project. It was in Egypt. The pyramids. Totally fascinating. A strange land with a stranger past. Imagine, embalming your dead royalty.’
‘I imagine Prinny would not be adverse to that. He has already built himself a temple. That monstrosity at Brighton. The only thing it lacks is a gold and jewel-encrusted sarcophagus for his mummified body.’
The image his words conjured was too much for Annabell’s sobriety. She started laughing. ‘How naughty of you to suggest such a thing. And rumour says you are an intimate of the Prince Regent.’
He laughed with her. ‘I am, but that does not mean I am blind to his faults. He can be generosity itself, and he may single-handedly preserve the finest of English arts and crafts, but he is also vain and prone to spend money he doesn’t have.’
She nodded. ‘So true. His minuses are as big as his pluses.’
‘But enough of him.’ Sir Hugo stood. ‘What can I do to help you? After all, I stand to profit from all of this, so the sooner it is finished the better for me.’
She shook her head at his levity, but rose with him. ‘I imagine you have plenty of other things to occupy you, Sir Hugo. You don’t need to help me, and I will even be glad to see you get the entrance fees.’
‘I want to help.’
She looked away from him. He was too intense in spite of the half-smile curving his tantalising lips up at one corner. She did not want him here. He muddled her thoughts, made her think of things that had nothing remotely to do with the excavation.
She arranged her refusal carefully, determined not to say something he could interpret as encouragement. ‘I appreciate your offer, Sir Hugo. But at this point, as I said before, it is much easier for me to work by myself. I know exactly what I need to do and can do it quicker if I don’t have to direct someone else.’
‘Really?’ He brushed at a speck on his loose-fitting country coat. ‘You can do all the work here by yourself? Surely you are overly optimistic about your time.’
He had her there. She fully intended to hire people from the nearby village, and they would not constantly disturb her peace of mind and make her wish for things she had determined not to wish for. But she was not about to tell him that.
‘You are not dressed to be grubbing in the dirt. Your buff pantaloons, while the height of fashion, would be ruined after less than an hour here. Surely you don’t want to destroy them when you don’t have to.’
He shrugged. ‘It doesn’t matter to me, and I doubt Jamison would care either. He’s a better soldier than a valet.’
She angled away so he wouldn’t see her mounting frustration. She had work to do and he was a distraction.
He closed the distance between them and touched her arm to make her look back at him. ‘Surely I can do something you don’t need to supervise.’
The contact made her jump. Her entire body felt suddenly, gloriously alive. This was exactly why she didn’t want him here.
She scowled. ‘There is nothing you can do that I don’t have to keep an eye on while you do it. Is that clear enough?’
His eyes widened slightly before narrowing. ‘Are you sure the fact of the matter isn’t that you just don’t want me here? If that is so, then at least be honest about it.’
‘Right. That is exactly it.’ She pulled her arm away and stepped back.
He watched her move, but did not follow. ‘Honesty will get you a lot further with me than polite subterfuge.’
‘I don’t want to get far with you. I want to be left alone by you.’
His face took on a dangerous sharpness. ‘Really? I don’t thing so, Lady Fenwick-Clyde—Annabell. I think you are afraid of the way I make you feel.’
‘Nonsense.’ But the breathiness of her voice ruined her denial, and she inched further away.
‘I think you want me to touch you. I think you want me to be around you.’ His voice was low and raspy, the melody normally in it gone.
‘You are absurd.’ She jerked her head to one side. ‘Absolutely delusional.’
Good, she told herself. She sounded definite. Her voice had been firm, and she had not edged away. She had hit just the right note of dismissal. So what if her heart pounded and her palms were moist? She was merely uncomfortable because of his confrontation.
‘No,’ he murmured. ‘I am honest.’
She watched him carefully, wondering if he was really as dangerous as he looked this instant. He reminded her of a stalking lion she had seen at the Tower some months back. He watched her with the same predatory gleam the lion had directed at its dinner. Sir Hugo was many things, but she doubted that he intended to eat her.
‘So am I,’ she said in her haughtiest tone.
He laughed, but it was not an amused sound. It was more of a challenge. ‘No, you are lying to me…and to yourself.’
She shook her head.
‘Yes,’ he said softly. ‘Your body was alive and tingling last night when I held you in my arms. You even moved closer when we danced.’
‘I did not.’ She was affronted by his forward words and assumption that she was that type of woman.
‘Yes,’ he murmured. ‘Your face was soft and your lips were swollen. You swayed in my arms as though you belonged in them.’
She shook her head again. ‘No.’ But her rejection was barely a whisper.
‘Prove it to me,’ he said, closing the distance between them. ‘Resist me when I take you back into my arms and kiss you and…’ He trailed off, leaving the rest to her imagination.
She shivered and stepped back more from instinct than any intentional decision to avoid him. Her foot hit a rock and her ankle twisted. She gasped. Her arms windmilled, and he caught her around the waist.
Before she could regain her breath, she found herself pressed to his chest. She stared into his eyes and wondered where this would lead, how far he would go and how far she would let him.
‘Annabell.’ Susan Pennyworth’s voice penetrated the haze of desire that enveloped Annabell. ‘I know you’re here. I’ve come to finish my drawing of the Zeus mosaic.’
Annabell pushed hard on Sir Hugo’s chest. He released her with a sardonic twist of his lips. She stepped away, feeling dizzy and lost. Something she had wanted very badly had just been taken away from her.
In a voice she barely recognised, Annabell called, ‘I am over here, Susan. Behind the bush near the geometric mosaic.’
‘There you are,’ Susan said, rounding the barrier. ‘Oh, Sir Hugo. I didn’t know you were here.’
He made her an abbreviated bow. ‘I am just leaving.’
‘Oh, dear,’ Susan said, ‘don’t leave on my account. I am sure you are interested in what we are doing. I don’t mean to chase you away. I am merely here to draw the mosaic. Nothing more.’
A pained expression moved over Sir Hugo’s face. ‘Rest easy, Miss Pennyworth. I am leaving.’
Annabell watched him with relief and regret as he made true his words. Susan had come just in time—or had she?
Chapter Six
Annabell peeked into the library. The last thing she wanted was an encounter with her host. Their interlude at the site was enough to last the rest of her life, or so she told herself. She shivered and wondered why sh
e felt suddenly cold. It was as though something had been taken away from her. She shook her shoulders, told herself not to be fanciful and entered the room.
Even with summer nearly upon them, there was a fire in the grate to keep the chill and damp from the air in this old house. Several lit candles cast a golden glow. The room was always ready for Sir Hugo. For a man of his licentious reputation, he was very bookish. She could not fault him for that trait.
‘Come in,’ his deep voice said from behind a large, leather wing-back chair pulled close to the fireplace.
She started briefly. ‘I should have known you were here by the half-full glass of brandy on the table.’ And she should have. He seemed to have a particular taste for the drink.
He looked around the chair. ‘Had you been more observant, you would have.’
‘You are right, but a gentleman would not be so blunt about the fact.’
He laughed. ‘But I am not a gentleman. I thought we had settled that.’
‘True.’
She entered the room, pulling her paisley shawl tight around her shoulders. The fire might be roaring, but there was a cold snap, as though winter wanted one last fling.
‘Come sit here.’ He indicated a large, fat-cushioned chair near him. ‘The warmth will reach you.’
She hesitated. ‘I did not come here to socialise.’
He raised one brow. ‘Really. Did you come for a book?’
She nodded. But the shabby, chintz-covered chair was inviting, as was the roaring fire. They were cosy, a word she would not have associated with Sir Hugo Fitzsimmon, the scourge of London’s fairer sex—and the man who had nearly seduced her this afternoon.
She cast a glance at him. He appeared perfectly at his ease, as though he had never invited her to his bed.
He beckoned her. ‘Come, Lady Fenwick-Clyde, I won’t bite.’ His lips curved wickedly. ‘Not unless you ask.’
She shook her head at him. ‘Innuendoes, Sir Hugo?’
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