by Allison Lane
Her comments had become increasingly terse as they approached the clearing, as if she were nervous, though that seemed unlikely. If Mitchell thought her good enough to submit a paper, then she was already more knowledgeable than half the members of the Antiquarian Society. She must know that.
Lady Luck was finally shining on him. The villa provided the perfect excuse to stay until Miss Vale agreed to wed him. Sir Winton could not return for weeks, so he need not rush his courtship. Miss Vale accepted her companion’s interest in antiquity, which boded well for the future – she would understand his own frequent absences.
Jon would be relieved that he could abandon last night’s antics.
“Have you permission to cut any trees?” he asked, noting two that might have to come down.
“The steward will take care of it once I ask him.”
“Sir Winton lets his steward take orders from you?”
She paled. “He knows nothing of estate affairs. The steward does whatever is necessary.”
He saw the fear in her eyes. “Do you understand the gravity of keeping this a secret? Sir Winton could transport you for disturbing his property without permission.”
“Miss Vale and the steward are aware of my activities,” she said, turning away. “They agreed to let me study the artifacts before revealing anything, lest Sir Winton dispose of them to cover his latest gaming debts.”
“It’s your risk. But I would hate to see a serious scholar ruined.” Shrugging, he resumed his study of the site.
If a landslide had buried the villa, it would have swept the roof and at least part of the walls toward the stream – and many of the furnishings. He studied the cliffs, but time had erased any sign of the slip. It could have come from any of several spots, each crossing the clearing in a different direction. Turning the other way, he headed for the stream.
It meandered through the trees a hundred yards away. Ignoring the damage to his boots, he clambered into the water, working his way first upstream, then down as he studied the bank.
“What are you doing?” Miss Merideth finally asked.
“Looking for traces of the villa. Not only are there too many dressed stones remaining, but Minerva would have been removed from the site if it had been abandoned or looted. Nothing in such perfect condition would have been left behind, which means the villa was probably buried in a mudslide. Finding the direction of the flow will make it easier to excavate the rubble.”
“Why didn’t you say so? I dug a roof tile from the bank several months ago.”
She headed upstream, leaving him to slip and splash through the water as best he could. They rounded a wide bend before she finally stopped.
“It was here,” she said, pointing. “About two feet from the top.”
“You are sure?”
“Quite.” She pointed to a length of black wool looped around the branch of a nearby tree. It was above eye level, invisible to anyone who was not looking for it.
“Have your found other pieces along the stream?” His voice was colder than he liked, but he was mentally kicking himself. Underestimating her was not a mistake he would make again. She might have drawn her maps à la Mitchell, but her site organization followed his own treatise on the subject. Even though she had admitted reading it and was good enough that Mitchell claimed her as an assistant, he had not truly accepted her expertise. Idiot!
“Nothing useful. I found five pieces of worked stone in the stream – including those bits with the inscription – but I’ve no idea where they originated. Only that one piece of tile has come to light.”
“Only one that was recognizably tile,” he countered. He had been scraping away at the bank while she spoke and now pulled out a thumbnail-sized bit. “Much of the tile will look like that – chips and shards that bear no resemblance to a roof.”
“Good heavens. This stuff is everywhere.”
He nodded absently, staring back toward the cliffs. “This isn’t right. For a slide to move in this direction, it would have had to originate there.” He pointed toward a low mound. “If something big enough to spread this far had collapsed, the site would be buried under at least twenty feet of muck.” He pulled himself up the bank. “Show me your test holes.”
She started to speak, then snapped her mouth shut and turned away. Only then did he realize how condescending he sounded. But she gave him no chance to apologize, slipping through the woods until she reached the edge of the clearing.
“This is the farthest from the temple I’ve dug. Rain has washed new debris into the hole, but about three feet down is a paving stone – actually the joint between two paving stones.” She moved thirty feet farther, near a tree. “I found nothing here, though it might be the garden portion of a courtyard.”
“Or the space between buildings. Or a place where the floor is gone – trees don’t do well in shallow soil, which means most of this clearing is either paved or thick with rubble.”
She shrugged.
“I apologize for snapping at you, Miss Merideth,” he said, turning her to face him, then dropping his hands when her expressive eyes stirred new traces of lust. “I am accustomed to digging alone, with at most a single servant to help. It will take me a day or two to get used to having another antiquarian around. That in no way reflects on you. It merely exposes my habit of slipping into brown studies so I forget whom I am addressing.”
“As do I.” She smiled. “Do you really think the entire clearing is paved?”
“Perhaps. The closer stone is to the surface, the smaller the plants that grow above it. Look at the hills. They are composed of rock with a thin layer of soil, supporting only grasses and shrubs. But the valley is richer, capable of sustaining trees – except here.”
“Obvious, now that you’ve pointed it out. But if part of that hill collapsed, much of the fall must have been rock. So perhaps the villa is smaller than you think.”
“I doubt it. Whatever rock fell from the hill would have spread from its base at least as far as the stream. Yet we are surrounded by forest – except here. From that, I conclude that the rock from the fall is well mixed with soil or at least is sufficiently broken that roots can find a way through.” He shivered, for the words reminded him that a lack of trees might mean the floors remained intact.
“Excellent point. As for the other test holes, I found a foundation just there.” She pointed to a depression ten feet away. “And another over here.” A frown creased her forehead. “Why would someone build a villa this large in so isolated a place?”
“It is too soon to tell how big it was. And there would have been outbuildings – granaries, barns, stables. Someone who owned the entire valley could support a large villa – Vale House is larger, for example, and there are other Roman sites this size.” He raised his brow.
She immediately pounced on his exaggeration. “One other. Singular. Near Severston. But it was inhabited and expanded for centuries, eventually running to six wings, the last two built by Saxons, one only a century before William the Conqueror destroyed it.” She gestured. “If this was buried during the Roman era, there would have been no time for such expansion.”
“True, though we have no evidence of the rank or fortune of Severston’s various owners. Much of it may have fallen into disrepair long before the end, and it may have been of average size to begin with. One need only look at today’s estates. Linden Park has been expanded repeatedly since before Elizabeth’s reign, yet it seems tiny when compared to Blenheim Palace, which was built only a century ago.”
“Good point. So we assume it is a villa.”
“No. We keep open minds. It might be a temple complex, or even a small town. Have you dug beyond the shrine?”
She nodded. “I found nothing in two pits. Once I discovered foundations in this direction, I concentrated here.”
The clouds that had glowered all morning opened up.
Tony studied them, then shrugged. “This won’t stop any time soon. May I see your maps again?”
An hour later, he finished his perusal. “The temple is not only built on a rise, but it is closer to the surface. Thus its hill would have been more prominent before the slide.”
“Did the Druids build their shrines on hilltops?”
“Someti—” A squeal interrupted his response. Surprised – Miss Merideth had claimed that the wing was unused – he opened the door.
A maid clung to a very red-faced Jon, her mouth nuzzling his neck as she pulled his head lower. The neck of her gown hung open, exposing one breast. His hands dug into her hips.
Chapter Five
Tony frowned as Miss Merideth squeezed past him into the hall.
“Were you looking for me, Mary?” she asked the maid, her voice dripping ice.
Jon’s face turned even redder.
The girl jumped aside, hands frantically straightening her gown. Her mouth opened, but she contented herself with nodding.
Tony nearly chuckled. Obviously Mary had not realized anyone else was here. Had she intended to poke through Miss Merideth’s workroom, or had she merely followed the rakish Mr. Linden, looking for a little slap and tickle? He would stake anything that Jon’s hands had not undone her gown.
“Well?” Miss Merideth’s voice could freeze water.
“C-cook wants to know how many for dinner. And Mr. Murch was askin’ for you.”
“I will show Linden the garden,” said Tony. Miss Merideth would be occupied for some time. At the very least, she must report this incident to Miss Vale, for he suspected the girl was stretching the truth. And he needed to discuss the change in plans with Jon.
Miss Merideth flashed him a grateful smile before accompanying the maid away.
Tony remained silent until they were well beyond the house. Jon’s color had faded back to green.
“What are you doing out of bed?” he finally asked. “I cannot imagine that Simms let you up. You look like death incarnate.”
Jon groaned. “This was all his fault, so I sent him away. He added brandy to that posset last night, though I’d been very specific about what to put in it.”
He would have to speak to the man. Simms had definite ideas about treating ailments, but he must accept that Jon could not tolerate wine.
“And I had to get out of that room before the smell set me going again,” Jon finished with a shudder.
“I trust you will refrain from drinking for the remainder of our stay.”
“Absolutely.”
“Good. Now suppose you explain why you were mauling the maid. You are overplaying your role.”
“I did nothing,” protested Jon. “The girl attacked me!”
“You didn’t look unwilling.” But he couldn’t help grinning. Jon needed to broaden his horizons.
He blushed. “I was trying to pry her loose.”
“Why? She’d make a comfortable armful.”
“How can you say that?”
“Experience. I’m not a rake, but neither am I a saint. If a willing wench throws herself into my arms, I see no need to shove her aside.”
Jon choked, stamping away, then back.
“Is there something about her I don’t know?”
“She’s touched in the head.”
Tony turned a laugh into a cough.
Jon glared. “I was exploring the house, choosing the older areas so I would not meet anyone, but she must have followed me. Before I even knew she was there, she shoved my hand down her— her—” He couldn’t force the word out. “Then she grabbed me around the neck and kissed me!”
“A serious indiscretion, to be sure.” Hilarity threatened his composure. Jon’s outrage was priceless, but laughter would not improve his temper. “Consider this an opportunity to expand your education, Cousin. She is no different than a hundred other maids eager to increase their vails, and she looks like she’d show you a rollicking good time. I’ve met her sort before. Think of it as one of the benefits of being a rake.”
“I couldn’t.” His face had paled alarmingly.
“Relax, Jon. If you are not interested, simply tell her so.”
“How?” A new blush spread across his face.
“Claim you are doing penance for a life of sin.” It was time to change the subject, before Jon either swooned or cast up his accounts from all this emotion. “You need not play your role so blatantly. In fact, now that we’ve established you as a boorish lout who revels in light-skirts, you can become more genteel. An occasional lapse will keep up your image. But I’ve arranged for us to remain indefinitely, so you must do nothing to change Miss Vale’s mind.”
“How did you manage that? I was sure that we would be gone today after you revealed our purpose last night.”
“You revealed it. I merely covered for you.”
“Yes, well…” He again flushed. “So why are they letting us stay. They must know we are after Linden Park.”
“Undoubtedly. Miss Merideth is smarter than most men. She probably divined our purpose the moment she heard the Linden name.”
“Yet she agreed to keep us here? She hovers over Miss Vale like a mother hen.”
“I noticed.” It was an apt description. Miss Merideth was a foot taller than her employer. “I had to promise that you would behave, so perhaps you should overdo the pious act tonight. Make a show of not drinking. Move a table between your chair and Miss Vale’s. Prove that you are determined to behave, but that good behavior is so unusual, you don’t trust yourself.”
Jon groaned.
“How hard can that be?”
He groaned louder. “If this stomach doesn’t settle down, I won’t be joining you tonight.” He swallowed several times. “At least tell me how you are keeping us here.”
“That was easy. Miss Merideth is excavating a Roman temple. She recognized me as Anthony Torwell and begged me to help. The woman has read every word I’ve written and has her site organized exactly like mine. She’s incredible. Even Mitchell is more interested in treasure than study.”
“She sounds like your sort of female.”
He stifled his instinctive agreement. “Hardly. I’m merely flattered by her interest. And the site is breathtaking. I’ve never had access to a better one.”
“Just don’t forget why we are here.”
“Never. I cannot allow Father’s stupidity to hurt Mother. Miss Merideth is no different than any other student confronted by a potential mentor. She is anxious to learn as much as possible, but few books exist on the subject, so only personal contact will further her education. If playing tutor gives me an opportunity to court Miss Vale properly, without rushing, then I will teach Miss Merideth whatever she wants to know.”
Jon nodded, but his face remained dubious.
“It will work,” he insisted, suppressing the image of her awed face when she’d realized his identity. He must not let the adoration go to his head, for she would have reacted the same way toward Mitchell or any other antiquarian who walked into her drawing room. “But you must be careful. Do you recall anything of Miss Vale?”
“Not much. She pulled away whenever possible, and Miss Merideth kept distracting me. I doubt the woman believed anything I said, though. Her mind is as sharp as yours.”
“But she will ascribe any mistakes to drunkenness – she harbors no illusions about your condition last night. Miss Vale is more conventional. If anything, she is shyer than I expected. And warier. I doubt she is accustomed to a gentleman’s attention. Sir Winton probably keeps her out of sight when he’s entertaining. His friends are not above plucking so pretty a blossom when in their cups. I think you scared her.”
Jon paled.
“That was not a complaint, for it accomplished our purpose. But now that we have established your identity, we must avoid pushing too hard,” he continued. “Play the rake just enough to avoid suspicion, but she has only a companion her own age for protection, so do nothing that might ruin her in the eyes of society.”
; “You will be there to keep me on the right path.”
“In the evenings. I will be out most days.”
“Out?” He shook his head. “Of course, you will be out. And Miss Merideth with you. So how can she chaperon Miss Vale?”
“Damn!” He paced the garden, running his hands through his hair. “You will have to avoid her during the day.”
“How?”
“You can always help with the digging.”
“You must be joking. You know I have no interest in buried treasure.” His brow furrowed. “But who will chaperon you if I don’t? Miss Vale can hardly join you.”
This was getting too complicated. “We need no chaperon. No one will think twice about an antiquarian vicar assisting a paid companion, assuming they even hear of it. She is keeping the project a secret. As for Miss Vale, surely a neighbor lady can join us for a few days. I just hope it isn’t anyone I know.”
Jon stripped the leaves from a branch. “You could always tell the truth.”
“And get us tossed out on the road? Miss Vale is sweet enough to sympathize with Mother’s plight, but Miss Merideth would never stand for such a deception. I have a sinking feeling that her opinions carry a great deal of weight.” He sighed, recalling how the maid had brought the household problems to her. She probably oversaw the staff, for he’d seen no evidence of a housekeeper. “Damn me for a fool. Why the devil did I ever create that plagued reputation?”
“I can’t blame you entirely,” said Jon, leading the way toward the house. “Uncle Robert’s strictures would try a saint – and you were never a saint. Speaking of which,” he added, “watch your own tongue. What you know about the Bible wouldn’t fill half a page. I nearly exploded trying to keep a straight face last night.”
“That bad?”
“Worse.” He chuckled. “I’d swear I heard as much Shakespeare as King James.”
Heat crept up Tony’s face, for another childhood rebellion had been avoiding church. And the nunneries he visited were hardly religious enclaves. But Jon didn’t need to hear about that. “Why don’t you lie down for a while?” he said when they arrived on the terrace. “I want to check something.”
