Double Deceit

by Allison Lane

  As soon as Jon was gone, he returned to Miss Merideth’s workroom for a closer look at the stones. But the carving was too abbreviated to accurately date the site. All he could say for sure was that the destruction had occurred after the reign of Diocletian and Maximian, sometime during the last century of Roman rule – unless a high-ranking Roman had remained behind when the legions departed.

  * * * *

  Alex ordered Mary back to work, then joined Sarah in the drawing room, staying by the window to keep an eye on their visitors. The men were strolling through the garden, deep in talk. Was Torwell chastising his cousin for dallying with a maid?

  Not that Mary would object to his attentions. She was the most forward girl on the staff, often slipping off to the stables. Perhaps it was time to let her go. Heaven knew her mind was rarely on her work. Keeping her could send the wrong message to the other servants.

  Yet dismissing her could cause new problems. What if she took revenge by revealing the villa?

  She sighed. When she’d started this project, it had seemed simple enough. Excavating a small temple would take two, maybe three months.

  But the site was larger than she had ever dreamed. It was larger than she’d thought even a day ago. If Torwell was right, it might extend clear to the stream. Keeping a dig secret for years would be impossible.

  “Will you accept Linden?” asked Sarah.

  Alex turned away from the window. “I don’t know. I’ve been too busy today to think about it.”

  “Busy?”

  “Torwell is a renowned antiquarian and the foremost scholar on Roman England. He is very excited about the temple, so I must extend this charade for a few days.”

  “Why? He can work with Alex Vale as easily as Miss Merideth.” Sarah’s needle flashed in the sunlight.

  “No, he can’t,” she said slowly, realizing that her supposed insignificance would have affected Torwell’s impressions. “No gentleman believes a lady is capable of thought. At the moment, he accepts me because I am a companion. Oddities are allowed to those in service.”

  “Fustian.”

  “Not at all. Besides, if I wed Linden, I must leave Vale House.” Which was a point against this match. Abandoning a temple was possible, but how could she turn her back on an entire villa? Yet turning him down would send him away, and his cousin with him. So she had to postpone any decision. “Torwell will join me at the villa each day, but how are we to protect you?”

  “I need no protection,” protested Sarah.

  “Of course you do. Linden is an unconscionable rakehell. Even had we known nothing about him, his behavior last night was rude, crude, and altogether disgusting.” He had not made it to his room, though at least he’d directed most of the mess into the ginger jar on the hall table – from great practice, she had no doubt. “And I found him entwined with Mary just now, confirming what we’ve heard for years. No one is safe with him, especially you. He thinks you are the key to regaining his inheritance.”

  “We never should have started this.”

  “But we did, and I have no intention of confessing just yet. I need time to decide whether it is possible to live with Linden – if you press right now, I will refuse him.” Sarah closed her mouth and glowered. “I will see him only in the evening, for I cannot pass up this opportunity to learn from Torwell. Few people have even met him, for he leaves his study only to excavate in remote areas. Becoming his protégée could lead to acceptance by others. His stature is great enough that people would follow his lead, despite my gender.”

  Sarah snorted. “Pull your head out of the clouds, Alex. No man would risk his reputation by championing a female – especially one who has tricked him. He may be knowledgeable, but by your own admission, he is reclusive and thus has no personal friends among antiquarians.”

  Flinching, she admitted that Sarah was right. A glance out the window confirmed that the gentlemen still stood in the garden. Torwell was clearly frustrated. Was Linden refusing to cooperate? He had been sure he could control his cousin.

  “Even discounting Torwell, I need more time, Sarah. If this were anyone but Linden, I would insist that he leave. His manners are appalling, and his language is worse. If he can insult a potential bride when he is trying to turn her up sweet, how will he behave once he has achieved his goal?”

  “Very well, we will continue the ruse until tomorrow.”

  “Longer. He will be suffering the aftereffects of wine today. And even if he behaves tonight, that proves nothing. I must watch him for two or three days, at the very least. And I need Torwell’s assistance to make up for the time I lost to Father’s visits. So we must protect you.”

  “Linden will not force me,” insisted Sarah. “Nor will he do anything to harm you once you’re wed. You need not fear accepting him.”

  “What makes you think that? He angered you badly enough last night. What did he say?”

  “Nothing in particular. Just flirtatious compliments.”

  “Yet you insist he will not use force?”

  She shrugged. “There is something about his eyes. They indicate uncertainty. Or perhaps he is merely flustered. But no matter what he is like on the surface, underneath, he is kind.”

  “Maybe.” Sarah had always possessed an uncanny ability to judge people. “But I would discount whatever impressions you formed last night. The man was drunk as a lord even before they arrived. You saw him. He could hardly stay on his feet.”

  “Who can blame him? Most men drown themselves in wine when fate deals them a blow. Losing everything he was taught to expect must have been devastating. He may be seeking redress, but his heart is not in it. He will not harm me.”

  “But we cannot take chances. You must have a chaperon. No matter how unlikely you think my chances, I cannot pass up an opportunity to win Torwell’s support, so you will be alone with Linden much of the time.”

  “You are not thinking, Alex. Name one person that we could invite into this house right now. Who would condone this charade? Who would agree to hide your excavation?”

  Alex took a turn about the room. Who indeed? No one from the village would share a roof with Linden, and none would keep her secrets. The neighbors already disapproved her mannish forthrightness and bluestocking education. They would immediately summon her father if they learned of this latest start. In retrospect, she could hardly believe it herself.

  “Bessie,” she finally said, naming her maid. “She can remain in the corner and sew, but at least we will have preserved the proprieties.” And it might remind Linden to behave himself.

  The situation was ridiculous, though she had no one to blame but herself. Sarah was right. Even if she won Torwell’s respect as an antiquarian, it would likely disappear the moment she confessed her identity – which was yet another reason to learn as much as possible now. Why couldn’t they have met under different circumstances?

  And how could she prevent Linden from assaulting Sarah while in the throes of another drunken revel? No matter how kind his eyes might be, wine deadened the conscience.

  Sarah was too naïve and tenderhearted for her own good.

  But they must make the best of it. Bessie would stay with Sarah day and night. And Murch must remain nearby whenever Linden was up.

  * * * *

  “No, no, no,” said Linden, slapping his palm across the top of his glass. “No wine for me tonight. I am not in the mood. Not at all. Perhaps a drop of lemonade will do. Or water. Yes, water it will be. Nectar of the gods. Purity for the spirit.”

  Alex cringed. As grateful as she was that Torwell’s admonishments were working, she was not at all sure that a pious Linden was any improvement.

  It had started in the drawing room before dinner. He had arrived before Torwell, raising a flash of fear that infuriated her. But she had nearly laughed when he stopped at least eight feet away from where she and Sarah were talking.

  “Goood e-ven-ing, Miss Vale, Miss Merideth,” he’d said, drawing out the words in a very deep voi
ce as he offered a stiff bow to each in turn. His heels clicked together.

  “We are pleased that you could join us,” said Sarah.

  “And I am delighted to be a guest in your home.” His precise enunciation grated on her nerves.

  Torwell arrived, his relaxed charm a welcome relief. He bent over Sarah’s hand, that crooked smile triggering her dimples, then turned to salute her own fingers as well. No one had ever treated her like a lady, and she found the experience oddly moving.

  When she next looked at Linden, she choked. He had chosen a chair near her escritoire, positioning a table and a footstool between him and the room. He sat bolt upright, both hands tucked firmly under his thighs.

  Sarah was staring in astonishment.

  His own eyes remained fixed on the doorway. But as she watched, they flicked briefly toward Sarah, and he licked his lips.

  The scamp.

  Torwell escorted Sarah to dinner. Once they were out of sight, Linden offered his arm, but he kept so much distance between them that she had to lean sideways to reach it. Now he was making a theatrical production out of draining his water glass.

  “I must thank you for allowing us to remain for a few days,” Torwell said to Sarah, flashing one of his killer smiles. “Miss Merideth’s work is quite intriguing.”

  “She enjoys it.” But Sarah’s attention was on the covetous gaze Linden was casting on Torwell’s wineglass. He wrenched his eyes away when he caught her looking.

  “My dearest lo—” Linden snapped his mouth shut, cooled his tone, then tried again, his eyes now fixed on Sarah’s plate. “You have done my cousin a great service, Miss Vale. He rarely encounters sites that stir his senses. We thank you so very, very much.”

  Alex bit her tongue when his eyes lifted to Sarah’s bosom and widened. He raised them to her face, smiled and winked, then ostentatiously returned to his dinner.

  Sarah blushed.

  Torwell hurried to distract her.

  Alex had to take a huge bite of bitter fish to keep from laughing aloud. What a rogue!

  She kept Linden’s attention firmly on her for the rest of the meal, but she couldn’t believe a word he said. When he stopped to think, his conversation was amazingly prissy. The rest of the time he had to frequently backtrack, stumbling to turn lurid comments into innocuous ones, contradicting himself until he was stammering through quagmires of convoluted logic that would not deceive an infant – which served him right. He should know better than to try passing himself off as a saint.

  “Will you join us in the drawing room this evening?” asked Sarah over the dessert course.

  “We would be delighted,” said Torwell.

  “Excellent. Since we are four, perhaps we can try a hand or two of whist.”

  Linden choked, spraying water across the table. “I couldn’t,” he gasped, a hand to his brow. “The memories!” His other hand fluttered in distress. “Mother’s misery. Father’s shame. I will never play cards again.”

  “I thought he lost at dice,” Alex said dryly.

  Linden pulled out a lacy handkerchief to wipe droplets from his sleeve. “Cards. Dice. A friendly wager at the races. What is the difference? My life will never be the same.”

  “Doing it too brown,” she murmured.

  He ignored the aside, though his eyes blinked, proving that he’d heard. “Perhaps an evening of reading aloud would interest you.” He gazed soulfully into Sarah’s eyes. “My dear cousin has been after me this age and more to refresh my acquaintance with the Bible.”

  This time it was Torwell who choked, a condition that returned a quarter hour later when Linden opened the Bible, seemingly at random, and began reading. “King Solomon loved many strange women. He had seven hundred wives and three hundred concubines.” And in an aside, “Those were the days.”

  Many times a rogue!

  * * * *

  “I have never been so diverted in my life.” Sarah laughed as they compared notes that evening. “Grab him quick, Alex. He is a delight.”

  “How can you say so? He is deliberately mocking us.”

  “You wrong him,” insisted Sarah. “No man can blush at will. Were you watching when I caught him peeking at my bodice. The look on his face! Like a small boy caught with his eye to a hole in the maids’ wall.”

  “Do not be naïve, Sarah. Lucy Perkins can produce a blush any time she wants.”

  “Only because she practices the art just as assiduously as flirting with fans or shedding heartrending tears. Can you imagine a rakehell spending hours before a mirror practicing a skill that would get him laughed out of his clubs?”

  “When you put it that way…” She giggled.

  “While his sense of humor is certainly wicked, he is not the man his reputation describes, Alex. I suspect that he has amused himself by perpetrating a monumental fraud upon the ton. You know how people always jump on the worst rumors, then defend their opinions to the death even in the face of incontrovertible evidence to the contrary.”

  “Perhaps.” Not that she believed it. He was playing games, all right, but with them. She could see why he had a reputation for charm. When not in his cups, his antics were quite diverting. Yet Sarah was too sheltered to recognize that it was only an act. She wished her father had not tied up Linden Park. If not for the demands of justice, she would never consider this alliance. A man who would stoop to one game would play others that might not be as harmless.

  * * * *

  “Let’s establish the site’s boundaries today,” suggested Tony as he tethered their horses in the clearing.

  “We know the boundaries – the clearing itself and the forest as far as the stream.” Miss Merideth waved toward the spot where she had dug out the tile.

  “That is merely a guess.” He waited while she unlocked the tool shed, then pulled out a spade for each of them. “That tile may have been an anomaly. We cannot know where debris settled without looking. Think about it. The clearing is here.” He drew an oval on the ground to represent it, adding a line for the cliffs to the north and a second where the stream curved from east to south. “A slide from the cliffs should have carried detritus straight south, yet you found the tile to the east. So either we are wrong about the villa’s demise or the disaster was more complicated than we know. Since the debris field should contain interesting artifacts, we must know where to look, which requires marking the bounds of the site.”

  “So what do you propose?”

  “Test holes ringing the clearing, starting about fifty feet out. If anything turns up, even bits of tile, mark it and move on. Once we get directions established, we can refine the search.”

  “Tree roots,” she muttered.

  “Welcome to the frustration of studying the past, Miss Merideth.” Temper threaded his voice, though he knew he should not be snapping at her. “You’ve been spoiled. Most people dig for years without unearthing a single artifact as good as those you’ve found here.”

  “That’s not—”

  “Ask the groundskeeper for an ax tomorrow,” he said, clamping control over his tone. His irritation was not her fault. He was still furious at Jon’s latest performance. It hadn’t been necessary to play the buffoon. He’d drawn as much derision as he’d done with drunken excess. Miss Merideth had not been impressed. If, as he suspected, she was the real ruler of the household, they would be out on the road the moment she decided Linden was dangerous.

  But that was better left until later. Assigning her to a spot that he hoped would contain few roots, he started his own test hole a hundred feet away.

  “Tile shard,” she called within minutes.

  “Mark it.” He watched her move to a new location, then continued his own hole.

  Two hours later, they stopped for lemonade while he added the latest results to a rough sketch of the site. “Thank God for tile.” The chips were so abundant they had already accomplished more than he’d expected to do in a full day. Only a foot of soil covered the slide field.

  “What
would destroy it so thoroughly?” she asked.

  “Tons of rock, though I’m hoping for some other explanation. Tons of rock would also destroy walls, floors, and furnishings. Perhaps the tile was of poor quality – low firing temperature, impurities in the clay, something like that.”

  “One could hope. Where now?”

  “We’ll start a new ring, fifty feet out from the first.”

  “Right.” She turned away, catching her skirt on a shrub. “Devil take this thing,” she muttered, tugging it loose. “Always in the way.”

  “So wear pantaloons.”

  “Right.” She met his eyes, refusing to apologize for either her language or her sarcasm. “The dressmaker fell into hysterics when I asked for a pair.”

  “And Sir Winton’s would never fit,” he finished, casting a measuring glance over her very fine physique. Her father was several inches shorter, with legs like a stork. “But mine should. I’ll send a pair to your room tonight.”

  “Miss Vale would never approve.”

  Though she tried to sound dismissive, he could see the longing in her eyes. He shrugged. “Do as you wish, but there is nothing to stop you from wearing them under your habit skirt – Princess Charlotte does exactly that with lacy pantalets, by all accounts. You can leave the skirt in the shed while you work.”

  She paced, muttering something about hating deceptions.

  “It’s your decision, Miss Merideth. I was only trying to help.”

  “I know.” She sighed. “And I appreciate it. But having to sneak about is frustrating. You’ve no idea how difficult it is for females to be serious.”

  “True. One thing I’ve never tried to do is impersonate a female.” He grinned.

  “Don’t jest. I hate jokes at my expense. Especially when they are not funny. Why do men work so hard to keep women from using their minds?”

  “Probably because few women are capable of rational thought.” He held up a hand to silence her. “Notice I said few, not none. You are obviously an exception.”

  “Thank you. Just as you are also an exception. Most men are naught but selfish schemers willing to do or say anything in pursuit of their own interests. I despise deceit.”