by Allison Lane
“Nothing you need concern yourself with,” Tony answered shortly, signaling the footman for more wine.
“Drinking and gaming houses, I suppose,” said Miss Merideth, glaring from him to Jon. She seemed piqued that his interruption had rescued Jon from their conversation.
“I—” Jon’s eyes begged for help. He’d probably forgotten which was which.
He sighed. “Not exactly, though plenty of wagers have been made at Cribb’s. Both he and Jackson are retired boxers. Cribb opened a taproom that appeals to fighters and those who enjoy the sport. Jackson teaches boxing, mostly to gentlemen. Linden enjoys going a few rounds, but he’s not a true follower of the Fancy.”
She shrugged, drawing Jon back into conversation.
Tony couldn’t follow their low-voiced exchange. He and Jon must start comparing notes each night. The longer they talked privately with the ladies, the more likely they would say something wrong.
* * * *
Alex hid her irritation as she turned back to Linden. She was tired of having Torwell jump in to cover his cousin’s slips. He swore that Linden’s reputation was misleading, yet his vigilance made her nervous. Might the man be even worse than rumor claimed?
She shivered. Sarah was demanding that she resume her own identity, agreeing to postpone the confession for another day only after a heated argument. But confession must go hand-in-hand with accepting Linden – if she could do so. How could she wed a man she didn’t trust? Torwell would not be there to protect her.
And that was good, she reminded herself. He treated her as a colleague, which had clearly gone to her head. In the euphoria of having a digging partner, she had forgotten that she remained stuck inside this ungainly woman’s body – as today’s encounter had proved. What had she been thinking?
She’d climbed that cliff a hundred times as a child, so she’d been shocked that the scramble left her breathless. Fool! Double a fool. The pause to catch her breath had stretched until Torwell had grown tired and turned her around for himself. She’d nearly swooned from the jolt of heat that surged from his hands.
She cursed.
He’d spotted her reaction, of course. He’d been curt and aloof ever since. It needed no intelligence to know why. Fearing that she was infatuated, he was doing everything possible to discourage her. Not only had she placed him in an untenable position, since he couldn’t abandon his cousin, but she had diminished her chances of being accepted as an antiquarian.
Damn him! And damn every other man on earth. They all believed that women were incompetent. Torwell had momentarily forgotten her gender, but only because she had successfully become a man in his eyes – completing her share of the work without protest, giving as good as she got in debates pertaining to the site or the Romans, even wearing the same clothes so her female garments would not hamper her movements. Yet there were still differences. She lacked the strength to shift large stones. And she’d turned breathless from a brisk scramble.
He’d noticed.
How could he believe she was attracted to him? Yes, he made a striking figure – especially when the sun caught those green eyes. And his smile could melt granite. But he would turn on her in an instant if it would benefit him, just like every other man. Even the most debauched were conceited fools who considered themselves superior to the most gifted female.
If only she didn’t have to waste time with Linden. Not only was he less interesting than his cousin, but attending him every evening reminded Torwell of her gender. Maybe men were right to claim that partnerships were impossible. Even the tiniest incident could be misinterpreted. Like this one: She had shivered because she hadn’t realized until he touched her how chill the air had grown. That was all. His hand had been hot.
But she had to admit that working with him had distracted her from her purpose. Justice demanded marriage to Linden, but she had yet to decide if she could tolerate him. He was nothing like what she’d expected, which increased her confusion.
Linden launched another improbable tale of good deeds and pure thoughts that reminded her of his second evening in the drawing room. Bible reading, indeed. He’d trotted out every lascivious verse she’d ever heard – and a few she hadn’t, though she’d later verified that all were real.
Rogue.
How could anyone know who he really was? He shifted from drunken boor to lascivious rake to dedicated puritan without warning. She couldn’t tell if his roles offered glimpses into a complicated man or if they merely mocked the world while cloaking his true self.
Bessie claimed that he divided his days between the library – a strange activity for so debauched a man, unless he was working on the brandy decanter – and walking about the grounds. Though bawdiness often slipped into his conversation, he had made no attempt to seduce Sarah. Perhaps Mary was keeping him entertained, though if that were true, she was being unusually discreet about it.
Torwell’s vigilance only added to her nervousness. He kept one eye on Linden, no matter what else he was doing. How could she trust a man who needed such surveillance?
But Torwell also had a stake in her decision, she realized. He had grown up at Linden Park and was second in line for the title – that viscountcy could descend through the female line in the absence of a male heir. And he might easily lose his parish if the Park fell into the wrong hands, making it difficult to continue his excavations.
But she could hardly wed Linden merely to finance Torwell’s digs. So far, she disliked all of Linden’s faces. He showed little of Torwell’s charm, and her conscience kept raising uncomfortable questions. Such as how a man as crass as Linden could enjoy such success with the ladies.
In vino veritas. Fury over having to offer for a stranger – and one closely related to his father’s nemesis – would account for his drunkenness on arrival. So his truest character had emerged that first night. Could she live with that lascivious bore? Despite Sarah’s insistence that he was sweet, the girl had never met a man like Linden.
She shivered, recalling rumors that he could become vicious.
One way to learn his true character was to confess her deceit. His reaction would reveal much, for he behaved very differently with her than with Sarah. He talked easily with Sarah, often drawing smiles. But with her, he rarely uttered a complete sentence without backing up or appealing to Torwell for help. Since she couldn’t believe she made him nervous, he must dislike wasting his time with an antidote – further evidence that wedding him might be a huge mistake; he could tolerate Sarah, but wanted nothing to do with her.
Her father never hid the fact that she was unacceptable. No gentleman would willingly choose a tall, mannish wife possessing a sharp tongue and bluestocking education. Torwell might work with her on the excavation, but he had made it clear that afternoon that he would not tolerate missishness or flirtation.
Torwell’s enchantment with Sarah was growing. And it was real. She no longer believed him capable of coveting his cousin’s inheritance. Were the men toying with having Torwell wed Sarah, then turn the dowry over to Linden? Or were both of them infatuated?
Petite, beautiful Sarah. Sweet, accomplished Sarah. If she weren’t crippled, she would be the toast of London.
Appalled by her bitter thoughts, Alex straightened. This was getting her nowhere. She had accepted her limitations years ago, which was another reason she had vowed never to wed. Why had her father suddenly remembered her existence?
Linden wanted the money, so he would cheerfully change allegiance once she revealed her identity. Sarah might enjoy life as a vicar’s wife, particularly with a man who showed no disgust over her foot. They must discuss it. But first, she had to decide whether she could live with Linden. Why did he have to be so venal?
* * * *
Tony paced his room, waiting for Simms. Not that he needed help with his clothing. It would not do for a mere vicar to be too well dressed.
It was his courtship that was tattered. So far his plan was progressing more slowly than he had imagin
ed was possible.
And whose fault is that?
He threaded his fingers into his hair.
He had never dreamed of finding a site as promising as the villa. Despite having no authority to excavate, he could not pass up the opportunity. But that left little time for courtship. Evenings in the drawing room grew more stilted every day. He knew duchesses who employed less aloof formality than Miss Vale did. The more he pressed, the more elusive she grew. Some nights he suspected her mind had fled the room entirely.
Not until that very evening had he realized the problem. Both ladies gave most of their attention to Jon. Even as Miss Vale spoke with him, half her mind was watching Jon’s exchanges with Miss Merideth, ready to pounce should he do anything gauche.
The charade was working too well. They had created a monster that demanded the attention of everyone in the room. And rather than turn to him for help or comfort, Miss Vale relied on her companion. Such loyalty was laudable, but it did not further his cause.
Yet he was as guilty as they. Part of his own mind remained alert, ready to intervene if Jon’s antics got out of hand. He should have considered this scheme more thoroughly before proposing it. But it was too late to change course.
The most lowering thought was that his basic assumptions might be wrong. Though he had always secured any woman he wanted, he now suspected that none had cared a whit for him. Torwell rarely encountered females, and Tony Linden had carried his lurid reputation since age fifteen. Young girls craved playing with fire. Wives and widows sought the excitement of bedding his notoriety. Courtesans fawned over anyone willing to pay. Did any actually know him?
His father’s admonitions circled through his mind. Worthless… No decent person can want you… Failure…
Banishing the voice was impossible. He wanted to believe the complaints were baseless, but no one saw his core more clearly than his own sire, who had uttered similar sentiments long before rebellion had fashioned his false image. So perhaps he was incapable of attracting women in his own guise. That fabled charm might only be the mystique of the forbidden. He certainly lacked a history of good judgment.
Miss Merideth was a case in point. She had acted nothing like an infatuated miss tonight. So that shiver had probably been disgust rather than desire. She had pointedly avoided him since returning to the house, and not just because she was keeping Jon away from Miss Vale.
His treacherous mind returned to that encounter on the ledge. Her body was perfect. Tall enough that he needn’t fear hurting her. Voluptuous enough that he fought a daily battle to keep his hands from cradling those magnificent breasts. Or stroking the shapely legs. Or burying his fingers in her glorious hair.
Flames licked his groin. Thinking had been difficult since he’d first set eyes on the woman. She even invaded his dreams, making his nights a torture. A Siren. An Amazon. Why had fate decreed that he must court Miss Vale when so delectable a woman was available?
He snorted. His real problem was that she was not available. And she never would be.
Simms finally arrived.
Tony pulled his mind back to business. “I need to spend more time with Miss Vale, preferably away from the house. Is there an excursion I can suggest?”
He would make no progress until he could separate Miss Vale from the others, especially Miss Merideth. If he left Simms with Jon, she could forget her companion and concentrate on him.
Whether she could like him was another question. If he found her insipid, what did she think of him? He was beginning to doubt she would ever care. So where did that leave his plan?
Simms interrupted these glum thoughts. “The village fair is in two days, in conjunction with the annual harvest festival. The servants are excited. There is to be a fortune teller, a puppet show, and several traveling peddlers. The ladies generally attend.”
“I wonder why they have said nothing.” But the conclusion was obvious. They did not believe their visitors would be interested in a village festival – or at least they doubted the London rakehell would be. He sighed, dismissing Simms.
Many of his excavations had concluded near harvest time, so he had sampled several country fairs. But few of his acquaintances would condescend to attend such vulgar fetes. His interests never matched those espoused by society. Now he feared he was so different that no one of breeding could accept him.
It was a depressing thought. Would his mother suffer because he could not attract the interest of one sheltered cripple?
Idiot! Don’t be so maudlin.
Determined to do his best, he told Jon that they would escort the ladies to the fair.
Jon relaxed. “It’s about time. You’ve let this continue far too long already.”
“I agree. And I believe she will respond once we are alone. So we must become separated.”
Jon nodded. Within minutes, they had formed plans for every possible contingency.
Chapter Seven
For once, Alex beat Torwell to the breakfast room, though he usually rose even earlier than she did. Eating before sunrise increased their excavation time – an important consideration as the year raced toward winter.
But today he was late.
She relaxed, grateful for the respite. Last night’s reflections had straightened her priorities. Sarah was right. Postponing her confession was merely making it harder. And working with Torwell was an inadequate excuse. By now, he knew her well enough to accept her expertise. Once she was wed, Linden could go to London to terminate the trust, leaving Torwell here to continue work on the villa and pursue his courtship of Sarah.
It was time to decide her future. She needed an hour alone with Linden, without distractions. Since he slept late, she would leave the site early, joining Sarah in the drawing room. When he arrived, Sarah could plead business and leave. If their tête-à-tête went well, she would confess.
Convincing Torwell to continue working alone should be easy. He was fascinated by the villa and as excited as she when anything interesting turned up – which defined her real problem, she admitted in chagrin. Did she have the determination to leave him there and risk missing the thrill of a new discovery? Seeing an artifact later was not the same as actually finding it.
Pay attention to priorities. Ending this nonsense is your most pressing concern.
Cursing, she slashed at her ham, sending a strip spinning across the table when her knife slipped.
“Good morning,” Torwell said from the doorway, eyes laughing as they followed the track of the ham.
She muttered a greeting, furious that he had seen that display of temper. And appalled that the sight of him recalled yesterday’s silliness so clearly.
“Linden tells me the village fair is tomorrow.” He took his usual seat, accepting a heaped plate from the footman. “What time will it start?”
“You wish to attend?” The question burst out on a squeak of surprise before she could stop it.
“Of course. Celebrating the harvest is important to any community. Ignoring the festivities would imply disdain for the tenants’ labor – especially this year. The harvest is the poorest I’ve ever seen.”
“No one can argue that. Even the grazing is bad, hurting dairy production.”
“So we will attend. I’ve always enjoyed fairs.” He grinned. “My favorite was one in Cumberland several years ago. For only half a shilling, one could watch the Amazing Merland produce an astonishing number of eggs from an empty bag.”
“Eggs?”
“Nearly three dozen, all fresh, yet I looked in the bag before he began, and it was empty. Quite a wizard. I doubt your fair can top that, but there will be other wonders. Miss Vale can hardly enjoy sitting in the drawing room every day. She will think us the most boring of company.”
She swore under her breath. Even settling with Linden would not allow her to attend the fair. She could not appear in public with a man if she wanted to keep digging. Her father would hear of it and send an agent to investigate, which could reveal the villa.
> But Sarah could go.
“Miss Vale will undoubtedly enjoy an outing,” she said slowly, ignoring the voice urging her to stop and think. Sarah loved the fair and had used it in her most recent argument for terminating their deceit. “But you need not sacrifice your time to accompany her. I am anxious to excavate as much as possible before winter.” Even as the words left her mouth, she kicked herself for ignoring that mental warning. How could she return before dinner after making a statement like that? Never had she felt so unbalanced.
“I understand, but it is no sacrifice. I love fairs and look forward to the outing.”
She was neatly trapped. “Very well. We will leave at two.”
Torwell turned the conversation to the villa. She automatically answered, but thoughts and curses raged through her mind.
She must decide about Linden before dinner. Yes or no. She had no further time for study. Once she revealed her identity, they could plan the next step. Linden would agree to keep his presence secret. Neither man would want to deal with the spate of invitations that would arrive once the neighbors learned they were here. And Torwell would give up the fair to protect the villa from her father.
She offered a bland reply to his latest question. It had seemed so simple in the beginning – hide her identity for a day or two until she decided whether she could live with Linden. And it would have worked if she had not lost her head over Torwell.
How stupid could she be? Even a moment’s thought could have prevented this mess. When Torwell had spotted Minerva, she should have claimed that it had been in the family for centuries. Instead, she had admitted to digging it up, then compounded the error by showing Torwell the villa. In her eagerness to learn, she had lost sight of the central fact of his life.
He was Linden’s cousin. If she wed Linden, she would see him often, so there was no urgency about their partnership – or hadn’t been until now.
If only she had stopped to think! Whatever Linden’s faults – and he had plenty – he accepted her interest in antiquity, just as he accepted Torwell’s. Unlike most men, he would not object to her continued interest in the subject. She had played her hand very badly. A moment of reflection would have convinced her to deal with Linden first. Now, she risked losing everything.
