The Vision of a Viscountess

by Linda Rae Sande

  The younger son of a duke and the current heir to the Westhaven dukedom, Darius Jones had been an archaeologist well before his studies at Cambridge cemented his avocation in the minds of the members of the Royal Society.

  His older brother, Dr. Alexander Jones, currently held the title of duke, but was frequently away from England on expeditions to study Greek antiquities. His Grace, Duke of Westhaven, had so far only fathered a daughter, so it was possible Darius might one day inherit. Otherwise, the dukedom would go to his son, Carter Jones, a ne’er-do-well dandy who frequently gambled and ran with a crowd of young bucks intent on spending their inheritances before they turned thirty.

  Darius knew his lack of presence in his London household was part of the reason Carter was so reckless. Carter’s late mother had indulged the boy from the time he was born, spoiling him with expensive gifts and seeing to it he was dressed in the finest clothes. At least the boy had learned how to ride and could manage the ribbons of a phaeton; otherwise, Darius was sure Carter would expect to be driven about in the capital in a town coach with four matched greys and an army of grooms.

  Shaking thoughts of his son from his mind, he returned his attention to what his colleagues were uncovering.

  His leather gloves damp from perspiration, Jasper shed them before he pulled a bare hand through the loosened dirt uncovering another portion of the mosaic he had been revealing since early that morning. His eyes widened as the black and dark rust-color tiles appeared.

  He nearly had a complete corner of the hunting scene uncovered when a sharp, stinging pain had him jerking one hand from the soil. “Christ!” he hissed, hoping James couldn’t hear his curse. He wiped the ancient Roman dirt from his hand and stared at the tip of his index finger, grimacing as he realized the cause of his discomfort.

  “What is it?” James asked as he paused in his own work at the other end of the mosaic floor. Now that they had most of the excess soil removed from inside the foundation walls, they had each taken a pail and begun to work on removing the last layer of dirt from the tiles.

  “Just a hangnail,” Jasper replied, shaking his hand. His attention was captured by what appeared before him, though, and he gave a shout.

  James was up from his work and crouched next to Jasper in only a moment, his gaze following an area his colleague had just exposed. “Is that the signature?” he asked in a whisper.

  “Part of it, I think,” Jasper said as he used his forearm to push away a swath of black soil. Given how dry the earth was toward the middle of the ancient room—the soil nearest the walls remained moist from rainwater washing down the foundation walls—chunks of dirt stubbornly clung to the tiles. “And there’s the rest,” he said in awe. He glanced around and behind him. “There must have been at least... four rooms in this house,” he commented, which meant some of the mosaics they had uncovered were probably not part of the hunting scene before him.

  “Probably more, which means every room had a tile floor,” James said, his own gaze taking in the rest of the space inside the foundation walls. He pulled a thin, folded parchment from a pocket along with a charcoal. Placing the paper over the signature, he traced the shape as best he could, leaving voids where tiles were missing or the cursive shapes were incomplete. When he was finished, he held it up to the afternoon sun, his eyes squinting in the Mediterranean glare.

  “Do you recognize it?” Jasper asked, one of his brows furrowing as he studied the signature in silhouette. He suddenly cursed. “Shite! It’s Greek,” he complained.

  Angling his head and then the parchment, James shook his head. “Not necessarily,” he replied as he held out a staying hand. “This may be a Roman copy of a Greek mosaic. You said the Romans were notorious for copying designs created by others,” he reminded him. “What’s to say they didn’t copy the signature as well?”

  Jasper regarded his colleague with new-found appreciation. “You have the right of it, of course.”

  “Which means the colors will tell us if it’s Greek or Roman,” James said with a nod. Roman mosaics were almost always white with black and red or rust-colored tiles. It was rare if other colors were found in the intricate artwork.

  “Or something else.”

  James and Jasper lifted their heads in unison to find Dr. Darius Jones regarding them with an amused expression. “Where have you been?” Jasper asked as he scrambled to his feet and held out his right hand.

  Darius straightened at the same time he angled his head. He shook the proffered hand and noted how his counterpart’s face was newly tanned from the harsh Mediterranean sun. “Down there,” he said with a nod in the direction of the marina. “Found an engraved triglyph decorating a tavern at the end of the widest street.”

  “Greek?” Jasper guessed.

  “Roman,” Darius countered with an arched brow. “Offered the proprietor some piastras, but he says it is not for sale. Probably because it’s holding up his roof,” he added in feigned disgust.

  Jasper couldn’t help the hiss that escaped his lips. The triglyph was probably from either Erocle’s or Zeus’ temple, given their proximity to the port town. “Well, it’s good of you to join us, Dr. Jones. Rather fortuitous that our schedules are so closely matched this season.”

  “Indeed. You have accomplished much today,” Darius commented as his gaze swept the area they had unburied. “Looks like a sweep with a corn husk broom will be your next step.”

  “Indeed. It was faster work to dig near the foundation walls, but the middle wasn’t as deeply buried as I expected it might be,” Jasper explained. Now that he was standing and surveying their work from a higher perspective, he understood what Darius meant by using a broom. In most places, only a thin layer of dirt hid the mosaics from view.

  “The strong summer winds keep the middles of all of these foundations fairly clear,” Darius agreed as he glanced at an adjacent foundation. “Did you have help?” he asked as he looked around, as if he expected to see some locals with shovels and pails.

  James shook his head. “No need. At least, not today.” He gave a glance toward the southwest corner of the Greco-Roman quarter. “How is your work progressing?”

  Darius gave shake of his head. “Found the base of the aqueduct. Found some Roman coins. A piece of what I think might be a relief of Minerva,” he said, referring to a Roman goddess. “Still have some digging to do at one end, but it’s better preserved than I expected. Damned earthquakes really did some damage to these areas, though.”

  “How many men do you employ?“ Jasper asked.

  “Depends on the day and how many wish to work. Usually two or three. I have to keep a close eye on them, though, or they do more damage than the earthquakes did,” he complained.

  “Can you join us for dinner this evening? I’m sure our cook won’t mind too much,” Jasper asked as he wiped his forehead with a sleeve-covered arm. “It’s been an age since we shared notes.”

  “Depends. Who is your cook?”

  James finished collecting his tools and stood up. “A Sicilian goddess whom I shall be making my wife,” he said in jest.

  “If she doesn’t impale him with a kitchen knife first,” Jasper said, sotto voce.

  “I heard that,” James countered.

  Darius angled his head. “Aurora Romano?” he guessed, one hand going to a hip as his attention was drawn to the road that led up the hillside where their guest villa was located.

  “Indeed. Have you had the pleasure?” Jasper asked, lifting his satchel to his shoulder.

  “Of her, or her cooking?” Darius replied as he waggled his eyebrows. At the murderous look James cast in his direction, he sobered. “I have not. But the local butcher seems to think his son will take her as his wife.”

  James blinked. Jasper rolled his eyes, wondering if the butcher’s son was in any kind of danger.

  And not just from a kitchen knife.

  “Are they betrothed?” Jasper asked, before James could.

  Darius straightened, amusement appar
ent on his features. “They are not. Yet. But rumor has it, Signorina Aurora is not of a mind to marry a local boy, so I doubt there is a marriage to a butcher’s son in her future.”

  James stepped forward. “Does she have a suitor from somewhere else?”

  Realizing James was more serious about his interest in Aurora than he originally thought, Darius gave his head a shake. “No. But she has a severe case of wanderlust.”

  It was James’ turn to blink. “Are you saying she wishes to travel?” he asked, a hint of hope in his words.

  “She doesn’t want to remain in Girgenti, and that is all I’m going to say on the subject,” Darius replied, not about to admit he hadn’t heard much more on the topic of Vedova Romano’s oldest niece. “When is dinner?”

  “Seven o’clock, we think,” Jasper replied, remembering the telling of time was quite different on the island. He was sure the woman had said one o’clock, but that really meant an hour after sunset. “My understanding of Italian isn’t as good as I remember.”

  “I’ll hurry then. ’Bout time I took a bath and dressed for dinner,” Darius said with a nod. He bade farewell and headed back in the direction of the road, where a donkey and cart were waiting.

  Jasper allowed his gaze to sweep the horizon, just then noticing the bright blue of the sea beyond the island. If it hadn’t been for the slight breeze that ruffled his hair when he removed his hat, he was sure they would have had to quit their work for the day when the sun reached its zenith. He guessed it was probably past three o’clock, which accounted for why perspiration trickled down his temples and the middle of his back.

  “We should be getting back to the villa,” James said suddenly. When Jasper gave him a look of surprise—they had just uncovered a major find, given the signature his colleague had traced—he saw James was holding their canteen upside down. No water dripped from it.

  Jasper’s gaze darted to the remains of the picnic Marianne had brought. The wine in the flask was also gone. He did a sweep of the area they had worked on that day, rather impressed at how much they had accomplished on their first day. “I think we’ve done enough,” he said as he brushed the dirt from his trousers and retrieved his gloves from the ground. “See if we can’t borrow a broom for tomorrow.”

  Gathering up their tools, the two took one last look at what they had uncovered—partial scenes of much larger images—and made their way toward the villa.

  Chapter 23

  Imagining a Courtship

  A few minutes later

  Jasper regarded James as they made their way back to the villa. “Are you truly serious about courting Signorina Aurora?” he asked, his query almost too quiet given the late afternoon breeze that warmed the air.

  “I am,” James replied after a moment. “It was a bit of a lark at first—my flirting with her—but now that I know she wishes to travel, I am intrigued. I am not getting any younger. You’re already married for a second time. And I think it’s past time I take a wife.”

  “What has you changing your mind?” Jasper asked. “You once mentioned you never intended to marry.” He thought he knew why, but he didn’t think it best to bring it up just then.

  Allowing a sigh, James Singleton pondered how to reply. “Until that night you introduced Lady Henley in your cabin, I didn’t,” he said quietly. When he noted Jasper’s angry expression, he quickly added, “The idea of having my own woman to warm my bed every night was suddenly... a welcome thought. Although variety can be... diverting, I find I don’t like the idea of sharing a lover.”

  “But is Signorina Aurora really the best choice for you?” Jasper countered. Although James wasn’t expected to inherit a family business—his older brother would do that—or marry into the aristocracy, he was still from well-to-do stock.

  “I don’t want an English miss,” James said with a shake of his head. “I want... passion. I want a lover who... challenges me. Excites me.”

  “Who might throw a knife at you,” Jasper teased. He sobered when he realized James could be describing Marianne. At least, at night. During the daylight hours, Marianne was as meek and mild as any gently bred English miss, probably more so given her inability to see well without her spectacles. But at night... He had to erase the image of how she had met his every thrust with one of her own the night before. Of how she had spurred him to a release so intense, he had been reminded of his times at The Elegant Courtesan. Of his nights with Miss Ann.

  Who would have ever thought a nearsighted daughter of the ton could have him looking forward to going to bed? They hadn’t been married for three weeks, and yet she was already a perfect bedmate for him.

  He finally regarded his colleague with a furrowed brow. “Forgive me for my impertinence, but I cannot believe my ears,” he said in a quiet voice. “I didn’t think you would ever want to take a wife.”

  The unspoken implication hung in the air before James finally gave Jasper a sideways glance. “How long... how long have you known?”

  Swallowing, Jasper wondered how much to admit. There had only been the one time he had seen his colleague in the company of another man in a manner that might have suggested Singleton was a homosexual. He knew the younger man’s claims as to how frequently he visited brothels seemed forced. “I didn’t,” he replied finally.

  James hissed and allowed a quiet curse. “What happens now?”

  Jasper frowned. “Well, I would hope you would cease your pursuit of Miss Aurora. Or, at least, not propose marriage.”

  Boggling at Jasper’s comment, James stopped in his tracks. “That’s it?” he questioned.

  Dipping his head, Jasper allowed another sigh. “Well, I’m certainly not going to... to report you, if that’s what you’re thinking.” The man was his colleague. They had spent months every year working on various projects together. If Singleton was discovered, the backlash might taint him as well.

  When James still looked uncertain, Jasper gave his head a shake. “Christ, Singleton. We spent our university days studying the famous ancient Greeks who were homosexuals. What kind of hypocrite would I be if I decided to fire you from this project for that reason?”

  “I didn’t know I was employed,” James replied, his comment meant to lighten the conversation. “If that’s the case, then I suppose I should ask when I might be paid.”

  “You know what I mean,” Jasper countered. “Just... be careful. For your sake, use discretion.”

  “About that...,” Jasper said under his breath.

  James stopped in his tracks and turned to regard the younger man. “What?”

  “The valet.”

  Jasper blinked. “What about the valet?” Good God! Was he talking about David Romano? About Chiara Romano’s son?

  One hand going to his hip as he readjusted his satchel, James said, “I think he... he knows.”

  “Knows... what, exactly?”

  Giving Jasper a quelling glance, James said, “Never mind.”

  “What?” Jasper insisted.

  “Does his gaze linger on you when he dresses you?”

  Jasper blinked. “No,” he hedged.

  “Does he make comments about your clothes?”

  Jasper shook his head.

  “When he was helping me dress for dinner, he commented on...” James stopped and rolled his eyes. “My cravat, my boots, my haircut. The way he looked at me—”

  “Was he speaking in Italian?”

  “English. Rather damn good English, in fact.”

  “Dammit, Singleton. His mother is acting as a companion for my wife. Should she discover—”

  “She won’t find out, I promise,” James insisted. “I don’t intend to do anything to... embarrass you. To compromise our work here,” he insisted. He paused a moment before allowing a long sigh. “But he is... beautiful.”

  Although he had been attracted to others—James had spent his recent night in Cambridge with a lover from his university days—he had never been so affected—so haunted—as he was by thoughts of Dav
id Romano. “I often wonder if I shall go through life never being able to love another,” he murmured.

  “I don’t blame you,” Jasper said in a quiet voice. “I admit to being rather... lucky in that regard.” He squeezed his eyes shut, wishing they had never had this conversation. “I believe I am in love with my wife,” he said as a means to change the subject.

  James cleared his throat. “A situation made most apparent during the eleven days we sailed here,” he said, sotto voce. At Jasper’s sudden frown, he added, “My cabin was adjacent to yours. The walls were... thin,” he said as his attention went to two women who were climbing the road just up ahead. “Speak of the devil. Or rather, his temptress,” he said with a grin.

  His gaze going to his wife—at least, the back of her— Jasper had to tamp down the arousal he felt at the sight of Marianne just then. Her hips swayed with every step as she climbed the inclined lane up to their villa. She and Chiara were calling out farewells to one another before Marianne suddenly turned in their direction and waved. “You would be wise to restrain from referring to my wife in such terms,” Jasper warned.

  “Consider it done,” James replied. “I... I apologize. I promise, I do not covet her. Only the idea of a willing bedmate,” he explained in a quiet voice, as if he feared Marianne would overhear his words.

  But Jasper was already hurrying on ahead, his grin wide when he finally reached Marianne and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “You are a welcome sight for sore eyes,” he whispered.

  Marianne grinned. “As are you,” she replied. Her brows suddenly furrowed. “Well, most of you, I suppose,” she said as she noticed how dirty his clothes were.

  “I shall bathe before dinner,” he promised in a whisper, before hurrying over to Vedova Romano’s villa. “Perhaps you would be willing to share your bolle?” he hinted before he disappeared behind the courtyard door.

  Marianne suppressed a giggle and made her way into the guest villa alongside James. “Did you make any discoveries today?” she asked, wondering at his pensive expression.