Anne Barbour (18 page)

“Did you?” asked James in startled fascination. He had by now led Hilary to a chair, and taken one for himself. He crossed his legs and brushed an invisible speck of lint from his sleeve. “Did he,” he said to Mordecai, “tell you that we met in Seville about ten years ago when I was there to examine the ruins that were found in the area by Sir Cooper Walgrave?”

Mordecai looked oddly discomfited at this piece of information. “No, he did not, but that was to be my next question to him. I was wondering why you were keeping his presence a secret.”

James raised his brows languidly. “A secret?”

“Yes. My dear boy, your servants seemed unwilling to so much as let me in the house, and when your secretary walked in and found me in conversation with the good Mr.—ah, Rufio, his eyes fairly started from his head. His efforts to separate us were laughably obvious, and I was left with the distinct impression that he did not want me speaking with your guest.”

James opened his mouth, but Rufus forestalled him. “That’s nonsensical, but now, if you do not mind, I will be moving along.” He bowed to Mordecai. “Nice to have met you, Mr. Cheeke. You’re almost as knowledgeable on matters of Roman antiquity as my friend, James.” He smiled faintly as Mordecai flushed angrily and, bowing once more, he left the room.

James gazed after him dazedly and turned to Mordecai once again. “And where is Robert?” he asked, wondering why his secretary had elected to leave Cheeke and Rufus alone together. Damn, he added under his breath, wondering why God had seen fit to inflict Mordecai Cheeke on him just when he was on the threshold of what might be the historical discovery of the century. By rights, Cheeke should be away in Kent, investigating his damned temple to Ceres, or whatever. Instead, here he was, busily inserting himself into James’s business. Well, by God, that nonsense wasn’t going to fadge.

“He was called away by your butler,” explained Mordecai, still obviously smarting from Rufus’ slur on his expertise. “Something about a housemaid spilling ink on some of your papers in the study. Said he’d be right back.”

James was forced to smile, picturing the dilemma Robert must have faced in deciding whether to attend to the minor crisis in the study or the major one taking place in the library. Even as he pondered this situation, however, the door to the library swung open to admit Robert, breathless and perspiring.

“Oh!” he exclaimed on catching sight of James. He murmured a courteous greeting to Hilary. “I’m sorry, sir,” he continued in anguished accents. “I had to leave for a moment. There was a slight accident in the study—nothing serious, I’m happy to report, but it was something that had to be dealt with promptly.” He glanced around the room. “I don’t see—”

“Rufus has retired for the moment,” said James in some amusement.

“Oh. Good,” Robert declared. “Well, then—”

.”And Mr. Cheeke was just leaving, as well.”

“But I came to see you,” said Mordecai rather plaintively.

Hilary stepped forward, feeling it was time she lent some assistance to James in his hour of need.

“How unfortunate, Mr. Cheeke that James—Mr. Wincanon and I are leaving again almost immediately.”

“For the villa?” asked Mordecai eagerly.

James cast Hilary a look of gratitude. “No,” he said tersely. “I have an errand to run and Lady Hilary is to accompany me.”

“But still, you will be visiting the villa sometime today. I would like to join you, if I may.” Mordecai’s expression was open and ingenuous.

Really, thought Hilary, he was like a schoolboy, begging for a treat.

“I think not,” replied James quietly, but with a certain note in his voice that Hilary had not heard before. “I prefer to work with as few people present as possible. A single assistant will do nicely for the present. In addition, I’m sure you have work of your own in progress.”

His tone was so dismissive that even Mordecai could not fail to discern its meaning. He flushed once more and rose from his chair.

“I have no intention of interfering in your investigation—or of making a nuisance of myself. It is merely that, since I am visiting here—away from my own excavations in Kent, I am finding myself rather at loose ends. You must know Harvey Winslow is not worth conversing with.”

‘Then I suggest you return to Kent and your digs,” remarked James. “There is obviously nothing for you here.”

Mordecai’s pale eyes glittered angrily, but he said nothing, merely turning to move toward the door. Before exiting the room, however, he said over his shoulder, “I can certainly understand your desire to work alone with your new—assistant.” A sly smile curved his soft mouth. It was quickly erased at the sight of James’s clenched fists. “Now, now, dear boy. No need to take snuff. You know, James,” he continued meditatively, “the more I see of you in your charming new home, with your charming bride-to-be, and, of course, your fascinating guest, the more I am convinced that you are hiding something from me. I begin to wonder if your guest is not somewhat involved in your, er, project.”

It seemed to Hilary that James stiffened slightly, but his face remained impassive. On the other hand, she thought ruefully, she supposed Mr. Cheeke must hear the thumping of her heart at his words.

James sighed. “Get out, Cheeke. Get out and take your smarmy implications with you. I don’t know whether I have ever mentioned this, but I do not like you. I take leave to inform you that you have worn out your already slim welcome in my abode, and I do not wish to behold you here again. You will excuse me if I do not see you out.”

Rigid with offended dignity, Mordecai chose not to reply. Instead, he stalked from the library through the door held open for him by Robert. The secretary exited behind Cheeke, dropping a wink at his employer as he left.

James sank into a chair. “At last,” he murmured. “I thought the fellow would never leave.”

“At least not without the use of blasting powder,” agreed Hilary, breathing a sigh of relief. She seated herself nearby, curling her legs under her. “Do you think we’ve really seen the last of him?”

“Who knows?” James chuckled and expelled another gusty sigh. “I don’t know why I didn’t do that long ago. It feels marvelous after all these years to be rid of the necessity of being polite to him.”

Hilary lifted delicate brows. “Were you ever? Polite to him?”

“You wound me, my dear. I’m always the soul of courtesy.”

Hilary grinned and uttered a rude sound. James grinned back, struck anew by her gamine charm. This morning she wore her hair clustered atop her head in a flaming bundle of curls that fell about her cheeks in reckless disarray. The riding habit that she had donned that morning clung delightfully to her slight curves. Tucked in her chair, comfortable as a cat, she looked the complete hoyden. And she was wholly enchanting. He was struck by a sudden, appalling urge to go to her, to draw her to her feet and bury his face in the blaze of her hair and to kiss her until she was breathless.

Instead, he rose, and moved to the window.

“I believe the day will continue fine, and Rufus seems in good health. Perhaps we should indeed spend the morning at the villa.”

Hilary expressed her agreement with this plan, as did Jasper when they left the house. He loped behind the little party in great good humor as they set out for the remains. Rufus, mounted on one of James’s favorite geldings, spoke little. To Hilary’s surprise, he rode awkwardly and seemed to have some difficulty managing his spirited steed.

“I’m not used to the thrice-damned beasts,” he explained testily. “I’m not in the cavalry, after all. In fact, I don’t trust horses—never like to be around them in battle—never know what they’re going to do. If the gods had intended men to ride horses, they wouldn’t have given us two good feet of our own. Marching’s the only way to get where you want to go.”

Finally, having reached a certain amity with his mount, the warrior contented himself with side excursions to examine such features of the estate as the dry-stone fencing and an abandoned cottage that sat at the edge of a meadow.

Upon reaching the remains, James and Hilary spent a companionable if largely silent two hours uncovering the mosaic in the triclinium. Rufus searched without success for the spring James had thought might exist to the north of the villa, while Jasper lent his somewhat dubious assistance to all three. To James, the time spent in such pleasurable company passed swiftly.

At length, Rufus declared himself weary of pottering among the villa’s skeletal remains. James and Hilary exchanged glances. Rufus did not look well. As before, his skin was pale and his hands shook with a sudden weakness.

“Right,” said James. “It’s time to call it a day.”

He assisted Hilary into her saddle, and as unobtrusively as possible, assisted the old soldier in clambering aboard his own mount.

Oddly, the conversation between James and Hilary on the way home dealt little either with Rufus and his troubles or with the subject of Roman Britain. They chatted on a wide range of subjects, among which were the poetry of Byron, which they agreed was highly dramatic, if somewhat silly, the Corn Laws, which they agreed were iniquitous, and the philosophy of Mary Wollstonecraft, after a spirited debate over which they agreed to disagree.

The state of amity thus engendered lasted until shortly before they turned into the gates of Goodhurst.

“Have you thought about a costume for the Halloween Ball?” she asked suddenly, determined to gain his acquiescence in this matter while he seemed in a receptive mood.

The amiable smile vanished like the last swallow of summer, to be replaced with a forbidding stare.

“I told you. Lady Hilary, I will not be attending your ball.”

“Well, yes.” She smiled winsomely. “I know you said that. You also said you wouldn’t come to Mrs. Strindham’s musicale, but you changed your mind, and I know you thoroughly enjoyed—” She stopped abruptly, pressing her fingers to her mouth. Lord, how could she have committed such a gaucherie? Recalling the Strindham musicale was sure to bring about a recollection of the kiss on the Strindham lawn.

James drew in a startled breath and Hilary rushed on. “I was thinking—the ball is only a little over two weeks away. Perhaps Rufus would let you wear his uniform.”

James glanced back at Rufus, who had stopped momentarily to avail himself of the ripe fruit of an apple tree that stood by the side of the lane. “There is some disparity in our sizes. In addition, I think you have no understanding of the mind of a military man,” James said dryly. “If someone had asked me, when I was in the army, to borrow my uniform to wear to a fancy-dress ball, I should have been insulted. At any rate, if you think I’m going to appear before the world in armor and a short kirtle, you are much mistaken.”

Hilary blinked, struck by yet another instance of the illogic of masculine pride. “You’re quite right,” she replied in a conciliatory tone. “My experience with military men is limited, of course. However, perhaps if you explain the circumstances to Rufus—and you could wear some sort of leggings.”

“Perhaps, but I shan’t have to worry about it, for I won’t be attending the bl—the ball.”

“Mm,” said Hilary, willing to leave the subject for the moment.

“By the by, my father said to tell you that he’s planning to go to Little Merrydean next week. It’s a village about two hours’ drive from here, and Squire Sainsbury, who lives there, is holding a horse sale. He’s known for the quality of his stock and Father thought you might like to accompany him.”

“That’s very kind of him. Indeed, I’ve been on the lookout for a hunter. I’ll send over a note to thank him. Will you ride with Lord Clarendon, as well?”

“Oh, no. The squire is a bachelor and the sale will be a wholly masculine affair, but I hope you will stay for dinner at Whiteleaves when you return.”

“I’d like that,” replied James, realizing somewhat to his surprise that he had spoken the truth. He was much averse to meaningless social concourse, but he liked the earl. In addition, he had discovered long since that he very much liked the earl’s daughter, despite her tendency to try to run his life.

A companionable silence fell for a few moments before Hilary spoke again. “Tell me, James. How long will you be staying at Goodhurst? I received the impression when we first met that you do not plan to make the estate your permanent residence.”

“No,” he said promptly. “I moved here intending to stay only as long as it would take to excavate the villa.”

“I see.”

“However,” he added almost despite himself, “I hope we shall see more of each other, even when I have removed to London. Perhaps—” He stopped abruptly, aware that his features had frozen into an expression of dismay. Good God, he had come dangerously close to making some sort of a commitment. To his annoyance, he was forced to suppress an eager hope that she would agree to maintain their acquaintance.

However, Hilary merely replied prosaically, “I very rarely travel to London.”

She apparently had nothing further to say. They rode in silence until they reached the house. James dismounted, but when he would have assisted Hilary from the saddle, she demurred.

“I have been gone from home for quite awhile,” she said coolly. “I really must be getting home.”

Nonplussed, he stared at her, but Hilary, allowing him the merest brush of his lips over her gloved fingers, wheeled about with a nod. The next moment, she had called Jasper to her and galloped off in a spray of gravel, leaving James to stare after her in puzzled dismay.

For the love of heaven, he wondered in exasperation, what had he said to make her hare off in such a pelter? He entered the house, shaking his head over the unplumbable depths of feminine vagary.

Hilary maintained her pace along the path to Whiteleaves, muttering unladylike epithets under her breath all the way. What an infuriatingly toplofty man! Her heart had fallen at his avowal to return to London as soon as possible, but she had been pleasantly surprised by his expressed wish that they continue their friendship after he had removed from Goodhurst. Not so much as a second later, an expression of blatant horror had crossed his face, as though he had inadvertently invited Lucrezia Borgia to dinner.