The Notorious Lord (2 page)

Rachel reminded herself that it was not appropriate for her to dwell on the physical attributes of her parents’ colleagues. This had not been a problem for her before. Most of them would look ancient and flabby without their clothes, which was not a description that could be applied to Lord Newlyn…

Rachel tried to wrench her mind on to other topics, but found that she did not seem able to drag her gaze from the dusting of tiny golden hairs across Cory’s thighs. The more she thought about the impropriety of what she was doing, the more flustered she became. She felt hot and feverish. She turned her head and stared fixedly at the trunk of a large poplar tree some twenty feet away, forcing her agitated mind to concentrate on botany rather than anatomy. Was it a white poplar or a grey poplar? She must remember to look it up in her reference books when she returned home. The leaves were very pretty and white underneath…She was starting to get a pain in her neck from the effort of keeping her head turned away from Cory. She could see absolutely nothing
at all but her other senses—and her imagination—more than made up for the deficit. She could feel the sun beating down on the top of her head where it penetrated the leaves of the pine canopy above her. She could smell the resinous scent of the pine needles as they warmed up. She could visualise Cory, tall, powerful, virile—and naked, her memory reminded her unnecessarily—standing right next to her.

‘Why are you still standing there?’ she asked. ‘I do not wish to speak with you at present, not whilst you are quite unclothed.’

‘You noticed, then,’ Cory said. He sounded amused.

‘Of course I noticed!’ Rachel retorted. ‘I would have to be quite unobservant
not
to have noticed! What are you doing here, Cory?’

‘Pray do not persist in addressing me if you wish me to leave, Rachel,’ Cory said reasonably. ‘I cannot preserve both propriety and courtesy at the same time.’

‘I would far rather that you preserve both your modesty and mine for the time being,’ Rachel said. ‘Where are your clothes?’

She heard Cory sigh. ‘I left them further up the bank and swam downriver,’ he said. ‘I felt inclined to take a dip and was not expecting to meet anyone so early in the morning. I was hoping that you might lend me your rug,’ he added, shifting slightly beside her and increasing Rachel’s discomfort by several notches. ‘If you would be kind enough to help me cover my embarrassment…’

Rachel gave a little exasperated squeak and pulled the rug out forcibly from underneath her, thrusting it in his direction. ‘Take it! Quick! Begone!’

‘Thank you,’ Cory said politely. She could hear the amusement in his voice. ‘Please do not wave your hands about like that, Rae, or you may grab hold of more than you bargained for.’

Rachel could take no more. She scrambled to her feet, intent only on putting some distance between them. Inevi
tably she collided at once with Cory’s lean, hard body. Her flailing hand touched his skin; touched some unidentified part of him that was warm and very slightly damp from the river water. She felt the soft abrasion of fine hair against her skin and almost fainted.

‘It’s all right,’ Cory said reassuringly. ‘That was only my—’

‘Cory! No! I do
not
want to know!’ Rachel’s voice was in danger of failing her. ‘I realise that we are old friends,’ she added shakily, ‘but there are some things that one simply does not wish to share…’

Cory laughed. Rachel could sense movement as he grasped the rug and started to wrap it about himself. A flash of tartan colour caught the corner of her eye and she forced herself ruthlessly to look the other way.

‘I am almost ready,’ Cory murmured.

Rachel turned towards him in relief. She was too quick. She caught a glimpse of the curve of his buttocks and gave a weak gasp.

‘But not quite,’ Cory finished.

‘Oh, this is dreadful!’ Rachel tried to move away, but found her knees so shaky that all she succeeded in doing was tripping over her picnic basket. Cory caught her arm and steadied her.

‘Careful,’ he said, a laugh breaking through his words, ‘you are like to do one of us an injury if you continue like this.’

‘I would manage so much better if you were just to go away,’ Rachel snapped, thoroughly flustered. ‘Surely you do not need to make such a meal of this!’

‘You would manage better if you took off that ridiculous hat and looked about you,’ Cory said.

‘Thank you, but I have already seen quite enough!’ Rachel took a careful step away from him and pushed the brim of her hat up. When she peeped out she was relieved to see that Cory had tied the blanket about his waist like a kilt. It
sat low on his hips and left what seemed like an inordinate amount of him uncovered, but it was a great improvement on before. Even so, there was something disturbing about him. With his clothes on, Cory possessed a masculine vitality and attraction that Rachel, old friend that she was, could recognise without difficulty. Seeing him in a minimum of clothing was a jolt to the senses of the most fundamental sort.

Rachel realised that she was still staring, cleared her throat and looked up at his face, catching a look of vivid amusement there. Cory’s face was barely less disturbing than the rest of him, for he was quite devastatingly attractive, with silver grey eyes and a very wicked smile. There were those who said that Cory Newlyn was not in any way conventionally handsome. His nose and much else had been broken once on an expedition when a fall of rocks had almost killed him and he had a thin scar like a sabre cut down one cheek. His face was too lean to be classically good looking. Yet none of these things mattered. He had character—and it showed. It also made women throw themselves at him with tedious regularity.

Embarrassed to be caught looking at him, Rachel averted her gaze. ‘Thank goodness that it is a large rug,’ she said.

‘I am flattered that you think I require something large to do the job properly,’ Cory said, the smile still in his eyes.

Rachel blushed. She had forgotten Cory’s propensity to shock by word as well as deed. He understood the requirements of polite society perfectly well. It was merely that sometimes he chose not to heed them.

‘Go away, please, Cory,’ she said. ‘You are improper.’

Cory laughed. ‘I am. But you have always known that and you still like me.’

Rachel gave him a severe look. ‘You may be my friend, but I am a young lady of unimpeachable reputation and I do not intend to compromise that through being seen in conversation with a rake wrapped in a blanket!’

Cory’s shoulders shook slightly. ‘A rake wrapped in a blanket! You make me sound like some sort of delicate gardening tool.’

Rachel looked down her nose at him. She felt a deal more confident now that something relatively substantial was between her and Cory’s nakedness.

‘There is very little of delicacy about you, Cory,’ she said.

Cory shrugged. ‘Perhaps not,’ he said. ‘I am sorry if I disturbed you, Rae. I can see that you are still looking very flustered.’

Rachel knew that she was and it did not make her any less self-conscious that he was drawing attention to it.

‘Of course I am flustered,’ she said. ‘I never expected to see you naked, Cory. Such things do not generally occur between childhood friends.’

‘No, indeed,’ Cory said. ‘You must excuse me, Rae. I had no wish to shock you.’

‘To think that I came down here for some peace,’ Rachel said, shaking her head. ‘You know how difficult it can be to find any solitude once an excavation starts. Mama and Papa have been busy digging all hours of the day for the last two weeks.’ She laid a hand lightly on Cory’s arm. It was a part of him that she felt relatively secure in touching. ‘What are you doing in Suffolk?’ she asked. ‘I did not expect you to be joining us because I thought you were still in Cornwall.’

‘I came up to London last month,’ Cory said. ‘Your parents wrote to my club, inviting me to join them on the excavation here.’ He cocked an enquiring eyebrow. ‘They did not tell you?’

Rachel sighed. ‘I dare say they intended to,’ she said. ‘You know how Mama forgets things.’

Cory went down on one knee to rummage in the picnic basket. He looked up, a piece of bread and cheese in his hand. ‘You do not mind?’

‘That you are here or that you are stealing my breakfast?’
Rachel laughed. ‘I do not mind in either case, Cory. Although I would counsel you to wear more clothes in future if you are intent on staying. It is not the done thing to walk around nude in England, at least not in public. I realise that you have been abroad for so long that you may have forgotten our conventions.’

‘I never was governed by them in the first place,’ Cory said. He stretched lazily. The blanket slipped lower. Rachel took a hasty step up the bank.

‘Go,’ she said, ‘before you catch a chill or that rug falls off and takes the last of my composure with it. We may talk when you have your clothes on again.’

Cory smiled. ‘I never thought to hear that phrase from you, Rae.’

‘Well, no doubt I am not the first to say it to you,’ Rachel said, repressing a rueful smile. She knew all about Cory’s reputation.

Cory started to retreat down the bank, one hand raised in conciliation. ‘I am going now. I apologise if I upset you, Rae.’

‘I was not particularly discomfited,’ Rachel said untruthfully, smoothing her skirts, ‘but it was a slight shock.’

Cory bent and retrieved another piece of bread and ham from Rachel’s upturned breakfast basket. He sank his teeth into the thick slice and nodded slowly. ‘Delicious. Just what I need after an early morning swim.’

He gave a negligent wave of his hand and walked away.

‘Mind the rose bushes at the top of the bank,’ Rachel called suddenly. ‘The thorns are sharp—’ She winced as she heard a crashing sound and a muffled expletive. ‘Oh, too late.’

She sank down on to the sandy bank and rested her back against the nearest pine tree, closing her eyes and tilting her head back against the trunk. The sunlight pricked her eyelids. She gave a huge sigh and, once she was convinced that Cory had genuinely gone, she allowed her body to relax.

She had not been expecting to see him on this excavation in Suffolk. Her mother had completely neglected to tell her that he would be coming to visit, but then that was no great surprise since Lady Odell had no memory for anything other than her antiquities. She might be able to list the rulers of Rome in chronological order, she might be the acknowledged expert on dating the Egyptian tombs, but when it came to simple social matters she was completely hopeless.

The last time that Rachel had heard news of Cory was six months previously. He had written from his home in Cornwall to say that he was returned from an expedition in Patagonia and was suffering from malaria. Rachel had sent him a tincture that she had made herself, for she had developed quite an array of medicines to cope with the more arcane of her parents’ ailments. Cory had sent a note of thanks and a big bouquet of roses, and Rachel had smiled to receive them for it had been a thoughtful gesture. She had then become preoccupied with the move to Suffolk, and had forgotten about Cory Newlyn until the moment she had seen him emerge from the river.

For the previous seventeen years Cory had been a feature in her life, but one that came and went like a fitful comet. He was an explorer and collector with a legendary reputation. According to folklore, Cory had wrestled with crocodiles, battled for his life against poisonous snakes, explored the wastes of impassable deserts and discovered fantastical treasures. Rachel knew that a great deal of this was nonsense. As an antiquarian, Cory spent much of his time excavating tombs that were full of nothing but bits of bones. She doubted very much that the ladies of the London
ton,
whose eyes sparkled with delight whenever Cory’s name was so much as mentioned, would think him quite so dashing if they had seen him up to his knees in mud in a howling gale in the Orkneys. One thing she was obliged to recognise, however, was that Cory was very good at what he did. He was skilful, knowledgeable and a talented antiquarian with
an almost uncanny knack for finding interesting artefacts. Plenty of men travelled the world buying up antiquities these days, but Cory was special. He was no armchair antiquary. He wanted to be in on the hunt.

Rachel sighed. No doubt that was why Cory was here in Midwinter Royal. He knew her parents were digging the famous Anglo-Saxon burial ground and he wanted to be part of the excavation. It would have been useful if Lady Odell had remembered to tell her. But then, Rachel thought, she would still have been quite unprepared for the sight that had met her eyes that morning. Nothing could prepare one for the sight of Lord Newlyn in a state of undress. It had been a very disturbing experience. Just thinking about it now caused the little shivers to run all the way along her skin, leaving her breathless and distinctly unsettled.

Without the rug to protect her, the ground felt cold and a little damp. It was early and the dew was still on the grass. Rachel got to her feet, dusted her skirts and packed the remaining food away in the basket. She retrieved her book from where it lay in the grass. She knew that she would not be able to concentrate on it now. Her mind was still showing an obstinate tendency to dwell on Cory’s appearance. She would do better to go back to the house and see how her mother progressed with the last of the unpacking.

She did not walk back through the wood for fear of meeting Cory again just as he was getting back into his clothes rather than out of them. Instead, she walked back along the edge of the Midwinter Royal burial ground, an ancient site that had drawn her parents to Suffolk in the first place. The sun was higher in the sky now and it bathed the excavation in its bright light. It was going to be another scorching hot day.

As Rachel entered the house, she heard her mother’s voice raised in the hall as she gave the footman instructions on the morning’s excavations.

‘And make sure that you sift the soil from yesterday’s trench, Tom, before you start digging the long barrow…’

Rachel smiled a little. Poor Tom Gough had had no idea when he had accepted the post that none of his duties would be of a conventional nature and all of them would relate to the excavation work that was going on in the field next door. For twenty-five years Sir Arthur and Lady Odell’s entire life had revolved around the search for antiquities. This dig in Suffolk was just the latest in a long line of excavations. Sir Arthur fretted that the war against Napoleon kept them at home, and told tales of the time some six years previously when he had had to flee the advancing French army and leave behind all his discoveries in the Valley of the Kings.