Anne Barbour (20 page)

His only response was a blank stare.

“You mentioned,” she began patiently, “that you would like to continue our friendship after your return to London.”

“Good God!” James expostulated. “Was that so repugnant to you?”

“No,” Hilary continued. “It was the obvious dismay you felt immediately after you spoke that offended me. An expression of the utmost horror sprang to your face, as though you could not believe you had so forgotten yourself as to make friendly overtures to the enemy.”

“Oh, but—” James halted abruptly. It was no good denying that Hilary had accurately described his emotions. Lord knew, the moment the words were out of his mouth, he had regretted them. Now, he knew a sudden shame. Hilary was not just any female. She would not use his friendship to further her own devices—except for her annoying tendency to arrange his life to her own specifications.

He exhaled gustily and seated himself on a settee, drawing Hilary down beside him.

“You are quite right, my dear. I have become, perhaps, overcautious in my dealings with the gentler sex-”

Hilary uttered a delicate snort.

“And,” continued James, “I was momentarily taken aback by my own lapse in—”

He halted abruptly and took her hand in his. “Lord, Hilary, I’m making a frightful mull of this. I must sound the most appalling, pompous ass. Please—will you let me try to explain?”

Hilary said nothing, but she made no demur. She wondered if he could hear the pulse that thundered in her ears.

James sat silent for a moment, keeping her hand in his grasp. Finally, he looked up, an expression—almost of diffidence—in his velvet-brown eyes that she had never seen before.

“My experience with women,” he began hesitantly, “has been extremely limited. I have no sisters, and my mother—well, she was a good mother, I think, but she had no natural instinct for the position. I always rather had the impression that I was one more duty in her life, like visiting the vicar and giving baskets to the poor. Her parents, my grandparents, visited often, and they always chided me when my behavior slid into something that was, ‘unbefitting my station.’ Grandfather was the son of a country curate. He was an academic, rising to the position of headmaster of an obscure college in Northumberland. He was ambitious, however, and in hopes of securing a place at Oxford. He believed a son-in-law from a noble family might be useful in reaching that goal. In short, my mother had made a marriage of convenience, and did her best to uphold her part of the bargain. My father was a typical second son. He toiled not, neither did he spin, yet his raiment certainly outshone the lilies of the field. His life was one of wine, women, and song—notably the first two. Mother, as I learned later, accepted his infidelities as part of the price of her splendid parti. She was faithful, dutiful, and fruitful, bearing her husband four healthy sons.”

“Dear Lord,” breathed Hilary, thinking of her own mother, taken from her years too soon—contentious and domineering, but brimming with good humor and love for her slightly bemused husband and children.

James drew another long breath and stared at her carpet for a few minutes. “I—I did manage to become betrothed—when I was a young man. That is, almost betrothed.”

His voice was so low that Hilary could barely hear him. Her heart thumped uncomfortably.

“She was beautiful, and charming and I thought she loved me as I did her. Perhaps she did, but that did not stop Serena from ending our association when an even more eligible parti than my own impeccable self came along. To be sure, her entire family was depending on her to make an advantageous marriage, but—as I said—I was very young, and the whole episode was painful in the extreme.”

Beholding her gaze, wide and dark with pity, James shrugged and laughed awkwardly. “I overstate my case, perhaps. In any event, in latter years I have been somewhat, er, wary of the gentle sex. Particularly, since—” He halted, uncertain as to how to proceed.

Hilary felt her fingers curl into rakes. She was well able to picture the pain and humiliation the young James must have suffered at the hands of a mercenary female, and she would very much like to have five minutes alone with said female. From somewhere she produced a shaky laugh. “Particularly since you have been pursued unmercifully since the time you were out of leading strings. I have observed the behavior of the ladies in my own neighborhood.”

James flushed. “Yes. Well, in any event, I decided long ago that to throw one’s heart to a female was to court disaster, and I became pickled in my own cynicism. I’m ashamed to say that I grew to take a certain pride in my own sour philosophy. No woman was going to pull the wool over
my
eyes, by God, and she’d better not try. Frankly, when I invited your continued friendship after my return to London, I was immediately terrified that you would regard it as a prelude to a proposal of marriage.”

James paused, but encouraged by the twinkle in her eye, he plowed on. “I—I have come to truly enjoy your company, but I have been so conditioned to wariness that I could not simply take pleasure in your presence. Now, I have come to the realization that not every woman has designs on my precious person, and that to refuse so determinedly the opportunity to acquire a new friend is the height of foolishness.”

He stopped abruptly. He had not at all meant to expose quite so much of himself. He searched Hilary’s face for a response.

Hilary’s lips curved into a smile and she heard herself say, “Very well, James, but in the future, I trust you will choose your words with more care. Heaven forefend that a poor female might read a marriage proposal into a mere suggestion of future correspondence and an invitation to drop by one’s London residence from time to time. I have no interest in marriage, James,” she said with some asperity. “Although heaven knows my family has been after me to marry since my come-out. They believe that a woman’s life is wasted unless she is under the thumb of some man, producing hordes of children for him.”

Merciful heavens! That was not at all what she meant to say, and she straightened primly.

“Ah, it is the concept of marriage in general that you abhor,” returned James. “I am relieved it is not merely the thought of marriage to me that you wished to avoid.”

“No, of course not,” Hilary snapped. “If I were to encounter a man to whom I could give my heart and my respect, I would marry him. If he were to ask, of course,” she finished in a flustered rush.

“Of course—if he were to ask,” replied James gravely, with the merest spark of amusement in his chocolate gaze.

“Needless to say, I have not met such a man, so far,” she hastened to add, at which the spark only grew more pronounced.

“Needless to say,” he murmured, and Hilary noted, to her discomfiture, the faint note of relief under the amusement.

Nonetheless, little sizzles of happiness fizzed inside her at the thought of continued days with James at the Roman villa, or sitting across the table from Rufus, taking notes. In the future, she might regret her lack of decision, but now ... For the present, she would simply enjoy the status quo.

James rose and, smiling, held out a hand.

“Shall we join Rufus at his tower?”

Hilary knew a twinge of irritation that he had apparently been so certain of her capitulation, but she rose and, inclining her head, moved with him toward the door. She acknowledged the chill of uneasiness that lay beneath her anticipation, but she found it difficult to suppress a strong urge to grasp James by the hand and skip with him out into the sunshine.

Chapter Seventeen

At the tower, they found Rufus, not in the ruined structure, but seated on one of the fallen stones in the circle surrounding it. He was deep in conversation with Old Dorcas. They turned at the approach of the newcomers.

Jasper, who had, of course, accompanied them, romped forward with the confidence of a dog who knows itself assured of a welcome. He flung himself to the ground before Dorcas and rolled over, his legs waving in the air. The old woman stretched forth her fingers and scratched his belly, reducing him to grinning idiocy.

“I have been telling the lady Dorcas of the old Druid priest,” said Rufus, assisting Hilary to a seat beside him.

James raised his brows, but Rufus continued unnoticing. “Actually, I think the old lady must be short a few grains of a bushel. She acts as though she knew the priest.”

Dorcas merely smiled benignly.

“Good God, Rufus,” put in James. “I hope you haven’t been spilling—that is, you haven’t been filling this good lady’s ear with your nonsense, have you?”

Rufus grimaced sullenly. “I haven’t told her anything. I just mentioned that I used to know an old codger who lived hereabouts, claiming to be a Druid. Gods, do you think I can’t be trusted to keep my own counsel?”

This was precisely what James did think, and he shook his head in exasperation.

“Are you through here? If so, perhaps we could repair to the villa. Lady Hilary and I have not accomplished much there so far. I would like to finish uncovering the mosaic in the triclinium and get some sort of protective covering over it.”

“Yes,” concurred Hilary. “And I’d like to start in on that little structure to the north. I think it may be a shrine.”

“Mm,” said James. “I shouldn’t wonder—and I still think there’s a spring there. The two very often go together.”

Hilary turned to bid farewell to Dorcas, but the old woman was nowhere to be seen. Jasper whimpered softly, his nose into the breeze that trembled through the clearing.

“What an odd creature,” remarked James. “I never knew a person with the ability to fade into the scenery with such rapidity.”

“Yes, I’ve always thought it would be a handy trait to acquire.”

“Never mind,” James said with a smile. “You have enough unsettling traits as it is.”

Startled, Hilary raised a questioning eyebrow, but James, reddening slightly, merely turned away. Rufus smiled benignly at the two as they mounted James’s carriage, which today, he drove himself. Jasper took up his position behind the vehicle and Rufus, sprawled in the backseat, commented lazily. “I don’t know why you persist in mucking about in that crumbling old villa. It’s only someone’s farmhouse.”

“Yes,” replied James, “but a perusal of what is left of it will tell us a great deal about the people who lived there—how they lived—what they did to earn their bread—perhaps even the gods they worshipped.”

Rufus snorted. “I can tell you that. They were farmers, apparently fairly well-to-do. A retired officer and his family, perhaps, and they made their living on the soil. They probably kept sheep and manufactured wool, which they sold or traded in Corinium. From the looks of the place, they probably maintained a pottery, as well. As for the gods they worshipped, they no doubt made sacrifice to the same deities as everyone else—Jupiter, Juno, Fortuna, and the rest. And the
lares,
and
penates
of course. If the owner was a retired military man, he maybe worshipped Mithras, as well.”

“Do you, Rufus? Worship Mithras, that is?” asked Hilary interestedly.

Rufus shifted and his face reddened, presenting the picture of a bluff warrior unused to discussing his personal views on spiritual matters. “Well, I’m all for the discipline and sacrifice practiced by the Mithraics, and I attend rites in the shrine at the fort, but—”

“There is a shrine to Mithras at Caerleon?” interposed James eagerly. “I knew there were such features in many military installations, particularly in Germany and France, but I have not heard of one being found in Britain. Perhaps you could show it to me one day.”

Rufus grunted, running a beefy hand over his thinning hair. “I don’t plan on being around here much longer, you know. You told me earlier you have some sort of scheme for getting me back home. Have you done anything about that?”

James exchanged a glance with Hilary.

“Um,” he said. “In the press of all our activity in the last few days... And there have been other, personal matters to which—”

“Have you or haven’t you contacted that friend you were talking about?” snapped Rufus.

“No.”

“Mars Victrix! Why not?”

James opened his mouth, but Hilary forestalled him. “Because he doesn’t want you to leave, Rufus. And neither do I. I fear I, too, am at fault for not doing something about your predicament, for I have not encouraged James to contrive a means for your return. Please don’t be angry,” she said earnestly, as Rufus swelled in indignation. “It means so very much to us to have you here—to be able to talk to a real Roman soldier—one, moreover, who lives— lived—in the time of the occupation of Britain. You must know by now what an unequaled opportunity you provide for someone like James—and me.”

Rufus seemed very little mollified by this speech. “And you must know,” he growled, “how much it means to me to try to get home. I do not belong in your time and I don’t like it here. By the gods, if I did not need your protection in this ludicrous situation, I would leave and chance my fate in the world of this century. In fact,” he added, a crafty expression crossing his features, “perhaps I should go to your associate, Mr. Cheeke. I’m sure he would be willing to help me, in return for a few scraps of my famous information.”

Hilary gasped, but James said levelly, “I’m sure he would. He’d help put you on exhibit like a two-headed rooster—assuming, of course, you were able to convince him of your credentials. I seriously doubt, Rufus, that you would ever get home, once Mordecai Cheeke gets his hands on you. However, you are free to leave anytime you choose.”

He felt Hilary’s accusing stare, but continued to hold Rufus’ gaze. Rufus made no response, but turned his face to the distant horizon and sat in glum silence for some five minutes. When the carriage pulled up before the manor house at Goodhurst, Rufus at last heaved himself to attention.

“You haven’t left me with much choice, have you? Very well, I’ll cooperate with you. I’ll answer your question as best I can.” He brought his chin up abruptly. “For two weeks.” He grinned mirthlessly as James’s eyes narrowed. “At the end of that time, if you haven’t used some of your modem wizardry to get me back home, not another word will you get from me. I’ll close up like a Cretan clam.”