Anne Barbour (21 page)

He clambered down from the carriage. “I will promise to stay away from that Cheeke fellow,” he said sardonically. “Can’t say as I care for him much, anyway. And now, if you will excuse me, I think I won’t accompany you and Lady Hilary to the villa.”

With a curt wave of his hand, he disappeared into the house. Jasper, taking advantage of his exit, scrambled into the warrior’s place.

“Whew,” said James. “Our friend grows testier by the day.”

“Can you blame him? Just think how you would feel if your positions were reversed. Or no,” Hilary amended with a chuckle, “if you found yourself suddenly transported to second-century Britain, you would probably take up permanent residence there.”

“Not permanent, I think,” responded James with a smile, “but I would certainly take an extended lease on a nice villa with all the modem conveniences.”

They strolled to the back of the house and thence to the stables, where James chose a small gig in place of the carriage that had brought them to Goodhurst.

James assisted her into the vehicle with care, and, skillfully rebuffing Jasper’s attempt to join them there, mounted the driver’s seat.

“To return to the subject of Rufus,” said Hilary, adjusting the skirts of her dimity round gown, “do you feel not the slightest bit guilty over keeping him here so long?”

Slapping the reins, James gazed at her in surprise. “Guilty? Why? I know he doesn’t want to stay here, but I am providing him with a comfortable place to live and seeing to his every need. I don’t think it’s too much to ask to expect some cooperation from him.”

“But what about his illness?”

“What illness? Ah, you mean the megrim he has been suffering off and on? I don’t see that it is of any significance.”

“But what if it is not simply a megrim?”

“Nonsense. You just saw him. He is the picture of health.”

Hilary frowned unhappily. Rufus might seem recovered, but he had been quite ill, and James knew it. Furthermore, there was a real possibility that Rufus’ indisposition was directly related to his precipitate journey through time. How could James be so uncaring of Rufus’ well-being?

In a few more moments they reached the villa, and, while Hilary regretted that she had not taken the time to change from the ivory linen into something more practical, she wielded spade and pick to good advantage. Jasper provided his usual assistance by digging furiously in all the wrong places, spraying dirt to the four winds as he did so.

James continued to uncover the mosaic in the triclinium, while Hilary worked in another, smaller chamber. Progress was slow, and for some time nothing was heard in the sunny clearing save the sound of metal implements clinking against the occasional rock.

Despite his absorption in his work, James found his attention wandering to where a bright head bent over mud-encrusted walls. Unbidden, a smile curved his lips. The breeze blew her gown against her slight curves and he thought Hilary looked the veriest wood sprite, lingering from the time when mysterious, ancient deities ruled these glens and forests. Her flaming hair escaped its Clytie knot in gleaming tendrils, drifting over delicately curved cheeks of purest ivory. Her lovely, golden eyes narrowed in concentration and her small nose wrinkled determinedly. Altogether, he mused, beginning to perspire slightly, with her coltish grace and quick, neat movements, she was all lithe, pagan beauty.

He turned abruptly back to the mosaic, and toiled in silence for some minutes until the sound of clattering stones and a muted cry reached him. He stood immediately and ran to Hilary, to observe that she lay sprawled over the section of wall on which she had been working. As he approached, she struggled to rise, without success.

She lifted her face to him.

“Oh, bother!” she exclaimed. “I’m afraid I’ve got myself into a fix. I saw what I thought was the edge of a pottery shard tucked in the base of this wall, and when I began digging, the whole thing fell on me. Now, I seem to be stuck in this—this rubble.”

James, gazing in the direction of Hilary’s pointed finger, saw that her left foot was twisted behind her and firmly wedged in the fall of stones. He squatted for a closer examination of the problem, and rested his hand lightly on her leg.

“Yes, ‘stuck’ is the mot juste. Luckily the wall wasn’t very high at this point, otherwise—you’re not hurt, are you? I mean your foot is turned, so that—”

“No,” she answered irritably, aware of the warmth of James’s hand through the fabric of her gown. “I didn’t break anything. I’m simply—stuck, and I can’t reach around to extricate myself.”

James began removing the rubble on top of and surrounding Hilary’s abused appendage and in a few minutes, with James’s assistance, she stood upright. She faced him, breathless and flushed. She was much more disturbed by his nearness than by her contretemps with the wall and she was made profoundly uneasy by this knowledge. She moved away hastily.

“It looks as though—” James said, and at the harshness in his tone, Hilary glanced at him, startled. He cleared his throat and bent to pick up a small, curved piece of clay. “—as though you were correct,” he continued in a milder tone. “See? This is more than a shard, it is a small pot—almost whole. Look at the incising along the side.”

Hilary’s eyes grew dreamy. “The family must have dropped it in their flight,” she murmured. “I can just see them, snatching up their most precious possessions, calling to one another through the rooms, hurrying to—”

James’s brows lifted. “What flight?” he interposed.

“Why, it’s obvious they left in a hurry,” said Hilary impatiently. “Look at the things they left behind—coins, a shoe, a comb.” She counted off the items on her fingers that she had discovered on her earlier, solitary investigations.

James uttered a snort of exasperation. “Those artifacts don’t mean a thing, except to give us an idea of how the family lived. They cannot tell us their state of mind when they abandoned the villa. Really, Hilary, you’ll never be a true antiquary until you leave off these fanciful imaginings.”

Hilary’s jaw jutted stubbornly. “It seems to me that it is you who are missing the whole point of the—the essentials of the antiquarian effort. It is with our imaginations that we fill out the bare bones of our findings. For example, if the last persons who lived here left in an orderly fashion, they surely would not have left a store of coins.”

She drew closer to him as she spoke and by the time she had finished her rather indignant little diatribe, she and James were almost nose to nose. James found that he had suddenly lost track of the conversation. He was wholly absorbed in her unexpected closeness. He discovered that, no, her cheeks were not like purest ivory, but were sprinkled with freckles. This fact seemed of intense significance to him, as did the way the freckles drifted over the enchanting curve of her nose.

Hilary stopped talking and gazed at him, so wide-eyed that once again he felt as though he were falling into two golden pools. He lifted a hand, and, as he’d been wanting to do all afternoon, he gently brushed back one of the fiery tendrils falling over her forehead, and allowed his fingers to drift over her jawline.

He moved hesitantly, as though he were approaching a young wild creature, but she did not, as he half expected, whirl to run away. Instead, she remained so still that he could discern the beating of her heart in the quivering of the lace that framed her throat.

Without conscious will he bent to her and covered her mouth with his in a kiss that held nothing of the violence of the encounter on the Strindham’s lawn. Instead, his lips moved slowly over hers tenderly, savoring the sweetness of her.

His hands spread over the exquisite curve of her spine as she pressed herself against him, seeming to fit into all his hollow places. Her arms went around his neck and her fingers moved delicately through the hair at the back of his neck. The feeling thus produced was like nothing else he had ever experienced in his life, and he almost groaned aloud at the maelstrom of wanting that surged through him.

Slowly, his lips left her mouth to trail kisses over her delicate jawline and along her throat until he came to the pulse that beat so wildly there. The scent of her filled him, and his fingers fumbled at the buttons holding the fringe of lace in place. A small sound from deep in her throat nearly destroyed what was left of his control, but when she repeated it, he was abruptly brought to his senses.

Good God, what was he about? He dropped his hands from the delicious swell of her firm little derriere and stepped backward so suddenly he almost stumbled over Jasper, who had elected to nap at James’s feet.

Chapter Eighteen

Bereft so suddenly of James’s support, Hilary swayed for an instant. The next moment, she gasped, horrified at what had just taken place. Dear Lord, she had simply stood like a pea-goose while a man whom she knew felt nothing for her but the mildest friendship made the most intimate, indelicate overtures on her person.

But no, she had not simply stood there, had she? She had participated with the utmost willingness in his advances. Of course, she certainly had not encouraged his overtures.

Had she? From the moment he had grasped her ankle to remove it from its little stone prison, she had sensed something between them. An electricity that was almost palpable. When he lifted her to her feet she had welcomed the minor dispute in which they had found themselves engaged. Then he had drawn his fingers across her cheek and she had been wholly undone.

Now, she stood, simply gaping at him. What must he think? She attempted to arrange her distracted thoughts in some sort of order and became aware that he was speaking.

“I—I’m sorry,” he said in a strangled voice. “I don’t know what happened, but—I’m sorry.”

“Y-yes,” murmured Hilary, cursing herself for her inanity. She groped in her mind for a response, but seemed unable to locate so much as a single coherent thought. It was with some relief that she noted someone was approaching them on horseback. And traveling at a great rate of speed.

Hilary and James whirled to greet the newcomer. In a spray of dirt, Robert Newhouse drew his mount to a halt and leaped from the saddle. He ignored Jasper’s excited leaps of welcome.

“It’s Rufus, sir,” he said to James, panting from his exertions. “He’s very ill.”

“What!” exclaimed James.

“Yes, the same sort of thing that happened before. We were playing cards—I was showing him how to play piquet, when he came all over queer. He turned that sort of fish-belly white and said he was very tired and that he thought he would lie down. He went up to his chamber, and when I went to look in on him a half hour or so later, he was stretched out on his bed, still fully clothed but out like a snuffed candle, and I couldn’t rouse him.”

“Did you send for the doctor?”

“No, sir, Rufus having expressed himself pretty firmly on that point. I didn’t like to take it upon myself to –”

“Yes, very well. We’ll have him fetched immediately.”

Exchanging a glance with Hilary, he assisted her into the gig and climbed into the driver’s seat. In anxious silence, the three completed the short journey to Goodhurst, and if either Hilary or James felt any residual constraint over their recent encounter, it remained unspoken.

Inside, they were greeted by a distraught Burnside.

“I’m glad you’re here, sir,” the butler said. “We’ve been that concerned.”

Unconsciously, James grasped Hilary’s hand. “Will you wait in the library?”

“Of course.” She flashed him a smile of encouragement, and despite himself, James felt his tension somewhat dissipated.

Pausing only to order that the doctor be fetched immediately, James hurried to the stairs, taking them two at a time.

“Can I order some tea for you, Lady Hilary?” asked Robert, ushering her into the library and thence to a comfortable chair near one of the long windows that led to a small terrace outside.

“That would be lovely, if you will join me, Mr. Newhouse.”

A few moments later, the two sat in a rather abstracted silence, sipping from cups of steaming bohea. Hilary’s thoughts were on the scene taking place upstairs and she rather thought the same must be true of young Mr. Newhouse. She was surprised at the depth of concern she felt for Rufus. She hardly knew the man, after all, but even after such a short acquaintance, she felt an undeniable affection for him. Was it possible that the transference that had proved such a boon to James and herself was making Rufus ill?

“I do hope he’ll be all right,” she whispered. She was startled to hear the sound of her words, for she was not aware that she had spoken aloud.

“Oh, I’m sure he will be,” replied Robert reassuringly. “After all, he’s been through these spells before and popped back with no ill effect.”

“But I don’t believe he has been taken so ill before.”

“That’s true, but the doctor should be here soon, and he’ll have the old trout up and about in no time.”

Hilary smiled perfunctorily at Robert’s hearty tone, which she knew to be assumed.

“Yes, I’m sure you’re right. Tell me,” she continued in an effort to turn the conversation to an easier topic, “have you been with Mr. Wincanon long?”

“For about two years. Actually, we’re distantly related. My father, Lord Newhouse, and Mr. Wincanon are some sort of cousins, though I never met him until five years or so ago. I’m the third son in my family, and I’ve always had a hankering for politics. I am just employed here in training, so to speak, until a position opens up as secretary to a member of parliament.”

“And is James an easy man to work for?” she asked, more to keep the conversation going, she told herself, than through any real interest in his answer.

Robert grinned. “Well, yes and no. He pays me a handsome salary to do very little. He’s what you might call extremely particular about his papers and books and projects, and likes to handle most of that himself. He doesn’t correspond with very many people outside his circle of antiquarian friends, and his social engagements are practically nonexistent.”

“Yes.” Hilary smiled wryly. “I know about his aversion to social functions.”