* * * *
Tony paced his room, waiting for Simms. Not that he needed help with his clothing. It would not do for a mere vicar to be too well dressed.
It was his courtship that was tattered. So far his plan was progressing more slowly than he had imagined was possible.
And whose fault is that?
He threaded his fingers into his hair.
He had never dreamed of finding a site as promising as the villa. Despite having no authority to excavate, he could not pass up the opportunity. But that left little time for courtship. Evenings in the drawing room grew more stilted every day. He knew duchesses who employed less aloof formality than Miss Vale did. The more he pressed, the more elusive she grew. Some nights he suspected her mind had fled the room entirely.
Not until that very evening had he realized the problem. Both ladies gave most of their attention to Jon. Even as Miss Vale spoke with him, half her mind was watching Jon’s exchanges with Miss Merideth, ready to pounce should he do anything gauche.
The charade was working too well. They had created a monster that demanded the attention of everyone in the room. And rather than turn to him for help or comfort, Miss Vale relied on her companion. Such loyalty was laudable, but it did not further his cause.
Yet he was as guilty as they. Part of his own mind remained alert, ready to intervene if Jon’s antics got out of hand. He should have considered this scheme more thoroughly before proposing it. But it was too late to change course.
The most lowering thought was that his basic assumptions might be wrong. Though he had always secured any woman he wanted, he now suspected that none had cared a whit for him. Torwell rarely encountered females, and Tony Linden had carried his lurid reputation since age fifteen. Young girls craved playing with fire. Wives and widows sought the excitement of bedding his notoriety. Courtesans fawned over anyone willing to pay. Did any actually know him?
His father’s admonitions circled through his mind. Worthless… No decent person can want you… Failure…
Banishing the voice was impossible. He wanted to believe the complaints were baseless, but no one saw his core more clearly than his own sire, who had uttered similar sentiments long before rebellion had fashioned his false image. So perhaps he was incapable of attracting women in his own guise. That fabled charm might only be the mystique of the forbidden. He certainly lacked a history of good judgment.
Miss Merideth was a case in point. She had acted nothing like an infatuated miss tonight. So that shiver had probably been disgust rather than desire. She had pointedly avoided him since returning to the house, and not just because she was keeping Jon away from Miss Vale.
His treacherous mind returned to that encounter on the ledge. Her body was perfect. Tall enough that he needn’t fear hurting her. Voluptuous enough that he fought a daily battle to keep his hands from cradling those magnificent breasts. Or stroking the shapely legs. Or burying his fingers in her glorious hair.
Flames licked his groin. Thinking had been difficult since he’d first set eyes on the woman. She even invaded his dreams, making his nights a torture. A Siren. An Amazon. Why had fate decreed that he must court Miss Vale when so delectable a woman was available?
He snorted. His real problem was that she was
not
available. And she never would be.
Simms finally arrived.
Tony pulled his mind back to business. “I need to spend more time with Miss Vale, preferably away from the house. Is there an excursion I can suggest?”
He would make no progress until he could separate Miss Vale from the others, especially Miss Merideth. If he left Simms with Jon, she could forget her companion and concentrate on him.
Whether she could like him was another question. If he found her insipid, what did she think of him? He was beginning to doubt she would ever care. So where did that leave his plan?
Simms interrupted these glum thoughts. “The village fair is in two days, in conjunction with the annual harvest festival. The servants are excited. There is to be a fortune teller, a puppet show, and several traveling peddlers. The ladies generally attend.”
“I wonder why they have said nothing.” But the conclusion was obvious. They did not believe their visitors would be interested in a village festival – or at least they doubted the London rakehell would be. He sighed, dismissing Simms.
Many of his excavations had concluded near harvest time, so he had sampled several country fairs. But few of his acquaintances would condescend to attend such vulgar fetes. His interests never matched those espoused by society. Now he feared he was so different that no one of breeding could accept him.
It was a depressing thought. Would his mother suffer because he could not attract the interest of one sheltered cripple?
Idiot! Don’t be so maudlin.
Determined to do his best, he told Jon that they would escort the ladies to the fair.
Jon relaxed. “It’s about time. You’ve let this continue far too long already.”
“I agree. And I believe she will respond once we are alone. So we must become separated.”
Jon nodded. Within minutes, they had formed plans for every possible contingency.
Chapter Seven
For once, Alex beat Torwell to the breakfast room, though he usually rose even earlier than she did. Eating before sunrise increased their excavation time – an important consideration as the year raced toward winter.
But today he was late.
She relaxed, grateful for the respite. Last night’s reflections had straightened her priorities. Sarah was right. Postponing her confession was merely making it harder. And working with Torwell was an inadequate excuse. By now, he knew her well enough to accept her expertise. Once she was wed, Linden could go to London to terminate the trust, leaving Torwell here to continue work on the villa and pursue his courtship of Sarah.
It was time to decide her future. She needed an hour alone with Linden, without distractions. Since he slept late, she would leave the site early, joining Sarah in the drawing room. When he arrived, Sarah could plead business and leave. If their tête-à-tête went well, she would confess.
Convincing Torwell to continue working alone should be easy. He was fascinated by the villa and as excited as she when anything interesting turned up – which defined her real problem, she admitted in chagrin. Did she have the determination to leave him there and risk missing the thrill of a new discovery? Seeing an artifact later was not the same as actually finding it.
Pay attention to priorities. Ending this nonsense is your most pressing concern.
Cursing, she slashed at her ham, sending a strip spinning across the table when her knife slipped.
“Good morning,” Torwell said from the doorway, eyes laughing as they followed the track of the ham.
She muttered a greeting, furious that he had seen that display of temper. And appalled that the sight of him recalled yesterday’s silliness so clearly.
“Linden tells me the village fair is tomorrow.” He took his usual seat, accepting a heaped plate from the footman. “What time will it start?”
“You wish to attend?” The question burst out on a squeak of surprise before she could stop it.
“Of course. Celebrating the harvest is important to any community. Ignoring the festivities would imply disdain for the tenants’ labor – especially this year. The harvest is the poorest I’ve ever seen.”
“No one can argue that. Even the grazing is bad, hurting dairy production.”
“So we will attend. I’ve always enjoyed fairs.” He grinned. “My favorite was one in Cumberland several years ago. For only half a shilling, one could watch the Amazing Merland produce an astonishing number of eggs from an empty bag.”
“Eggs?”
“Nearly three dozen, all fresh, yet I looked in the bag before he began, and it was empty. Quite a wizard. I doubt your fair can top that, but there will be other wonders. Miss Vale can hardly enjoy sitting in the drawing room every day. She will think us the most boring of company.”
She swore under her breath. Even settling with Linden would not allow her to attend the fair. She could not appear in public with a man if she wanted to keep digging. Her father would hear of it and send an agent to investigate, which could reveal the villa.
But Sarah could go.
“Miss Vale will undoubtedly enjoy an outing,” she said slowly, ignoring the voice urging her to stop and think. Sarah loved the fair and had used it in her most recent argument for terminating their deceit. “But you need not sacrifice your time to accompany her. I am anxious to excavate as much as possible before winter.” Even as the words left her mouth, she kicked herself for ignoring that mental warning. How could she return before dinner after making a statement like that? Never had she felt so unbalanced.
“I understand, but it is no sacrifice. I love fairs and look forward to the outing.”
She was neatly trapped. “Very well. We will leave at two.”
Torwell turned the conversation to the villa. She automatically answered, but thoughts and curses raged through her mind.
She must decide about Linden before dinner. Yes or no. She had no further time for study. Once she revealed her identity, they could plan the next step. Linden would agree to keep his presence secret. Neither man would want to deal with the spate of invitations that would arrive once the neighbors learned they were here. And Torwell would give up the fair to protect the villa from her father.
She offered a bland reply to his latest question. It had seemed so simple in the beginning – hide her identity for a day or two until she decided whether she could live with Linden. And it would have worked if she had not lost her head over Torwell.
How stupid could she be? Even a moment’s thought could have prevented this mess. When Torwell had spotted Minerva, she should have claimed that it had been in the family for centuries. Instead, she had admitted to digging it up, then compounded the error by showing Torwell the villa. In her eagerness to learn, she had lost sight of the central fact of his life.
He was Linden’s cousin. If she wed Linden, she would see him often, so there was no urgency about their partnership – or hadn’t been until now.
If only she had stopped to think! Whatever Linden’s faults – and he had plenty – he accepted her interest in antiquity, just as he accepted Torwell’s. Unlike most men, he would not object to her continued interest in the subject. She had played her hand very badly. A moment of reflection would have convinced her to deal with Linden first. Now, she risked losing everything.
Linden confused her more each day, for his behavior was as inconsistent as his conversation. He had actually avoided Sarah last night. Perhaps he’d agreed to let Torwell have her. Why else would he have dragged the supposed companion off to the portrait gallery, leaving Torwell and Sarah alone?
Her initial fear had been ravishment – if Mary wasn’t entertaining him, he must be growing desperate – but he’d only questioned her about the pictures. Did he find her so repulsive that he would not even flirt? Yet the change in his behavior raised disturbing images. If he’d arranged to recover the dowry without having to wed, he would be even angrier to discover that Sarah didn’t control it.
For God’s sake, Alex. Quit shilly-shallying. You sound like a brainless widgeon!
True. Thinking was pointless. Every new delay made her position worse. Torwell swore that Linden was better than gossip implied. She believed him – her hand trembled at the admission that she trusted him; never before had she trusted any man – so tonight she must confess. If he offered, she must accept. They would probably wed immediately.
Pain doubled her over.
* * * *
Tony chopped at a root intruding into his trench. Once he merged his two identities, he could hire assistants to do the heaviest digging. Removing the centuries of dirt and debris that covered Roman sites was boring work that offered little reward.
Miss Merideth had been abstracted since breakfast, leaving him to his unproductive thoughts. Though digging had always been a time for pleasant contemplation, today it seemed dull. He’d become accustomed to her enthusiasm.
In the week they had worked together, she had been full of questions. And argument, he admitted, suppressing a grin. Several times she had scoffed at his pontifical remarks. And her logic was often right.
But today, she was quiet. Too quiet. Lines creased her brow, as though she carried the weight of the universe on her shoulders. He had tried to draw her out, hoping he could put a smile back on her face, but she had deflected his concern. He would not ask again.
Which was good, he reminded himself, forcing his thoughts back to business. The villa was distracting him. He needed to remember that marriage could actually increase his access to Vale House. He would even have Miss Merideth’s assistance – though that was a double-edged sword, he admitted as that familiar wave of lust washed over him. But time would remedy that, so his only problem would be to keep Sir Winton from selling artifacts before he had a chance to study them.
Today would be his last day of digging until spring. Tomorrow he would escort Miss Vale to the festival, draw her away from the others, then propose. Putting off the inevitable was pointless. He would not confess until shortly before the wedding, adding at least four more days to the deceit, so the longer he dragged out his courtship, the more difficult that confession would become.
She would make an acceptable wife, he reminded himself, driving a spade deep enough to strike a rock – at least he hoped it was a rock. Temper was making him careless.
She would do. She was pretty and sweet. And capable of running a household – he’d revised his impressions on that score; Miss Merideth spent most of her time at the villa, so Miss Vale had to be overseeing the staff. Her foot did not bother him. If anything, it accounted for her sweet temper. Most diamonds had become selfish, greedy harridans by the time they reached London. He didn’t want a wife who would make constant demands on him.