Double Deceit (11 page)

But that was better left until later. Assigning her to a spot that he hoped would contain few roots, he started his own test hole a hundred feet away.

“Tile shard,” she called within minutes.

“Mark it.” He watched her move to a new location, then continued his own hole.

Two hours later, they stopped for lemonade while he added the latest results to a rough sketch of the site. “Thank God for tile.” The chips were so abundant they had already accomplished more than he’d expected to do in a full day. Only a foot of soil covered the slide field.

“What would destroy it so thoroughly?” she asked.

“Tons of rock, though I’m hoping for some other explanation. Tons of rock would also destroy walls, floors, and furnishings. Perhaps the tile was of poor quality – low firing temperature, impurities in the clay, something like that.”

“One could hope. Where now?”

“We’ll start a new ring, fifty feet out from the first.”

“Right.” She turned away, catching her skirt on a shrub. “Devil take this thing,” she muttered, tugging it loose. “Always in the way.”

“So wear pantaloons.”

“Right.” She met his eyes, refusing to apologize for either her language or her sarcasm. “The dressmaker fell into hysterics when I asked for a pair.”

“And Sir Winton’s would never fit,” he finished, casting a measuring glance over her very fine physique. Her father was several inches shorter, with legs like a stork. “But mine should. I’ll send a pair to your room tonight.”

“Miss Vale would never approve.”

Though she tried to sound dismissive, he could see the longing in her eyes. He shrugged. “Do as you wish, but there is nothing to stop you from wearing them under your habit skirt – Princess Charlotte does exactly that with lacy pantalets, by all accounts. You can leave the skirt in the shed while you work.”

She paced, muttering something about hating deceptions.

“It’s your decision, Miss Merideth. I was only trying to help.”

“I know.” She sighed. “And I appreciate it. But having to sneak about is frustrating. You’ve no idea how difficult it is for females to be serious.”

“True. One thing I’ve never tried to do is impersonate a female.” He grinned.

“Don’t jest. I hate jokes at my expense. Especially when they are not funny. Why do men work so hard to keep women from using their minds?”

“Probably because few women are capable of rational thought.” He held up a hand to silence her. “Notice I said
few
, not
none
. You are obviously an exception.”

“Thank you. Just as you are also an exception. Most men are naught but selfish schemers willing to do or say anything in pursuit of their own interests. I despise deceit.”

He recoiled. Fortunately, she was turned away and didn’t see.

Selfish.

Schemer.

Deceit.

The words reverberated in his head.

But you are not deceiving her. You really are Torwell. And you do respect her abilities.

Yet he was also Linden, who had arrived at Vale House under false pretenses and was determined to coerce Miss Vale into marriage so he could recover his inheritance.

“Let’s dig holes,” he grumbled, seeing no way out of the one he was rapidly sinking into. His head hurt.

Chapter Six

Three days later, Tony paused to survey the site. They had dug dozens of test holes and several trenches, finally gaining a reasonable picture of its size. Miss Merideth had been right about the temple. It marked the western boundary of the dig. And nothing turned up north of the clearing.

East and south were another matter. A huge fan of detritus stretched from the clearing east to the stream. A second fan spread south, stopping just short of the water. Its origin was obvious, but he had yet to devise an acceptable explanation for the eastern flow.

His eyes paused, for Miss Merideth had bent over to pluck something from her latest test hole, her borrowed pantaloons outlining a remarkably fine derriere. The expected wave of lust slammed through his loins, just as it did every time he looked her way. Working with a female offered some delightful benefits.

Frustrating benefits, he conceded. Suggesting pantaloons had been incredibly stupid, and contributing a pair of his own wasn’t much better. They stretched across shapely hips like a second skin before skimming the longest legs he’d ever seen. He hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep since giving them to her.

Warm afternoons made it worse. It was bad enough watching her remove her skirt. But since she accepted him as a harmless antiquarian, she also removed her habit coat whenever the work made her hot. Like yesterday. The thin cambric shirt he’d given her left nothing to the imagination, for she didn’t wear a corset. If the sun hit just right…

He’d had to move well away to keep his hands from touching.

Concentrate on business. She is too high-born for dalliance.

His conscience was right. Her mother had been a lady, and her vicar father had been a baronet’s son – bolstering Jon’s plea that he refrain from Biblical quotations. It also explained her suspicion that first evening.

Damn her for being so voluptuous. And so intriguing. She was the first person he’d met – man or woman – who shared so many of his interests. She promised to become a close friend, if he could keep his baser instincts under control. Perhaps he should look up that maid. Perpetual arousal made digging difficult.

But he had no interest in the maid.

He forced his eyes to complete their circuit of the site.

“Where was the entrance?” he muttered, mentally matching the maps they had completed last evening to the uneven ground, most of which was hidden by forest.

“Did you say something?” She tossed the piece back into the hole and joined him.

“I am trying to orient the buildings. Where would the main entrance have been?”

“Near the temple?”

“No. If this was a villa, the temple would be private. If it was a town, we are probably dealing with dozens of individual structures. If it was a religious complex, they would want pilgrims to pass through other buildings before reaching the temple.”

“Why?”

“To collect tribute. It may have been in the form of coins, offerings, or gifts, but no one reached the sanctuary without paying. And the complex would have contained accommodations.”

“That sounds huge.”

“In some places it was, though if this were a major center, some mention would have turned up elsewhere. But whether this was a villa or temple, the approach would have been from there.” He walked toward the edge of the clearing, then shook his head. “Too many trees.”

“What are you looking for?”

“The shape of the land. I know it has changed considerably, but the place must have been reached by a lane. Knowing where it ran would make it easier to find the entrance. I’d like to start excavating there, for it was likely quite ornate.” He refused to utter the word
mosaic,
though it echoed in his mind.

“You could always climb a tree.”

He heard the joke in her voice, but her words triggered an idea. Grabbing her hand, he headed for the cliff.

“Where are we going?” she gasped.

“Up.”

It wasn’t far, though they had to push through tangled bushes that covered the talus slope. The cliff face offered plenty of holds. Within minutes, they had scrambled to a ledge halfway up.

“Look,” he said, turning her to face the valley.

She trembled, so he kept his hands on her waist. Many people disliked heights – a fact he should have remembered sooner.

Liar
, taunted his conscience.

Very well. Fear of heights made a convenient excuse, but he could not have removed his hands if he’d tried. Her heat burned through his gloves, raising images of stroking sleek flesh and kissing the ear that hovered tantalizing inches from his mouth.

“Where would the road have been?” he asked, forcing disinterest into his tone even as he prayed that she would interpret his hoarseness as exertion from the climb.

“Along the stream.”

They could see over most of the trees. Vale House stood on a rise in the distance. The stream meandered between fields before disappearing into the trees, though its breadth allowed them to follow its course even there. Their horses were tethered in the clearing.

“So the approach was along the stream. But that is not where they placed the buildings.”

“The shrine was already here.”

“That would certainly influence locating a temple complex.”

“Are you saying it would not affect a villa?”

“No, I’m not.” He tried to empty his mind of lust so he could think, but not until he moved an arm’s length away did he manage it. “We’ll assume, for the moment, that this was a villa. A wealthy Roman gained ownership of this valley. Maybe he bought it, or won it, or was awarded it for service to the empire. It could have been as early as the first century or as late as the fourth. Perhaps it still contained the old shrine, or maybe someone had already replaced it with a temple. But now he plans to add a house. He wants it sheltered from the elements – the worst storms come out of the north and west – but he also needs easy access to roads, for he will wish to visit Glevum on occasion.”

“I see.” She peered into the clearing, comparing it with the surrounding land. “It looks so different from up here.”

“And different now than then. The shrine was on a hill.”

“So the road probably skirted that hill to reach the villa. It may even have followed an ancient footpath serving the shrine.”

“I wonder…” He straightened, staring at the clearing. “Do you see lines down there?”

“No—” She inhaled in a quick gasp. “Maybe. But there is nothing there. I’ve checked every foot of that clearing.”

“Look again. They are faint, but I see three lines.” His heart was pounding in his throat, for two of those lines came together in a square corner.

“A trick of nature,” she said, shrugging. “That is merely the boundary between two kinds of grass, one dry, the other still green.”

“Perhaps – if you can explain why that boundary is so straight. Suppose a wall lies just below the surface.”

“Why stop there? Perhaps your mythical wall marks the entrance hall.”

He grinned. “It’s as good a reason as any for starting there. The spot is in the center of the clearing. An entrance would be flanked on each side by rooms and lead back to the atrium.”

“Maybe you are right.” She was catching his excitement. “That largest tree is positioned in line with your wall, and it probably grows in the atrium.”

“Then let’s get started. If we can find an intact floor, it may tell us what this place was.”

“Mosaics.” She headed down the cliff, not waiting for him to steady her.

He cursed her for uttering the word and thus tempting bad luck. “Finding more than fragments would be rare indeed.”

Not until they reached the clearing did he realize the significance of her sure-footed descent. If she was not afraid of heights, then she must have trembled from his touch.

You fool!
He had been so focused on his own purpose – and so disturbed by his growing desire for the delectable Miss Merideth – that he had not considered her situation. To a lady’s companion, the appearance of an unmarried vicar who shared her interests must seem like a gift from the gods.

He had to prevent her from forming a
tendre
, for he could never offer for her. Miss Vale was the antithesis of her companion – petite, shy, boringly conformable – but he must wed her if he was to protect his family. His mother deserved a roof over her head. And once he owned Linden Park, he could force his father to let her participate in the accepted activities of their class.

He sighed. The reminder of what was at stake was necessary. To protect her employer, Miss Merideth drew Jon away whenever possible. Thus he had ample opportunity to become acquainted with his hostess. But he rarely enjoyed conversing with her.

Miss Vale was a typical society maid, unschooled beyond mastering those feminine frivolities he always found insipid. Her only virtue was eschewing the usual selfish chatter about her plans, her clothes, and the number of compliments she received from other gentlemen. She rarely spoke of others, either, not even her companion. In fact, she had little to say about anything.

But he had no choice, he reminded himself again. He could always spend more time on excavations.

In the meantime, he must nip Miss Merideth’s infatuation in the bud.

They passed the remainder of the afternoon digging. He kept his voice abrupt, uttering nothing beyond necessary instructions. And he remained as far from her as possible, on the excuse that two trenches were twice as likely to find the entrance.

Much of the rock they removed was residue from the slide, but enough dressed stone turned up to satisfy him. A foundation did, indeed, lie along the line. But no sign remained of what it had once supported.

He was about to mention the time – if they did not leave, they would be late for dinner – when Miss Merideth gasped.

“Did you find something?”

“I don’t know. Whatever I just struck does not sound like rock.” She scooped out more soil, then scraped with her hands. “It’s only another roof tile.” Discouragement filled her voice.

“We’re not likely to find another Minerva,” he snapped, stifling his pain at her shocked face.
It’s necessary
, that irritating voice reminded him. But far from pleasant.

“Of course not.” Yet her shock changed to interest as she finished freeing the piece. “It seems larger than the other one.”

He peered over her shoulder, then leaned closer. “It looks like a flue tile from the hypocaust.” Excitement drove his resolutions away as one finger scraped away clinging soil. “See the ridge along this edge and the groove in the other? A matching tile would fit atop it, forming a closed pipe that would bring hot air from the furnaces into the hypocaust beneath each room, heating the farthest reaches of the building. At least we know this wasn’t a barn. And it tells us where the floor level is likely to be. Congratulations.”