A Midsummer Night's Romp (12 page)

She damned near dropped the trowel she was holding, her head swiveling around, eyes wide with surprise mingled with something else. Was it fear? Confusion? Distress? “Schedule? What schedule? What do you know about my schedule?”

“Now,
that
is a very suspicious thing to say,” he said gently, offering her a hand to help her out of the one-foot-deep trench.

She stared at his hand as if it were made up of pus-filled worms.

“Suspicious? Me?” Her voice rose to a near squeak. She tossed her tools into her satchel, and clambered out of the trench without assistance, adding, “You're quite,
quite insane if you think I'm suspicious or I have a schedule of nefarious acts plotted out. I'm not at all a schedule sort of person. Or suspicious. I'm just plain old me, just boring Lorina Liddell, with no thought on my mind at all. No sir. I'm going to go wash up. Innocently, I might add.”

Without waiting for him to respond, she marched off, her shoulders twitching.

Gunner looked after her, silently whistling to himself. Why on earth had she got her knickers in a twist over the use of the word “schedule”? And what were the nefarious acts that she so vehemently denied? “She's not at all the sort of person who'd do something underhanded,” he said slowly, hobbling over the few yards to his scooter. He sat watching her for a few minutes more before shaking his head.

The mystery surrounding her appeared to be growing with every passing minute. He made his way slowly back to the castle, thinking long and hard about just what it was she was hiding . . . and why he was possessed with the growing feeling that what she truly needed was him.

“O
h, hi, Lorina. Did you have fun digging with Gunner? Gran and I just got back from town, where I had my first jumping lesson, and it was awesome! I got to ride a real jumper, not a horse they give to beginners, because I told Madame Leigh that I had done some jumping back home in BC, and she said that if I continue to do as good as I did today, she'll assign a specific horse to me, and let me train with the people who are working for regionals. I'm so excited! Gran picked me up because I can't drive in England, even though I have a driver's license. Isn't that stupid? I mean, I know they drive on the other side of the road here, but how hard can that be to do? You just drive . . . you know . . . on the other side! Are you ready for dinner? Gran says you're having spaghetti with Gunner and us. He makes awesomely good spaghetti. How come you're lying down?”

I rolled over from where I had been lying facedown
on my air mattress. Cressy, brimming with horse-induced happiness, fairly bounced around the tent, oozing youthful energy. I wanted to swat her away, but decided that was unfair.

“I wasn't feeling too well, and thought I'd have a little rest. Um. About dinner . . .”

“Yeah, I was kinda sleepy after my riding lesson. Did you and Gunner dig up anything cool like a skeleton or gold coins?”

“We found the rim to a beer mug.”

“Huh. No coins? I like coins. Coins are pretty. What are you going to wear tonight? Oh, that sounds like I'm asking if you are going to dress up, and I don't mean that you should, because it's just us and Gunner, and he doesn't care if we show up in shorts and a tee. But I thought if you were going to dress up, then I would get my skirt from where Gran is keeping it from being too wrinkled.”

“Actually, I was thinking of not doing dinner.” If I hadn't felt sick earlier, I did now, with the memory of Gunner making comments that indicated he was close to revealing my secret. That and the fact that I seemed to have absolutely no resistance to him. It was one thing to see him at the dig site, where everyone's attention was focused on archaeology, but quite another when we were in an intimate family setting. That was just asking for him to reopen the subject of Paul, or photography, or even that steamy kiss we shared.

“You're not going?” Cressy's happy face quickly crumpled. “Why not? Are you heatstroky? Gunner said you were earlier. You should drink a lot of water really slowly. I got heatstroke a couple of weeks ago, and that's what Gran had me do. I felt a butt-ton better afterwards. Want me to get you some ice?”

“No, thank you, I'm hydrated now. It's just . . .” I waved a hand, fighting back the words that wanted to
come out.
I'm guilty. A liar. Deception personified, and your dad is close to figuring that out.
“I'm just feeling a bit puny tonight, and thought I'd skip dinner. Would you mind telling your father that, and ask if maybe we could do dinner another time?”

“OK.” She gave me a thoughtful look; then her sunny smile broke through. “I'm going to make mac and cheese tomorrow night for dinner. It's the only thing I know how to make, but I do it really nice, with bacon and sautéed onions, and sometimes, if I feel daring, paprika. You can come to that, all right?”

“That sounds divine. Hopefully, I'll feel better tomorrow,” I lied. I wanted to crawl into a hole. What the hell was I doing? Not only was I deceiving everyone, but now I was making an innocent girl do my dirty work?

“For shame, Lorina,” I said to myself as soon as Cressy bustled off to have dinner with her father and grandmother. “You couldn't even tell the man to his face? That's pretty pathetic, girl. Oh, god.” I slumped over my knees, my forehead in my hands, rocking with misery. “I just wish this was over so I didn't have to be such a jerk anymore.”

Another ten minutes or so were spent in self-pity before I managed to get a grip on myself.

“Just get it done,” I said sternly while slipping on a sleeveless gauze dress. “It's only going to be worse the longer you take about it. So get it done, and then see how you feel about Gunner.”

Not the least bit buoyed by the pep talk, I gathered up a small vial of pills that I'd smuggled into England, along with a syringe, latex gloves, and a packet of sterile wipes, arranging them all into the small backpack that was serving as my purse. With a peek out of the tent to make sure that Cressy and Salma had really gone to the castle, I hurried out, and headed to where bright whitish blue lights indicated the RVs.

Near the dig site, a couple of large metal barbecues had been set up. Several long tables and white plastic chairs had been arranged in small clusters, most of which were now filled with the crew and archaeology people sitting bathed in the light of the setting sun. Voices laughing and talking happily drifted across the field, and the scent of the sun-warmed earth mingled with that of grilling meat. Normally, the latter would have me salivating, but I hadn't been lying to Cressida when I told her I didn't have much of a stomach for food.

Lying to perfectly nice people did that to me.

Roger and Paul were a short distance away, the former holding a wineglass filled with inky wine. I headed straight for them, trying to look as if there were nowhere else I'd rather be.

“—think it went very well for the first day, the disaster with the waterline notwithstanding. Gunner assures me that the baron won't take action since we weren't alerted as to the presence of the pipe in that field.” Roger paused to give me a friendly nod.

Paul leered in my direction.

“That said,” Roger continued, “I'd like to see more actual trenches opened up tomorrow. I realize we had limited time today what with the disappointing field walk and opening of the second pasture, but I'd like to see more results tomorrow.”

Paul frowned at Roger. “The field walk was anything but disappointing. We recovered several medieval bits of pottery, a handful of pipe stems, and a couple of chips of what surely are Samian ware. So all in all, I'm quite pleased with the results of today's work, and have no doubt my team will continue to produce excellent results.” He turned to me. “Good evening, Lori. You look charming in that dress. Dare I hope you are wearing it to please me?”

Roger and I both stared at him in surprise, but at least I managed to change my expression from slight shock to one that I hope passed for coy interest. “Of course, Paul. Don't I do everything with you in mind?”

He smirked to himself. Roger, with a murmur about getting some dinner, went off to collect a plate of barbecued meat.

“At last. I thought the old windbag would never take himself off. Now, my dear—” Paul took me by the arm and steered me in the opposite direction. “I take it you haven't had supper yet? Excellent. I prefer to have my meals in a place where I can think, not be drowned out by a lot of chat from the diggers. They're nice people, you understand, salt of the earth, but once they get talking . . . erm . . .”

We stopped at Paul's RV. Outside of it sat a small table covered in a real linen tablecloth, complete with two chairs, and a champagne bucket to the side. On one of the chairs Fidencia lounged, her arms crossed, and her toe tapping in an annoyed manner. She was wearing a short flame red dress with plunging neckline, a copious amount of makeup that was totally unnecessary since she was a very pretty woman to begin with, and an expression that turned to anger when her eyes lit on me.

“What is she doing here?” she demanded to know.

“Fidencia, my dear one. Did you perhaps confuse your evenings?” Paul's fingers tightened on my arm when I tried to pull away. “You were to dine with me tomorrow, not tonight.”

“Like hell I was!” she snapped, jerking to her feet, and throwing down the napkin that had been in her lap. “I'm not playing this game with you, Paul. Either you want me to have dinner with you, or you want her, but you can't have both of us. So make up your mind.”

“My dear, I assure you that I made this appointment
with Lorina yesterday—no, no, Lorina, don't leave—we'll clear up this unfortunate misunderstanding. My dear Fidencia . . .” Paul released me, leaving me to rub my poor abused arm. I knew I'd have bruises there in the morning.

He hustled over to where Fidencia stood in a posture of tense anger, and spoke in a lowered voice that all but dripped honey. “I assure you that I have nothing but the most innocent of interests in Lorina. She is the press, as you are very aware, and it doesn't do to anger them, not when we count so much on her goodwill to promote Claud-Marie Archaeology to the world. You are an understanding woman, so you will realize that we must all make sacrifices occasionally. This is one of those times.”

“Sacrifices,”
Fidencia snorted, casting me a black look. “Oh yes, I can see just how much you're sacrificing. Well, it's your loss.” She whipped around, giving me a wide berth as if I were tainted, pausing long enough to say to me, “I really hate people who abuse their power.”

I watched her leave with a sick feeling in my gut that had little to do with Paul, and a lot to do with the sort of person she believed me to be. I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I came very close to calling off the whole thing right then and there, but a look at Fidencia angrily striding away quelled that thought. “There's no way on earth,” I said softly to myself, “I will let him destroy another woman's life.”

“Pardon?” Paul asked, turning to me.

“Nothing. Paul, if this is a bad time, I can come back—”

“No, no, just a little miscommunication.” He held out a chair for me, making sure to touch both the back of my neck and my arm as he scooted my chair in. He shook Fidencia's napkin and draped it across my thighs. “You know how it is with these young girls—they would die before they admit to hero worship, but that's really all it is.”

“But she works for Claud-Marie Archaeology with you, doesn't she?” I asked, confused about their relationship. “Are you two . . . er . . . for lack of a better word, together?”

“We have an understanding,” he said with a tight little smile. “We enjoy many things together, but not exclusively, if you know what I mean.”

“I think I do.” The last thing I wanted to do was discuss his relationship with Fidencia, not when I was trying to get him into a romantic mood. My stomach twisted at that thought, so to distract myself, I said, “You know, I don't think I understand how a private company can make a profit on archaeology, since you have to give any treasure you find to the government. How does the CMA do it? Do you sell the other finds, the nontreasure ones?”

“No, we donate all finds to appropriate museums and universities. Most of our work is paid for by various private companies who represent entities involved in development projects, such as housing construction, or rezoning properties, or dealing with roads being widened and such. An archaeological assessment must be conducted, which is where we come in. Without our clearance, construction couldn't begin.”

“Is the baron going to have something built here?” I asked, confused.

“No, in this instance, we were approached by the
Dig Britain!
people to conduct the dig while they televised it.” He gave a little shrug. “It's not an ideal situation, since we are having to modify our practices in order to suit the needs of the film crews, but as they are footing the bill, the board decided it would be worthwhile.”

“I can see that. I thought the digging today was very exciting, even if we did only find a beer mug rim.”

“Indeed. Now, I do hope you're hungry. I had my
assistant pick up a few things from town. Not that the catering isn't delightful, but I prefer to pamper myself when I'm out on a dig—we give up so many creature comforts that it helps to keep the spirits up, you know. Allow me to pour you a glass of wine. Ah, I forgot the bread. I will return momentarily.”

He popped into the RV before I could protest that the last thing my stomach wanted was alcohol. I swore and reminded myself that I might be about to do something despicable and desperate, but I had a good reason for my actions. I stared at his wineglass, sitting there so open and unprotected.

It was there. Right in front of me. The moment that I had been waiting for, the culmination of my plan. All I had to do was reach out, drop the drugs in the glass, and my job would be done.

I sat as frozen as a block of marble, my palms sweating, and my brain shrieking that the end didn't justify the means.

I swallowed hard when my stomach seemed to turn over. Now that I was so close to achieving my goal, I just wanted to leave. My innards felt cold and clammy, and the air was suddenly too thick to breathe. My hands, unpleasantly damp, were shaking. I clutched them together in my lap, and told myself to get a grip.

No!
my inner voice shrieked.
What you're doing is wrong!

I shivered despite the heat, fighting bile as it started to rise, panic filling me, as did piercing doubts that tore my confidence to shreds.

Why was I doing this? Surely there was another way, something that wouldn't involve me staining my soul! There
had
to be another way. I just couldn't do this.

I tried to ignore the word “coward” as it echoed around in my mind, but it was small comfort to know
that it was better to be a coward than to do what I'd planned. Just when I thought I was going to either burst into tears or start shrieking, a low humming buzz caught my attention.

I turned around to see Gunner zipping along on his scooter, heading straight for me.

The look on his face was truly chilling. He stopped, and gave me a long, level stare. “Cressy told me you were feeling queasy and couldn't come to dinner. We were worried that you were still suffering from too much sun, so I said I'd check on you in case you needed something.”