A Midsummer Night's Romp (8 page)

“I apologize if my attempt to flirt offended—”

“Flirt? Offended! Oh, you are so beyond offended!”

“For the record, I don't feel the need to dominate women. I much prefer them lively and engaging rather than cowed and submissive.”

“Oh, tell me another,” she said with irately flared nostrils. “All men say that when they're trying to get into a woman's pants. But after the bloom is off the rose, then the domineering comes out, and the ‘How dare you question me? I'm a man!' attitudes fly all over the place, and the next thing you know, you're a doormat married to a monster.”

He said nothing for a moment, waiting to see what she'd say next. When she did nothing but look vaguely appalled at her outburst, he said slowly, “That is very specific, but really isn't applicable to me.”

“I'm sorry,” she stammered, her cheeks pinkening. “I got off on a rant and couldn't seem to stop. Just ignore me.”

“Now, that I will not do, although I will be happy to forget your rant if you'd like.”

“I'd appreciate that. It must be the jet lag wearing me down, although I've been in England for four days.”

“I'm sure that must be it,” he said graciously. “Does it make you uncomfortable to be complimented?”

“Me?” She opened her eyes wide. “No, not at all. But I don't like being hit on.”

“So I gathered. Would you mind if I told you that the reason I was flirting is because I like that you say things without thinking about whether or not they will be acceptable? It's a form of honesty that I particularly enjoy.”

She flinched at that, and he would have continued, but at that moment a shadow fell across them, and suddenly the man Thompson was there touching her on the arm and murmuring, “Lori, I need to speak to you as soon as you're free.”

Gunner caught the expression of annoyance flicker across Lorina's face, but it was gone so quickly that he doubted a less astute man would have seen it.

“Is there something wrong?” she asked.

A strong desire to punch Thompson rose within Gunner. He reminded himself yet again that he wasn't a jealous man. His inner self didn't seem to care—his fingers were fisted to keep from reaching out and jerking Thompson's hand from her arm.

“Nothing wrong, no. I just wanted to go over a few aspects of the dig with you, in case you were confused. I know it must be overwhelming for someone new to archaeology.” Paul's gaze slid over to Gunner, acknowledging him with a little nod of the head and a murmured, “Ainslie.”

Gunner nodded back, gritting his teeth against the sharp words that he feared would slip out.

She smiled, making him feel as if he'd been kicked in the gut. “That would be lovely, Paul, but I'm going to be busy taking pictures of the dig gearing up before the light goes. Roger told me when I met him in London that people like behind-the-scenes shots like that, so I promised I'd get first-day pictures.”

“Tomorrow is soon enough,” Paul said with a dismissive wave of his hand, although just what he was dismissing, Gunner didn't know.

“I'm sure I'll be able to give you a few minutes then,” Lorina agreed.

“Not too many,” he heard himself saying.

Both of them looked at him in surprise.

“Oh?” Lorina's forehead wrinkled.

“Yes. Don't you remember? I offered to show you around the castle.” That was a blatant lie, which Lorina clearly recognized, but thankfully, she didn't dispute him; she simply shot him a curious look before turning back to Thompson when he murmured something about not keeping her long.

The man gave her a smile that Gunner felt showed entirely too many teeth. (What sort of man bared his gums when he smiled? It was unsightly at best, and grotesque at worst.) Then he moved off to join Roger and the director, Sue.

Lorina watched him go, absently rubbing her arm. Gunner was pleased by the action, and even more pleased when he heard her say under her breath, “I
hate
that.”

“Hate what? Casual acquaintances who manhandle you while bare yards of glistening gums blight your vision? I couldn't agree more. It's annoying as hell.”

She turned back to him with a puzzled expression. “What
are
you talking about?”

“You said you hated Thompson.”

“I didn't realize I said that aloud. ‘Hate' is a word I don't often use for people, although Paul . . . he's . . . oh, never mind. It's too complicated to explain.”

Before she could leave him, he caught her hand, gently rubbing his thumb over the backs of her knuckles. “I like complicated. If not Thompson, then what do you hate?”

She gave him a weak smile and slowly pulled her hand from his. “Being called Lori. I just really dislike it when people do that. Why did you lie to him?”

“You seemed to need rescuing, and I would have offered to show you around the castle sooner or later. We might as well make it sooner, assuming you're interested in it.”

To his surprise, she bristled. “What makes you think I need rescuing? I don't need any man to rescue me. I'm a strong person on my own, and can take care of myself. Your opinion is your own, and not at all pertinent to me.”

He was silent a moment, wondering what had brought on a second outburst. Hell, now he wondered about the first one as well. Was she just defensive as a rule, or had something he said stirred her up? Out of the blue, he was reminded of his brother Rupert, who was adopted when he was seven from a father who had regularly beat him. For a few years until he'd settled down, Rupert had been prone to the same sorts of outbursts.

“I can see you are a strong woman,” Gunner said slowly, speaking to her just as he used to speak to Rupert when he was in one of his wild, defiant moods. “I assure you that I had no intention of implying that you need my help in getting rid of Thompson. If I've offended you, I apologize.”

The antagonism in her posture melted away, leaving her with a wary look. “Sorry, I did it again, didn't I? I didn't mean to snap your head off. I just . . . men being domineering like that is one of my pet peeves.”

A memory of just how fearful Rupert had been of their father for a few years gave Gunner a sudden insight into Lorina, but what surprised him was not the fact that she'd obviously been on the receiving end of some sort of abuse, but that he was instantly swamped with a need to protect her from any further such trials. He hadn't felt that way since Rupert had grown up.

“I promise not to dominate you unless you ask me to,” he said with a little wink in order to lighten the moment.

She just stared at him.

He sighed. “I was hoping you'd take that as a compliment as to how much I admire you.”

“You don't know me,” she pointed out, the wariness growing in her eyes.

Dammit, he was just making things worse with her. So much for humor. “I apologize again, this time for trying to flirt.”

“Oh.” She looked a bit contrite now, and made a little gesture of conciliation. “I'm being rude, aren't I? Sorry about that. Although I have to ask, do you always flirt with women you've just met?”

“Not always. There are occasionally some women who I can't resist, though.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh, right, and I'm one? No, I wasn't fishing for a compliment, so you needn't tell me how much you like six-foot-tall women built like linebackers. I'm simply saying that it's unlikely that you'd fall victim to my charms, such as they are, at first glance. Not unless you're a serial love-'em-and-leave-'em sort of guy.”

“Hardly that. I might not be seeking a permanent addition to my life, but that doesn't mean I'm a devotee of one-night stands. I simply prefer women who seize the moment without worrying about what the future will hold. And as a matter of fact, I do admire six-foot-tall women of stature. I always have.”

She was silent a moment. “I suppose your moral code isn't really a concern of mine. To answer your comment earlier, I would like to see the inside of a real castle. But don't think you're going to try any of your moves on me, all right? Because I can take care of myself, and yes, that means what you think.”

He spread his hands in a gesture of acquiescence. “I've yet to have to force a woman. It shall be as you desire.”

She glanced over his shoulder to where the castle stood. “Well . . . if you really don't mind taking me, I'd like to have a tour, but I'm afraid I won't be free until tomorrow. Would that be OK?”

“Do you know,” he said conversationally, “it's almost beyond my ability to keep from making a joke about my willingness to take you, but given your attitude on such things, I shall refrain.”

To his delight, she giggled, smothering it with a hand. “My mouth again.”

“Yes. I like it.”

“Seriously?” She thinned her lips at him. “Can't you say anything that isn't filled with innuendos?”

“I don't know,” he said, thinking about it. “I've never tried. Tomorrow would be fine for a tour, by the way.”

“Sounds good. I'll see you in the morning, then.”

“I'm an early riser, no pun intended,” he called after her as she hurried off, and wondered why it was she had wanted to meet him in the first place. He was no stranger to women seeking out his company, but Lorina hadn't given him that vibe—on the contrary, he had a strong suspicion she was almost afraid of him. He watched her go, noting that she had a more graceful version of his daughter's lope, one that showed off her ass and her long legs to their best advantage.

He didn't want her afraid of him. Quite the opposite: he felt an odd need to prove to her that he wasn't like the men who had obviously treated her so badly. Not like that Thompson, he thought, narrowing his eyes. He knew the type well—all self-aggrandizement and conceit. Not at all the sort of man Lorina should be with. No, what she needed was a man who would take care of her while giving her the freedom to be who and what she wanted. Thompson was sure to be the sort of man who put women into categories, and insisted they conform to type.

The trick was to get her to see him as someone who wasn't a threat. With Rupert, he had simply made sure that he was always there, always supportive no matter how much Rupert had acted up. Gunner had survived numerous bouts of violence from his troubled brother, both physical and verbal, but he'd always responded with calm acceptance.

The challenge was to do the same with Lorina. She clearly wasn't interested in him as a sexual partner, but that didn't stop him from wanting to comfort her the way he had Rupert at his worst.

“There's nothing I love so much as a challenge, unless it's the mystery of womanhood,” he said aloud, and with a waggle of his eyebrows at one of the barn cats, he turned the scooter around and went to find Roger d'Aspry. What better way to prove to Lorina that he wasn't a typical man than to ensure she spent several hours a day with him? Roger d'Aspry would simply have to designate her to be his sidekick in the video explanations of the dig.

He'd be the perfect gentleman, and return Lorina's suspicion with kindness until she, like Rupert of years past, finally realized that he was a man to be trusted.

A little kernel of warmth deep inside him glowed happily at the thought.

T
he second day started with a complaint from my tentmate.

“I thought there was going to be more to do here. Gunner says he can't take me into town to get my riding helmet and sign me up for jumping lessons until later this afternoon. Gran is still taking a nap. And there's not even any cool stuff to watch being dug up. It's all just dirt so far.”

“You can help field walk at two,” I told my roommate as she lay sprawled on her air mattress in our tent. I'd heard all about how wonderful her father was for agreeing to let her have riding lessons, and how her mother was dead wrong about him, and what an oddly named friend thought of her having a baron for an uncle, and to be honest, after all that, I was a bit worn-out.

“Field walk?” She lifted her head and gave me a quizzical look. “I heard them talking about that yesterday. What is it?”

I held up a photocopied daily schedule. “Evidently it's where people walk around on the pasture that they're going to dig in, and look for stuff on the surface. I got shots of them doing it yesterday afternoon when they were out on the small pasture. Today they are going to tackle the big field.”

“Looking for what, cow poop?” Cressy's nose wrinkled.

“I gather that little bits of artifacts and coins and things like that work themselves to the top over time, and before people dig, they comb the ground for that stuff lest it get lost in the digging process.”

“Oh.” She rolled over onto her stomach, saying into the pillow, “Sounds boring.”

“Why on earth did you come to an archaeological dig if you aren't interested in it?” I couldn't help but ask.

“Gunner likes it,” she said, waving a hand in the air. “And Mom said I could come here for the summer, so I said it would be fun, but now that I'm here, it doesn't look that great. It's nice being in England, though. Also, I thought Uncle Elliott would have at least a couple of horses.”

“And now the truth comes out—you're here solely for the horse action,” I said with a smile.

She giggled. “Have you ever heard of a castle that didn't have horses?”

“No, but I'm not conversant with castles. Regardless, I'm sorry there are no horses here, but it was nice of your father to let you have lessons.”

“Gunner's cool,” Cressy said with another wave of her hand, which I'm sure she intended to be languid, but there was nothing even remotely languid about her. She fairly teemed with energy. Even now she'd had enough of lying down and leaped to her feet, smacking her head on one of the aluminum tent struts. “He's much nicer
than my stepdad, Steve. All Steve wants to do is ski and snowboard, and things like that. He's afraid of horses.” The last came out in a bit of a sneer. “I'm pretty sure Gunner's not afraid of horses.”

“I'm sure he's not. Do you mind my asking why, if your dad lives in the castle, you decided to stay in a tent? I'm fairly certain that your grandmother would be more comfortable with a real bed than on an air mattress.”

“I told you earlier,” she said, spinning around until she located a hair scrunchie. “Gunner said we could stay there, but Gran knew I like camping, so we agreed to be out here with the archaeologists. Gran says they're interesting, and we can be independent.”

“Why do you call him Gunner?” I couldn't help but ask.

She shrugged, and yanked aside the tent flap, making the whole structure wobble for a minute. “Oh, hi, Gran. I didn't know you were up. I'm going to see if I can find the old pony and three-legged donkey Gunner told me about yesterday. Then I'll do the field thing to find Roman junk that's lying around on the ground. Laters!”

I emerged from the tent to find Salma seated gracefully on a camping chair, unscrewing the lid on a thermos. “She calls Gunner by his Christian name because my daughter didn't bother to tell him that he had a child until Cressida was almost ten. Which is a shame for many reasons, not the least of which is he took to being a father extremely well.”

I hesitated, wanting to know more, but reminding myself that just because I had to work with Gunner on Roger's project didn't mean I had to feel empathy for him. On the contrary, the more I could keep him at arm's length, the better. I knew I wouldn't be able to hide the fact that I wasn't a photojournalist from him for long, but I had a faint hope that I'd be able to avoid all technical
conversations with him. Despite that, I couldn't help but ask, “Why didn't your daughter want him to know about Cressy? She is delightful, if a bit energetic.”

“She is charming, and wonderful, and I thank god daily for bringing her into my life,” Salma said simply. Then she added a bit more pragmatically, “My daughter is an only child, and unfortunately, my late husband and I spoiled her horribly. We didn't realize our mistake until she was in her teens, but by then the die had been cast. She decided that Gunner wasn't worthy of knowing about Cressida until she met her current husband. That was when she changed her mind. I think the fact that her husband likes to travel had something to do with it—at the time, I was caring for my husband as he was dying of cancer, and couldn't take care of Cressida. There was no one else with whom she could be left, so Clarice suddenly contacted Gunner, told him he had a daughter, and left Cressida with him for six weeks. That was about seven years ago.”

“I have to say, I have kind of a hard time reconciling the image of the drop-dead gorgeous Gunner, a man who felt it was perfectly fine to flirt immediately after meeting me, with Gunner the responsible dad.”

Salma poured herself another cup of tea. “He does have a bit of a history with women—that's true. And perhaps it was disapproval of his lifestyle that kept Clarice from telling him about Cressida. I do not know her reasons why she kept them apart; I simply am grateful that they have found each other at last. Despite what you may think, Gunner is truly an excellent father. He loves Cressida very deeply, and would, I believe, move heaven and earth for her.”

“I'm glad to hear it,” I said, keeping my lips zipped about the fact that Gunner evidently hadn't changed his ways too much if he managed to proposition me pretty much within minutes of our meeting.

“He would love to have Cressida on a more permanent basis, but her mother retains custody of her until next year. After that, we will see. I hope Cressida chooses to live here, either with me or with her father.”

“I can't imagine what girl wouldn't want to live in a real castle,” I said with a nod at the building in the distance. “Although to be honest, I can't imagine anyone preferring to stay in a tent rather than luxury. Still, she seems to have a bunch of energy, so I'm sure she appreciates having the entire castle grounds to explore.”

“Indeed. I used to worry about her, since her unique sense of enthusiasm is frequently taken for immaturity, but this summer, I began to see the potential that life holds for her. She'll find her feet, just as I'm sure you will.”

“Me?” I froze in the act of setting up a second camp chair, suddenly worried that Salma knew the truth about my plan. “What makes you think I need to find myself?”

She watched me silently for a few seconds before answering. “There's a sense of excitement about you, an aura of hidden agitation that leads me to believe that you're undertaking a grave quest. One, I suspect, that you are unsure of completing. Or is it that you're simply unclear why you're doing it?”

I dropped my gaze from hers, damning my inability to hide my emotions. How could she know so much about me after such a short acquaintance? And if she was that prescient, how on earth was I going to live next door to her without her ferreting out every last secret?

I threw down a red herring tinged with just enough truth to hopefully distract her. “Well, hell. You've sussed the truth about me—I'm not really the experienced journalist that everyone thinks I am. They wouldn't let me shoot everything for my book if they knew the truth, that I'm just a wannabe.” I slid a glance up through my
eyelashes at her, trying to ooze sincerity from every pore. “I can only hope you won't let others know my secret.”

“Why would you care if people knew that you weren't an experienced journalist? Books are written all the time by people with similar lack of credentials.”

“It's not so much the lack of credentials. . . .” I bit my lip, hating like the dickens that I was lying to this nice old lady, but I had to keep Sandy at the forefront of my mind. “It's just that I'm afraid I'll be asked to explain something and I simply won't be able to make my brain work. I've never done well under stress, and if people are suspicious of me, if they think I don't know what I'm doing, well . . . then I won't. And I won't be able to explain myself. And Roger will kick me off the dig site. I really don't want that.” My words trailed off in a manner that reeked of pathos, but evidently, there was enough truth to sway her.

“Indeed, that would be a shame, if for no other reason than Cressida likes you, and will look forward to seeing your book.”

Guilt zapped me like a red-hot poker, but I summoned a smile. “Thanks, Salma. I appreciate your support. I should get going. Er . . . will you be all right on your own? Can I get you anything?”

Salma gave me a calm, gentle smile. “My dear, I have been on my own since my dearest Gerald died seven years ago. I assure you that I will be just fine alone for a few hours. I have brought several books to read.”

“You're not one of the volunteers? I assumed you were.”

“I won't be doing any of the digging, no. I have offered to help clean the finds, though. I think it will be very rewarding to take a dirty piece of pottery and clean it up so one can admire it.”

“Very rewarding,” I agreed, feeling a sense of relief
that she wasn't going to be participating in the hard work. “And wise to stay out of the hot sun while doing manual labor. Not that you couldn't if you wanted to . . . oh dear. I put my foot in my mouth again.”

She gave a little laugh. “Not at all, although I do appreciate your concern. Cressida and Gunner take very good care of me, you know.”

“I'm sure they do. I'll see you later, then.”

She waved me off, and I toddled away to go meet with Paul, my mind torn between chastising myself for misleading such a nice lady and thoughts about what I needed to do next.

It hadn't taken much to maneuver myself into sitting next to him during a crew meeting the day before, and a few innocent questions about archaeology that were guaranteed to pump his ego had done the trick—he had gone from polite to mildly flirtatious in just half an hour. I rubbed my ear, thinking of how he'd whispered answers to my leading questions, his breath hot and unpleasant.

“So everyone is allowed to do this field walking?” I had asked him midway through the meeting, and he'd leaned into me to answer.

“If they know what to look for, yes. Do you know what to look for, Lori?”

“Depends what you're talking about,” I had answered lightly, making myself sick with a false show of archness.

“I will be happy to tutor you later, my dear. In
all
things that interest you,” he had breathed into my ear, leaving me even now with a massive desire to bathe my head in antiseptic.

“You're doing this for a good cause,” I told myself, and, accordingly, slapped a smile on my face when I stopped outside the last RV in the row. Given the heat that was starting to ramp up, I couldn't help but be
grateful for the shade that the expandable awning cast down over a small card table and a couple of chairs. The latter were occupied by Paul and Fidencia, both of whom were poring over several sheets of paper bearing black-and-white blotches.

It wasn't what they were doing that had me raising my eyebrows, but how closely Paul was lurking over the young woman's shoulder. I had a momentary pang of sympathy for her—the poor girl probably had no idea what she was letting herself in for—but the idea of what he could do reinforced my resolution to end his tomcat ways once and for all.

“Ah, there you are.” Paul smiled and hastily moved away from the woman. “Fidencia and I were just going over some of the magnetic imaging results.”

“I can see that. Hi, Fidencia. Nice to see you again.”

“Yes.” Her tone was as terse as her manner toward me. She flipped back her long, glossy black hair. “Roger told us we must answer any questions you have about what it is we're doing, so you can document it properly. I suppose I can do that, so long as you don't need me to hold your hand again.”

“I never asked you to hold my hand—” I bit off the rest of my protest, not wanting to get into a petty argument for no reason.

“Girls, girls, there's no need to get your respective knickers in a twist,” Paul said blithely, helping Fidencia up from the chair. “Don't worry your head about Lorina, my dear. I'll be sure to take care of her. I know how busy you are being a liaison, and helping Roger in so many ways.”

The look Fidencia slid him said she knew exactly what he was doing, but he bustled her off with a smooth manner that must have been honed over the years. “And now, why don't you take these results to Roger, and point out where I think we should put the first trench of the day.
Your
trench, if you like. You've worked so hard to make things happen, I want today's first trench to be yours.”

Fidencia cast me a doubtful glance, but duly trotted off, the papers clutched to her ample chest. Paul waited until she was out of earshot before turning to me. “Lori, my sweet. I'm so delighted that you are going to be here for the next few weeks. It will be a particular joy to fully investigate our . . . acquaintance.”

I tipped my head to the side the better to consider him, hoping for a coquettish air. I had planned on saying something noncommittal, but instead what came out was, “You are aware of the fact that I could not only see you almost drooling down that poor girl's front, but could also hear you murmuring in her ear, yes?”