Double Deceit (16 page)

“Ever the optimist.”

“Why not? Minerva survived without a scratch. And she remained in the temple.”

“Good point. So we will start a new search. Your suggestion was as good as any. Perhaps it will yield the entrance.” He headed for the spot. “I’ll start at this point. You work there, and we’ll meet in the center.”

Only after he drove in his spade did he admit that positioning the trenches this way had more to do with enjoying the sight of Miss Merideth bent over a shovel than with maps of the clearing.

Tonight!

Yes, he must see Miss Vale alone tonight. He was running out of time. So far, no one had revealed his impersonation, but that was due to luck. Several acquaintances lived nearby. Any of them might have been at the village fair the other day.

Jon could distract Miss Merideth, if he was back. Otherwise, he would send her on an errand. But he must conclude this business tonight. If everything fell into place, he could be a married man by morning.

A cloud engulfed the sun, which accounted for his sudden shiver.

* * * *

Tony was leading both ladies into the dining room when Jon returned.

“Welcome back, sir,” said Miss Vale, blushing. “I trust you had a good journey. How is your friend?”

“Q-quite well. My felicitations on your recovery. I had feared to find you still suffering.”

“It was only a trifling sprain, sir. You refine too much.”

“Hardly,” said Tony, easily reading the question in Jon’s eyes. “This is the first time she has left her room since falling.” He nearly mentioned long evenings with both of them absent, but Miss Merideth was on his other arm. He could hardly insult her – especially since he had enjoyed their spirited discussions.

“Then I shan’t keep you standing.” Jon nodded at each lady in turn. “If you will excuse me, I must retire.”

“Nonsense,” said Miss Vale, abandoning Tony to take Jon’s arm. “You needn’t change into evening dress or eat in your room. Join us for dinner. You can tell us about your trip.”

Tony met Jon’s panicky eyes, glee over his cousin’s discomfort overcoming irritation that Miss Vale had seemed uncommonly pleased at his return. “Yes, do join us, Linden. We would love to know how Wilkerson is keeping,” he added, naming a schoolmate Jon despised, who now lived in Yorkshire. Wilkerson was an unwed lump of a man who had trouble recalling his own name. But he took umbrage at anyone who thought him slow, and had once beaten Jon quite soundly for refusing to drink with him.

“He is quite well, though surprised to see me.”

“I can imagine. And his wife? Charlotte, I believe.” He ignored Miss Merideth’s flinch, though he cursed her acuity. She also heard the strain in Jon’s voice.

“Cassandra,” said Jon, falling into the spirit. “I saw little of her, for her oldest was suffering quite loudly from croup.”

“They have two sons – or is it three?”

“Two, plus twin daughters. You really should spend less time poking about ruins, Cousin. You are losing track of the years.”

“But he is doing such fascinating research,” said Miss Merideth, frowning at their banter.

“Croup can be very alarming,” said Miss Vale, drawing Jon’s attention as he seated her at the table. “How is she treating it? I do hope someone has showed her the efficacy of steam.”

“Wilkerson mentioned steam, so I am sure she knows,” said Jon, patting her hand before turning to his soup. He had resumed his own manner in the days away.

Tony frowned, irritated at how the evening had begun. Jon was undoubtedly exhausted – to London and back in four days was a grueling journey – but that was no excuse for ignoring their situation. He had missed every hint that he should take himself off, and now had forgotten his role as Tony Linden. Disaster loomed. Miss Merideth was staring, clearly suspicious of this new character. A single slip could destroy everything.

But he could only pray that Jon kept his wits about him, for Miss Vale was quizzing him closely about his journey, clearly reveling in a new topic of conversation. She ignored his own attempts to speak with her.

He finally fell quiet, alternating between blue-devils over what might be his last hours as a bachelor and chuckles over the fictional tales of Wilkerson’s highly precocious offspring. Where had Jon’s imagination come from?

Only after dessert was served did Miss Merideth finally give him a chance to set his plans into motion. When she distracted Jon’s attention, Tony leaned closer to Miss Vale.

“Let us retire to the music room,” he suggested softly. “I have heard much praise for your skill – if you feel up to playing. Your ankle must protest this activity,” he added, knowing his assumption would force a denial.

“It is quite recovered.” She smiled. “I could have come down last evening, but we chose to take no chance of another fall.”

“I would have carried you down had I known,” he said warmly. “As my cousin often reminds me, too much devotion to ruins must make me quite boring. But you are a delight to the senses. Do you also sing?”

“Only if you will join me. Preferably both of you,” she added, turning to Jon. “I am a trifle out of practice.”

“Delighted.” Jon’s agreement was out before he noted Tony’s scowl. “Miss Merideth?”

“I will listen. My voice is unsuited to song,” she said, shrugging.

Tony hid his disappointment. He had hoped a love song or two would lead into a proposal. Jon should have retired on the excuse of weariness, but the opportunity might yet arise. If Miss Merideth did not sing, she would likely leave before the evening was concluded. Jon would follow.

* * * *

 Alex accepted Linden’s arm for the trek to the music room. Torwell’s abandonment irritated her more than she cared to admit. She had grown accustomed to their nightly tête-à-têtes. He was so different from her father’s boisterous friends, whose conversation rarely moved beyond gaming, gossip, and wenching.

But Torwell willingly discussed any subject, from estate problems and her frustration at having no influence to correct them, to living conditions of the lower classes, to history, scientific experiments, ideas, and a host of other topics. He did not care if she disagreed with him, willingly conceding points when her arguments were more persuasive, treating her as an equal capable of thinking for herself.

But those evenings were now gone. He had merely been filling time until Sarah reappeared. In the thrill of discovery, she had forgotten that he had formed a
tendre
for Sarah before that staged fall. Thus there would be no more stimulating conversations. He kept his mind firmly on digging while they worked.

Fool!
she admonished herself. Despite knowing she must attach Linden, she had begun to think of Torwell as her special friend. But like other gentlemen, he was willing to pass the evening with her only when he had nothing better to do, treating her no different than he would his colleagues or the men he might meet at a club.

She hadn’t missed his irritation when Linden returned, with his greater claim to Sarah’s attention. Nor had she missed the disapproving frown he’d tossed Linden’s way at dinner.

But that was good, she reminded herself sharply. Once she confessed her identity, Torwell could wed Sarah without creating a rift with his cousin. And Sarah would benefit. She deserved a steady, trustworthy husband. Whatever Linden’s personal feelings, he would wed the fortune. His attraction to Sarah would not have lasted anyway.

She released Linden’s arm so he could join Sarah at the harpsichord.

Everyone would be happy. Linden would recover his inheritance. Sarah would have a husband she could respect. Torwell would make a love match. And she could continue working with him on excavations. He had accepted her as a partner.

Or had he?

She frowned. Torwell had no authority to dig at Vale House. The owner did not even know the site existed. Since she had invited him to participate, he might think that flattering her was the only way he could dig there.

It was so obvious that she berated herself for not having considered it earlier. Lord Mitchell accepted her ideas only because he thought they came from a man. Torwell was humoring her because pretense was the only way he could investigate the site.

She picked up a sketch pad, using it as an excuse to settle far from the others. The strains of a Robert Burns ballad drifted through the room. It was one of his sadder songs, striking a chord deep in her breast, though she rarely identified with music.

Her pencil captured the image on paper. Sarah, seated at the keyboard. Torwell and Linden standing behind her, one on each side. But it was Torwell’s hand that rested on Sarah’s shoulder, and Torwell’s cheek that brushed hers whenever he leaned forward to turn a page. His rich voice sent shivers down her spine. All three were turned half away from her, emphasizing the gulf that had always stood between her and the world.

Her life in a capsule.

She shook away the thought, but the truth hung starkly before her. Even a musical evening among friends left her standing apart, a freak amidst her own class. Her voice was strident enough at any time, but it sounded like a raven’s when she tried to sing. The fingers that could patiently sketch a long-buried artifact tied themselves into knots if they came within touching distance of a keyboard. Music was so far beyond her that she could rarely enjoy even listening to it.

Ladies were accomplished musicians. She was incompetent. It was yet another reason her father had never considered her a lady. She was abnormal, unable to get along with her peers. The only time she was truly comfortable was when her mind was in the past.

The music came to an end, accompanied by laughter. Linden suggested a new song.

“Not suitable,” Torwell said, frowning. “How about that red rose piece?”

Sarah shuffled pages.

“Perfect,” Torwell said, draping himself around her shoulders as he reached down to strike a key.
“My love is like a red, red rose,
” he began singing, bestowing a heated look on her when he caught her eye.

Sarah’s fingers hit an uncharacteristic number of wrong notes. Linden joined in, but his face resembled a thundercloud.

Alex tore her eyes from the tableau, her fingers producing a new sketch, this one of Minerva thrusting a lance through Torwell’s heart. She should have known better than to accept him as a friend. He was no different from a thousand other schemers. How could she have trusted him?

She’d been wrong about his intentions. The look in his eye as he gazed at Sarah was exactly like the one he’d used on the mosaic tiles that very afternoon – disappointment at failing to find what he truly wanted mixed with determination to take whatever he could get. Linden looked exactly the same. Neither wanted marriage, but somehow, Linden must have forced Torwell to rescue the family – probably by letting him keep the estate. It would remove his responsibilities to the church while providing support for his excavations.

Her masquerade allowed her to spot motives she might otherwise have missed. Torwell was pretending affection for Sarah. So was Linden, of course, but at least his motives were clear. Once she revealed her identity, both would switch their allegiance to her. Torwell might even claim undying love on the basis of their shared interest in the Romans. How could she have trusted him? Thank heaven she’d planned to tell Linden in private. Living with an honest reprobate would be easier than with a sneak.

She was cold.

Though no fire had been lit in here, she knew the room was not to blame. She must draw Linden off alone and confess. Immediately. And once he knew the truth, she could not allow him near Torwell until they settled the question of marriage.

She rose. At least an hour had passed since dinner. Murch could chaperon Sarah while she and Linden spoke.

“Is your ankle fatiguing you, Miss Vale?” Torwell asked. “Perhaps we should move into the drawing room where it is warmer.”

“That won’t be necessary,” said Sarah. “Merideth will help me upstairs. It has been a most pleasant evening, but I should rest.”

Alex sighed. Something had pushed Sarah into flight, so she would have to go along with it long enough to find out the facts. They must also discuss Torwell. She could find Linden later.

Ignoring the gentlemen’s glowers, she helped Sarah from the room.

“Be careful of Torwell,” she said the moment they reached the stairs. “He is as dangerous as Linden, possibly more so. They have agreed to split the fortune, with Torwell taking the bride. Perhaps he hopes to gain control of the villa.”

“You cannot be serious. He is all that is amiable.”

“Do not let his charm deceive you. I’ve watched his eyes. He has agreed to have you. Guard yourself. I sense great determination beneath his surface. That is one man who will take what he wants, and to hell with the consequences.”

“Alex!” Sarah cast a reproachful look over her shoulder. “You know how cursing distresses me. You are allowing your emotions to subvert your intellect. Mr. Torwell is all that is proper. He pays me court only to plead his cousin’s case, as you would know if jealousy were not blinding your senses.”

“Jealousy!” She recoiled. “He has well and truly pulled the wool over your eyes.”

“As I thought. You overreact to hide the truth even from yourself, but I have seen the way you look at him – and how he looks at you, with hopeless longing clouding his eyes. I can only suppose you’ve treated him to one of your tirades against men. You had best examine your heart, lest you find yourself wed to one man while loving another.”

“That is quite enough, Sarah.” Fury replaced her shock. “I have no interest in Torwell beyond a mutual love for antiquity. I thought to protect you by repeating what I’ve learned of the man, for I will settle with Linden as soon as possible. In the meantime, lock your door and avoid any contact with Torwell. You would hardly enjoy being forcibly tied to a man who hates you for not having the dowry he expects.”

Chapter Nine

Tony awoke before dawn with a raging headache. A largely sleepless night had contributed, but the real cause was the admission that his scheme was doomed to failure.