To Surrender to a Rogue (10 page)

And wasn't that a pretty picture?

He forced a smile. Yes, of course it was. One that wouldn't look a hair out of place in the family portrait gallery. Closing his eyes, he found that he could visualize the long line of ancestors with startling clarity. The problem was, each face was indistinguishable from another. They all seemed to blend together in a dull blur.

Maybe conformity did leave something to be desired.

"Here in England, ladies have too many things to fret about, Mama," complained Isabella the next morning as they finished their breakfast

At the moment Alessandra was inclined to agree with her daughter. She had spent the night worrying about how the presence of Frederico would affect her life. One of the reasons she had accepted the position at the Bath excavation was to hide from the present by immersing herself in the past

But apparently her old life refused to stay buried.

"A lady must not speak unless spoken to. A lady must not contradict a gentleman. A lady must not slide down banisters. And that's just the beginning! The rules go on forever and ever." Isabella kicked at the carpet as Alessandra packed her trowels and hammers into a canvas bag. "I would much rather dig in the dirt with you than stay home with Miss Wolcott learning how to be dainty." Her chin took on a distinct jut "And demure."

"I don't think we have to fear that you will be turned into a pattern card of propriety," she replied dryly.

"Marco says propriety is boring," responded her daughter.

"Marco says a great many things that aren't meant for the ears of an eight-year-old girl."

"I am almost
nine!"

"Perhaps when you are nine
and twenty
you may be allowed to listen to him without a scolding."

Isabella rolled her eyes.

"I am sorry, but an excavation is a dangerous place for a child,
tesoro.
There is much digging going on, and with all the trenches and open pits, it is easy for an accident to happen. I cannot supervise the workers and keep an eye on you."

"I could help Lord James with his drawings," said Isabella hopefully.

Alessandra repressed a sigh. "Lord James is new to the world of archaeological expeditions. He will be having enough difficulty trying to find his footing without having to oversee an apprentice." She could just picture Jack's face if she were to ask him to play nursemaid to her daughter. "Besides, I thought you didn't like
si grand new diavolo"

"He's not so terrible," she conceded. "And I didn't call him any more bad names, so there is no reason for him to tie me to a tree."

Alessandra could think of quite a few things a child might do to provoke a gentleman into reaching for rope. However, she kept them to herself. "I promise that I shall take you on a tour of the grounds on one of our rest days. We are starting to uncover a temple and underground baths, and there will likely be lovely mosaics and sculptures."

"And columns?" asked Isabella. "Lord James seems to like to draw columns."

"I daresay Lord James will find plenty of stonework to keep him busy." Alessandra took up her bag and pressed a kiss to her daughter's cheek. "Behave yourself. I shall see you at supper."

"Watch your step, sir. The ground is rather wet here," warned Dwight-Davis. "And you must take care not to stray off the path, for there's a bog just ahead and the footing is very treacherous. That is one of the reasons the place stayed undiscovered for so long."

Jack crossed the stream in one stride. "Thank you, but I need not be treated like a lad in leading strings. I've survived the Peninsular War, so I trust I can make it through an English swamp."

The other man turned beet red. "Forgive me, Lord James.
Magna res et vocis et silenti temperamentum
—the great thing is to know when to speak and when to keep quiet I meant no insult to your intelligence—"

"No offense taken, Mr. Dwight-Davis. However, I wish to be treated the same as any other new member to the expedition. Pampering or special privileges will not endear me to my fellow workers."

"Hmmph. I understand your point." Dwight-Davis pulled a face. "It's just that I have never had the son of a duke mucking through the mud with me."

"Seeing I want to learn about archaeology from the ground up, it's a fitting place to start," quipped Jack. "Besides, I'm not the least bit afraid of getting my hands dirty."

"Well, if you are sure..."

A half hour later, as he missed his footing and slid into a steep trench puddled with foul-smelling, ankle-deep water, Jack was regretting such hubris.

"May I offer you a hand up, my lord?" A silky Italian accent floated down from above.

Jack looked up to see Alessandra's Italian friend— Bezzeroli? Berelloni? Bellazoni?—extend an arm. "Have a care, sir. The grounds are quite slippery."

"Thank you, but I can manage," he replied a little curtly.

"Might I suggest a pair of hobnailed boots next timer

Jack realized he looked a little foolish dressed in his town clothes. He wasn't slated to start work until the morrow, but he had encountered Dwight-Davis near the Pump Room, and the invitation to take a quick tour of the area had been irresistible. He hadn't wanted to delay the other man by returning home to change into proper work attire.

"This was a spur-of-the-moment visit," he muttered, stomping the mud from his Hessians. "I already have all the necessary excavation gear. Signor..."

"Bellazoni, my lord. But as we are all to be working together out here under informal conditions, I would just as soon you call me Frederico."

"Speaking of formality, you need not address me as 'my lord.' I am a younger son, and am not given such a title." Even to his own ears, he sounded like a self-important prig. "Lord James is the correct form."

"Pray, accept my apologies. I am woefully ignorant when it comes to the nuances of nobility."

Frederico's tone was perfectly pleasant Which made Jack feel even more like a churl. Good God, it was completely unlike him to care about the niggling little distinctions of rank and title. He had always preferred to be recognized by his own actions rather than an accident of birth. Was this odd response aroused by some primitive male instinct?

Jealousy?

His toes curled within the wet leather. The idea was ridiculous. He was a rational gentleman, not a slabbering beast...

"Forgive me for interrupting, but might you conduct your lecture on primogeniture somewhere else, Lord James?''

Jack didn't need to turn around. By some perverse pagan spell, his body seemed to sense Alessandra's presence whenever she was near.

"I am sure it is a fascinating subject," she continued. "However, I have an excavation grid to lay out and you gentlemen are standing in the way." After consulting her map, she waved to one of the workers. "Hopkins, I want the first hole dug here." She stuck a small stake in the ground, just inches from Jack's boot. "To the depth of a foot is fine for now."

Jack wished that he could sink into the ground—preferably all the way to Hades.

"I will then measure off one hundred paces to the west, marking each interval of ten."

"Aye, madam." The shovel cut into the damp earth.

"I would suggest wearing proper boots tomorrow, Lord James," said Alessandra as she turned to walk off. "Hoby's handiwork is quite impressive," she added, arching her brows as she eyed the rich—and now ruined—leather of his expensive Hessians. "But you are here to work, not cut a caper on the dance floor."

"For your information, a gentleman does not wear boots to a ball," he said through gritted teeth.

She did not hear him, but Frederico did. "You will only dig yourself into a deeper hole by trying to get in the last word with an Italian lady."

"She is half English," said Jack.

"Si. But that was a wholly Tuscan tongue speaking. And Tuscan ladies are notorious for their stubbornness and independent spirit" Frederico smiled. "Speaking from experience, I would say that they respond better to charm than to confrontation."

Splendido,
thought Jack. He had just sunk to a new low. Not only was he being lectured on the basics of archaeology by a feisty female, but he was also receiving amorous advice from the lady's erstwhile lover.

As to their current relationship...

"Then it's a good thing I've absolutely no desire to seek her favor, isn't it?" Turning on his heel. Jack stalked away before he could make an even bigger arse of himself. He hadn't felt like such an idiot since his days as a spotty-faced schoolboy.

"Bloody hell." Cursing under his breath, Jack veered off the footpath and cut through the stacks of storage crates and tools. Beyond the loading area was a steep hillock, which separated the two main sections of the ancient enclave. Mindless of the prickly gorse, he started to climb. An overnight rain had softened the earth and the ground was slick in spots. Mud spattered his breeches, thorns snagged at his coat He slapped at the branches, anger goading him to a faster pace.

Damn.

Still brooding over his ignominious entrance into the world of archaeology, he nearly lost his footing on the wet rocks leading down to the eastern edge of the excavation site.

Steady, steady.
A swan dive into the ruins of the Roman temple below would only corroborate what many of his fellow expedition members were probably thinking—Lord James Jacquehart Pierson was simply a rich dilettante, indulging in a whim. And in taking a coveted spot, he was keeping a more deserving scholar from contributing his expertise.

Jack made a wry face. So far, he hadn't done much to convince them otherwise.

He stood for a moment, watching the bustle of activity around the pale stone columns that were slowly appearing as the peaty soil was dug away. His own petty problems were quickly forgotten as he took in the scene. Under the supervision of Mr. Hightower, an expert from Cambridge, several skilled workers were carefully dislodging the dirt from the entrance to the sacred shrine. Nearby, a line of young boys were lugging baskets filled with earth and rock fragments to be sifted through by a trio of local scholars. Pottery shards, bits of tile, bronze spearheads, silver coins—all artifacts would be carefully cleaned and catalogued.

The digging on this section had started last season, so its shape was beginning to take form. Even to Jack's inexperienced eye, it was clear that the discovery of this site was of monumental importance. He had read the preliminary research papers speculating that the place was likely the southern headquarters for the Second Legion

Augustus. Jack mulled over what he knew of the Roman army's occupation of Britannia.

The main expeditionary force had been quartered in Wales, near Caerleon. That site was perhaps the most famous Roman ruin in Britain—in no small part because it was also said to be the legendary home of King Arthur's Camelot. For nearly four hundred years, beginning around AD 47, the Romans had ruled much of British soil, keeping two to four legions stationed around the country. With each legion consisting of six thousand men, it was a force to be reckoned with.

Viewing the site in person, Jack could see why the scholars were convinced that it was an important base. The location was right—a flat meadow, nestled among limestone hills and woodlands. He shifted his gaze. Close by was the River Avon, its waters rushing through a narrow gorge in the rocks...

"Help!"

The cry floated up from the water's edge. A boy was waving his arms, frantically pointing at the roiling eddies near an outcropping of rocks in the middle of the water.

"Damn." Jack saw a small head bobbing in the foaming current Charging down the slope, he hurdled a work barrow and slid down the muddy bank.

"Davey! 'E can't swim!" The boy's face was white with fear. "M' brother can't swim!"

Without a heartbeat of hesitation, Jack stripped off his coat and plunged into the frigid water.

Alessandra looked up from her map. "What's going on?" she asked, suddenly aware of cries coming from the other side of the knoll.

"I dunno, madam." The workman cocked an ear. "But it sounds like trouble."

Indeed it did.
A dig was a dangerous place. Holes could cave in, ropes could snap, ancient rocks could shift, easily crushing a man...

Lifting her skirts, she broke into a run. Unlike Lord James, she had worn sensible footwear—a sturdy pair of half boots with hobnailed soles. The metal clattered against the stones as she left the path and scrambled through the gorse to the crest of the hill. From there she could see a crowd gathered at the river's edge.

Dear God.

Fed by spring rains, it was a rushing torrent of ink-black water. Alessandra could see the swirling patterns of the powerful currents, spraying the jagged rocks with flecks of foam. Her breath turned even more ragged as she hurried down the steep slope. She always took great care to establish stringent safety measures around her excavations.

But accidents happened.

Pushing her way through the milling workers, she found the head of the Transportation Committee shouting orders for men and rope to be rushed downstream.

"What's happened?" she demanded.

"One of the basket lads fell in while larking around on the rocks," replied Eustace. "His friends say he can't swim."

Alessandra felt her heart lurch. A child was in danger? She scanned the roiling waters, desperately searching for a sign of life. Between the shifting shadows and refracted sunlight, it was hard to make out any distinct shapes. Finally, in midstream, she spotted one head... then two.