To Surrender to a Rogue (16 page)

Her climax came quickly, exploding in a blinding shower of white-hot sparks.

With one last surge, Jack rocked his hips in and then out, biting back a groan as he spilled his seed over her belly.

A little dazed, Alessandra lay still and gasped for breath, the pounding of her heart sounding loud as cannonfire in her ears. Above her, scudding flickers of light and dark played over Jack's sweat-sheened face. His expression was obscured by the curling fall of his hair.

As he brushed back a strand, their eyes met

"I..." Alessandra was uncertain of what to say. "I am sorry, but I cannot invite you to stay much longer."

"I understand." Jack sat up on his knees and found his cravat in the rumple of clothing on the carpet. "You may depend on my discretion, Alessandra," he said, carefully wiping her skin with the length of linen. "I won't do anything to hurt you."

His quiet assurance sent a stab of longing through her. "Thank you." She hesitated, but before she could speak again, a faint noise sounded from upstairs.

"Dear God." Twisting free, Alessandra grabbed up her nightshift and tugged it on. "Please, I must—"

"Go " he whispered. "I will let myself out."

t
ap, tap, tap.

Angling his chisel, Jack carefully chipped away a tangled tree root and eased the stone fragment out from the mud. He removed his work gloves and rinsed it in a bucket of water, then set it in the felt-lined tray beside the other artifacts he had unearthed. Three long hours of work—his colleagues had not been exaggerating when they had warned him that archaeology was mostly a painstaking process of tedious labor. Still, he had no complaints. He was playing a part, however insignificant, in bringing history to light The feeling was immensely satisfying.

Opening his sketchbook to a fresh page, he noted the date and location of his find. But as he drew in the rough outlines of the first object, it was not the mysteries of the past that occupied his thoughts, but rather the living, breathing present.

Alessandra.

Lady Giamatti was still a great conundrum to him.
Hot
and cold. Fire and ice.
Whatever strange chemistry drew them together, he could not begin to define it. But already he was fantasizing about their next tryst, and the feel of her naked body against his heated flesh. His pencil bit a touch deeper into the paper. She bedeviled him, beguiled him.
Bewitched him.

The memory of her flame-warmed skin, her arching hips, her heated whispers sent a rush of lust coursing through his blood. She was utterly unlike any woman he had ever met before—alluring beauty and provocative intelligence edged with a dark, dangerous hint of mystery.

Pursing his lips, he added a slash of shadowing to the sketch. The contrast between the marchesa and his London friends was like... night and day. To her, the two ladies must have appeared silly, superficial. He had been embarrassed by their banal remarks—their comments had sounded as shallow as spilled milk.

At least they had to him. Now that he had been around serious scholars, giddy girls fresh from the schoolroom seemed boring beyond words. Which didn't exactly bode well for his future, considering that his father appeared to be stepping up his campaign to find him a bride. The duke must have mentioned the possibility of a match to Lord Saye, who in turn dropped hints to his daughter, Lady Mary...

Bloody hell.
Jack tightened his jaw. After this expedition ended, he would have to pay a visit to the ancestral estate and forestall the attack on his freedom. His father would, of course, counterattack. Jack could almost smell a whiff of gunpowder...

Hurriedly finishing his drawings, Jack moved his things to another section of the outer walls where he was working.

No use fighting imaginary battles.
He had his hands full at the moment And much could happen in the coming weeks.

"Begging yer pardon, milady, but I can't finish laying out the grid of squares fer digging as ye asked."

"No?" Alessandra looked up from her sheaf of site maps, welcoming the distraction. She had been staring at the same page for the last half hour, her mind numb with worry over the upcoming meeting with Frederico. "What's the trouble, Mr. Grove? If we have run out of rope and stakes, you can borrow some from Mr. Dwight-Davis."

"It's not that, milady." He held out the paper she had given him earlier and pointed at the neatly drawn diagram. "If I follow these directions, I will land smack in the middle of the river."

Alessandra quickly thumbed through the packet of work orders she had drawn up that morning. "So sorry, Mr. Grove." She touched her fingertips to her temples. "I must have handed you the wrong plan by mistake."

"I figgered as much." He grinned as she passed him a different set of orders. "Wouldn't want Lord James te have te fish
me
out of the drink."

"No, indeed." At the mention of Jack, the dull thud in her head took on added force. It now felt as if a hammer were pounding against her skull.

"Ah, there you are, Lady Giamatti."

As the workman withdrew from the shelter of her canvas tent, his place was taken by Haverstick, Eustace, and Dwight-Davis.

"Do you have a moment to give us your opinion on these reports?" asked Haverstick. "To me, the Italians seem a little slipshod in their observations."

She reached mechanically for the papers. "Yes, of course." Only belatedly did she notice that her hands were shaking.

"I fear we are running you ragged," said Dwight-Davis. "You look a little peaked."

"I did not sleep overly well last night," she admitted, knowing full well what a fright she must look. "I think I shall beg off from further festivities for the next few days."

"Perhaps you should take a day off," suggested Dwight-Davis. He pondered the thought for a moment "By Jove, perhaps we have been pushing everyone too hard to make up for the time lost to the rains.
Salus populi suprema lex esto.
As the Romans said, let the good of the people be the supreme law..." His countenance brightened somewhat "A holiday may be in order."

Haverstick frowned but Eustace fingered his chin. "The idea merits some consideration. I suggest that we go discuss it with the other committee heads."

"Indeed, indeed," chimed in Dwight-Davis.

"I shall return at the end of the day," called Haverstick over his shoulder as the two other men led him off.

Alessandra stared dully at the writing on the top page of Haverstick's documents, hardly noticing their departure.
Concentrate,
she scolded. But her nerves were drawn too taut Like a cat with a mouse, Frederico seemed to be playing a cruel game, working her into a state of terror before he pounced.

Deciding she could no longer sit still, she set aside the papers and went to check on how the excavation was progressing down by the river. The brisk walk did help dispel the tension, and for the next hour she was able to bury herself in the work.

It was almost time for the midday meal when Frederico strolled over to where she was inspecting a pair of spearheads dug up by one of the local scholars.

"Lady Giamatti, I have a question about the section of outer wall where I am working," he announced loudly. "Might I ask you to come have a look?"

Taking hold of her toolbag to avoid his outstretched hand, she rose. He was fortunate there wasn't a pistol among the mallets and chisels. At this point she would have cheerfully put a bullet in his brain.

If she burned in hell, she would at least have company.

Think of Isabella. Think of Isabella.
Repeating the words was the only way to force her feet forward.

"The English countryside is far more scenic than I expected." At the crest of the hill, Frederico shaded his eyes as he surveyed the surroundings. "Though not nearly as lovely as the vista from your villa at Lake Como."

"Feel free to return there and drown in the view," she muttered.

"I'm hurt,
cara.
No need to be so sarcastic."

"In public I shall watch my tongue, but in private..." She shot a look down at the iron-clawed hammer in her bag. "Don't go out of your way to provoke me, Frederico."

"Still the hot-tempered hellion, I see." A peek of pearly teeth showed through his lazy smile. "But then, I have always preferred a little fire in my women."

She bit back a retort "Get to the point What is it you want from me?"

"In a minute. Let us find a more sheltered spot" He picked his way past a tangle of thorns and led her to an outcropping of rocks. The weathered slabs hid them from the workers sifting soil down by the river, while to their rear was nothing but a glade of trees and a crumbling stone wall, nearly hidden by a tangled overgrowth of vines and mosses.

Alessandra turned, pressing her back against a jutting of limestone for support "Now, enough of your games."

"No,
cara,
I am ready to be deadly serious. And you would do well to remember what I told you—it's not just me you are dealing with."

If her heartbeat grew any more furious, it might shatter a rib.

But rather than rush on, Frederico brushed a bit of leaf from his sleeve. "You know, I have learned a great deal about ancient Rome during the time I have spent working in the university library."

"Spare me the history lesson," she said through gritted teeth.

"You don't care to relive the past?" he said softly. "I thought that was your passion—among other things, of course."

Temper, temper.
Tormenting her seemed to amuse him, so Alessandra stayed silent

When she didn't react to the barb, he shrugged and went on. "Orrichetti had his friend assign me to cataloguing the archives, which kept me well hidden from prying eyes. As you can imagine, there were countless old parchments and papers. Out of sheer boredom, I started reading some of them."

She couldn't help but mutter under her breath, "What a pity you did not learn anything of value."

"Oh, but I did, Alessa." The cocky curl of his lips was beginning to make her stomach curdle. "By chance, I happened to find an old brass box, buried under a pile of musty old medieval books. Inside was a manuscript"

The smile stretched wider. "Julius Caesar was not the only soldier who kept an account of his experiences fighting in a foreign land. The document I discovered was the memoirs of a centurion, who was part of the force stationed here in Britannia during the last days of Roman rule. Among the things he recounted was commanding an expeditionary force that was sent from the legion's headquarters at Caerleon to occupy an outpost near Aquae Sulis—the present-day town of Bath."

"I am familiar with the ancient name for the city," she said.

"Yes, but I doubt you know about the final battle that forced the Roman soldiers to withdraw from the area. By the fourth century, the times had grown troubled, and when a force of local tribes rose up in rebellion, the garrison stationed here"—he gestured at the overgrown wall—"at this very spot, was forced to flee in the dead of night"

Alessandra felt a prickling at the back of her neck.

Frederico moved a step closer. "They left more than rusting swords and spearheads, Alessa. More than your stupid shards of sculpture and broken bits of mosaics. They left a solid gold
imago
—the mask depicting the Emperor that a legion carries into battle. Not one has survived from ancient times—except this one. Have you any idea what a priceless treasure that would be today?"

"If it's money you are after, name a price. I am, as you know, quite rich."

"Oh, it's not just money I want, Alessa. It's power as well. There is a collector in Rome, a very wealthy and influential aristocrat, who is willing to fund my campaign against the Austrians, as well as use his political connections to have me appointed as spokesman of the Italian nationalists."

Frederico had always craved power over people, but to envision himself as a modern-day Caesar was...delusional. However, Alessandra kept such thoughts to herself.

"All provided I can get him the
imago"
he finished.

"Have you any idea how impossible it would be to find it?" she countered. The man was mad. And yet, she breathed a little easier. They could dig until Doomsday and still not locate what he was looking for. "Along with your moldering manuscripts, you've been reading too many lurid novels. Finding buried treasure happens in pirate tales, not in real life."

Paper crackled as Frederico withdrew a folded sheet from his pocket "Ah, but what if 'X' marks the spot,
coral
What if I have a map that shows exactly where we should look?"

Alessandra opened her mouth, but found herself speechless.

He smoothed out the creases, caressing the worn folds with a lover's touch. "Have a look."

She closed her eyes. "Good heavens, it's not that simple. It's been centuries... the landscape changes... the man's memory might have been jumbled...or he might have been lying."

"I've researched the matter. Other accounts corroborate the fact that the
imago
was lost when the Romans fled from this fort."

"Even if it is true, it is absurd to think that a crude map, drawn on recollections from the heat of battle, is accurate. The mask is likely a lie, or long gone. And if it is not, the odds of finding it are about the same as a snowball's chances of surviving in hell."

Frederico's mouth thinned to a grim line. "You had better hope, for Isabella's sake, that they are a lot better than that."

Lying flat on his belly, Jack wriggled a little closer to the stone wall. Something sticking out from a crevice in the stones had caught his eye, and using a soft brush, he began carefully loosening the surrounding clumps of moss and dirt. As he shifted sideways, the snap of twigs underfoot sounded on the other side of the wall.

"Frederico, you must understand."

Of all the cursed luck.
Jack swore an inward oath as Alessandra's voice continued. "It won't be easy."

"Ah, but cara, your beauty is equaled by your brains."

Ye gods, was that the Italian's idea of charming flattery? A sporty-faced schoolboy would know better than to spout such banal drivel. He gritted his teeth, restraining the urge to leap up and flatten Frederico's perfect nose with his fist He had no hold on Alessandra, he reminded himself roughly. Their arrangement had entailed no promises, no commitments. If she chose to take another lover, that was entirely her own business.