“As well as can be expected,” he said.

  Valiant snorted, and Madame Beaulieu’s lush lips curled into a tiny, feline smile—tantamount to admitting she’d sent sensual images to his sleeping mind.

  Garrick refrained from snarling. “And you, Miss Southern?”

  “Perfectly well, thank you.” Her words felt like darts, and the shadows under those fine eyes betrayed her. She was too well bred to show it, but the gossip had certainly upset her.

  “No dreams?” Val said, and Garrick knew an urge to toss him through the window. Lucille Beaulieu’s smile grew even more catlike.

  Theodora went pink. “None that I care to remember.” With sharp slashes of her knife, she cut a slice of ham into strips.

  She’d probably had an erotic dream, but if it was about him, she hadn’t enjoyed it, and who could blame her? A pity, because despite his good intentions, he liked the idea that there might be some passion buried inside her.

  He cleared his throat. “Miss Southern, I’m told you ventured into my excavation of the Roman villa last night.”

  Theodora shot him an incredulous glance, but how the devil else was he supposed to mend matters? “I’m sorry you felt obliged to go there after dark,” he continued. “It doesn’t hold a candle to what one finds on the Continent, but please feel free to visit it in daylight anytime you like.”

  “How very kind,” she said frostily and buttered a slice of toast.

  “On the contrary. I have been most remiss, or I would have suggested it before. I had forgotten that you share your father’s interest in antiquity.”

  She raised elegant brows. “Had you indeed?”

  Didn’t she believe him? “Perhaps, after the party is over, you might like to ride here with him someday.”

  “He might,” she said flatly. “I saw quite enough last night.”

  This provoked a flurry of titters from Miss Concord, her mother and one of the other young ladies, and an even more explicit leer from Buxton.

  Theodora reddened. “Certainly enough to know that my father will be delighted at your invitation,” she elaborated testily, and returned to eating her ham. Val gave Garrick an I-told-you-so look.

  Garrick began to be annoyed, but he didn’t intend to show it. No displays of temper, no more rudeness and unpleasantness, no more simply doesn’t care.

  Theodora took a bite of toast. Garrick found himself noticing her teeth as she bit, watching her tongue as she licked the butter off her lips.

  The idea of bedding her seemed to have fixed itself firmly in his mind. It was a pleasant change from ignoring women altogether, but he was a gentleman, and regardless of what Val said, he intended to apologize to Theodora. Not only that, he couldn’t—simply couldn’t seduce her.

  No matter how much he was beginning to wish he could.

  * * *

  The instant she finished her ham and toast, Theodora rose and excused herself. Five minutes later, she left by the kitchen door. While Garrick was safely at breakfast, she would make a quick trip to the ruins and sketch the hypocaust for her father.

  How could Garrick still think she hoped to trap him into marriage? There was no other conceivable reason to pretend he hadn’t been in the ruins last night. She didn’t like him at all anymore. How could he have changed so much over the years? During the past week he had embarrassed his aunt and insulted his guests, turning the house party from the usual pleasant, well-run affair into an erotically charged catastrophe.

  Not that the erotic aspect of it was his fault—how could it be?—but he shouldn’t have permitted Lord Valiant to flirt shamelessly with the prospective brides, creating havoc and causing some guests to leave. As for Garrick himself, he hadn’t shown the slightest interest in any of the women. He’d been colder than the highlands of Scotland in January. If he didn’t want to marry any of them, why had he invited them?

  She crossed the kitchen garden, sketchbook and pencil in hand. The morning was brisk, with frost still on the meadow and a pale cloudless sky. She made up her mind to enjoy the crisp, clear weather and a proper look at the excavation.

  She soon arrived at the pit. She carried one of the chairs to where Garrick had unearthed the tile pillars. The Romans had been advanced in so many ways! She’d often thought how lovely it would be to have a house heated from underneath, or at the very least a bathhouse.

  What a pity the coals in the brazier had gone cold, because even with gloves on, her fingers were nearly numb. It didn’t make for good sketching. She blew on her fingers to warm them up, sketched a bit and blew on them again.

  Footsteps sounded behind her. She started up, whirling. It was Garrick. “Oh. It’s only you.” She didn’t want to see him, but at least it wasn’t Mr. Buxton.

  “Only me.” Garrick carried a bucket of hot coals over to the brazier. “Whom did you expect?”

  “No one,” she said crossly, as awkwardness rushed in. “It’s far too cold to be out here.”

  “I thought you might need some warmth for your sketching.” Garrick emptied the coals into the brazier and set it beside her.

  He’d suddenly decided to be thoughtful? She didn’t understand him at all! “Thank you,” she muttered, sitting again and holding her hands over the blessed heat.

  “You’re welcome.” He shucked his gloves and dug in his pocket. “I thought you might like to sketch these, as well.” He held something out.

  “It’s a comb,” she said, relieved to have something so unemotional to discuss.

  “Made of bone. It’s missing a few teeth, but otherwise intact.”

  She set her sketchbook aside and took the comb, which had two sets of teeth along a central shaft, with circular designs carved into the ends. One set of teeth was much finer than the other. “How strange to think that a Roman woman once used it.”

  “I expect the narrower teeth were for nits and lice,” he said.

  “Ugh.” She passed it back.

  “And this.” In the palm of his hand lay a coin. “Go ahead. Pick it up.”

  A quiver went through her as her gloved finger touched his palm. How absurd! She reminded herself firmly that he had insulted her both last night and this morning, and read the words engraved on the coin: IMP CAESAR VESPASIANUS AVG. “The Emperor Vespasian. Heavens, this coin must be...what, fifteen hundred years old?”

  “More than seventeen hundred,” Garrick said. “I found others as well, but they’re all more recent.”

  “How astonishing to unearth them after so long. Where were they?”

  “In a clay pot under the old abbey walls. Someone’s hoard, I suppose, for which he never returned. My favourite piece is a brooch called a fibula, used as a clasp for a soldier’s cloak.”

  A sad note had entered his voice. Perhaps he was thinking of soldiers—past and present—who had never come home. She didn’t want to feel sympathy for him—she would far rather not feel anything—but it swelled within her all the same.

  She turned the coin over. On the reverse was a woman holding a scepter and a ladle, with the single word Vesta...the virgin goddess. Theodora didn’t want to think about virginity, either. Hurriedly, she dropped the coin back in his palm. She retrieved her pencil and paper and returned to work on her sketch.

  Garrick set the other chair on the opposite side of the brazier. He sat and warmed his hands. “I owe you an apology.”

  Could this get any more uncomfortable? She flapped a hand, wishing he would go away. “Quite unnecessary, I assure you.”

  “It is necessary,” he said. “I was extremely unkind to you last night. As you so rightly put it, I have become a rude and unpleasant person. However, had I known I was speaking to you, I wouldn’t have said what I did.”

  Her pencil stopped moving of its own accord.

  “I would never speak so impolitely to you, much less accuse you of chasing me. I thought I was speaking to Miss Concord.”

  Oh.

  “You wore a cloak with a hood, and you and she are much of a size.”

  True. Theodora bit her lip.

  “She is by far the most persistent of the ladies, not only flirting incessantly, but stalking me in the corridors day and night.”

  A weight slipped off Theodora’s shoulders. The cold grip of sorrow let go of her heart.

  “She even hid in my bedchamber once, but my valet found her and shooed her away.”

  Theodora stared, unable to prevent an incredulous smile. “Not truly!”

  “Yes, truly,” he said. “I wanted to make it clear to her last night that if she compromised herself, she would suffer for it—not I.”

  Theodora let out a long breath. He didn’t think horrid things about her. She needn’t be angry or hurt. She began sketching again, and for a while neither of them spoke.

  “I’m not usually rude and unpleasant,” he said.

  Now it was getting embarrassing again. “I beg your pardon. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “No, you were right. It was a home truth, coming as it did from such an old and valued friend. I realized immediately that I must mend my ways.”

  “I would never presume to suggest such a thing,” she said. “It’s just that...” She stopped right there, since she had implied exactly that.

  “It’s not that I don’t care. I think perhaps I care too deeply, but about other things than what matter to most of our class. I’ve lost my patience with folly and ignorance and indifference.” He shrugged. “You’ve heard me expressing my opinions, whether or not people want to hear them. I’m not usually so tactless, but this dashed Christmas party got to me.”

  She’d noticed the new lines on his face, but she hadn’t had the chance to truly study him until now. He didn’t merely look older than before, but careworn. “What do you mean?”

  “I didn’t want to hold a party. I’ve been feeling unsociable and...rather grief-stricken, to tell the truth. I lost many comrades at Waterloo, and I’m still in a sort of mourning. I told my aunt so and said in no uncertain terms that I wasn’t in the mood for marriage. She planned this party against my express wishes and didn’t let me know until it was too late to cancel. All I could do, short of barring the doors against all comers, was to avoid my guests whenever possible and make it clear that I didn’t intend to court anyone.”

  No wonder he’d been so cold and unfriendly. “That explains the lack of mistletoe, I suppose.”

  He nodded. “If you’d seen the appalling amount she’d had put up, you would understand why I lost my temper. I envisioned myself being dragged into corners willy-nilly by one rapacious female after another.”

  A giggle burst from Theodora. “Poor Garrick.”

  “I thought so,” he said ruefully. “Unfortunately, the lack of mistletoe hasn’t discouraged Miss Concord. I won’t marry her regardless of what happens, but it would be better for all concerned if she didn’t bring about her own ruin.”

  “Definitely,” Theodora said. If Garrick were thought to have compromised Miss Concord, it would tarnish his honour as well as hers.

  “If I can make it safely through the next five days,” Garrick said, “life will return to normal.”

  “You need someone to keep guard,” Theodora said. “A knight in shining armour to frighten the villainess away.”

  He chuckled. “Do you forgive me, Dora?”

  “Of course I do.” How sweet of him to use her childhood nickname.

  “Good, because I’ve lost too many friends. I can’t afford to lose you, too.”

  A shrill scream broke the wintry air.

  * * *

  They sprang to their feet. “What the devil was that?” Garrick demanded.

  “Help! Save me!” cried a pathetic female voice. Garrick and Theodora exchanged glances.

  “It sounds like Miss Concord.” Theodora hurried toward the edge of the pit.

  “What in God’s name is she up to now?” Garrick said.

  “It must be another attempt to trap you,” Theodora said. “I’ll see what’s going on.”

  “While I do what, sneak off into the bushes? Not likely.” At the edge of the pit, Garrick took Theodora by the waist and lifted her out. He inhaled her warm, feminine fragrance—and reluctantly set her aside. He leapt up beside her.

  “As long as I’m here, she can’t accuse you of compromising her,” Theodora whispered, hurrying into the old refectory. “You’re safe with me.” An arrested expression stole over her face—one he remembered well from their childhood. It meant she was up to mischief.

  “What?” Garrick said.

  “I’ve just had the most brilliant notion. I’ll tell you later.”

  Another scream cut the air. They emerged into the ruins of the old abbey. Miss Concord’s bodice was ripped, showing the curve of one breast above her shift. Hands clasped to her cheeks, she cried, “Save me! Help!”

  Garrick strode forward. “For God’s sake, Miss Concord, stop screeching.”

  “Lord Westerly, how could you?” Her voice wobbled pathetically. “I am a virtuous woman.” Her face puckered. Good Lord, was she about to feign tears?

  “Whatever is the matter?” asked Theodora. “Why is your bodice torn?”

  “It’s—it’s—” Her face fell ludicrously at the sight of Theodora. From the meadow came the thud of approaching footsteps. “It was a—a wasp,” she blurted.

  “A wasp at this season?” Garrick said, as Mrs. Concord and Aunt Esther hurried into the ruins. “That’s the most ludicrous story I’ve ever heard.”

  “Oh, my dearest girl, whatever is wrong?” Mrs. Concord cried dramatically.

  “Garrick, what have you been up to now?” Aunt Esther shouted, and then subsided as she noticed Theodora. Thank God, because a hysterical, bellowing Aunt Esther would alert the entire countryside. “What is going on out here?”

  “Miss Concord had a fright,” Theodora said, removing her cloak in a hurry. “She didn’t say a wasp, Lord Westerly. She said a louse went down her bodice. Isn’t that right, Miss Concord?”

  Miss Concord glared at Theodora, but she accepted the cloak and clutched it around herself. “Yes, of course.”

  “Miss Southern, you must be frozen,” Mrs. Concord said. “Lord Westerly, do the gentlemanly thing and give your greatcoat to my daughter so poor Miss Southern can have her cloak back.”

  Not bloody likely. “Much easier to give it to Miss Southern,” Garrick said, wrapping it solicitously about Theodora’s shoulders. “Come to think of it, what’s Miss Concord doing out here without a cloak of her own?”

  Miss Concord went red. Her bright cheeks clashed with her ginger hair. “It must have fallen off,” she said in a sulky voice.

  “Does it have a faulty clasp?” Theodora asked sweetly, looking small and cuddly in Garrick’s greatcoat, which was too large for her in every way.

  “We’ll bring it if we see it,” Garrick said. “Auntie, take Miss Concord and her mama back to the house.”

  * * *

  The warm, masculine aroma of Garrick’s greatcoat enveloped Theodora. It was all she could do not to close her eyes and breathe him in. Memories rushed into Theodora’s mind—of an embrace beneath the mistletoe, of the thrill of his maleness, so close and warm and enticing, and of her very first kiss.

  Lucille was entirely right. Theodora did indeed want Garrick in a carnal way. She’d been trying to ignore her improper feelings for him, but it had been a week now, and the attraction had grown stronger each day.

  Well then, why shouldn’t she have him? Unlike Miss Concord, she didn’t want to force him into marriage. She knew he valued her only as a friend. She wasn’t a romantic young girl anymore, but a mature, practical, lusty woman. Instead of looking for another prospective lover, why not throw off her shackles here and now—with Garrick! Their carnal relations would be only for their mutual enjoyment—no traps, no caps, no apron strings and no inconvenient emotions.

  An enticing prospect, but how would she persuade him to oblige her?

  “I’ll sketch the hypocaust some other time,” she said when they reached the pit again. “My arms are too short for your coat sleeves, and...” She eyed him, doing her best not to laugh out loud. “Oh, Garrick, wasn’t that preposterous?”

  His mouth twitched. “Thank you for rescuing me, oh, knight in shining armour.” He cocked his head to one side, eyes dancing. “What was your brilliant idea?”

  “Exactly that!” she said. “I’m going to be your knight. Well, perhaps not quite that. A sort of bodyguard, like a king might have.”

  “A bodyguard,” Garrick repeated.

  “Just for five days,” she said. “The only way you’ll be safe from Miss Concord is if you are never alone.”

  He raised his brows. “Never?”

  “I know you’re feeling unsociable and would prefer solitude,” she babbled, “but I shan’t bother you with conversation. I don’t suppose a king chats much with the men who protect him, does he?”

  “I haven’t the faintest idea.” Garrick stared as if she were insane.

  She kept on trying anyway. “I’ll guard you whenever you need me—day and night.” She felt herself blush—how annoying.

  His lips twitched again. He said nothing.

  She mustn’t allow herself to become disconcerted. She’d given him a hint; now she must allow him some time to think about it. “Well, then. It’s perfect, isn’t it? We’ve an excellent reason for spending time together. You’re interested in antiquities and intend to write a scholarly treatise.”

  He laughed. “And make a presentation before some learned society, I suppose.”

  “Yes, the Society of Antiquaries,” she said. “My father is a member. I shall provide illustrations for both the treatise and the presentation. That should keep us occupied for five days, don’t you think?”