Anne Barbour (16 page)

Following his gaze. Miss Strindham frowned.

“I understand you and Lady Hilary have become great friends,” she said in a voice ever so lightly tinged with malice.

James’s insides tightened. Miss Strindham’s comment was the third or fourth veiled inquiry he had received so far this evening. Apparently, rumors of his imminent betrothal to Hilary had, indeed, begun making their way around the neighborhood circuit. It was time to plunge into the stratagem he and Hilary had crafted a few days previously. Assuming a bored tone, he said casually, “Oh, I think ‘great friends’ overstates the matter. Lady Hilary and I share an interest in antiquities and I am well acquainted with her father. She has spent some time investigating the Roman remains that lie on my property and has been kind enough to divulge to me the information she has discovered there.”

There, he thought, glancing at Miss Strindham, that ought to satisfy the chit.

“I thought it must be something like that,” the chit said, preening visibly. “You know”—she continued with the air of one producing a momentous piece of information, “I, too, am interested in antiquities. No—more than interested, I have an absolute passion for the subject.”

She paused, gazing expectantly at James. By now, Hilary had made her way to his side and James turned to greet her in what he hoped was a suitably avuncular fashion.

“Ah, Lady Hilary, I am glad you happened by. Miss Strindham was just telling me of her fascination with the ancient past.”

Hilary turned to stare in some astonishment at Miss Strindham, whose cheeks had stained a light pink, but who stared back somewhat belligerently.

“Yes,” she said prettily to James. “For example, did you know there is a wall—somewhere north of here, I think. It was built by the Romans and stretches for miles.”

Hilary choked, but James merely nodded and said with a creditable assumption of surprised enthusiasm, “Why, I believe I
have
heard of it. I think it was constructed by the Emperor Hadrian, in fact. I must see it sometime.”

Hilary, who was aware of the fact that James had spent the better part of a summer some years ago examining Hadrian’s Wall and had subsequently written a paper on the methods used in its construction, placed her fingertips on her lips to stifle an unladylike guffaw.

Miss Strindham, as though vaguely aware of an undercurrent, looked from James to Hilary. A crease appeared in her smooth, ivory forehead and her lower lip slid between pearly teeth.

“Yes,” she said uncertainly. “I would like to see it, too. Oh,” she concluded suddenly. “There is Maude Brindlesham. I have not seen her for this age. Please, do excuse me.”

Tossing a brilliant smile to James, she scurried away.

“That was not kind of you, James,” said Hilary, suppressing a smile.

“I thought I was being extraordinarily merciful,” he returned tartly. “Really, one would think the little twit could come up with something a little less widely known than Hadrian’s Wall with which to display her spurious expertise.”

“All for the purpose of snaring you, of course,” said Hilary, her brows quirked. Really, the man was impossibly conceited. Not that he lacked good reason. If she had thought him compelling in his rugged work garb, he was magnificent in evening dress. Buff knee britches clung to his muscled thighs and his coat of dark blue silk fit to perfection over well-formed shoulders. An amethyst stickpin winked from the folds of a precisely tied cravat, and the candlelight created warm, russet glints in the mahogany waves of his hair. Judging from the behavior of Mrs. Strindham’s female guests this evening, his assumption that every female on the planet was plotting to become Mrs. James Wincanon seemed to be proving all too true, but that did not make it any more becoming.

James stiffened. “I did not say that Miss Strindham is trying to snare me,” he said austerely. “In any case, I assure you I am aware that my physical or mental attractions are not sufficient to ensnare the female heart. However, I think I can say without contradiction that there are few men in the realm with my marital appeal.”

Hilary gasped. “Are you saying that all the women you have met in your whole life are grasping harpies?”

“No, of course not.” His mouth curled in a wry grin. “I can think of, oh, two or three of them who do not fall into that category.”

Hilary simply gaped at him. She did not know whether to be insulted or to feel sorry for James. As though reading her thoughts, he continued, “I am merely speaking an obvious truth, you know.”

“I cannot believe—” began Hilary, but closed her mouth almost immediately, as Miss Cassandra Bunch, a maiden lady of uncertain years, bustled up to lay a hand on James’s sleeve. “Ah, Mr. Wincanon,” she said roguishly, “I perceive it is my duty to save you and Hilary from social disaster.” She simpered at his expression of startlement and continued. “You must know it is not at all the thing to so monopolize our little Hilary. Whispers are already going around and now here you stand with your heads together, smelling of April and May.”

Hilary wished she could simply dissolve into invisibility. She knew her cheeks must be burning with an intensity that matched her hair, and she could sense that James was virtually swelling with a retort that would melt poor Miss Bunch into the carpet. To her surprise, however, he merely smiled thinly. “I must thank you for your efforts. Miss Bunch. And, I shall take your advice. Now, if you will excuse me ...” Bowing to both ladies, he turned on his heel and moved off into the milling crowd.

It was some moments before James regained his composure sufficiently to join another group of guests. He hoped Hilary was satisfied. Keeping in mind her admonitions on courtesy to his neighbors, he had refrained from giving Miss Bunch the set-down of her life. Lord, he hated being put in a position of obligatory conciliation. He simply wasn’t constructed for it.

He did not find himself in proximity with Hilary until after dinner. The meal had been excellent and the recital following, pure pleasure, for Mr. Selwyn, the pianist, more than lived up to Hilary’s encomiums. Even the offerings of the locals, consisting of a harp solo by the vicar’s eldest daughter and two or three soprano selections by another lady whose name now escaped him, had been above approach.

Thus, his mood was decidedly benign when he escorted Hilary outside to the terrace. Several other couples had elected to take the night air, and they paced sedately outside the long windows that gave off from Mrs. Strindham’s largest salon.

“How was Rufus when you left him this evening?” asked Hilary.

James frowned. “He was not feeling at all the thing. He insists there’s nothing wrong with him, but he seems very ill to me. His appetite is decreasing, and he is lethargic.”

“I wish he would allow us to bring a doctor for him.” Hilary paused for a moment. “I have been thinking—do you believe his condition has anything to do with his traveling through time?”

“I must admit I have been wondering the same thing. Perhaps he needs some sort of conditioning period to acclimate himself to our century. At least, I hope that’s the problem.”

Hilary nodded, and gathered her shawl of gossamer closer about her. She should have worn something a little heavier she realized. The early October night was chilly. She shivered.

“Are you cold?” James asked instantly. “Would you like to go inside?”

“No, it is so stuffy there. I think Mrs. Strindham has a roaring fire in every hearth in the house. She cannot abide the slightest draft. And it is such a lovely night.”

Indeed, Hilary could not remember so enjoying the beauty of an autumn evening. The air was clear and so sharp as to be intoxicating. A sliver of moon sliced through the star-crusted sky. She and her companion had by now left the terrace and strolled over a graveled path bordered by leafy shrubs.

“Besides,” she continued with a sigh, “I am so tired of verbally fencing with every other lady in the county. I’ve been through a virtual gauntlet all evening. Everyone in that room”—she indicated the Strindham music chamber with a sweep of her arm—”apparently believes me to be on the verge of betrothal to you. I have never heard anything so ludicrous,” she concluded with a sniff.

Feeling oddly affronted, James paused and reached to snap off the head of a withered rose. “I am sorry my secretary created such a problem for you—us,” he said stiffly.

Hilary’s laugh sounded softly in the crisp night air. “I guess I cannot blame him too severely. In fact, I suppose he must be commended for his quickness of wit.”

Self-consciously, she bent to examine a Michaelmas daisy. “Tell me,” she said, a moment later, “is it your intention never to marry at all?”

Instantly, all James’s protective instincts sprang to attention. “I have not decided that,” he said colorlessly. “Why? Are you applying for the position?”

Immediately, he could have bitten his tongue at his maladroitness. Her question had been personal to the point of rudeness, but that was no excuse for his own discourtesy. “Do you think you could forget I said that?” he asked awkwardly.

“No, but never mind,” Hilary replied tartly. “I have come to accept your general unpleasantness. And, no, I am not interested in marrying you—or anyone else at the moment. I was merely thinking that you would be much better off with a good wife, and as it happens, I have one or two young women in mind who might be suitable for you.”

“What?” gasped James.

“Yes,” she replied placidly. “Catherine Silcombe is a widow— just two or three years your junior, I think. She has two delightful children and needs a husband and a father. She is living now with her parents, but I believe she is heartily sick of that arrangement. She is quite lovely and biddable, with a good mind and a—”

“Good God!” James all but shouted. “I cannot believe— Are you actually suggesting that I allow you to select a wife for me?”

“Well,” Hilary replied in her most reasonable tone, “you don’t seem to be doing so yourself. Yes, I know,” she added quickly; “I do have a tendency to meddle, but this is for your own good, James. You would be much better off married—to someone who will pull you out of the ancient world once in awhile and see to it that you mingle with your fellow man on a regular basis.”

Unthinking, James grasped her by the shoulders. “My good woman,” he grated, “I am perfectly happy with my life the way it is. I do not need a wife to arrange my social life, nor do I feel the need to mingle. And, even if I did, I believe I could manage such a task on my own. I most assuredly do
not
require your interference in my affairs. I have allowed you to participate in my excavations and in my dealings with Rufus, but if you think—”

Hilary was intensely aware of the warmth of James’s fingers on her bare flesh, but her voice, when she spoke, betrayed only the merest quaver. “But you are not, James. Happy, this is. I must tell you that, despite your personality flaws, I have come to like you very much. I cannot bear to see those I like made unhappy by their own buffleheadedness, when they need only a push in the right direction to improve the quality of their lives immeasurably.”

“My
God!”

Hilary noted interestedly that James’s breathing was becoming noticeably erratic. Why, the man was actually sputtering.

“My God!” James exclaimed again. “You infuriating little twit, will you listen to me? I
am
happy. I have been happy for a number of years. I just want to be left alone. Why can’t females understand that term? Left alone. A-L-0-N-E. Is that so difficult to comprehend? In addition, what gives you the right to play God with my existence? Who appointed you the arbiter of the universe?”

James halted abruptly and drew a deep breath. He heard the muted voices of the couples on the terrace and realized that he and Hilary had walked a good distance away from them. He felt assaulted by the scents of the night air. The fragrance of open earth drifting in from the distant fields and the essence of the late garden blossoms closer to hand were almost intoxicating. It was the scent of Hilary, however—that unidentifiable blend of flowers and spice and forest pungency that filled his senses and made them swim. The fire of her hair was silvered in the moonlight and, gazing into her eyes, he felt as though he were being drawn into a golden vortex.

He seemed about to explode with the maelstrom of emotions that seethed within him, and without volition—almost as though he were being compelled, he bent his head. When his mouth met hers in a crushing kiss, he felt her stiffen against him in resistance. The next moment, however, she seemed to melt into his embrace. Her body was warm and soft and pliant against him and his hands moved from her shoulders to enfold her tightly in his arms. His fingers brushed the curls at the back of her neck and the velvety flesh beneath them. He almost cried aloud at the wave of wanting that surged through him.

The next instant, Hilary pulled away from him, and it was as though someone had peeled away part of his soul. She stood staring at him for a moment, her eyes wide and stricken. Then she whirled and ran into the house, leaving him shaken, and wondering if he were going mad.

Chapter Fourteen

Entering Mrs. Strindham’s music room from the dark witchery of the night, Hilary felt as though she had been thrust into an alien world. The chamber seemed bathed in a confusing glare of light, and peopled by strangers who spoke loudly and wore clothing altogether too bright.

Hilary blinked and moved unsteadily to the ladies’ withdrawing room. It was mercifully empty, and she waved aside the maid who approached to offer her services. She sank into a chair and contemplated the events that had just taken place. What had possessed James Wincanon to behave in such a fashion? And what had possessed her to respond so wantonly? She had been kissed before— not often, to be sure—but she had never experienced the breathless surge of emotion that James’s kiss had produced. Sensations had been created in her that she had never known existed. When his lips had met hers, she wanted nothing more than to lose herself in him.

Lord, what was the matter with her? It was only the voices of the guests on the terrace and the terrifying weakness of her own knees that had made her wrench herself from his embrace. It had taken all the strength she possessed to step away from him.