The next morning Alex tethered his horse outside the villa, then hailed Manolis, who was coming down the street with two more mounts. “Excellent. Tie them here. I’ll be leaving with the ladies shortly.”
The older man smiled. “It is good to see you in the sunshine, iatros.”
“It’s sunny nearly every day.” But he knew what Manolis meant.
It was irrational, the good humor that had settled over him. His past had receded, the memories of what he had done distanced from this place and time. What was important was now: the kestrels swooping overhead in the clear, dry air, the day unfolding before him, full of promise. The brown-haired woman waiting, whose smiles were like balm and honey, whose company he had begun to enjoy far more than he should. Still, there was no harm in turning his face to the light she held, as a cold man might warm himself before a fire. It was not as though he were trying to claim that fire for himself, or coax it into burning on his own hearth.
He whistled to himself as he mounted the stairs two at a time. Pen opened the door immediately at his knock. He looked over her shoulder, catching sight of Miss Huntington in the next room.
“Hello, Mr. Trentham.” Pen grinned at him. “We’re nearly ready. Where are we going?”
“It’s a surprise, but one you’ll know soon enough.” He could not swear to it, but the girl seemed more presentable these days. The anxious expression had faded from her eyes, and there was something different about her dresses. “Will you run down to the kitchen and see that the supplies I asked for are ready? Have them taken out to the horses.”
“Of course—and I think I know where we’re going.” Her look turned conspiratorial. “It’s a grand idea.” She gathered up her shawl and bonnet and slipped out.
“Miss Huntington?”
“Come in.” She was standing before the wardrobe, wearing the dress he had first mangled, the russet color bringing out echoes of autumn in her hair. The sleeve had been remade, as had the right sleeves of all her dresses, a panel of fabric enlarging them enough to accommodate the sling. She smiled and warmth kindled through him, all the way to his soles.
“I’m looking forward to our mysterious adventure today,” she said.
“You feel well enough to ride?”
“Ride? Absolutely!” Her smile widened. “That means we’re going some distance. I’ll be ready in a moment. Although—did Pen just step out?” She glanced down at the pair of boots she was holding.
“Allow me to help.”
“Yes, you’ll have to. One-handed lacing is quite impossible.” She went to the nearby chair and sat, then pulled her skirts up slightly and held out one stockinged foot. Her cheeks held a blossom of color that had not been there moments before.
He took up a boot of finely tooled leather and went on one knee before her, near enough that the scent of her teased his senses. Soap and flowers, and the warmth he identified as simply her—the fragrance had become familiar since that first night she had arrived at his doorstep. Although his sheets had been laundered straight away, sometimes late at night he imagined he could still catch her scent there, elusive and lingering in the folds of cotton.
He loosened the laces and spread the boot wide, holding it open for her to slip her foot into. For a moment her heel caught, and he slid his hand around her ankle, guiding her. She let out a faint breath.
Soft, warm…Without conscious intent his hand moved up her calf, her silk-clad skin intoxicating—and Alex was abruptly aware that he was caressing her leg in the heated darkness beneath her skirts. It drowned out all his other senses, that touch, that desire to keep on touching.
He dropped his hand, scorched. Forced himself to tie up the laces, though his fingers felt barely under his control. One boot safely on. Now the other.
He would not, would not, allow himself to caress behind her knee, though it was only the lift of a finger away. He would not imagine what lay beyond that knee, the pale, curving softness of her thigh….
“Finished.” He rose to his feet, feeling as though he had been standing too close to a raging fire, the heat assaulting his skin even as the flames beckoned him closer.
“I did say once before that you had missed your calling as a lady’s maid.” Her voice was uneven, her cheeks pinker than before.
“I’m surprised you trusted me after the damage I did to your clothing last time.”
“I do trust you.”
Which only made things worse. He was no longer entirely sure he could trust himself. “Come. Pen is waiting.”
She accepted his help in rising, her gaze finally meeting his. The amber flecks in her eyes shone like glints of gold and her lips were parted.
“Thank you.”
It had been his pleasure, and a guilty one, but if he read her aright he was not alone in the pleasure. It was heady, seeing the flush of awareness on her open face. Heady—and impossible.
Alex stepped back, made himself release her hand. He did not deserve the touch of this beautiful, spirited woman—but that did not mean he didn’t desire her. Desperately. Since she had arrived he had begun to feel again. It would hurt when she left. Deep inside, all his old pain was still there, waiting to rise up and engulf him. Dormant now, it needed only the spur of a new loss to overwhelm him again. He knew it, and still he could not manage to lock himself away.
They emerged from the villa to find Pen mounted and waiting. A satchel of provisions bulged behind the saddle.
“That’s rather a lot of supplies.” The girl shot a glance behind her. “We’re only going to be gone part of the day, aren’t we?”
“Yes. But we’re going to have company for lunch.” Alex moved to assist Miss Huntington into the saddle. She had paused, reins in one hand, and was regarding her mount.
“You needn’t fear,” he said. “Agalma is a steady beast.”
Pen laughed. “Steady? She’s the slowest horse on the entire island. You’ll be lucky if she doesn’t decide to lie down and take a nap—with you on her.”
“Do you have so little trust in my ability to ride?” Miss Huntington asked Alex.
“I don’t lack confidence in your horsemanship, just the ability of your head to withstand a repeated concussion. Up you go.” He boosted her sideways into the saddle, trying not to think about her trim ankles, the soft skin of her legs. His hands tightened with the memory of touching her. Miss Caroline Huntington. He turned and swung himself onto Icarus. “We’re taking luncheon to the excavation, Pen. Do you think we’ll be able to pry the Legaults from their labors?”
“I’m sure we can. Oh, and I guessed it. It’s a splendid idea.” She urged her horse forward.
“Another excellent surprise.” Miss Huntington smiled at him. “Tell me more about the site. Pen says the Legaults came across the place some years ago and organized an official excavation?”
“Semiofficial at best. The Turkish authorities keep an eye out, but so far they have not interfered. Of course, if Legault discovers something marvelous—inscribed tablets of solid gold or a cache of jewelry—they would quickly become interested.”
“Is that likely?”
“It’s an old Roman ruin, built upon an even older village. As you yourself said, who knows what secrets the earth will yield.”
She glanced up the track, a wistful expression on her face. “I’m glad to have the opportunity to visit this excavation everyone talks about.”
He smiled to himself, imagining her reaction when she saw the ranks of marble statuary, the baths and basilica, the small open amphitheater. There were treasures aplenty, though they might not be as tangible as gold coins.
“Mr. Trentham,” she said after they had ridden on. “What about the bones? Pen says you piece old bits of skeleton together.”
“The artifacts only tell part of the story. I lend my knowledge of human anatomy to Legault so he may better understand the people who lived here.”
“Yes. Your training as a doctor. I’ve been wondering—”
“Old bones are hardly a fitting subject for such a day.” And could lead them into dangerous conversation. He would not allow the past to mar the present. Catching Pen’s eye, he nodded to her to take his place riding beside Miss Huntington. “I’ll check the road ahead.”
This was Crete at its best, before the heavy summer heat pressed down like an iron over the island. The breeze was fresh, and white and brown herds of goats were scattered over the hills, the sound of their bells carrying faintly in the spring air. Alex squinted up at the sun. They were making good time, despite Miss Huntington’s slow-footed mount.
Another half hour of gentle riding and they crested the plain. The ruins ahead were visible now, and Miss Huntington let out a low cry of pleasure.
“Look at the pillars, the amphitheater….”
He could not hold back a smile. “You are not disappointed then?”
Her eyes were alight, her generous mouth curved. “I’m not in the least disappointed. I can hardly wait, in fact. Go, you wretched beast.” She kicked her heels against Agalma’s sides and the long-suffering horse lumbered forward.
It did not take long to reach the cluster of canvas tents that marked the Legaults’ camp. During the winter months they took rooms in the village, but the temperate springtime saw them moving to the site to be closer to the work, before the stifling summer heat ended the season.
Alex slid from Icarus and tethered him to the remains of a weather-worn column. Pen followed suit, no stranger to the site herself.
“Miss Huntington.” He went to assist her.
Smiling, she set her good hand on his shoulder and let herself slip forward into his arms with serene confidence. He closed his hands about her waist and braced her descent against him. It was not deliberate, but he could not help holding her against him an extra heartbeat. Then two. The wind hushed through the cypress, bringing with it the fragrance of herbs and cedar.
This was getting to be a damnable habit. He took a step back. “Let us go make our greetings to the Legaults.”
She turned toward the tents, not meeting his gaze, though an awareness of how close their bodies had just been seemed to pulse in the space between them. “I see Pen has lost no time in doing just that.”
They joined the girl under one of the striped awnings, where she was engaged in animated conversation with Madame Legault.
“Alex, good day to you!” the Frenchwoman said, rising, then bestowed a kiss on each of his cheeks. “And Miss Huntington as well. Welcome.” She held out her hands. “Let me look at you, cherie. Oui, much improved! Such color in your face, and your eyes are sparkling. Monsieur Trentham has done wonders with you.”
The color Madame had remarked on seemed to deepen as Miss Huntington nodded. “I am feeling better daily.”
“And who would not, with such a handsome doctor to tend them?” She smiled. “But let us go pull my husband from the dirt and make ready for luncheon.”
They found Monsieur Legault directing his workers in the middle of the excavation. He greeted them cheerfully, remarked also on Miss Huntington’s improved health, and promised to join them soon. They left him busy with a measuring stick in a trench, calling admonishments in Greek for his men to be careful with the wheelbarrows.
“Let’s spread blankets in the shade of the grove,” Pen said. “Then it will be a properly rustic picnic.”
“That is very well for you young persons,” Madame Legault said, laughter in her voice, “but I will have them fetch a chair for my old bones to rest upon. And pillows for you as well. Even youth needs comfort.”
Pen found a suitable place and flapped the blankets open over the grasses. “Anyone who accompanies her husband on his expeditions and writes up all the field notes could not possibly be thought of as old.”
“Well, perhaps not so ancient then.” Madame shot a wry glance at the girl. “But let us see what delicacies you have brought. Once my husband catches the scent of food he will be here tout de suite.”
The workmen brought chairs and carried a table out from one of the tents, and soon there was an elegant dining area set up. Alex was quietly amused. No matter how rustic the surroundings, Madame Legault lent an air of refinement to any undertaking. She even wore perfume at the dig, no matter how impractical the notion. The delicate aroma of violets wafted about her.
“Unearth our bounty, ma petite, so we may entice my husband to stop his labors.” She settled herself in one of the chairs and Alex seated Miss Huntington across from her.
Pen opened the satchel. “Olives, of course, and bread. Oh, and my favorite.” She pulled out a packet of rolled leaves. “Dolmades.”
“I haven’t tried them.” Miss Huntington took the packet, held it up to her nose and sniffed. “Hmm. As long as there is baklava I will be content.”
“Dolmades are stuffed grape leaves—they’re delicious.” Pen continued setting bundles on the table until there was an impressive picnic laid out.
Alex was glad to see they had not forgotten the honey-drizzled sweets. He had expressly asked that baklava be included.
“Here comes your husband now,” he said, seeing Monsieur Legault approaching from the dig, “just as predicted.”
“Bonjour—let me greet you properly, now that I am no longer so covered in dust.” The Frenchman made the rounds, giving the women the traditional buss on the cheeks. He knew Alex well enough to substitute a firm handshake instead. “I have brought us something to drink.”
He lifted the jug he carried and gave it a flourish, then poured five goblets of retsina, the yellow wine glowing in the light.
Miss Huntington picked up her glass and wrinkled her nose slightly, then took a cautious sip. “Heavens! It’s very…unusual.”
Alex took a swallow, the piney taste lingering in his mouth. Not his preferred beverage either, but quite fitting here among the ruins.
“Retsina.” Monsieur Legault held his glass up, sending the golden liquid swirling. “It’s an acquired taste. In ancient times they sealed the wine into amphorae with a mixture of plaster and pine resin. Inside the narrow-necked container, the wine took on the flavor of the sealant, and voilà, a new beverage was born.” He tipped his glass to them. “To new experiences in exotic places—and the courage to savor them.”
Alex raised his glass along with the others. Miss Huntington’s eyes met his for an unguarded instant, and then she drained her glass.
“Oh!” She puckered her lips like someone who had tasted a lemon, then smiled. Her reaction drew much laughter, and Alex, to his surprise, found himself laughing along.
Madame refilled his glass. “Mr. Trentham, I think the retsina agrees with you, for I believe that is the first time I have heard you laugh.”
He shook his head. Surely he must have laughed before. “Well”—he lifted his drink again—“to new experiences.”
“Tell me about the excavation,” Miss Huntington said. She leaned forward, listening intently as the Legaults spoke of the dig.
Alex watched as she savored the tastes: goat cheese, Pen’s esteemed dolmades, the oily cured olives. She had an openness and curiosity that was captivating. The sun slanted through the leaves overhead, caressing her cheek and teasing out the highlights in her hair. But even more than her beauty, it was her warmth of spirit that drew him to her so powerfully. He had laughed, damn it, and he knew it was not wine that had unlocked his laughter.
“Oh! Mr. Trentham, you do not know of our newest discovery,” Madame turned to him. “Four days ago we began unearthing the walls near the amphitheater. It is the Roman baths—quite delightful. Tell them, Henri.”
“Frescoes—very well preserved.” He waved his napkin to emphasize. “It is thrilling to uncover them from the earth, after so long. Although we must keep canvas sheets over them, once finished, so as not to distract the workmen.”
“Distract them?” Miss Huntington took another bite of her baklava.
Alex shifted in his chair. He had a notion as to why, and Madame Legault’s next words confirmed it.
“They are quite sensual in nature.” A mischievous light flashed in her eyes. “Beautiful examples of the art. You must go view them after luncheon. Though perhaps Pen is still too young.”
Pen giggled and Madame gave the girl a gentle smile.
Sensual frescoes? Alex coughed. “I really don’t—”
“The historical perspective is quite fascinating,” Monsieur Legault said. “No matter their subject matter, they are spectacular examples of the fresco art form.”
“You will not want to miss seeing them,” Madame said, nodding. “They are magnifique!”
Miss Huntington’s eyes were bright with interest. “Certainly we shall go.”
Alex shot the French couple a sideways glance. “How ‘sensual’ are these frescoes? Perhaps they should not be viewed in mixed company.”
“Ancient art is always worth seeing.” Madame tossed her head, a touch of impatience evident in the gesture. “You English can be so…”
“I have viewed the Elgin Marbles,” Miss Huntington said. “Some would argue they are of an explicit nature, and I am hardly the worse for it. I would very much like to see the frescoes.”
Madame Legault gave her an approving look. “You are a sensible young woman, not so prudish as Mr. Trentham. I am certain you could appreciate the artistry of the frescoes. Some of them are quite inventive. It is refreshing, the views the ancients took, and then so splendidly realized in plaster and paint.”
Dear God, he could only imagine what the Legaults had unearthed. Call him a rake, but he was deeply curious to see how Miss Huntington would react. The desire he tried to ignore hummed loudly through his body.
When there were only crumbs left, Monsieur Legault pushed his plate away. “I regret I cannot accompany you, but I must return to work. The time to excavate is short, with summer approaching. Thank you for the most excellent company and luncheon. Enjoy your afternoon here.” He rose and smiled at them.
“I will come with you, Henri, or my notes will fall too far behind.” Madame Legault stood and joined her husband. “But please, the rest of you stay as long as you like. Mr. Trentham, you know the site well enough to show Miss Huntington about.” The mischievous look returned to her eyes. “Do not neglect our newest find! À bientôt.” She slipped her arm through her husband’s and, heads close together, they left their visitors to enjoy the dappled shade of the cypresses.
Alex looked at the others. A slight blush rested on Miss Huntington’s cheeks.
Pen yawned widely and lay back on the blanket. “The retsina is making me sleepy. You two go on while I rest.” She tucked her arms behind her head and closed her eyes.
Miss Huntington looked at Pen, her eyebrows pulled together in a slight frown. “Are you sure you don’t wish to see the new discoveries?”
The girl opened one eye. “I’m sure. I am too young—and too full. Although I expect you to tell me about them when you return.”
Alex rose and offered Miss Huntington his arm. “There is much worth seeing, even if we do not view the frescoes.” After all, that was the reason he had brought her here.
Her expression touched with shyness, but nonetheless resolute, she took his arm. “I think our hosts would be disappointed if we did not at least take a look.”
They walked in silence, and he was too aware of her as they made their way through the excavation. The light breeze pressed her skirts against her legs. Just how explicit were these frescoes? The Legaults, in their enthusiasm for the past, might well see the artwork differently from someone less enraptured by its antiquity.
“As a man, I would assume…” Miss Huntington cleared her throat and began again. “I neglected to ask whether you have some experience with the style of artwork we are going to see.”
“I suppose you don’t mean the effect of paint over plaster.”
“Um. No.” Her fingers tightened fractionally on his arm. “I mean the kind depicting the human form partially clothed.”
“Is that what you think we are going to view?”
She blushed again, not meeting his eyes. “That is what I would surmise from the conversation at luncheon.”
“I’ve known the Legaults for some time and don’t believe they would have swaddled the frescoes with canvas if they merely depict the partially clothed human form. They are from Paris, after all.”
She glanced up at him, her eyes widening with understanding. “You mean…”
Desire leapt in him, seeing her thus, her breath indrawn, lips parted. It was a moment before he gained enough control to speak.
“We should return.” He forced the words out.
“No.” Her voice was soft, but her eyes were sparkling. Not with outrage, as he might have expected, but with something else. Curiosity? “I—I would like to see the frescoes.”
“It’s not advisable.” Especially for him. The edge of distraction was drawing perilously near.
“I assure you I will do my best to appreciate them on their artistic merits. Besides, our hosts expressly urged us to go.” Bold words, belied by the color on her cheeks. Their gazes held a fraction too long, and then she looked away, her throat moving as she swallowed.
They skirted the edges of the amphitheater, the olive branches hushing in the breeze like echoes of ancient applause. Miss Huntington admired the features he pointed out, but they both were distracted, her polite murmurs masking a growing tension between them. He tried not to envision the subject matter of the frescoes. Surely the Legaults would not have encouraged their viewing if the paintings were too explicit.
Their steps slowed as they reached the edge of the newest excavation, a wide trench dug into the ground, containing the canvas-draped walls. Bare earth was heaped on the far side, and a ladder gave access to the site. No turning back now.
Alex descended, then beckoned her to follow. It was impossible not to admire her shapely backside as she went down the ladder. He reached, steadying her about the waist as she took the last few rungs. The fine wool of her dress was soft under his palms—but not as soft as he imagined her skin would be.
He drew in a deep breath and released her. She turned to him, smiling, and then they moved to stand beside the wall. The sun was bright on the draped canvas, while beneath lay shadowed mystery.
Her arm brushed against his as she raised her good hand to move the cloth aside, then seemingly thought better of it. Her fingertips only brushed the canvas before she lowered her arm again. “Perhaps you had better.”
Half his attention on her, he reached and slowly pulled the cloth open. A rounded arm, a swath of blue garment, dark almond eyes in an oval face—the fresco was revealed.
Miss Huntington let out a breathy laugh. “I hope you are not disappointed, Mr. Trentham, but I do not find myself shocked in the slightest. I have seen more explicit depictions in garden statuary and fountains.”
The painting showed a woman reclining against a basin, the lower half of her body draped in a blue cloth. Her rounded arms were revealed, the gentle swell of her hip, but the image owed more to art than eroticism. Relief warred with regret. Madame Legault was likely chuckling to herself even now at the joke she had played on him.
Miss Huntington leaned forward, her arm brushing his as she bent to better view the painting. “It’s amazing how the pigments have been preserved through the centuries. The details—look at the shadows here, in the folds of the cloth.”
“Lovely.” He was more interested in watching her, but it was true, the image before them was a fine example of ancient Roman art.
“Let’s see the others.” She moved down and drew the canvas aside. “Oh,” she said, then made no other movement.
He stepped up and looked over her shoulder. Heat flared through him as he saw what had caused her reaction. The image was faded but clear, and there was no mistaking what it showed. A well-endowed woman, quite naked, being caressed from behind by a man. One hand encircled her breast, while the other rested lower, directly over her…dear God.
Alex swallowed. Erotic indeed. He was suddenly, blindingly aware that he stood behind her at almost the exact same angle, that he had only to reach around and cup her breast to echo the image painted on the wall before him.
She stared at it a long moment, her breathing quickening as she studied the image of a woman being caressed. The warm scent of her skin was like inhaling brandy fumes. He glanced down and could not help notice her nipples pricking up against the bodice of her dress. She wet her lips and stood as if entranced.
With a muffled groan he looked away, his own arousal spurred even further by the evidence of hers. Sweet torture. His hands ached to touch her as the woman before them was being touched, to rekindle that ancient desire.
“Very…lifelike,” she said at last. Her cheeks were flushed and she seemed to make a deliberate point of not meeting his gaze.
“I don’t expect you’ve seen garden statuary that echoed this theme.”
“Ah, no. I’m sure I would recall if I had.”
He had to smile at her response. “Come.” He offered his hand, but she was already turning to the last canvas and lifting it aside.
Oh, bloody—
“Miss Huntington…” The painting was beyond everything proper. No wonder the Legaults had covered it. He opened his mouth but could not summon any words. She had taken an involuntary step back—her body pressed against him, her hair lightly brushing his throat.
“Heavens!” Shock and excitement laced her voice. “Whatever are they doing?”
He cleared his throat. “Bathing.” It was a patent lie, but how the hell was he supposed to explain? His cock strained against his trousers.
She tilted her head. “I suppose she could be bathing a part of him. Though why she should be kneeling with her face so very close to his, er, his manly parts—”
“Stop.” His voice was tight.
She continued, her breathing coming even more quickly. “And this one beside it—now she is the one being bathed. Though why her legs should need to be spread so wide…”
Without thinking he turned her, enfolded her in his arms. She came without hesitation, her clear brown eyes, damnably full of desire, of curiosity, searching his. He was vibrating with need, her arousal an unbearable spur.
There was nothing else to be done. Alex lowered his head and kissed her.