Free To Surrender to a Rogue by Cara Elliott

shoulder, the Imperial purple superfine wool falling in toga-like folds across his evening coat
    "Jupiter must be keeping a watchful eye on our endeavor," continued Dwight-Davis with a broad smile. "And has decided to give it his blessing."
    "We all know that the gods can be fickle" murmured Jack. "So let us not tempt fate by speaking too quickly of good fortune. You have yet to quiz me on my expertise. You may find yourself sadly disappointed."
    "Nonsense, sir! Lord Fanning sent me a selection of your essays and sketches. I consider us lucky indeed to have such a knowledgeable scholar on classical architecture appear, as it were, from out of the woodwork." Dwight-Davis chuckled at his own witticism. "Fanning's absence left a large hole in the excavation team. As I mentioned, we took great pains to include an expert in every aspect of ancient Roman history—mosaics, sculpture, numismatics..."
    He gave an apologetic cough. "Er, sorry. As Horace said, Quid quid praecipies, esto brevis —whatever you want to teach, be brief. As you see, my enthusiasm for the subject sometimes leads me to rattle on like a loose screw."
    "Facile remedium est ubertati, sterilia nullo labore vincuntur," replied Jack, handing over his hat and walking stick to a footman. "According to ancient philosopher Quintilian, exuberance is easily corrected, dullness is incurable."
    "Ah, so a thorough knowledge of Latin is also one of your skills!" His host's smile stretched even wider. "Excellent! I see you have no need for my prosy lectures."
    "On the contrary," said Jack. "I have much to learn about the proper methods of conducting an archaeological excavation, so I welcome all advice."
    "My first words of wisdom are that you must be careful to whom you admit that, sir," warned Dwight-Davis. "We have a few gentlemen who will talk well into the next century if given the slightest encouragement."
    "Ah." Jack smoothed a wrinkle from his lapel. "Then I shall try not to wear my ignorance on my sleeve."
    The other man let out a genial laugh. "I can already tell by the cut of your cloth that you will fit in quite splendidly, sir. Now, come this way to the drawing room, Lord James, and let me introduce you to some of your new colleagues before the Italian contingent makes its entrance."
    Jack crossed the entrance hall, admiring the proportions of the arched ceiling and graceful marble columns flanking the curved staircase. Several wall niches held fragments of Roman sculpture and bronzework. He would have liked to linger over the artifacts but Dwight-Davis quickened his steps, clearly anxious to rejoin the party.
    The rumble of voices, punctuated by a higher octave of clinking crystal, could be heard already. Jack repressed a smile. He had noticed early on that rigorous intellectual discussion seemed to require copious lubrication. In fact, the scholars he had met so far could drink his old army regiment under the table.
    The room was quite crowded, and as Jack looked around, he saw no one he knew. That was not surprising, of course. He was a mere neophyte and these august gentlemen were...
    Was that aflutter of emerald skirts amid all the masculine coats and trousers?
    Jack looked back at the punch table, but the only sight that greeted his gaze was a quartet of freshly shaven faces, laughing together over some joke.
    A figment of his imagination. Brought on, no doubt, by too many hours spent brooding over his recent encounters with Alessandra della Giamatti. It had been a long drive from London in his curricle, with no books or sketchpads to divert his thoughts from the tedium of the road. He ought to have left his piqued pride in Town—along with the lady herself. And yet, Jack couldn't seem to banish her from his mind.
    "Haverstick, stop fussing with the roses and come meet Lord James, who is standing in for Lord Fanning.' , Dwight-Davis beckoned to a man who was busy rearranging the flowers in a large marble urn.
    "Servants have no eye for symmetry," grumbled