Free Anne Barbour by Lady Hilarys Halloween Page A

his connections to perdition. He supposed women—even the best of them, he thought with a familiar ache, could not be blamed for looking out for the main chance, he simply wished that they did not see him as their personal ticket to a life of luxury. Why couldn’t they just leave him alone?
    But Lady Hilary...  What was there, he wondered moodily, about this particular booby trap in skirts that made him feel ashamed of his suspicions? Granted, she bore the appearance of a complete innocent, from her fiery hair to her pretty silk slippers. At least, he supposed they had been pretty before being exposed to a raging thunderstorm.
    He was forced to admit that it was beginning to look more and more as though her knowledge of antiquities was the result of a genuine interest in the subject. It would no doubt be pleasant to have someone in the neighborhood who shared his passion, particularly such an appealing someone. Not that he was interested in anything but her scholarly attributes. She could be of inestimable help, since there was no question that a knowledgeable assistant could take many of the more mundane tasks of his work at the villa off his shoulders—the cataloging, the sketching, laying out the grid, perhaps even some of the lighter digging, if she were so inclined. Yes, he would permit the earnest Lady Hilary to assist him, within her limited capabilities, and he would allow her a judicious amount of time with Minimus Rufus.
    Of course, at the first sign that her young ladyship harbored ulterior designs on his bachelor status she would be returned posthaste to her dutiful life on her father’s estate. James expelled a satisfied grunt before bending his attention once more to Rufus.
    The important thing, he mused as he led the soldier up the stairs, was to keep Rufus’ identity a secret. If anyone got wind of the notion that James Wincanon was entertaining a visitor whom he believed had traveled through time from another age, he’d find himself thrust into the nearest madhouse before the cat could lick her ear. Well, that should be no problem. Even if Rufus were to announce his identity to the neighborhood at large, he would be speaking, after all, in Latin. Of course, if Mordecai Cheeke somehow got wind of the situation, no matter how absurd the story, he would investigate.
    On the other hand, there was little or no chance that Mordecai Cheeke, even if he did seem to possess a genius for sniffing out James’s plans, would hear about the unorthodox gentleman currently residing in James’s house. In short, there was no impediment to a minute investigation- into the life and times of M. Minimus Rufus, a tessarius in the army of the Emperor Trajan.
    The next couple of hours were spent outfitting the legionary in a suit of clothing that, while perhaps not suitable for the guest of a renowned scholar, at least allowed him to fit into his new setting. He looked surprisingly at home in the leisure garb of a coachman, though he complained bitterly about the necessity of wearing trousers, which he seemed to feel labeled him as a barbarian. He also objected vigorously to the cumbersome, confining footwear provided him. Otherwise, he seemed agreeable to maintaining his new wardrobe, at least for a short space of time.
    With wide-eyed interest, he accompanied James on a tour of the house. This took longer than James had expected, since Rufus paused frequently to investigate furnishings and such wonders as bellpulls, gas lamps, and clocks. The latter seemed to fascinate him—not only the dials with their moving hands, but the glass that covered them.
    At dinner, this amicable state of affairs deteriorated somewhat. James began to stem the flow of Rufus’ questions with some of his own—with a marked lack of success.
    “No, I don’t know anything about the agrarian policies of Quietus. Or the proposed withdrawal from the Scottish border. Gods, do you think the governor or the province consults me on such things? What I