Free Double Deceit by Allison Lane Page A

shrugging, she pulled a sheaf of papers from the desk. “I surveyed the site before starting,” she began, handing him a map marked into squares. “I sketch everything before removing it, noting depth, orientation, and condition. The site occupies a clearing in the home wood, but few people go there. Not only is it private land, but legend claims the wood is both sacred and haunted. Old Peter swears he’s seen ghostly priests looming out of the fog. Most of the staff know I am digging, but none have come out to see my work. They have no interest in broken stones.”
    “And you keep everything of value hidden.”
    “Exactly.”
    He looked up from her map. “This looks like Mitchell’s style.”
    She could feel her face heat. “I asked him for suggestions after finding Minerva.”
    “He actually agreed to help you?”
    “You needn’t sound so shocked. He has no idea I am a lowly female,” she snapped, tired of having to justify her intelligence. “His response goes to our vicar. You are not the only churchman interested in history.”
    “Forgive me,” he begged, with another of those crooked smiles. “You are obviously competent – more so than others I could name. I will become accustomed to the idea in time.”
    “Is it so astounding?”
    “Not really. Many London intellectuals are women – though I know of none interested in antiquity.” He scanned two of her sketches before frowning. “You knew I heard that theory from Mitchell because you suggested it to him.”
    She nodded.
    “He claimed it arose during discussions with his assistant.”
    “I’m flattered that he would rate me so highly, though he did ask me to present it to the Antiquarian Society. I’ve been trying to figure out how.”
    “Have someone read your paper for you. That’s what I always do. Barely half the papers are presented in person,” he said absently, brow furrowed over her most recent sketch. “What is this?”
    “I’ve no idea.” She pulled out the twisted piece of bronze. “I was hoping you could identify it.”
    He turned the piece in his hands. “It is worked, not cast. Beautiful piece.” He turned it, much as she had done. “Where have I seen this shape?”
    He was obviously talking to himself, so she merely watched his face twist as his thoughts raced.
    “Ah. I believe it is a surgeon’s tool. The angles improve its leverage. It was used to lift broken bones into position for setting or to hold a wound open while bone chips were removed. The sketch I saw had only one rod, but this probably belonged to a military doctor. The shared handle would make his kit lighter to carry into the field. Where did it come from?”
    “Here.” She pointed to the map. “It was atop a dressed stone, but I’ve no idea what portion of the villa this might have been, or even if it was inside or out. Though test pits indicate the site is large, I have not uncovered enough to develop a floor plan.”
    “May I visit the site in the morning?” He must have read her objections, because he continued. “Miss Vale will be perfectly safe. Linden’s behavior has never come close to his reputation. And I doubt he will rise before noon, in any event.”
    “We must return by noon, then.”
    “Unnecessary. I promise, on my honor as a gentleman, that my cousin will do nothing to disturb Miss Vale.”
    For some reason, she believed him. “Very well. Breakfast will be out by seven, in the same room as dinner.”
    His smile widened, sending shivers down her back. What the devil was wrong with her? No man was trustworthy. Not even a vicar, no matter how revered he was in antiquarian circles. She could not allow a smile to deflect her caution, especially from so enigmatic a man.
    As she headed up to her room, away from his overwhelming intensity, she revised some long-standing impressions of Mr. Anthony Torwell. His age was not the only surprise. His manner was just as unexpected. Torwell was known as a recluse, so she had expected him to