Page 22

Chapter Ten

A week after the excavations began, Nathaniel had settled into the comfortable routine of a dig. He broke his fast each morning with the Darcy family, who were kind and courteous and took a genuine interest in the work he was doing. Then he would spend his days at the site with his band of hardworking men and the invaluable assistance of Miss Darcy.

She was quick, lightning fast, in fact, and he barely had to explain something to her before she had grasped it, often expanding upon or improving his original ideas. It felt easy to have her there, and her meticulous record-keeping had freed him to spend more time with his hands in the soil. They had already made several promising discoveries, including fragments of decorated pottery, a few pieces of worked flint and a layer of charcoal which suggested that fires had once been lit upon the site. More interesting still was a rough arrangement of stones, which they had only partially excavated. Although there was probably another day or two of digging to go before he could say with any certainty what they had found, he was reasonably optimistic that they had discovered an ancient British burial place. If so, it would be a discovery of sufficient importance to warrant a paper, perhaps even a lecture before the Society of Antiquaries.

He had been concerned at first that there would be an awkwardness between them, that the attraction he felt for Miss Darcy would prevent him from thinking clearly or doing his job properly. Worse still, that he might make her uncomfortable or embarrassed and discourage her from taking part in the work at all. But the opposite had proved true. They worked together so well and so harmoniously that he sometimes forgot she had been a stranger to him little more than a week before. Although he could not deny that he still felt a strong pull towards her, she had become a friend and a trusted colleague, and he was beginning to enjoy her company more than that of almost anyone else he knew.

She had opened up little by little, like the bud of a flower unfurling in the spring sunshine. What’s more, she accepted his teasing with good humour and had even begun to tease him in return. The men respected her word and treated her kindly, as though she were everyone's younger sister. She had proved herself a willing worker from dawn until dusk, getting her hands dirty and enduring the occasional shower of rain without complaint, although he knew her muscles must ache from so much bending and kneeling. Whenever he suggested she might like to return to the house for a rest, she looked at him as though he had become suddenly addlepated.

Today they had made solid progress. The trench had reached a depth of several feet towards the centre of the mound, and shortly before luncheon one of the men had uncovered the edge of a further large, flat stone. Examination had revealed another stone standing almost upright beside it, and Nathaniel was now almost certain they had come upon part of a stone-lined burial chamber. He had immediately instructed the men to stop digging in that section until they could examine it further. If his suspicions were correct, the stones might form part of a cist, a small chamber constructed to hold the remains of the dead.

The usual basket had arrived from Pemberley's excellent kitchens, and the men, along with Thomas, had withdrawn to a shady spot beneath the trees to enjoy luncheon. Nathaniel had eaten quickly, too interested in their latest discovery to spend much time over cold meat and bread, and now stood beside the trench examining the exposed stones. Miss Darcy had finished her own meal and joined him, bringing her notebook and pencil.

"Come and look at this, Miss Darcy," he said, beckoning her closer. "I believe we may have found the edge of a burial cist, but I should like your opinion. Look at the way these stones have been arranged. Do you see how the larger one rests against the upright? I am beginning to wonder whether we are looking at the remains of a chamber, with this great slab forming part of its covering."

Kate came to stand beside him and peered down into the trench. "Oh, Mr Briar, how fascinating! Do you suppose there might still be something or someone inside? I should like to get a little closer and make a rough sketch. I do not have my sister's skill, but it will do well enough to document the position of the stones."

"Of course," he said, climbing the ladder down into the trench and offering her his hand as she did the same. She took it willingly and stepped down beside him, settling herself into a position from which she could see the stones more clearly.

He suddenly became aware that there was very little space in the trench. Although she had turned away from him and was sketching quickly, paying him no attention at all, he was becoming more and more conscious of the closeness of her body to his. Damn it all. He had thought he had conquered this blasted attraction, but now, with her head bent over her notebook, he could see the line of her neck and a tempting curl tracing its length. She was so delicate, so beautiful. It was impossible to ignore in such close quarters. She smelled fresh and clean, like grass after the rain, with a hint of something more floral. Rosewater, perhaps. He wanted to bury his face in her neck, to lose himself in the essence of her.

He wondered whether he ought to climb out of the trench, but realised that to do so he would have to press himself even closer to her. Instead, he took a small step backwards, bringing his shoulders against the earthen wall, although it did little to relieve the rapid pounding of his heart.

Kate turned towards him, her elbow brushing against his chest, and smiled brightly. "I do think you are correct, Mr Briar. This looks very like some of the diagrams I have seen in the books in my father's library. I shall compare them this evening, but how exciting! Who do you suppose might be buried here?"

"I... I..." he repeated, but his mouth had gone dry and no sensible words would form upon his tongue. Good God, what was the matter with him? He had delivered lectures before packed rooms filled with learned gentlemen and could now not recollect a single useful word of the English language.

His hand reached out, seemingly of its own volition, and tucked the stray curl behind her ear. Her skin was so soft, honey-coloured with delicate freckles scattered along her cheek and across her collarbone. When he ran his calloused fingers over it, she let out a breathy little sigh that did nothing to quell the fire rising inside him.

They both stood very still, regarding each other with an odd sort of wonder. They were hidden from the sight of the labourers here, the trench now being deep enough to largely conceal them both at its deepest point, and for a moment neither seemed to know what to do. Then she took a tiny step towards him, no more than the length of the toe of her half-boot, but his heart leapt in his chest at this small sign of her interest.

"Mr Briar," she breathed, his name a delicate whisper he could barely make out, and ran her tongue nervously across her full lower lip. In that moment, he was lost. The world reduced itself to just the two of them, to her face, those astonishing liquid eyes and her lips, and he lowered his head and pressed his mouth against hers. Her lips were warm and softer than he had imagined, and he felt her breath catch against him. His hands remained at his sides, some small, still rational part of him understanding that he must not frighten her.

For three thundering heartbeats, she remained perfectly still beneath his touch. He was just about to draw back and apologise for this unforgivable infraction when she uttered a small moan against his mouth and moved her lips against his. Good God. The sensation that shot through him was almost unbearable, and he immediately wanted more. He deepened the kiss, his arms coming to rest around her waist, his thumbs drawing small circles over the fabric of her dress. She was so close now that he could feel the rise and fall of her breathing against his chest. When she opened her mouth to him and he tasted her, he thought he might die from the pleasure of it. And when her tongue moved hesitantly against his, he knew for certain that no other woman, as long as he lived, could possibly affect him in the same way.

Her arms moved hesitantly up his chest, her fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt before coming to rest loosely around his neck. Then she held him tighter, seeming as hungry for him as he was for her, and he drew her closer until there was scarcely any space left between them. He did not know how long they remained like that. Time had long since ceased to have any meaning, and he could have held her for thirty seconds or hours, so lost was he in the taste of her, the softness of her body pressed against his and the feel of her waist beneath his hands. When her fingers slipped into the hair at the nape of his neck, he felt himself shudder, and the small sound of pleasure she made against his mouth was nearly his undoing. There was only her now, only Catherine Darcy, and nothing else mattered.

When he heard her name called, as though from very far away, it was as if someone had doused his whole body in icy water. He tried to step back but realised he was already against the wall of the trench and there was nowhere to go. Instead, he thrust his arms out and pushed her away from him, a little more roughly than he intended, causing her to stumble. He reached out at once to steady her.

Her eyes were round with shock, one hand now covering her swollen lips.

Her name came again, louder this time. "Kate? Kate, what are you doing? Oh, goodness! I must tell Papa!"

Nathaniel looked up and saw the elegant form of Miss Mina Darcy standing at the edge of the trench, staring down at them in astonishment.

"Miss Mina, please..." he began, but she had already turned and was hurrying away.

Kate scrambled up the wooden ladder in pursuit of her sister, while Nathaniel remained where he was, feeling as though the moment, which had been so perfect, was now obliterated into fragments, like the scattered remnants of some ancient pot. He climbed out of the trench as quickly as his shaking limbs would allow, but Miss Mina was already running along the path towards the house, with her sister in close pursuit. Several of the men looked up from their luncheon beneath the trees, concern and confusion written across their weather-beaten faces.

Nathaniel attempted a casual smile. "A small family matter, gentlemen. Nothing to concern yourselves with. Please, do not let it interrupt your well-deserved luncheon."

He turned back towards the excavation, running a hand through his hair. Good God, what had he done? He had been a guest at Pemberley for little less than a fortnight, and now he had been caught kissing his host's daughter in a hole in the ground. If Miss Mina made good on her promise to tell her father, he would be lucky to escape Derbyshire with his life.

Chapter Eleven

Kate Darcy had not expected to spend the moments after her very first kiss sprinting in pursuit of her sister across Pemberley's lawns. Everything was jumbled in her mind. She remembered sketching the stones, and then his hand upon her face, his mouth on hers and a feeling of such sweet elation that she had felt as though she could fly. What must he think of her? Did he hold any real affection for her? Was this why he had wanted her to be involved in the excavation? Did he seduce a woman on every expedition? Surely no man that handsome could be unaware of the effect he had upon the opposite sex. And she had been a ninny-brained, green girl, eager to fall for his advances.

These thoughts tumbled over one another as she continued calling for her sister to slow down. "Mina! Please stop! I can explain!" But Mina showed no signs of slowing, and as they approached the house, she ran almost bodily into Bella, who was walking through one of the small formal gardens with a book in her hand. Kate was not close enough to make out the words, but from Bella's shocked expression and the look her sister gave her, she knew Mina had told all. It was hopeless. What a mess.