Chapter 22

Cordelia clomped into the house, the light fading behind her and let out a sigh of contentment. Granted, the air was damp and her fingers had gone numb, even in summer, but she was delighted with the progress of the dig.

She ran a hand through her tangled hair, caught sight of herself in the hall mirror and let out a squeak of astonishment. A banshee stared back at her, hair a riot and earth smudges streaked her cheeks. Now, in Africa she’d never given two shakes about her appearance. One did not grow alarmed at burned skin, peeling fingers, or wild hair when one was uncovering the greatest antiquities the world had ever known.

One did grow alarmed however when one was supposed to be having a romantic tryst with a rake. Whatever would he think? No doubt he would be horrified. The women of his acquaintance could not move ten feet without ensuring their ensemble was still perfect or that each rebellious strand of hair had been tamed into their elaborate coifs.

Much to her dismay, she realized she cared. She shouldn’t of course. Sensible, intelligent women, capable of taking care of themselves, which she more than excelled at thank you very much, did not rely upon the approval of a male to feel good about themselves.

But an undeniable little twist of concern snaked its way into her stomach. What would he think? Would he be amused as he seemed to be by all her unusual quirks or would this be too much even for a man such as he? Perhaps, she could sneak upstairs and have a quick bath before he—

“You’ve come back?”

That dark voice, delicious to its core, rumbled from the landing and she paused for a moment, determined that he should not see how intensely he effected her. “Did you fear I would not?”

He raised a dark brow. “With you, bandying about as you do, one can never tell.”

Cordelia blinked. An abrupt image of her father speaking to her mother in a cold voice, castigating her for spending too much time discussing painting with a fashionable young artist that summer they spent in Paris resonated within her. “Is that an insult?”

He placed one hand on the banister, that masterful hand gripping the wood carelessly. “Now why would you say that?”

She swallowed. She was nothing like her mother. Nothing. “The tone of your voice, perhaps.”

“I think you are imagining things.”

She bit down on the inside of her lip, her insides building into a slow churn. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong. “I am not inclined to flights of fancy,” she said tightly

“I have no wish to argue with you, Cordelia. It hardly seems necessary.”

Oh god. It was like being tossed back in time. Her mother growing impassioned, her father cold, logical, making her mother feel the fool. And the identification she felt with her mother was suddenly hellish. All her life, she’d agreed with her father. Her mother had been an emotional creature who simply needed to learn to control herself, but right now. . . Standing here, discussing simple turns of phrases with Jack she saw how quickly one could twist a person by simply appearing superior, in control.

Is that what her father had done? And she had supported him, disdaining her mother and her emotional nature. And why in god’s name was this happening now? Everything had been going so well.

“I do not wish to fight either,” she said, tempering her tone. “But you seem out of sorts.”

There was a long silence, but in that silence a brittle tension filled the space between them. “You don’t know me very well. Consider that this is my true nature.”

“Of course.” She smiled tightly suddenly wishing she was anywhere but here. She had no idea how to converse like this or how to relate to the emotional tumult of an affair. “I do not presume to know you thoroughly, but—”

“Come upstairs.”

She blinked, shocked he’d cut her off, and shocked that his answer to their situation was for herself to no doubt join him the boudoir. “Pardon?”

He shrugged lightly. “You’re a delightful mess.”

“A mess?”

“Yes.” His voice had taken on that deep, purr like quality which indicated imminent seduction. “It would give me great pleasure to, assist you in setting yourself to rights.”

But she didn’t feel not right. Aside from the mysteries of the present conversation, she felt rather glorious, what with her find and the accomplishments of the day. However, said gloriousness was quickly diminishing as she began to see herself as he must. “What if I like my mess?”

A strange smile tilted his lips. “You enjoy being coated in soil?”

“Sometimes,” she defended.

“Truly?”

“It means I’ve done a good days work,” she said firmly.

“I see.”

There it was again, that cool superiority. She narrowed her eyes. “What is it exactly that you see?”

He drew in a slow breath, one which stretched the linen draped over his broad shoulders. “I see that you are becoming angry with me.”

“No. I. . .Well, yes.” There was no point in lying. “Yes I am.”

“Why is that?” he asked, his voice still velvety soft as he descended the stairs, taking each step, deliberately, his powerful legs tightening the fabric of his perfectly pressed cream colored breeches.

“Because I think you wish I was different.” She swallowed. Hard. Stunned to find that her limbs were shaking slightly. “That I was not who I am.”

He stopped on the stairs, his gaze narrowing slightly until his dark eyes alit with a banked passion. “Why in God’s name would you assume such a thing?”

“Because all the women you’ve know—” the words caught in her throat and to her horror, she couldn’t finish.

“The women I’ve known,” he prompted, clearly unwilling to second guess what she was about to say.

Which she was glad of, but she didn’t wish to say the thoughts running amok, a state of thoughts completely foreign to her, through her head.

He commenced coming down the stairs and when he stepped onto the hard wood floor and closed the distance between them, she could no more sort out what she was about to say than she could sit for an hour and forty five minutes through a musicale. But none the less he was waiting, gazing down at her from his intimidating, she’d never found intimidating before, height.

“Come on then, Cordelia,” he urged. “What about the women of my acquaintance.”

“They’re not worthy of you,” she whispered.

Much to her horror he laughed. It was not a jovial sound, but a rumbling sort of mockery. “And you are?” he drawled.

Her shoulders drew back. “That was not what I said.”

“But it was what you implied,” he pointed out, an edge to his voice. “Perhaps, you, like so many before, are hoping to reform my condemned ways.”

“Why are you behaving like such an ass?”

His laughter dimmed. “Make no mistake, you’ve fallen under some girlish delusion.”

That bridled. “I am hardly girlish or delusional.”

“You are both right now,” he said softly, but without mercy.

She squared her shoulders, determined not to appear shaken by this conversation. “Indeed?”

“You are girlish, half in love in your first affair, something I never thought would befall you, and you’re delusional in your ridiculous belief that there is something deeper to me that you have seen.”

“That’s not true,” she insisted. She wasn’t delusional about him. She couldn’t be. “The way you speak. The way you’ve helped Harris—”

He scoffed. “I help men like Harris to soften up women like you.”

“I don’t believe that.” And she didn’t. He just was determined to paint himself in a bad light. “You are good, despite all your protestations.”

“And my previous actions?” He cocked his head to the side as if mocking her. “Do they speak nothing? I thought you were a woman of logic.”

“Why are you doing this?” she asked, an unwelcome plaintive note to her own voice.

He swung his gaze away from hers. “Because you’re delusions are—”

“Stop.” How she longed to reach out to him but she couldn’t. She couldn’t risk such an emotional response. “That’s not why and—

“Are boring.”

“Boring?” she repeated.

“Yes,” he said coldly. “This prim, proper, bluestocking act in which you are going to swoop in and save the rake from himself is boring.”

“I have hardly tried to save you.”

“But its started. Oh Jack, you’re a good man,” he mocked openly. “Next thing you know, you’ll be spouting how I never meant to hurt anyone, that it is I who was hurt.”

She pulled back. Stunned. “I think you’ve just said it yourself.”

He blanched. “Don’t be a fool.”

“You’ve accused me of acting thus. I might as well assume my part. And let me add that if you were as you said, you wouldn’t be warning me right now, or trying to brush me off. You’d have continued to use me until you were bored.”

He raised one brow, his lips firming a firm line. And as he cocked his head to the right, a look of supreme, cold arrogance altered his features into a man she didn’t know.

She gasped. Unable to believe what his silence was inferring. “You are bored with me?”

“What do you surmise?” he said flatly.

“I—I—” But she couldn’t form the next words to cut him dead as she so longed to do. “I see.”

“I am not an archeological site, my lady. No matter how deep you dig, there is no hidden treasure to be found.”

Tears, horrible tears, tears which were an abhorrence to her, stung her eyes. “But I thought—”

“Were you falling in love with me?”

Her throat closed so tight she could make no reply. Good god, the hideous answer was a resounding yes. Somewhere along the way, her logical heart had fallen for his droll wit, his sense of adventure, and the way he had indeed made her feel as if she were the most beautiful woman in the world.

He gave her a tight smile, one which was only slightly apologetic. “It does happen. So, best we end this now I think.”

Cordelia forced herself to draw in a slow breath. There was something at play here much larger than he was letting on. Everything had been more than she could ever have imagined between herself and a man. Not only had he given her his body, he had given her something even more important. A piece of himself. She was sure of it. Now, she refused to let him take it away. “I don’t know why you’re doing this.”

A muscle clenched in his jaw and he looked away, staring off into the distance before he squared his shoulder and pinned her with an unyielding stare. “I told you. This. . . This experiment has grown dull.”

“I see.”

“I’m glad.”

The lack of emotion on his part was all too familiar. She’d used such a tool time and time again to protect her heart from anyone who dared to peer within. “I see that you are afraid. You are a coward afraid of his own heart.”

His gaze narrowed, his entire body bridling with tempered anger. “My lady, I have no heart to be a coward with.”

Cordelia was very tempted to haul back her fist and hit him. If only she could shake some sense into his thick skull but she knew the futility of such fights. Always, her parents’ fights had descended into screaming and the throwing of objects. She wouldn’t do that. She wouldn’t give Jack the satisfaction. She would drive him into the ground if need be. She would have the strength her mother never had.