Page 33 of Dukes for Dessert

He flinched at how much his heart turned over at her smile. When Sophie walked away once she was free, David would hurt, and hurt excessively. He knew it, but could he climb out of this hole and leave now, to get the pain over with?

No, of course not. He’d remain and be tortured by what he could not have. It was his way.

“Ah, there we are. Now, David, for the love of all that’s holy, do not move. Oh, forgive me, Vicar.”

“Not at all, my dear,” Uncle Lucas said. He gazed eagerly into the opening, out of the light—Eleanor had already scolded him about casting shadows.

David tried to become a statue. Sophie, her arms a graceful curve as she held the mirror, did the same.

She’d make a beautiful sculpture, David thought. Like the Daphne of Bernini, or the glorious marble perfection of a Canova. It would of course be a nude statue, every curve of her delectably caught, her limbs displayed for all to see. But it would be a private thing, for the two of them …

“David,” Eleanor said in exasperation. “Do pay attention.”

David snapped his mind from its treacherous path. “I beg your pardon, old friend.”

“And cease calling me old. No lady likes the adjective, even when she’s ninety.”

“I am devastated to upset you, my friend from the far-off days of my callow youth.”

The light from Sophie’s mirror wavered. David, who had not looked away from her for a moment, knew she was laughing.

Eleanor flung off the black cloth. “Well, I have done my best, but I see that I cannot have the pair of you down here at the same time. You are conspiring to ruin my work.”

Sophie’s mirror shook harder, and David fell in love with her a little bit more.

“Good heavens,” Pierson rumbled above, but he’d left the lip of the hole. “I wasn’t expecting you so soon.”

All three on the mosaic rose and peered over the edge in bewilderment. David thought they must look like moles poking out of their burrow to see the wide world.

A tall man with a thick brown beard, a brown suit in nearly the same shade, gaiters, and a shapeless hat walked toward Pierson, his arm outstretched. “Well met, Dr. Pierson.”

“Indeed. Indeed.” Pierson engulfed the man with his usual enthusiastic handshake and turned him to the three faces watching them. “My friends, this is Dr. Gaspar. Howard Gaspar. I took your advice to heart, Fleming, and decided to ask a professional archaeologist to help me with the site. I wrote to him while you were away.”

“At your service.” Dr. Gaspar bowed politely to the company.

His surname was Hungarian but he dressed, sounded, and behaved like an Englishman. Probably had never set foot in Hungary. He had brown eyes, brown hair, and sun-bronzed skin that blended with his rather shabby suit. Drab, David thought. Extraordinarily drab. Probably worked hard at it.

David knew bloody well he’d not have disparaged the man if Gaspar hadn’t stared in a rude and intrigued way at Sophie. As Pierson assisted first Eleanor then Sophie to solid ground, Gaspar gazed at Sophie as though he’d been clouted between the eyes.

Exactly as David must have appeared when he’d first seen Sophie. Damn it all.

“May I present the Duchess of Kilmorgan,” Pierson said grandly. “She’s agreed to do the photography. And my niece, Miss Tierney.”

Gaspar paid little attention to the fact that he was in the presence of a lofty duchess, because his interest was all for Sophie. David expected him to say something about envying Pierson for being surrounded by beauty, or exclaim that no great find could compare to the ladies—something smarmy and overblown.

Gaspar managed to stammer, “How do you do?” and then went silent.

Sophie took the hand he offered after he’d shaken Eleanor’s and smiled at him. It was an admiring smile, a welcoming smile.

“How very nice to meet you, Dr. Gaspar. Uncle Lucas has spoken so highly of you.”

She sounded happy to see him. David slipped as he climbed out, and ended up with mud all over his hands and knees.

Stifling curses, he made a show of comically wiping the earth away, but no one had noticed. Not Pierson, or Gaspar, or even Eleanor, blast her.

Most oblivious of all was Sophie. She continued to hold Gaspar’s hand and smile into his face, and David’s spirits went straight to hell.

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