Miss Wade expected him to be able to find someone to replace her by December 1, but even if he could, he did not want to.
The museum and the reconstruction of the villa here in Hampshire were of immense importance, not only to scholars and historians, but also to show that an appreciation of history should not be limited to the upper classes, but should instead be the right of all British people.
He was determined to buy enough time to keep Miss Wade here until March at the very least, and preferably longer. If he had his way, she would stay until the entire villa was done, until the last mosaic pavement was repaired and the last fresco restored, until the last pearl crotalia and the last clay amphora were out of the ground, sketched, cataloged, and on display in his museum in London.
Anthony snapped the reins of his horse, urging Defiance into a gallop on the road home from the village as he once again contemplated the various means he could use to keep her in Hampshire for the next four or five years.
You cannot make me stay.
Oh, yes, by God, he could, though Miss Wade might be naive enough to assume otherwise. He had several options from which to choose.
Money would not do the trick. He had tried that, and had soon realized that additional money alone would not be enough to tempt her.
With all the power and influence at his disposal, he could force her to remain by any number of devilish means, but he was not tempted to such a course. He was an honorable gentleman, after all, not the horrid fellow she painted him to be.
No, Viola was right. Keeping Miss Wade in Hampshire would require tactics much smoother than force. By the time he had returned to Tremore Hall, he knew exactly what he was going to do.
Chapter 8
It was dark by the time Anthony reached the house. He gave orders to Haverstall, the house steward, to have the cook prepare a fresh meal for him and to have Richardson draw him a hot bath. He then inquired as to Miss Wade’s whereabouts and was informed that she was in the library.
She was sitting at the far end of the long room, curled up in one of the two big leather chairs by the windows, a book in her hands, her feet tucked beneath her, and a pair of flat-heeled slippers on the floor beside her chair. A candelabra on a nearby table washed a soft glow over her corner of the room.
Anthony started toward her, his own boots making no sound on the thick Turkish carpet. He had never seen her at this hour of the evening, and it startled him that her hair was no longer pulled back in that hideous bun. Instead, it was gathered into a loose, thick braid that lay across her shoulder, honey-brown in the candlelight.
She was so absorbed in her book that she did not even look up as he came closer, a fact which began to irritate him when he stood right in front of her and she could not possibly fail to notice he was there.
Anthony waited several moments for her to acknowledge his presence, but she did not, and he grew tired of waiting. He had never been a patient man. He cleared his throat and spoke. “I would like to speak with you for a few moments. Please,” he added, when she did not respond.
She turned a page. “Our compromise was that I would work at a reasonable pace for the remainder of my stay. Since it is now dusk, my working hours are over. Could we please postpone this until morning?”
Yesterday, she would have jumped to do his bidding, like any other person in his employ, and Anthony began to wonder if perhaps he was having a very strange dream, a dream in which Miss Wade was no longer Miss Wade. Overnight, she had transformed into an impudent, recalcitrant sort of creature, who resigned her post without so much as a by-your-leave, dared to dress him down and call him inconsiderate, and who decided for herself what hours she would and would not work when there was so much to be done.
I am not your slave.
He smothered an oath under his breath.
Miss Wade glanced up at the sound. “Did you say something?”
That question made him realize he was just standing here like an idiot, when his purpose was to initiate a conversation. But damn it all, she was not cooperating. His plan was to make her life here so appealing that she would want to stay. So far, he did not think he was succeeding.
He watched her return her attention to her book, and he tried again. “I do not want to discuss your work. What is there to discuss? It is always exemplary.”
“Thank you,” she said as she turned another page, “but if your intention is to flatter me into staying, I would rather you save your breath.”
“Miss Wade, can you and I not make peace?” When she did not reply, he added, “After all, you are here for at least the next three months. Therefore—”
“Two months, three weeks, and three days,” she could not resist correcting him. “And there is no at least about it.”
He refused to be drawn into a petty argument. “And since we have a great deal of work to do, and the pace will become quite stressful, I would like the time that you remain here to be pleasant for both of us. I thought we might start with a bit of conversation.”
She hesitated for a long moment, but she did not refuse. Instead, she closed her book and placed it on the table beside her chair. After pulling off her spectacles, she set them aside as well. Then she put her feet on the floor, clasped her hands together in her lap, lifted her face to look up at him, and gave him her undivided attention. The moment she did, he forgot whatever he had been about to say.
She had beautiful eyes. This was the first time he could recall seeing her without those gold-framed spectacles, and it rather startled him what a difference their absence made to her face. Though her eyes appeared dark in the candlelight, he remembered their color from this afternoon—an uncommon lavender shade. Now, without those glass lenses to distort his view, he could see that her eyes were also large, deeply set, and surrounded by thick brown lashes.
He had never thought there was anything attractive about her, but looking at her now, Anthony was forced to revise his opinion. At this moment, bathed in candlelight, with loose tendrils of hair around her face and those big, almond-shaped eyes looking up at him, she seemed softer than she ever had before. Not pretty, exactly, but not quite so plain, either.
“Your grace?”
