A Midsummer Night's Romp Page 6

  He even missed his mother, who had taken the two youngest boys on her annual trek to Kenya to check up on the charities she endowed there.

  “It’s damned quiet here,” Gunner said apropos of those thoughts. “Just the tourists twice a week, and the dig crew, and they’re all housed down by the old barn and stables.”

  “Alice and I will be home in a week; I’m sure you’ll survive just fine until then what with all your nascent TV stardom.”

  “I don’t think there’s much stardom to be had with an archaeology show, but the money they’re paying the family to use the grounds will make it all worth it.”

  “Truer words were never spoken,” Elliott agreed. “And stop fussing. You’ll have the cast off soon, though, and then you can go back to work.”

  “My boss has me booked to go to Venice in October—until then, I’ll be kicking around here.”

  “Lucky bastard,” Elliott said with affection. “How many people find themselves taken to glamorous places like Venice to do their jobs?”

  Gunner grinned. “Glamour doesn’t enter into it; it’s damned hard work climbing all over those abandoned factories documenting them, as you well know.”

  “Yes, but it doesn’t make me any less envious of a job where all you have to do is snap a few photos.”

  “‘Architectural forensic photographer’ is the official title, thank you very much. Anyway, did you and Alice get any time away from your book tour to enjoy your belated honeymoon?”

  The talk turned purely familial as the two men spent another ten minutes hashing over various estate issues that Gunner had been handling while his brother Dixon, who normally handled such things, was off taking a much-needed vacation. Or at least he was handling things until Elliott returned from his three-week American book tour. Once the video call ended, Gunner hobbled around the residential section of the castle, his fiberglass walking boot echoing loudly down the wood-paneled hallways, making him very aware of his isolation.

  He settled down in the small, dark library, propping his leg up on an ottoman. He picked up a book, but it wasn’t the words on the page that he saw. His mind went to the soft feel of the woman he’d run down as she sat on his legs, one of her breasts pressed enticingly against his chest, the warm curve of her hip nicely solid under his arm. He’d been honest when he told her that he favored curves, not understanding why so many women felt it necessary to starve themselves into thinness that seemed to him to be borderline creepy. He’d seen enough survivors of famine, pestilence, and war in his life to keep him from seeking skeletal qualities in a female companion.

  “Lorina,” he said aloud, savoring her name on his lips. She was a substantial woman, close to six feet tall, which was another point in her favor. At six feet three, he didn’t like women who were so small that they gave him a crick in his neck when he kissed them. And he very much liked kissing women—he also liked holding them, and touching their breasts, and stroking his hands up their long, long legs. . . .

  He had to stop himself from mentally stripping Lorina, guessing she would not be one of the women who easily tumbled into his bed. Long experience had taught him to quickly assess who was after him for his supposed wealth and relationship to the Ainslie family, and although he wasn’t above indulging himself when so offered, of late he had begun to feel there was something important missing in his fleeting relationships.

  “Damn Elliott,” he said aloud as an orange cat wandered into the room, looked around, and leaped onto his legs, kneading his thigh briefly before curling up on his lap. Absently, he stroked the cat while glaring out of the small paneled window. “He had to go and get married, Captain, and live happily ever after with a charming woman who makes him laugh, and stay in bed half the day until he emerges with a besotted look plastered all over his face, and now it’s made me feel like things are lacking in my own life. They aren’t, though. You see that, don’t you? I’m not the marrying type. Elliott is. I’m a free spirit. I like women, and they like me, and we both understand that although we can enjoy each other for some time, it’s not going to be permanent. I come and go like the wind, without any responsibilities. Elliott’s the one with those, and he can have them. I’m as free as a bird.”

  His words sounded odd, hollow almost, as if he was trying to convince himself or the cat, Captain Wedderburn. He felt vaguely uncomfortable at the thought that maybe there was more to life than flitting around doing whatever he liked without any strings attached to anyone but his mother, his siblings, and his child. “Although even my time with Cressy is limited to visits every other year, and weekly video chats. No, Captain, I’m as free as they come.”

  That’s the way I like it, he thought to himself, and pushed away the idea that perhaps lack of responsibility wasn’t as attractive as it had been in the past.

  “Lorina,” he repeated, thinking again of her warmth. “She’s a Yank, I think. Or Canadian. I should find out, don’t you think? It’s only proper to treat visitors to our fair isle with politeness and interest. She’s smart, too. The producer said she’s a journalist, and that takes a certain amount of brains. I like brains in a woman.” In fact, he liked much of what he saw in Lorina, from the freckles all over her face and arms, right down to the shapely ass that was visible when she had pushed herself off his lap. And her legs—dear god, her legs! “The one odd thing about her is that she doesn’t act like any journalist I’ve ever met. Curious, eh?”

  He slammed shut the book, making the cat look up in surprise. “Sorry, Captain, you’re going to have to move. I think it only right to go check on how things are going with the television crew. Yes, I was just there an hour ago, but they may need something, and with Dixon off in the Bahamas, it’s only right that I’m there to help out as much as I can. No, don’t say it. I know I just discounted Lorina because she’s most likely not the type interested in a harmless fling, but I’ve changed my mind. A man can do that without untoward comments from his family, can’t he? Besides, I could be all wrong about Lorina. It’s best not to guess about people when you don’t know them well, and I sense a bit of a mystery about her. You know how I love mysteries.”

  The cat shot Gunner a dirty look when he rose and thumped his way out of the room, down the stairs, and through the kitchen to the small anteroom where his rented scooter was parked. It was a Tuesday, one of the two days a week that Ainslie Castle was open to the public, and it had been his habit the last few weeks to be on hand to greet the groups. It took the edge off his loneliness to chat with the tourists, but today, with the arrival of the TV crew, he had better things to do.

  And a delicious woman to ogle.

  “It wouldn’t hurt to apologize to her again. Perhaps I can figure why she doesn’t appear like any other journalists I’ve met. It could be because she’s American,” he mused as the scooter bumped its way past the outbuildings, and around the section of the castle that the family called the tower but was actually a crumbled heap of brick, slate tiles, broken glass, and broken mortar. He double-checked that the temporary fencing was secure, and continued on toward the stables, waving and smiling at the few tourists who recognized him. “Maybe I should talk to that Roger fellow and tell him that I want him to pair me up with Lorina rather than whoever he was going to assign. That way I can not only enjoy her, and her legs, and freckles, and all the other parts of her that I’d have to be blind not to admire, but in the process figure out what it is about her that’s striking me as a bit different.”

  He was mentally forming a request for just that when he arrived at the production company’s row of caravans. No one was present. He pointed his scooter toward the barn that had been set up for the dig team’s use, and was rewarded with the sound of voices.

  “—you know, we anticipate this show to be the big hit of summer. More than a hundred archaeology clubs will be participating with their own digs in conjunction with this show, and along with the chats and interviews that w
e’ll be presenting online, we should have record-high viewer numbers. But it all rests on you, our brilliant team of archaeologists. You’ve all been handpicked to take part in this project, and I know you will throw all your energy into ensuring that we have top-notch work done.”

  There was a smattering of applause. Gunner stopped his scooter at one of the big double doors, open to show the interior of the barn. The side with a drain had been hastily partitioned into temporary showers, while the other side was set up with several long tables and chairs. Around those, about forty people were arranged in varying degrees of comfort. Standing on a chair was the blond woman who Gunner remembered was the director. She turned to Roger, and said, “That’s it from me. I believe Roger has a few words to add?”

  “Just a couple,” Roger answered in a loud voice, the top of his head shiny with sweat. He surveyed them all with a brilliant smile. “I know you’re all champing at the bit to get working, but I want to remind everyone that this is a team effort, and that only by pulling together will we reach the pinnacle. So get out there and dig like the wind, but also remember that there will be millions of viewers who will be watching your every move with fascinated eyes, and it’s up to you to show them just how exciting history can be!”

  There was a bit more applause.

  “And now let’s have a quick rundown of the schedule for the next two days. Len, can you bring the whiteboard? Ah, excellent. Now, I shall take you through here point by point to make sure we are all on the same boat. So to speak. The geophysics team will commence scanning the garden to the south of the fallen tower promptly at noon. The film crew will be filming them, and Sue will be recording appropriate explanations of how the geophys business works. At four, Paul and Sue and I will put our heads together and decide on where to put the first trenches, and by five the minidiggers will be moved into place and the trenches opened. That’s when you lot come into play. We’ll usually have a dinner break at seven, but due to the late start today, we plan on digging until nine. Now, let’s go through the shots we expect to take. . . .”

  “That man sure does like to hear himself talk,” a voice said behind Gunner.

  He turned with a smile, wondering for what seemed like the thousandth time how his genes had produced such a miracle as Cressy.

  “Gran says he’s some important dude, though, so I have to be nice to . . . holy Gorgonzola and beans!”

  “Holy Gorgonzola?” he repeated, wondering if it was some new Internet-speak that he had missed.

  “He’s gorgeous,” she said, then slapped her hand over her face and turned bright red. “Ohmigosh, I didn’t just say that, did I? Out loud? So you could hear it?”

  A little smile curled his lips. “You did, you know. Who is the object of your lust, if you don’t mind my asking?”

  She slid her fingers apart and spoke through them. “I’m not lusting, and I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you. Gran says you’ll go all medieval if I have a boyfriend, not that I want one, because they are just so much work, you know? They always expect you to do the things they want to do, and be interested in their friends, and never want to do things you want. It’s so unfair! But he really is gorgeous.”

  Gunner turned to look into the barn, scanning over the male faces. The one that seemed to have caught Cressy’s attention belonged to a lad who looked just a few years older than her, but who already had both arms covered in tattoos. Mentally, he sighed. He had a feeling he would be investing in more than one shotgun. “You can look but don’t touch.”

  Cressy rolled her eyes at him. “Jeez, Gunner, I’m not going to walk over to him and touch him all over, you know. I just like looking at him. And his tats. Those are really fabulous. Oh, look, there’s Lorina.”

  He turned back to the barn, finally picking out the head of Lorina in the semidarkness. She was sitting next to a dark-haired man whom he remembered as being the lead archaeologist. “So it is.”

  “You know her?” Cressy gave him an odd look.

  “I met her earlier, yes.”

  “Oh. Did she . . . um . . . did she say anything about me?”

  An odd note in her voice had him considering his child. “She said she thought you were charming. Why, what have you done to her?”

  “Done to her? Me?” Her voice rose into a guilty squeak, which she quickly fixed by clearing her throat. “I don’t know why everyone assumes I do things to people when I meet them.”

  Gunner waited, pursing his lips a little.

  “Fine,” Cressy admitted with obvious exasperation. “I may have collapsed our tent on Gran and me, and Lorina had to rescue us because my hair was caught and Gran couldn’t figure out how to uncatch me, and then Gran was upset by the tent falling down and breaking, and Lorina said we could have her tent, but I said no because I knew you wouldn’t want me dumping a broken tent on someone, so in the end, Gran took Lorina’s tent, and she is in my tent with me. The broken one, although we got it fixed up with some duct tape, and I’d like to point out that none of that is doing things to Lorina. She offered to swap tents. I didn’t even hint at it.”

  “Hmm,” he said, wanting to laugh, but knowing that it would only hurt Cressy’s feelings. He hadn’t seen much of his daughter in the seven years he’d known about her existence, since her mother kept her in Canada most of the time, but what he did know hinted at a delicate ego that could be wounded easily. “So long as Lorina offered and you didn’t put her in a position where she felt obligated to do so, then I agree that you did the right thing. And as a reward, I have decided to let you have those riding lessons you’ve been asking for.”

  With a squeal of delight, she hurled herself onto his lap, giving him a big hug that made him feel like the best father in the world. “Oh, thank you, Gunner! I just knew you’d let me take them. I mean, England is known for their show jumpers, so it would be a total waste to spend a whole summer here and not be able to do a little training. When can I start?”

  “Tomorrow, if it’s possible,” he said, wincing when she kicked her foot against his cast in her enthusiasm.

  “Oh, sorry.” She leaped off him, so excited that she seemed to vibrate as she continued to chatter about the proposed lessons, her arms waving about as she talked. She was at that age where she was all arms and legs, but he had a feeling that in a few more years, she’d be a stunner . . . and with that thought, he made a mental note to purchase an entire armory’s worth of shotguns.

  “I’m so glad Mom sent me here this year instead of making me go to my stepgrandma’s house. She’s in Alberta, and there’s nothing there but wheat! It’s so bleh, but England is fabulous, and I have the bestest dad in the world, not at all the dickwad who isn’t good enough for me, like Mom says. You’re totally cool, and even Gran says that Mom is totes ballistic when it comes to you, and you know Gran—she’s never wrong.” She laughed a loud, burbling laugh that made Gunner want to laugh with her. “I shouldn’t have said what Mom calls you, should I? Gran would say it’s not polite, but I’d rather know what people say about me than pretend everyone loves me. Besides, there’s dickwad, and then there’s dickwad. My friend Cankles said it about her brother, but he’s actually kinda nice. Cankles is my English friend, not one of my friends back home in BC. Her real name is Catrin, but everyone calls her Cankles. I met her last month when I moved in with Gran. I’ll need a riding helmet, but I can wear my jeans and ankle boots. You don’t mind getting me a new helmet, do you?”

  “Not if it means keeping your brain from being scrambled,” he said quickly, enjoying her stream of consciousness. It gave him much insight into her personality, quirky as it was. “Just keep in mind that if I hear you’re annoying Lorina, the lessons will be off.”

  Her eyes widened until he thought they might pop out. “I’m not going to annoy her! I like her!”

  “See that you remember that.” He glanced back at the barn full of diggers. They were still going a
t it, which annoyed him. He wanted to talk to Lorina again.

  “Gran’s having a lie-down, as she calls it, but it’s really a nap. She gets worn-out fast. When’s the baroness coming back to Ainslie? Gran says I have to watch my manners around her, although I think that’s silly because it’s not like I’m a baboon! I know how to be polite.”

  “Which baroness?” he asked, absently watching Lorina as she took a few notes during the talk by the production heads. His eyes narrowed when she leaned over to make a comment in the ear of the man next to her.

  “The one who’s your mom, not the new one, although I suppose she’s nice, too.”

  He turned at the note of worry in his daughter’s voice, giving her a little one-armed hug. “Alice is lovely, and she told me herself that she is thrilled to meet her niece, and can’t wait to get back home so she can do just that. And likewise my mother is anxious to see you again. You may not remember it, but you did meet her about five or six years ago.”

  Cressida scrunched up her nose in thought. “I kind of remember it, but not really well. None of my other friends have a grandmother who is a baroness, which makes Cankles crazy, because she’s got the hots for Prince Harry, and she thinks you’re like royalty or something because you have a castle and Uncle Elliott has a title and stuff.”

  Roger d’Aspry continued to drone on in his self-important manner. Now the man next to Lorina was whispering something to her that had her stifling a laugh. Gunner frowned at that.

  “Who’s that?” Cressy asked suddenly.

  “Who is who?”

  “That man who’s necking with Lorina.”

  “They aren’t necking,” Gunner said quickly, a bit surprised by the spurt of anger that followed the words. He reminded himself that although Lorina was pleasing on the eyes, and had a sense of humor he enjoyed, he had never been a possessive man, and he’d be damned if he started down that path now. “They’re just speaking to each other quietly.”