The Scholar and the Scot Read online

  Ah, problem solved.

  “I am a scholar, it’s true,” he was saying, as he glanced around the room. “But I’ve also made myself some wealth through investments, which is really just applying what I know of markets. But my real passion is travel.”

  Travel. The chance to see the world!

  Something she only dreamed of.

  Still not looking at her, he said, “I’ve been all over the world, Olive, studying cultures and having adventures.”

  Frantically, Olive wracked her brain, trying to remember which of the journal’s academic contributors traveled the world. He was staring at the dancing couples, and when she glanced up, she was struck by the strength in his jaw and the determination in his brow.

  All over the world…having adventures.

  A suspicion began to creep over her, and Olive bit her bottom lip. Hard.

  Before she could ask what name he wrote under, Phineas clasped his hands behind his back and shifted his weight, drawing her attention—accidentally—downward to his kilt.

  “My father didnae approve of me gallivanting all over, no’ at first. He still thinks it’s ridiculous, so I chose a sobriquet before I began to publish my adventures.”

  So he did write under a different name.

  “Which name did you choose?” she all-but-hissed, praying her suspicion was wrong, while at the same time, she hoped it was right.

  He glanced down at her, then again at the dancing couples, his jaw tight as he confessed. “The most common name I could think of. Jones.”

  Jones.

  As in…Aberdeen Jones?

  “Aberdeen?” she managed to choke in disbelief.

  His nod was quick, his gaze still elsewhere. “When I was at university, I was full of myself. I told everyone how I was going to travel and go to exotic places and see exotic sights. My very first assignment—as an assistant to one of my archaeology professors—was in Aberdeen, the least exotic place I could think of. The nickname was short-lived, but when it came time to pick a sobriquet, I thought it fit.”

  This man, this handsome, intelligent man, was Aberdeen Jones? Her idol?

  And you just made a complete fool of yourself, accusing him of lying.

  Suddenly, he turned to her in one swift movement. “Look, I can explain. Or try to at least.” He glanced over her head, then around the room. “Have ye seen the earl’s private antiquities collection?”

  Still sputtering over this revelation, Olive nodded. “In the library? Of course.”

  His expression softened into a smile as he glanced at her once more. “Of course,” he repeated gently, then shook his head. “However, I meant in his study. When we arrived, I brought him a gift of a Roman stone sphaera in thanks for a favor he did for me last year. He told me I could have access to his collection whenever I’d like.” His gaze darted around the room. “Meet me there in a quarter hour and I’ll try to explain.”

  And then he was gone, leaving her to stare at the potted palm. A very fine example of howea forsteriana if she wasn’t mistaken.

  The joys of having a botanist for a father.

  As part of her mind cataloged the genus and species of the plant, the rest was occupied with the realization her dinner partner—the man she’d so thoroughly snubbed—was Aberdeen Jones.

  He was handsome and made her insides do interesting things when he touched her. And he lived a life she could only dream of but wanted to know more about.

  But to sneak away from a dance to meet a man in private, in her host’s study no less?

  It was scandalous.

  It was wrong.

  Clearly she was going to do it.

  Chapter 3

  Phineas was delayed getting to Fangfoss’s study by, ironically, Olive’s brother. Ash L’arbre was a likable sort of fellow, but now that Phin knew how talented the man was at cards, he refused to allow himself to be drawn into another game.

  By the time he reached the study, more than a quarter hour had passed, and when he stepped inside and realized Olive wasn’t there, his assumption was she’d arrived, then left, because she thought he wasn’t coming.

  He was standing there in the middle of the room, his fists planted on his hips in disappointment, when a sound at the door had him whirling around. Hope flared in his chest, and when he saw her lovely, curious head pop around the edge of the door frame, it settled into a sort of rightness.

  “Ye came,” he breathed, then shook his head with a wry smile. “Thank ye. Ye had nae trouble?” he asked as he crossed the room to pull her in and shut the door behind her, lest they be seen.

  Their host had installed electric lights in the room, and Olive meandered around in a sort of daze, her head cocked back to stare up at the shelves upon shelves of books.

  “I was…detained by Charity,” she murmured. “She wanted to know why I looked so flustered. Good heavens, do you think that’s an original Chaucer?”

  Distracted, Phin started. “What? Oh, aye. It’s original.” She’d looked flustered? “What did ye tell Charity?”

  Still staring up at the books, Olive murmured, “I told her I was off to meet a legend in the dark.”

  She didn’t.

  She told her friend she was meeting him?

  A legend?

  “Olive!” He reached her and took her hand, wishing—not for the first time—she wasn’t wearing gloves. “Ye told yer friend ye were doing something scandalous?”

  The moment her full attention landed on him, Phin felt that same sense of rightness sweep through him once more. And then she grinned.

  “Oh, don’t worry about Charity. She doesn’t have a scandalized bone in her body. In fact, she helped me sneak away from the party so I could join you here.”

  Phin blinked. “Oh. Good.”

  They stood there in silence for a few heartbeats longer. He was utterly enchanted by the warmth in her eyes and the flush of excitement on her cheeks. And of course the way she bit her lower lip when the moment stretched just a shade longer than was comfortable.

  “Are you really Aberdeen Jones?” she finally asked.

  He squeezed her hand lightly. “Aye. I’m sorry, although I dinnae ken why I’m apologizing.”

  Her breath suddenly burst out of her, and she seemed to deflate. The smile she offered was sheepish. “No, I should be the one apologizing. I thought you were trying to impress me with stories of your adventures, which I knew were Aberdeen Jones’s adventures. The thought of a man trying to impress someone like me was disconcerting enough I never stopped to consider you might be telling the truth.”

  “Why wouldn’t a man try to impress ye, Olive?”

  The question startled her. Her head reared back as she peered up at him, as if trying to determine if he was mocking her.

  “I’m… I know I’m not accomplished.” Her lips tugged ruefully upwards. “The Duke of Cashingham made certain to point that out.”

  “The duke’s an arse.”

  She blinked. “Well, perhaps. He was certainly cold enough to be one.”

  This was fun. “Oh? Are arses cold?”

  Olive made a point of glancing downward at his kilt. “I suppose they can be a bit drafty. What does one wear under one of those?”

  He waggled his brows. “Want to find out?”

  It was gratifying the way her eyes widened, flashing thoughtfully with interest, before her lips quirked ruefully. “I’d like to find out why you invited me here.”

  And she’d come. Alone. In the dark.

  To meet a legend.

  “I wanted to show ye the earl’s collection.”

  Glancing once around the room, she nodded. “And to confirm you really are—”

  “I really am Aberdeen Jones. Or rather, I write under that name. Which is a stupid name, I’m willing to admit.”

  But she was peering at him once more, as if trying to decide if she believed him. “And you really did all those things you wrote about? Or are they made up?”

  “I really did all th
ose things. I didn’t embellish much. If anything, I skipped some of the stories just so it could all fit.” A memory came to him. “I left out the hippo encounter when I was crossing the Nile for instance.”

  “When you were hunting for Amenhotep’s scepter?”

  She really had read all of his Adventures?

  “Nay, this was the year before, when I was a guest of the Khedive. Judging from the way he laughed as I splashed out of the river, he knew exactly what I was in for.”

  Instead of chuckling with him, she pulled away, wrapping her arms around her middle as she crossed to stand beside one of their host’s heavy chairs.

  “Olive?” How had he offended her?

  “I…” She shook her head. “You’ve lived such an amazing life. Had so many adventures, Mr. Prince, and I—”

  “Phineas, please,” he corrected gently, then crossed to her, wanting to ease her discomfort, but not certain how. “Or Phin.”

  “Or Aberdeen?” she asked, half-teasingly half-hopefully as she peeked up at him.

  His hands fell to his side. “I’d even allow you to call me that, but not in public please. It’s too embarrassing.”

  “I think you should be proud. If I had lived half the adventures you have, I’d be so happy.”

  Suddenly, her hesitation made sense. “Ye want to travel and see the world, aye?” he whispered. “That’s why ye subscribe to the journal and read my stories.”

  Mutely, she nodded, looking tiny and lost and ashamed.

  Cursing himself, Phin drew her into his arms.

  It should’ve been awkward, considering he barely knew the woman. But instead, it felt natural to hold her like this, to tuck her head under his chin and press his hands against her back, as if he could warm her.

  “Olive,” he whispered, “ye are a remarkable woman. Nay, a remarkable person. Do ye ken how intelligent ye are? And kind, yet fierce, as well. And…” He shook his head. “Brave. So brave, so perfect.”

  “I’m not brave.” Her voice was muffled by his chest and served to remind him he had a beautiful woman in his arms.

  Trying to keep his cock from stirring and alerting her to his less-than-noble response, he cleared his throat and pulled her away far enough she could peek up at him. “Olive, ye no’ only ken enough about Roman architecture to write a full paper on it, but ye submitted it to the Society of Archaeology. That’s bravery right there.”

  She scoffed quietly and looked away, dropping her chin. “It won’t be accepted.”

  “I ken it will be,” he assured her firmly. “Now, would ye like to hold my sphaerae?”

  To his surprise, a laugh burst out of her, but when she pressed her lips together, it emerged as a sort of snort. Quickly, she turned away and pressed her fingers to her mouth.

  “I beg your pardon?” he asked, amused at her response.

  “I’m sorry.” She sounded as if she were gasping for air. “A terribly uncouth thought came to me, and I should’ve contained myself.”

  Well, well. His little scholar had uncouth thoughts, did she?

  Grinning, Phin tucked his thumbs in his waistcoat pockets and rocked back on his heels. “Tell me, did it have anything to do with my offering ye the chance to handle my balls?”

  From the way she sucked in a breath, and the way her shoulders shook, Phin guessed that it did.

  As much as he’d love to stand there and discuss her holding his ballocks, he took pity on her and turned away, allowing her time to contain herself. Secretly, he was thrilled to find out his little scholar had a naughty side as well, but he’d invited her here for a particular reason, and he intended to follow through on that.

  Clearing his throat, he began to speak nonchalantly as he opened various velvet-lined cabinets. “Our host’s mother was something of a collector. She was the one who financed the archaeological dig on the property, resulting in quite a number of fascinating artifacts. She’d thought this the site of a military outpost, but the dig revealed a community full of everyday artifacts, indicating this was more of a town than a fort, complete with governing buildings and a marketplace.”

  Sure enough, the draw of archaeology was enough for Olive to overcome her awkwardness. She stepped up beside him as Phin laid a velvet-wrapped bundle on the table, and when he reached for the lamp, she got there first.

  “How exciting!” She was smiling. “Imagine how incredible that must’ve been to realize your dig was ever so much more than you’d expected and had greater implications.”

  He didn’t have to imagine it; he’d been a part of it once or twice. But he just grinned in response. “Indeed.” With ceremony, he unwrapped the black velvet to reveal a small stone ball. “Now this is my sphaera. Well, it was until I gifted it to the earl.”

  “Of course,” she murmured, already reaching for it. But her hands froze a few inches from the stone. “May I?’

  She was still wearing her evening gloves, so there was no reason not to agree. “Of course. This is mere carved stone.”

  Reverently, she lifted the artifact. “Meaning it was used to cap a part of a building—likely a porch—of little import. Perhaps someone’s home?”

  Impressed, he nodded. “Exactly right. I acquired it on a dig near Pompeii. It has little intrinsic value except as an artifact.”

  She’d hefted the globe in both hands and was peering at it through the glass of her spectacles. “Don’t they usually come in pairs?”

  When he chuckled, she glanced up at him, and he grinned. “I should’ve guessed ye’d ken that.”

  “Of course. Incidentally, you missed the opportunity to make a joke there.”

  “About balls coming in pairs? I thought to preserve your delicate sensibilities.”

  She grinned at him over the stone sphere, and he liked that her shyness seemed to evaporate in the presence of ancient artifacts. “Thank you.”

  Clearing his throat, he forced himself back to the topic at hand. “Ye ken I’m a collector? I searched far and wide for a golden sphaera.”

  Her eyebrow twitched as she went back to examining the artifact. “Something like that— Gold is such a soft metal!” She shook her head. “It would’ve capped only the most important buildings in a city or town. Mainly for show, I would think. Difficult to find.”

  “Exactly, and likely pilfered long before the site became interesting to archaeologists. But I found one.”

  Her head jerked up. “Where?”

  “Right here.” He grinned at her excitement.

  “At Fangfoss Manor?”

  “In this study.”

  When she whipped her head around, peering at the cabinets, Phin chuckled and reached for the sphaera she still held. As he rewrapped it, he told the story of the golden ball.

  “My brother’s wife, Vanessa, is a distant relative of the earl. She used to visit Fangfoss Manor as a girl, and remembered the archaeological dig. She was certain she’d seen a golden sphaera. Once she heard me describe it to her and her sister, and when she learned I was willing to pay a hefty sum to purchase one, she dragged my brother—of course, she didnae ken he was my brother at the time—down here to Fangfoss.”

  Chuckling, he shook his head as he carefully placed the sphaera back in the box. “I dinnae ken the entire story, other than the fact Roland wore an eyepatch and went by a different name. He was trying to teach her a lesson, but along the way, the pair of them fell in love and…”

  His nephew, the next viscount, had been born a few months ago, and it made Phineas happy to see Roland so in love.

  “So they found the sphaera here at the dig?”

  Olive’s question reminded him he’d become distracted. He tossed her an apologetic smile over one shoulder as he moved to replace the box. “Nay, they returned empty-handed. But Roland contacted the earl and asked him, and it turned out the sphaera had been excavated years ago, and Fangfoss had no idea what it was. I purchased it, and when I arrived for this visit with Raina, I brought him the stone replacement. Hardly economically equal, b
ut the earl seemed grateful for the quick study in the meaning and history of usage.”

  Olive was nodding thoughtfully as she sank onto the settee. “He’s a nice man—very much in love with Miss Julia—but I can tell he’s not interested in Roman architecture. At least, not nearly as much as I assumed a man with an actual dig site on his property would be.”

  Chuckling in agreement, Phineas crossed his arms and rested one hip against the cabinet. “I suspect most people in the world aren’t as interested in Roman architecture as ye and I are, Olive.”

  In the light from the lamps, he watched her cheeks pinken at the intimation they were similar, but instead of denying it, her gaze swept from his chin to his chest, then down his torso to rest upon his knees. His bare knees.

  It was safe to grin in satisfaction, so he made a show of nonchalantly crossing one ankle over the other. Roland—and Lyon—had told him their wives enjoyed the sight of them in kilts. Phin was happy to report the charm worked on Olive as well.

  In fact, it was working a little too well. There they were, alone in a quiet room, her looking positively delectable in that blue silk. Phin’s blood was pumping, and the way she was eyeing him appreciatively, well…

  It occurred to him all of his blood was pumping in a decidedly downward fashion, and it seemed as if Olive had come to that realization as well, judging from the way her eyes widened at the sight of the stirring behind his sporran.

  And then she sucked on her lower lip, and Phin squeezed his eyes shut and thrust himself upright, trying to think of anything he could to get his body under control.

  Amo, amas, amat.

  Amamus, amatis, amant.

  It seemed she was in a similar state, because Olive suddenly surged to her feet and turned around, giving her his back. Her shoulders were heaving, as if she was breathing deeply, but her tone was overly cheerful when she asked loudly, “So now you have your golden sphaera.”

  “Aye, and I’m quite pleased, but as ye said, they come in pairs.”

  He nearly groaned out loud when he realized the possibility for crude jokes, and her breath hitched once before she exhaled.