Redeeming the Reclusive Earl - Virginia Heath Page 0,46
listing all the reasons why those lofty antiquarians are actually cretins.’
‘That is very kind of you, Max.’ Effie reached across the gap between their chairs and touched his hand and he felt it all the way to his toes. ‘But entirely pointless. They will not budge. Lord Richard wrote them several letters, but they will not change their rules. If anything, I think the letters annoy them almost as much as my papers do. Perhaps, for the sake of progress, I should try a pseudonym as Eleanor says. At least then others can learn from my discoveries—even if I have to pretend to be Mr John Smith.’
Chapter Twelve
Dig Day 790: sixteen post holes. One spear head. No pickaxe-wielding earls...
Effie retied the ribbons of the glasses around her head and then arranged her belly flat on the bottom of the trench to resume the painstaking task of gently scraping away another layer of soil from the metal object which stood proud above it. It was very likely an axe head similar to the one she had uncovered yesterday or perhaps a tip of a spear. This particular part of the dwelling seemed to have been used for storing weapons and tools because she now had quite a collection. If she focused, she would know the answer before the afternoon was done. The only problem was today had proved itself a bad day for concentration because her vexing assistant had failed to turn up at all.
That was, of course, his prerogative. They never made any firm arrangements and certainly never discussed times. Max arrived when he felt like it, stayed for only as long as he wanted and then always bade her a good day, making sure she knew he found her presence and her purpose irritating. Rationally, she understood he probably had a hundred better and more pressing uses for his time and it was not as if he had promised to be here to help her—but none of that made her feel less bothered by his absence because since the first day he had picked up her pickaxe three weeks ago, he had always come. In fact, he had not missed a single day in all that time and since they had started on their quest to prove the dwelling was round, he had taken to spending longer and longer with her.
Yesterday, he had worked solidly by her side for six hours despite the hot June sun beating down on them. Not having him a few feet away, asking her questions and rolling his eyes or demanding sustenance, felt wrong.
She missed him.
Worse, she was worried sick about him and had no earthly idea why. But since late morning she had been plagued with a bad feeling which not even the painstaking excavation of a two-thousand-year-old Celtic axe head could banish.
Again, his fault because he was such a closed book.
After their one and only discussion about his scars, they had never discussed anything too personal. All conversation was limited strictly to the dig or the superficial. Obviously she still had a million questions about Max, concerning both his past and his present and all the complicated pieces in between, all frustratingly unasked because she knew instinctively they would not be welcomed. He had remained entirely true to his word—he never minded the question, but there were a great many he blatantly refused to answer. He never said no outright, but he was an expert at sidestepping them. Yet sometimes, she could see his torment in the fleeting bleak expressions which often skittered across his face or see the swirling unreadable emotions in his eyes which his slightly detached, frequently belligerent permanent mask couldn’t always hide.
But seeing as he resolutely avoided asking her anything about herself which could be construed as intensely private, he gave her no way in to probe him and doubtless did that on purpose for exactly that reason. Therefore lord only knew why he wasn’t here today and more fool her for allowing herself to care.
Except she did.
With a huff, she tossed her trowel aside and sat up. Her own jumbled thoughts regarding the wretch were slowly driving her mad. Something he would know because he knew more of her than she usually allowed the world to see.