Page 8 of The Lady’s Guide to Deception and Desire
“I can’t help but notice your accent, Miss Burnell.” He spoke somewhat shyly. “I’ve been following the paleontological activity in Como Bluff, and the amazing finds there. I don’t suppose you’ve ever been?”
Rosamund hadn’t the least idea of what to say. Naturally, she’d read of the dinosaur bones found in the Wyoming desert. Everyone had.
But to go there?
Even had she the interest or the opportunity, it had to be near on a thousand miles from their home in Texas.
She settled for being polite. “I’m afraid not. Though I’m sure it would be fascinating.”
In an instant, the young man took on a new animation.
“We can hardly compare the two, but this part of the coast is known for its finds. You’ve heard of Mary Anning and her Ichthyosaur?”
Rosamund couldn’t say that she had, but she nodded politely.
He lowered his voice, as if imparting some great secret. “The stomach contained visible remains of prehistoric fish, would you believe!”
Rosamund made the required sounds of interest, though there was only so much enthusiasm she could summon for things which hadn’t been alive for millions of years.
Still, he was talking. “This is one of the best stretches, from Osmington Mills westward. Plenty of Cretaceous boulders on the beach until you reach the Corallian section at Black Head, but I’ve been sketching a fossil embedded in the cliff face just along from here. You find all sorts of fragments at the foot of the cliffs and buried in the sand, though it takes a careful eye to spot the best examples. I might show you, if you’d like.”
Now they were getting somewhere.
She’d let him show her his bits of rock, she’d exclaim at how marvellous they were, and then she’d begin her interrogation in earnest: finding out just where this abbey was, and what he had to do with it.
She was about to suggest they head out into the sun and begin the grand tour of "Dorset’s most thrilling rocks" when Pom Pom stopped shovelling sand and gave a sharp yelp.
“Oh P—Hector! What’s the matter, puppy?” Rosamund cupped his face in her hands. “Did you hurt your paws with all that digging?”
“Looks like he found a crab and got a nip for his trouble.” Bending over, Mr. Studborne extracted something. “Not just a crab, look. Your dog has made his own find—a rather fine ammonite, though only a small one, I’m afraid.”
He washed it in the same puddle into which Rosamund had thrown her shells, then brought it for her to see.
Taking her hand, he traced her forefinger over the hard, curving ridges, guiding along the ever-decreasing spirals. “A simple design, but effective. The chambers strengthened the shell, stopping it from being crushed by the pressure of the sea. The creature lived in only the last chamber. The earlier ones it used to control its buoyancy and movement, much like a submarine—pushing out air or water as needed.”
Her finger had reached the centre of the fossilised shell.
His was still atop.
And his finely-haired forearm, bare beneath his rolled-up sleeve, had brushed against her wrist.
Rosamund glanced up. She didn’t give a hoot for fossils, but the way Mr. Studborne was looking at her, her head felt strangely light.
“Miss Burnell?” He spoke her name softly and his hand closed fully over hers.
“Yes?” Her gaze fell to his lips.
Suddenly, he jumped back.
Pom Pom had attached himself to the gentleman’s ankle and was…
“Oh, too naughty! Stop that!” Rosamund stifled a giggle. “I do apologize. He seems to like you.”
There was no mistaking the drive behind the terrier’s pelvic exertions. It might have appeared less indecent if Mr. Studborne hadn’t had his trousers rolled up. He gave his leg a shake, but the puppy showed no sign of letting up on his amorous quest.
Much as Rosamund loved Pom Pom, and she really ought to intervene, she’d no desire to pick him up while he was covered in wet sand. Instead, she felt in her pocket. Thank goodness, she’d kept back a bit of sausage.
Pulling it out, she waved it under Pom Pom’s nose then threw it towards the cave entrance.
