Every Scandalous Secret by Gayle Callen Page B

her mother’s firm hand. Don’t we all need a little taste of danger, the chance to take a risk, even if it is only flirting with a wicked gentleman?”
    Taking a risk—it was as if he could read her mind. “So you would never harm an innocent young lady?”
    “Not deliberately, no. Does that appease you, Susanna? Perhaps ease my way into your good graces?”
    “Perhaps,” was all she offered.
    They walked in silence the rest of the way down the hill, along a faint path through tall grass. It wasn’t until they reached the bottom and swung left to follow it around that she saw the crumbling piles of tall stone that were too orderly to be random, still held upright by ancient mortar. She heard many of the guests gasp with delight.
    To her surprise, Mr. Wade’s arm stiffened beneath her hand. She glanced up at him, but he only smiled at her before returning his focus to Lord Bramfield. Her gaze lingered on Mr. Wade for a moment in curiosity, for something seemed . . . different about him.
    “You all know we are not far from the town of St. Albans,” Lord Bramfield began, rocking back on his heels as he regarded them all. “The Romans called it Veralumium. They left behind many towns like it when they fled Britain. Just last year, the St. Albans and Hertfordshire Architectural and Archaeological Society was founded to promote interest in local history and research.”
    “Is someone overseeing how they define ‘interest’?” Mr. Wade asked.
    Susanna stared up at him. She wasn’t alone in her surprise, as several of the women whispered to each other, and Lord Keane rolled his eyes.
    Lord Bramfield studied Mr. Wade, seeming to take no offense. “Your meaning, Mr. Wade?”
    “I’ve heard that many wish to repair and update old buildings, and there’s a debate about how much interference should be allowed before it alters the work of past craftsmen.”
    Lord Bramfield slowly smiled. “You’re correct, Mr. Wade. The Society was formed to ensure adequate discussion before any work is done. We must protect the treasures of our past. I am glad to see you are interested.”
    Mr. Wade shrugged. “Not interested, exactly. I merely overheard a conversation at my club.”
    Lord Bramfield briefly frowned before turning back to his curious audience. Whether they were curious about relics—or Mr. Wade—Susanna didn’t quite know.
    “The scientists studying in St. Albans,” Lord Bramfield continued, “tell me that our Roman wall here might have been part of an outpost leading toward Veralumium from Londinium. If you come closer, you can see the small remains of a mosaic floor.”
    Part of the wall had a flattened section, and letters were carved into it. As people rushed forward to look at the mosaic, Susanna held back, trying to make out the Latin words, which used all capital letters and no punctuation, and had also suffered the ravages of time.
    She turned to Mr. Wade for help, only to find him staring off into the distance. “Mr. Wade, have you suddenly lost interest? Romans were here before our natives barely had their own writings.”
    He glanced at her, wearing his charming smile. “The present matters the most, living life, enjoying oneself.”
    “Now you sound very focused on yourself.”
    “Trust me,” Mr. Wade said, “I know how to focus on a lady.”
    Now that no one was watching him, his glance traveled with heated slowness down her body.
    “But the past influenced the present,” she insisted, ignoring his innuendoes. “I thought you understood that a moment ago.” For some reason, she felt he was deliberately distracting her.
    “But why should I care? I’ll leave it to the dusty scholars while I concentrate on the present—which I’m certain those Romans did.”
    “And their society collapsed.”
    “And you’re comparing that to our wondrous British empire?” he asked, spreading his arms wide.
    “How can you not even want to know what ancient men wrote? I can make out ‘For the