He chuckled, tightening his support of her as they climbed the limestone steps leading to the colonnade and the entryway beyond.
Inside, the museum was no less intimidating. Its high, coffered ceiling and polished marble floor seemed to stretch on endlessly. Linley craned her neck to study the intricate paintwork above her head, marveling at the time it must have taken artists to complete each design.
“How beautiful,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Patrick looked around the room as if seeing it for the first time himself. “Yes, it is,” he said. “I haven’t been here since I was a boy.”
Ignoring their reverie, Berenice walked over to a stand of souvenir postcards and museum brochures. She thumbed through the pamphlets and inquired of the salesperson about the exhibits, nodding her head as he explained the different rooms. Satisfied with the young man’s answer, she returned to the spot where Patrick and Linley stood.
“I believe the Roman Gallery is to our left,” she told them. “Why don’t we begin there?”
Linley and Patrick followed, thinking it as good a place to start as any. As they crossed the entrance hall, Linley noticed a group of young women and their mothers walking only a few steps behind.
“We’re being followed,” she whispered. Patrick started to turn and look, but she grabbed his arm to stop him. “Just keep walking and pretend we don’t notice.”
An oblivious Berenice led them into the Roman Gallery, a room dedicated to Roman antiquities discovered in Britain and beyond. One entire side held portrait-sculptures of famous Romans. Linley recognized the faces of Julius Caesar, Marcus Aurelius, and the Emperors Claudius, Tiberius, and Nero right away.
She walked the line of Roman rulers, admiring the artistry of their likenesses. In front of a bust of Marcus Aurelius, she paused to lean toward his marble face. “It is not death that a man should fear, but he should fear never beginning to live.”
Patrick stood beside her, also studying the old man’s features. “Pardon?”
“Marcus Aurelius,” she explained. “Haven’t you ever read his Meditations?”
“No, but I’ve read Julius Caesar,” he grinned and pointed to the time-weathered bust a few feet down the row, then clasped his hands to his heart. “Et tu, Brute?”
Linley shook her head, laughing. “You are not nearly as clever as you think you are.” She started to tease him more, but her attention drifted back to the group of women huddling in a far corner, watching her. “Do you know them?”
Patrick glanced toward the ladies. “No, I don’t think so.”
“I’ll bet they know you.”
“I’m sure they do,” he replied, taking her by the arm. “Last I heard, I was the third most eligible bachelor in England.”
“Only number three?” Linley asked, grinning as he led her through the rest of the Roman Gallery.
The next rooms housed works of the Greco-Roman style, including statues and busts from the private collection of Charles Townley, acquired by the museum after his death. In an alcove between the first and second Greco-Roman rooms, Townley’s sculpture of Venus stood, naked except for a swath of cloth draped around her legs.
“This is actually a copy of the statue of Phryne at Delphi,” Linley explained as she stopped to admire the woman. “Phryne was a Grecian courtesan noted for her extraordinary beauty. It is said she once went to trial, but at the sight of her bare breasts, the judges acquitted her.”
Patrick stepped forward to study the statue’s shapely figure, enjoying the sight of her splendid breasts and graceful hips. “How fascinating.”
“If you like Venus, then you should see Clytie,” Linley said, pulling him over to the bust of a voluptuous beauty seeming to rise out of a circle of leaves. Only a thin veil of fabric covered her breasts.
Patrick admired her, as well. “She appears so soft that I could run my hands across her.”
Thank God Berenice didn’t hear him say that! Linley blushed at the thought of Patrick running his hands across any woman’s breasts—especially her own poor excuses for ones.
As if he could read her mind, Patrick glanced down at her flushed face and smiled a long, slow smile.
Turning away from him, struggling to find something else to talk about, she asked, “Have you seen Berenice?”
“No.”
“Perhaps we should go find her.”
Patrick shrugged his shoulders, not in the least concerned about Linley’s chaperone.
They wandered through the rest of the Greek and Roman antiquities in search of the woman. Finally, they found her talking to a museum attendant, waving her hands in the air at the frazzled young man.
“Cousin Berenice, we’ve been looking for you,” Linley said, coming to her side.
The woman took her by the arms. “And that is exactly what you should not be doing—looking! I’ve never seen anything more offensive in my entire life!”