Teatime with a Knight (Matchmakers in Time Book 2)

by Kit Morgan

  And Melvale was the dreamiest Muiraran she’d met to date. He was to Dallan and Shona what Q was to James Bond. That he was drop dead gorgeous only added to his mystique. He was tall, as most Muiraran males were, 6’6” easily. And his build put Greek statues to shame. His long silver hair fell nearly to his waist. His steel gray eyes were framed by dark, inquisitive eyebrows and his smile … oh, could the man smile! She’d met his brother Markhel once, but he was broader and rougher-looking, like a Navy SEAL. Melvale was …

  “Ohhh, will you look at the time!” he said in a sing-song voice. He picked up the fine china plate he’d been eating off and reached for hers. “Finished?”

  “Yes, thank you.” She popped the last of her sandwich in her mouth. “What time is it?”

  “Almost two o’clock. Time to watch Gunsmoke!”

  “Speaking of which, how do you think it’s going?”

  “The Time Master’s assignment? Swimmingly, I’m sure.” He went to the counter, set the dishes down, then stared intently at the dishwasher.

  She rolled her eyes. As smart and advanced as the alien race was, one would think Melvale able to figure out a simple kitchen appliance. Kitty hopped off her stool at the kitchen island where they’d been eating, came over and opened the dishwasher. “See?”

  “Oh, stab me! It’s that easy?”

  She shook her head with a sigh. “Yes. Now watch.” She loaded their breakfast and lunch dishes, filled the soap reservoir, closed the door and started it up.

  “Well, then I’m off to the library.”

  “I can’t believe you watch Gunsmoke every day at two. Don’t you want to go out and see 21st-century England?” She looked at his attire – floor-length silver and blue Muiraran robes. Not really appropriate for the time period, but he could change. “Because I do. Couldn’t we go up to London? I’m sure we can find you something around here to wear.”

  “No – Time Master’s orders. I’m here to help Dallan and Shona should the need arise, and you are here to write a book.” He arched an eyebrow. “What exactly are you writing, by the way?”

  Kitty tried to look innocent. “Nothing. It’s just a story.”

  He narrowed his gaze.

  “Okay, so maybe it’s a little something about the last assignment.”

  “Jefferson and Lorelei? Miss Morgan, you have been given specific instructions not to write about Time Master Dallan’s assignments.”

  She shrugged. “What else is there to write about? Besides, I always sugarcoat them. A lot.”

  Melvale glared at her. “Don’t.”

  “Sugarcoat them?”

  “Reference them at all. You’ll not only endanger Dallan and Shona, but the Cooke family and the other residents of Clear Creek as well.”

  “But …”

  He held up a hand, spun on his heel and left the kitchen. So much for that conversation.

  She headed out to join Melvale, but stopped. She thought she’d caught some movement on one of the security screens in the butler’s office as she passed.

  Kitty entered the room where the system was kept. A UK FedEx van was parked some distance from the house and a man was walking to the front door. She’d ordered some books – that must be them. She’d already informed Melvale they’d probably be delivered today.

  Kitty ran up the stairs and jogged through the house to see if she could beat the FedEx man to the door. She pulled it open just as he was reaching for the bell. “Ha! I did it!” she gasped, out of breath.

  He gave her an odd look. “Uh … delivery, ma’am.”

  His accent was different than some of the other Englishmen and women she’d met so far. She did love a good accent, including the Muirarans’. Melvale had an accent all his own.

  “Miss?”

  “Oh, yeah. My books?”

  The man shrugged and handed her a box. “His Grace will have to sign for it.”

  Kitty froze. “His Grace?”

  The man looked at her like she was from another planet. He was close. “The Duke of Stantham?”

  “Oh, but he’s not here.” She looked at the van in the drive. Another delivery man had gotten out and was leaning against it. He looked middle-aged, had brown hair and was taller than the man in front of her. He was also oddly familiar. But how could that be?

  “Miss?” the shorter man said more forcefully.

  “I can sign for it.”

  “I’m afraid the duke will have to.”

  She looked at the shipping label on the box and went cold. “But … I … could give it to him.” She forced a smile and hoped the tremor of fear that just ran up her spine didn’t show on her face.

  “Rules are rules.”

  “Then I’m afraid you’ll have to come back.”

  He sighed in annoyance. “Right, then.” He took the package from her. “I’ll deliver this another time.”

  Kitty looked at the van again. The other man had already gotten back inside. “Fine.”

  The FedEx man trotted to the van, climbed in and they were off.

  About the time Melvale came running, Kitty remembered to breathe. “Who was that?” he asked, dead serious. As the van sped away, he pulled some sort of baton from beneath his robes, pressing something on it as he did. By the time it was fully exposed, it was also fully extended into a sword.

  “Oh, like that’s going to do any good now!” Kitty chastised.

  He narrowed his eyes, tossed off his robes and, after retracting the weapon, slid it into a sheath on his belt and ran out the door.

  Kitty hugged herself as she trembled. Her fear had drawn Melvale – it was the only thing she could think of. And what was with the normal-looking T-shirt and jeans he was wearing? Had he had them under his robes all along?

  The sound of a motorcycle drew her attention. The bike came out of nowhere and flew down the drive after the van, its rider (presumably Melvale) now sporting a black leather jacket and helmet. “At least he’s wearing safety gear.” She closed the front door. Best to let him take care of this. Melvale might come across as some namby-pamby Muiraran fashionista, but he was as much a warrior as the rest of them. In fact, she’d heard he was one of the best.

  Right now, she hoped so. The box being delivered had been addressed to Duncan Cooke, who was currently helping Dallan and Shona in the year 1880. He didn’t exist now. Which could only mean that the so-called FedEx guys weren’t FedEx guys at all.

  The Stantham estate, 1880

  Other than a few thumps from down the hall where Aldrich was rifling the pantry for cheese, the lower level of the house was eerily quiet. The thought of the two of them alone in the huge manor gave Tory chills. She felt like she was in a zombie movie, preparing to go out into danger after she and Aldrich ransacked the abandoned mansion for supplies.

  “Oh, stop it,” she whispered to herself. “Daydreams get you nowhere.” And yet here she was, living one. Her dream of working abroad had come true, and as weird as the job was, she liked it. She especially liked a certain dark-haired man she was spending the day with – alone for the most part, which made it even better, zombie apocalypse concerns notwithstanding.

  She turned and looked at the high window over the sink. Good grief, even the kitchen was historical – no faucet, just an old-fashioned pump for water. With a sigh she studied it. She was thirsty. She found a glass, gave the pump a try and after some effort got it working. After draining her glass, she filled one for Aldrich and set it on the long worktable behind her, then began a search for something to wrap the apple slices and cheese in.

  She was busy failing to locate the Ziploc bags when he returned. “I found some wonderful Brie. Here’s a small round.” He handed it to her.

  “We’ll need a knife,” she said, looking around.

  “You mean this one?” He held up the one she’d been using on the apples.

  “Oh, yeah. Duh.”

  Aldrich found a small bowl and set it on the table. “For the apples.”

  Tory shrugged and tossed
in the apple slices, then found a linen napkin and covered the bowl. She tucked the crockery into the crook of her arm and picked up the knife and the wheel of cheese. “All set.”

  Aldrich had moved to another area of the kitchen. He held up two small plates. “I’ll take these.”

  “Okay.” She headed for the stairs.

  “Not that way.”

  She turned. “Where, then? How do we get out of here?”

  He nodded at a door with a half-window at the other end of the kitchen. “That leads outside.”

  Tory followed him through the door to a little landing, up a set of stone stairs and into what looked like a delivery area.

  “This way,” Aldrich headed for a path that led around the house.

  She followed, studying her surroundings as they went. She hadn’t been on this side of the manor before. Other than her outing with Aldrich when he first arrived and a few walks and riding lessons, she’d barely seen the grounds. She’d been too busy with the duchess or the man walking ahead of her to worry about the gardens.

  They reached the end of the path and Aldrich offered her his arm. “Around that hedge,” he said with a nod to the tall, neatly-trimmed greenery in front of them, “are the gardens. I’m sure we’ll find a nice spot to eat in there somewhere. Perhaps we’ll even find a servant or two.”

  She took his arm and they strolled around the hedge and onto a wide pebbled walkway. Other tall hedges grew here and looked to be arranged in a maze. “Looks like we’d get lost in there.”

  “True, but the maze isn’t that large. We’d find our way out eventually.”

  She blushed. Getting lost in a hedge maze with him might be fun … but she shouldn’t be thinking about him that way. It had to stop. She couldn’t risk blowing this job over a kiss. But what she shared with him wasn’t just any old kiss. Now that her head was clearer, she realized she’d come alive in that moment. She’d brushed it off earlier, not wanting to face that it was special because that would make being around him all the harder. She didn’t fancy torturing herself like that.

  No. She wanted this job, needed it. To keep it she’d have to kiss Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Handsome goodbye. She smiled at the pun and refocused on their surroundings.

  Aldrich led them into a rose garden. When they stopped and sat on a bench, his eyes roamed her face and she wondered if he’d kiss her again. Her heart leaped at the thought even as her brain whined, you can’t, you’re playing with fire, you blow this and you might not get another chance at such a sweet job. She wished they’d both chill out.

  He narrowed his eyes and smiled. “Something on your mind?”

  “It’s just … well, no one’s around. Shouldn’t there be someone around?” That way it might keep her from kissing him.

  He laughed softly, “I’m sure there is.” He stopped and looked at her. Uh-oh – that was the look he’d had right before he kissed her in the library. Tory gazed back, her mind gone, her heart taking point as their eyes locked. So much for the voice of reason. A scene from the last historical romance she’d read flashed through her brain, and she was suddenly transported into a beautiful garden, wearing period clothing and sitting next to a handsome hero. Then she realized this scene wasn’t conjured up by some hack writer – this was real. She had to kiss him!

  Except he kissed her first. This time, he didn’t break it so readily. And Tory melted into a puddle.

  Chapter Twelve

  Deuce take it, he was doing it again! Why could he not restrain himself around this woman? And it wasn’t only about keeping his lips from hers, but his heart. Every time he drew too close – or worse, when their lips met – Aldrich felt part of him being transported to her. And it didn’t come back! If this kept up, he’d lose himself completely.

  But as Duncan pointed out days ago, would that be such a bad thing?

  Right now he didn’t care. He wrapped his arms around her, felt something cold and hard against his belly and realized it was that blasted bowl of apples. Who knew what had happened to the cheese …

  Finally, with as much strength as he could muster, he broke the kiss. “Tory,” he rasped, trying to catch his breath. “Terribly sorry. No excuse, no excuse at all.”

  “None,” she agreed, gasping. Her eyes riveted on his lips before she met his heated stare. “Aldrich, we …”

  He kissed her again. He wanted to see if the same strange phenomenon happened, his heart losing pieces of itself the longer he was with her. And it did. He broke the kiss again. “What the devil is wrong with me?” He looked at her lips, swollen and red from his onslaught, then into her eyes. “You’ve bewitched me, Tory Phelps.”

  She smiled weakly. “Glad to hear it wasn’t the apples.”

  “Or the cheese,” he said with a soft chuckle.

  She scanned the ground. “Where is the cheese?”

  “I don’t bloody care, do you?”

  She shook her head, eyes again locked on his. “Not particularly.” Then she kissed him. Oh, dear – they were never going to move on if this kept happening.

  After an eternal minute, Aldrich pulled away and scooted away. “Whoever’s left in the house is probably watching us,” he pointed out, knowing it was true. There might not have been anyone downstairs or on the servant’s level, but he knew there was someone about. No doubt on the second floor, dusting or changing linens at this time of day to get ready for the house party. He glanced at the house and back. “Tongues will be wagging before dinner.”

  “Maybe before tea,” she said with a shy smile.

  The sight did him in. She was adorable, beautiful, free, and he’d bet ten shillings he could kiss her senseless. Of course, he had no doubt she could kiss him senseless. “Tory …”

  “Shhh.” She put a finger to his lips. “I know what you’re going to say.”

  “Do you?”

  She nodded. “This is stupid.”

  He set her hand in her lap. “Senseless.”

  “Dumb.”

  He closed his eyes, swallowed hard and rested his forehead against hers. “I don’t care.”

  She took a shuddering breath. “You should.”

  “I don’t want to get you into trouble, poppet.”

  She looked up. “What did you call me?”

  “Poppet. You’ve never heard that term before?”

  “Not aimed at me. It’s very … British.”

  He smiled. “And is ‘sweetheart’ more universal for you?”

  “Yes, but I like ‘poppet’ better.”

  “Funny, so do I. It suits you.” He took a deep breath and straightened. “I’m sure the duke will hear of our ‘time spent’ as soon as he returns.”

  “Maybe it’s best he – and I can’t believe I’m going to suggest this – he hear it from us first.”

  Aldrich could only stare. “You wish to inform the duke of this altercation of affections?”

  Her eyes widened. “If that means what I think it means, then … yes?”

  He bit his lower lip in thought. “You wish to proclaim affections toward me and I you?”

  She nodded. “It might be the stupidest thing I’ve ever done, which is saying something. But yes, I think … wait a minute. You mean you … you feel something for me t-too?”

  Her stammering reminded him of the duchess. He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “I confess I do have feelings for you.” He drew in a breath. “And I have reason to believe the duke will consider that a good thing.”

  “He will? He won’t fire you? Or me?”

  Puzzlement made him pause before speaking. “Oh, you’ll not lose your position over me, I’ll see to it. Even if I have to stay at Stantham Hall with you through your entire employ as tutor.”

  “‘Entire employ’? You mean my probation period?”

  “Pro-bation …”

  “Trial period? The job here in England isn’t permanent yet – it depends on how well I do with the duchess. I do a good job and she’s pleased with the results, I get to stay.”


  “Of course you’ll get to stay,” he said firmly. “They can’t possibly think of sending you back to America.”

  She looked away. “They can if I fail.”

  Aldrich tucked a finger under her chin and lifted her face to his. “As my wife, poppet, they can’t send you anywhere I don’t want you to go.”

  She froze.

  Aldrich stared at her. No doubt what he’d just said would be a shock, but he had compromised her, in a manner of speaking. Her reputation would suffer unless he did the right thing. Not that he minded at this point – the more he thought about marrying her, the more his heart bridged the remaining distance between them. As soon as the words were out, he felt as if he’d known her all his life and was destined to find her.

  He was never one to romanticize this sort of thing, yet here he was, trapped by his own heart like some besotted fool. How in the span of a few hours he’d come to find himself in such a state, he had no idea. Deuce take it, what’s done is done! he thought.

  Then he noticed the frightened look on her face. “Tory?”

  “Wife?” she squeaked. She tried again. “Wife?!”

  “Of course, what can I do otherwise? Not after this.”

  “But, but … you can’t be serious.”

  That stung. What sort of a man did she think he was? Just how did they handle things like this in America? “I most certainly am,” he said firmly. “I’m no cad, Tory.”

  “I didn’t say you were.” She got up and began to walk away.

  He grabbed her upper arm. “I am a gentleman, a knight!”

  “And I’m Queen Elizabeth – let me go!”

  “No.” He pulled her close. Her head tilted back from the force, exposing her neck. He wanted to nibble his way down to her shoulder and back up the other side, but he had to make her see reason first. If she was to stay in the duke’s employ, he had to make it right for her, for them. Because there was no letting go of her.