One Magic Moment

by Lynn Kurland

  Could he be blamed if he’d absconded with Tess’s dance card and claimed an inordinate and improper number of dances?

  And could he be blamed if he’d spent more time than he should have cursing under his breath as she ignored his name and danced with every other man in the room, including more dances than was polite with that damned Stephen de Piaget?

  “This is the second time in a fortnight I’ve seen you in a century not your own.”

  John was certain he’d jumped half a foot. It was only dumb luck that he didn’t fall off his shoes and land upon his arse. He took a deep breath, then looked to his left to find none other than David Thompson, nag extraordinaire, standing there watching him with a calculating smile.

  John let out his breath slowly, then looked at the man’s gear. At least Dave was trussed up as thoroughly as he himself was. There was some justice left in the world.

  “Your wife’s doing?” he asked politely.

  “My daughter’s,” Dave said, looking slightly sheepish. “Too many BBC versions of the illustrious Miss Austen’s offerings, no doubt.” He looked at John assessingly. “What of you?”

  “I’m here at the invitation of a neighbor.”

  “The lady of Sedgwick?” Dave asked shrewdly.

  “As it happens.”

  Dave looked at him, then laughed. “I never thought I would see you in stockings, John, but stranger things have happened. She must have you twisted in knots.”

  “I’m afraid she does,” John admitted.

  “Which is why she hasn’t danced a single set with you, obviously.”

  “We’re in the middle of a row.”

  “Best of luck with her, then.” He leaned closer. “I’ll just warn you that it won’t be that lovely woman to finish the job of breaking your heart; it’ll be the daughters she gives you.”

  John was still feeling a bit as if someone had kicked him in the gut as Dave laughed again and walked off to join a gaggle of young ladies, some of whom John could easily see were related to him and his very lovely wife.

  Daughters?

  He was still trying to catch his breath when he realized Tess was walking toward him. He might have taken the fact that Peaches was giving her no choice a bit personally, but Tess had deigned to hold his hand most of the journey to Payneswick, so he supposed he shouldn’t.

  He couldn’t help a frown, however, when Lord Haulton sauntered over, looking as if he fully intended to monopolize Tess for the rest of the evening. John took her hand and pulled her over to stand next to him before he thought better of it. It was only as Stephen looked at him with raised eyebrows that he realized he’d pulled Tess behind him.

  He sighed deeply, then tucked her hand in the crook of his elbow and stepped aside so she was standing next to him.

  “Sorry,” he said.

  She looked up at him, then at Stephen. “Buzz off.”

  Stephen considered, then looked at Peaches. “Will I receive the same treatment from you, I wonder?”

  “I believe, my lord,” Peaches said coolly, “that there’s a duke’s daughter across the room who’s eyeing you. I’m sure you would be very comfortable with her.”

  Stephen frowned, then made her a stiff bow before he turned and walked off.

  A rather dapper-looking lad appeared next to Peaches without delay and was accepted as a more suitable partner. John looked at Tess in surprise.

  “Did I just witness something I should understand?”

  Tess shook her head helplessly. “I’m as in the dark as you are. Peaches isn’t usually that feisty, so Stephen must have really put his foot in it. Not that there was anything between them to start with.”

  John refrained from voicing the hearty wish that Stephen would put his foot in it where Tess was concerned and settled for making her a low bow. “A dance, my lady?”

  “If you like.”

  He was grateful he’d taken the opportunity to have a lesson whilst Tess and Peaches had been at their toilette. At the very least, he might avoid treading upon Tess’s frock.

  “I believe we must have some conversation.”

  He realized Tess was talking to him, then he understood the reference. He smiled. “Perhaps I could remark on the absolute delight that is your coiffure, my lady, or the loveliness of your gown.”

  They danced another pattern, then came together in a bit of marching.

  “You look rather lovely yourself,” she said quietly.

  “It beats the bleeding hell out of tights.”

  She smiled, apparently in spite of herself. “You make it very difficult to stay irritated with you.”

  He pursed his lips. “You managed it all the way here, I daresay.”

  She looked at him seriously. “I told you before that I wasn’t angry. I just needed a change of scenery, though not necessarily of society. This was my way to have it.”

  “Along with a peep at priceless texts.”

  “Well, that seems like something a serious scholar would be interested in, don’t you think?”

  He supposed so, but he had to admit he hadn’t given it much thought. He nodded, but said nothing else, mostly because he was finding his thoughts going in directions he hadn’t entertained before.

  Was she unhappy where she was? He would have supposed that having a castle would have been a boon, given who she was and what she loved, but perhaps not. If she thought she had traded the glory of academia for nothing more than a pile of stones, then he could well understand her eagerness to embark on their current escapade. To make her feel as if she hadn’t judged amiss in her current choice of ventures, if nothing else.

  He understood that, actually. He had traded his birthright for the glories of the Future, but lost the rank and privilege of being his father’s son, as well as the possibility of having inherited one of his father’s estates and all that entailed. It had occurred to him, once or twice, that the bargain might have been badly done.

  Then again, he was rather more content than he should have been with four wheels and some decent horsepower, but that was perhaps something to think on when he didn’t have a mesmerizing woman almost within arm’s reach.

  He continued putting off thinking about things that unsettled him as, a pair of hours later, he walked Tess back to her bedchamber. He was quite sure the reveling would go on into the wee hours, but she looked tired, and he was frankly quite tired himself. He walked down the long gallery with her, then stopped and drew her over to a long window. He kept her hand in his and looked out over the darkened landscape. It reminded him abruptly that there were things out there he couldn’t see, things he would have been prepared for had he chosen his birthright and remained where he’d been born.

  But then he would have been without Tess.

  “You think too much.”

  He looked down at her, standing there beside him, lovely and pale, and shook his head. “Just idle thoughts, in truth. But now that you have me considering other things—”

  She looked at him in mock horror. “Surely not, good sir.”

  “It may be the only time I have you to myself,” he said seriously, turning her to him and drawing her into his arms. “We are, it would seem, overrun by chaperons.”

  “That should make you feel better,” she said.

  He shook his head. “I will feel better when you’re safely behind two-foot-thick walls and a door with a sturdy lock.”

  “John, you’re paranoid,” she said, sighing as she leaned against him. “This has nothing to do with me. I’m not even sure it has anything to do with you. After all, who in their right mind would wa—”

  He supposed he was fortunate he’d grown to manhood looking for things out of the corner of his eye; it was the only reason he saw the end of the curtain rod that had loitered twenty feet above him coming down toward his empty head at such a rapid speed.

  He jerked Tess out of the way and sent them both sprawling. He wasn’t altogether sure he hadn’t heard a rending sound, which he could only hope hadn�
��t come from his trousers. He closed his eyes briefly, then looked up.

  The Viscount Haulton was standing over him, looking down at him with a frown.

  “I say,” he said, sounding almost as unsettled as John felt, though perhaps for different reasons, “if you’d wanted a chaste embrace, you didn’t have to indulge in it on the ground.”

  John sat up and glared at his nephew. “Does it occur to you that I might have considered that? Or that?” he added, pointing to where the heavy metal rod was dangling precariously by one end whilst the other swung and the heavy velvet draperies continued to flutter before they fell still.

  Stephen looked back at him. “Pull that down yourselves, did you?”

  “No,” John said sharply, “we didn’t.”

  Stephen chewed on that as he held out his hands to pull Tess up to her feet. Half of her skirt had been torn off, but the bodice was intact and she was quite fortunately wearing an undershift of sorts. John had no idea what the bloody thing was called in the current day. ’Twas for damned sure he hadn’t undressed any Future gels to find out.

  He crawled to his feet and looked at Tess briefly to make sure she wasn’t bleeding—he would atone for bruises later—then walked over to look with Stephen at the hardware near the ceiling.

  “Odd,” Stephen mused. “Perhaps something that needed tending.”

  “Obviously,” Tess said, from behind them. “A random accident if ever I saw one.”

  John exchanged a look with Stephen, then turned to Tess. He attempted a smile. “I daresay. Let’s get you tucked up safely for the night, shall we?”

  “John,” she said with a long-suffering sigh.

  “As you said,” he said with a shrug. “Random.”

  And to anyone who hadn’t been looking for mischief, it was. After all, what were the odds that he would have been standing in front of the only window with no curtains drawn over it? The rod could have fallen on anyone.

  He walked with Tess to her bedchamber, then paused and considered what to say that wouldn’t leave her thinking on tangles she shouldn’t begin to unravel. He clasped his hands behind his back and settled for an apology.

  “I’m sorry about your frock.”

  “I have another to wear tomorrow. I can sew this—”

  “I’ll see to it,” he said without hesitation. “Surely there is a seamstress in the vicinity who needs a bit of lolly.”

  She smiled. “You don’t have—”

  “To,” he finished, “but I will.”

  She sighed and leaned against the door. “Your chivalry is showing.”

  “I’m not sure you’ve begun to see it this weekend.”

  “More herding?”

  “What do you think?”

  She smiled, but that smile didn’t quite cover the unease in her eyes. “I imagine I’ll see you before breakfast. And I’ll check all the locks in deference to you, Mr. Paranoid.”

  He leaned in and kissed her cheek, then pulled away before she could clout him in the nose, which he would have deserved. Or so he thought until she caught him by the lapels of his jacket. She looked at him solemnly, then pulled him close so she could put her arms around his neck. She leaned up on her toes and pressed her lips against his ear.

  He shivered.

  “I trust you.”

  “The saints preserve me,” he managed, putting his arms around her before she could escape. “And aye, I know I’m speaking in French. ’Tis a terrible habit I can’t seem to break.”

  She brushed her lips against his cheek, then sank back on her heels and looked up at him. “Where did you learn that particular version of it?”

  “I can audit the odd class in medieval tongues as well as you can, my lady. And that,” he said distinctly, “is your one question for the day. Actually, I think that might be the second.”

  “I should limit you to one bout of bossiness a day,” she said darkly, “but I don’t think you’d survive it.”

  “Likely not,” he agreed. He released her, motioned for her to go inside, then made locking motions with his hand.

  And he tried not to notice how the simple feel of her lips on his cheek about did him in.

  Tess shut the door. John listened to her lock it, then turned to find Stephen standing five paces away, watching him silently. He tried not to be unsettled by the sight, though he supposed not even his father would have been able to suppress the slightest of shivers.

  Time travel was, he could say with certainty, a very strange thing indeed.

  “I think you should go find Peaches,” John said seriously.

  Stephen chewed on that for a moment. “She won’t appreciate my pulling her away from the festivities.”

  “Resist being intimidated by a wench and do it just the same,” John said shortly.

  Stephen’s mouth fell open, then he laughed a little. “I’m not intimidated by her.”

  “Then what are you waiting for?”

  Stephen looked at him narrowly. “I’m waiting to see what it is you’re planning in that wee head of yours, that’s what.”

  “An equitable division of standing guard in front of this door,” John said, “and speculation about how sturdy the lock is.”

  Stephen considered him for a moment or two in silence. “I’ll go fetch Peaches, then I’ll take the first shift.”

  John nodded. “Fair enough. I’ll wait, then return in two hours.”

  “Six, you wee fool,” Stephen said with a snort. “I slept last night. It doesn’t look as though you did.”

  “Four, or nothing,” John countered.

  “Done. Make good use of it.”

  “Thank you, my lord.” He paused. “If I might inquire—”

  “My qualifications include several bouts of defense classes from a certain Scot named MacLeod,” Stephen supplied without hesitation. “I think I can manage the odd, decrepit thug without overly exerting myself.”

  John sighed lightly. Obviously, he was destined to be haunted by MacLeods for the rest of his life. He also supposed that if Stephen had been dabbling with whatever Scottish mischief those MacLeods combined, he might be equal to guarding a door for an hour or two.

  “I’ll return posthaste,” Stephen said, walking away. “We’ll discuss the night’s activities—or lack thereof—over Schnapps in Lord Payneswick’s study tomorrow afternoon. I think between the two of us, we’ll keep the ladies safe until then.”

  John watched him go, then looked up at the curtain rod hanging by its lone hook. Perhaps it had been a fluke. Short of fetching a ladder and climbing up to see, he didn’t imagine he would know for sure. He supposed if anyone came to repair it, Stephen could put forth the pertinent questions.

  He didn’t like to leave Tess behind, but he wasn’t fool enough to think he could be of any use to her without at least an hour or two of sleep.

  He imagined he would have ample things to think on for the rest of the night to keep himself awake.

  Chapter 15

  Tess stood at the doorway to her bedroom and put her hand on the doorknob. She couldn’t bring herself to turn it, though.

  She took a deep breath and smoothed her hands down over her dress. The incident the night before had been a fluke, of course, nothing more. What had probably been the worst thing had been winding up on the floor with her skirts torn half off. Or perhaps that had been looking up, stunned, and seeing a heavy curtain rod having taken a trajectory that would have led through her head if she’d still been standing there.

  She shivered, but that came from the flimsiness of her gown surely, so she concentrated on that instead of other things that bothered her. She honestly didn’t know how Regency women had survived the winters unless they’d had better sartorial aid than she’d had. Her dress was long-sleeved, true, but better suited to a cool fall day than a chilly winter morning. She walked back to her closet and looked through what she’d been given to wear, hoping for some sort of sweater. The best she could do was a shawl, but since it seemed warm enough, per
haps she couldn’t hope for anything more.

  She passed on what Peaches had left her of breakfast and started toward the door. She shifted her shoulders under her shawl, then winced. She wasn’t overly bruised, but she was definitely sore. She would have something to say to that John de Piaget sooner rather than later about his methods of saving her life.

  She realized she had come to another stop in front of the door only after her hand started to ache from gripping the doorknob too tightly. She took a deep, steadying breath. There was nothing outside that she couldn’t handle. For all she knew, there was still a de Piaget lad standing there. Peaches had been shut in with her the night before after having been herded back to their room by Stephen. Tess had had no doubt John would relieve him at some point during the night, to soothe his paranoid musings.

  She had thought about those for far longer during the night than she likely should have, but the only conclusion that made sense was that something back in the village had spooked him and he’d gone into medieval mode.

  That was understandable. He’d had a sword in his hands two days earlier, which had probably put him back in touch with his past in a big way. It was spilling over into his current life. The only problem was, his current life included her current life, and she couldn’t seem to convince him that she wasn’t part of his mystery. He was being stalked by some gal with medieval fantasies run amok. Nothing else seemed reasonable.

  She opened the door and walked out into the gallery. She didn’t run bodily into John, which gave her hope that he’d actually been sensible and finally gone to bed.

  She refused to be unnerved because she was alone.

  She took a deep breath, then started down the hallway. She looked up, but honestly couldn’t tell which of the curtains had almost fallen on them. Everything was in its place; nothing sinister was lurking in the shadows. Just a normal, unremarkable day where she was wearing a gown made from a pattern designed over a hundred years ago. She didn’t have murder and mayhem in her future; she had the potential sight of John de Piaget in a cutaway Regency coat and trousers to look forward to.