Timeless (A Time Travel Romance)

by Jasmine Cresswell

  “You do not answer me, my lady. Mayhap you find it difficult to explain why you chose this exquisite foam of peach-colored lace if not to display the perfection of your complexion. And why would you wear no jewelry if not to remind Mistress Wilkes of how your slender neck and generous breasts need no artificial adornment?”

  The situation would be almost funny, Robyn thought, if it didn’t so painfully underscore the sort of misunderstanding that seemed to plague every aspect of her relationship with William. His hands rested for a moment on her shoulders, and Robyn was surprised to feel that they were deathly cold. She reached up, instinctively covering his icy fingers with her own warm hands, but he jerked away from the contact as if he could barely tolerate her touch.

  “No more tricks, my lady,” he said harshly. “I am not in the mood for your blandishments.”

  “You have misunderstood the situation,” she said. “I wore the dress that my maid set out for me, not one that I chose myself. I didn’t powder my hair because the wound on my scalp is not completely healed and I am afraid that powder may cause an infection, or at the very least an irritation. As for my lack of jewelry, I wore none because I was in a hurry to go downstairs and I simply forgot about it.”

  “You have never forgotten to wear jewelry in your entire life,” he said irascibly. “You cannot expect me to believe such an unlikely set of excuses.”

  “No,” she said. “Of course I can’t expect you to believe the best of me when for so long we have obviously taken pleasure in believing the worst about each other.”

  He didn’t say anything for several seconds. Then he reached out and touched her hair, very lightly. “Your answers these days constantly astonish me. You have changed since your accident, Arabella. Changed greatly.”

  Her smile contained more than a hint of sadness. “Yes, I have, but not in the way you most likely mean. I fear you assume that I have changed because I have gone mad.”

  “I am not convinced of that at all.” He met her gaze in the mirror, but his eyes appeared opaque and his precise mood was hard to read. “The wound in your head,” he said. “Does it still pain you?”

  “Hardly at all, but I think it will be some time before I can wear a hat or a wig. I hate the thought of something perched on top of my head all day.”

  A tendril of her hair had come loose, and he tucked it carefully into the knot at the nape of her neck. “It is many years since I have seen your hair without any trace of powder,” he said. “It is... a beautiful color.”

  She heard the huskiness in his voice and felt the answering lethargy in her own body. She knew how easy it would be to lean back in his arms and surrender to the desire throbbing between the two of them. She could guide his hands to cup her breasts. He would lean down and kiss the hollow of her throat. She would slowly turn around to face him. Then he would bend toward her, capturing her mouth in a ravishing, passionate kiss...

  Fortunately, he broke the silence before she could commit herself to the folly of such a kiss. “I want to thank you for organizing our snowball fight this morning,” he said. “The children all had a wonderful time. They are in your debt, my lady, for a happy experience.”

  She turned in his arms, wanting to see him in the flesh, not a shadowy reflection in the mirror. “What about you, William? Did you have a good time?”

  He smiled, the quizzical smile that always set her heart pounding. “I did indeed, although my masculine pride is severely wounded by the knowledge that my team was so ignominiously defeated.”

  “I cheated.” She glanced up at him. “You’re very ticklish.”

  His gaze fixed on her smile and his head bent slowly, inexorably toward her. “Somehow, at this moment, defeat does not seem so terrible. Masculine pride can be redeemed in many different ways.”

  Robyn swayed toward him. She felt his breath warm against her cheek, and then his mouth touched hers. His kiss was soft at first, but as soon as she parted her lips, he deepened the kiss and his tongue flicked against hers with tantalizing invitation. A shiver of response ran through her, and she reached up, clasping her hands at the back of his neck. His shoulders were hard and muscled from hours in the saddle, making her more aware of the soft yielding of her own body.

  He pulled her against him and she found herself wishing that her layers of petticoats and satin overskirts could magically vanish, so that she could feel the hard thrust of his body against her thighs and the caress of his hands over her breasts.

  “My God, you are so desirable, Arabella.” He murmured his wife’s name against her lips, and she closed her eyes, melting into his embrace. Heat flooded her veins, desire clouded her brain, and it took several seconds for her to realize that the thunderous noise she heard was not blood roaring in her ears, but the heavy iron door knocker pounding against the front door. With lightning speed, William moved away from her and strode across the room, flinging open the door that led into the corridor.

  A hoarse shout penetrated the thick walls of the Manor. “Open in the name of King George!”

  Robyn pressed her hands to her cheeks and discovered that they were burning hot, but whether from fear or the aftermath of William’s kiss she couldn’t decide. She followed William out of the library and entered the hallway just as he gave Hackett permission to open the front door. A flunky lifted the heavy iron bars and drew back the bolts. The pounding stopped and in the glow of a burning torch, Robyn saw the caped, white-wigged figure of Captain Bretton, flanked by a small troop of red-coated, white-belted soldiers. She shivered, a visceral American reaction to the sight of British redcoats.

  Captain Bretton stepped into the house without waiting for an invitation. His booming, high-pitched voice echoed in the vaulted entrance hall. “Ah, my lord of Starke, I am delighted to find you at home.”

  “How can I help you, Captain?” William sounded bored, almost disdainful, but Robyn could see the tension that held his spine rigid and kept his shoulders tensed as if to ward off a blow.

  “We have caught a traitorous Jacobite rebel,” the captain said gleefully. “Caught him right slap dab in the middle of your lordship’s land.”

  William reached into his sleeve and withdrew his snuffbox. He flicked open the lid and removed a tiny pinch. “How excessively enterprising of you, Captain. But I confess that I do not understand why it was necessary to inform me of the capture?”

  He inhaled the snuff and offered the box languidly to the captain. “I assume you do not wish me to shoot your captive for trespass since you, no doubt, have every intention of hanging him for treachery.”

  Captain Bretton was too full of malicious excitement to take time out for snuff. He waved the box away. “I inform you of the rebel’s capture, my lord, because the traitor bears letters addressed to you, begging for sanctuary.”

  “How amazing.” William stifled a yawn. “My Hanoverian sympathies are well known, so I cannot imagine who would write such an absurd letter, knowing it has no chance of success.”

  “Can you not?” Captain Bretton’s eyes glinted with spite. “Why, it was written by your lordship’s brother, of course. It came from the Honorable Zachary Bowleigh, the notorious Jacobite traitor.”

  Chapter 14

  William insisted on accompanying the soldiers assigned to search Starke, and Robyn took advantage of the momentary confusion surrounding his departure with the dragoons to evade Captain Bretton and slip quietly upstairs. She made her way into the night nursery where she found Annie rocking Zach’s cradle, and Clemmie sitting bolt upright in bed, the counterpane and blankets clutched to her chin.

  “Hello, cutie pie.” Robyn gave Clementina a hug before glancing over at the nurse. “Is Zach all right?”

  Annie nodded. “Aye, sleeping like an angel, he is. Doesn’t seem to have heard a thing, but that’s babbies for you. Sleep through a battle and wake up when you drop a pin.”

  “Who was banging on the door, Mamma? Is it soldiers? Annie and me think it’s soldiers.” Clemmie was wide-eyed with e
xcitement and trepidation.

  Robyn tried to make her smile reassuring. “Yes, it’s Captain Bretton and a small detachment of dragoons. How did you guess?”

  “They camed before. They was horrid.” Clemmie’s hand crept out from beneath the covers in search of Robyn’s. “Will you stay wiv me, Mamma, until they is gone?”

  “Of course I’ll stay. And perhaps we should ask Freddie and George to come in here with us. Will you fetch them, Annie?”

  “Certainly, my lady.” The boys’ bedroom opened directly off the other side of the nursery, and Annie returned a minute or two later, the twins in tow, their feet encased in lambswool slippers, nightcaps perched on top of their tousled curls, and both of them chattering nineteen to the dozen.

  “Listen to the pair o’ them, all overexcited and anxious. It’ll be hours before they get back to sleep.” Annie sniffed. “‘Tis an outrage, that’s what it is, sending soldiers to disturb honest folks at this hour o’ the evening. There’s no reason for it, neither, when all the world knows as how his lordship is a loyal follower o’ the King.”

  Full of bravado, Freddie and George stuck their heads around the nursery door, and peered out into the corridor, waiting with slightly nervous relish for the soldiers to arrive on the third floor of the Manor. Robyn noticed that Clemmie was still shivering, and she wrapped one of Zach’s knitted shawls around her shoulders.

  “Warmer now?” she asked, encouraging Clemmie to snuggle up to her. The night air was bitterly chill, but she suspected the little girl’s shivers were caused as much by fear as by cold.

  “Yes, thank you, Mamma.” Clemmie was silent for a moment. “What are the soldiers looking for?” she asked. “Why does they keep coming here?”

  “They are looking for traitors trying to escape across the Channel to France,” Freddie informed her from his post by the doorway. “They want to capture all the rebels who fought in Bonnie Prince Charlie’s army.”

  “Are we rebels?” Clemmie asked anxiously. “Will the soldiers take us away and chop off our heads?”

  “Of course not, sweetheart.” Robyn gave her another reassuring squeeze. “There are no traitors in Starke.”

  “Then why does the soldiers keep coming back?” Clemmie persisted.

  “They are looking for Uncle Zachary,” George said. “I told you that before.” Suddenly uncertain, he swung around. “They will not find my uncle here, will they, Mamma?”

  “Most definitely not,” she said. She smiled brightly, to cover her fear that their uncle was most likely dead of the wounds he had sustained during the Battle of Culloden. “Your uncle Zachary is safe in France.”

  Annie snorted. “That b’ain’t likely to stop the soldiers a-coming,” she said, her voice rich with scorn. “Captain Bretton is bound and determined that he’s going to discover Master Zachary hidden somewhere in Starke. Swears up and down, black and blue, that he gave chase to Master Zachary three month ago and more, and that he shot and wounded him during the chase. Swears Master Zachary would have bin captured long since unless he was hidden in this house, protected by his lordship.”

  “But that’s absurd!” Robyn protested. “Zachary would never have sought sanctuary here. William was totally opposed to the Stuart rebellion. Even I know that—I mean, he has said so on many occasions.” She didn’t add that relations between William and his brother seemed strained to the breaking point, quite apart from Zachary’s foolhardy commitment to the Stuart cause.

  Annie shrugged. “Mayhap, my lady, but the captain believes what he wants to believe and there’s no telling him otherwise.”

  “But doesn’t the captain understand how ridiculous he’s being?” Robyn asked. “How could Zachary be hidden inside the Manor without any of the servants knowing that he’s here?”

  “That’s easy,” Freddie said. “The captain thinks Uncle Zachary is hidden in the priest’s hole.”

  After a moment of surprise, Robyn realized that she should have expected Starke to have at least one priest’s hole. The Manor had been built a hundred years earlier, when England had been torn apart by civil and religious wars. In those days, a wise homeowner made sure that he had a secure hiding place built into the carved paneling of his library or bedroom. The so-called priest’s hole would be used to hide jewels and valuables from marauding armies at least as often as to secrete fugitives and Catholic priests. The prudent seventeenth-century gentleman always kept a safe bolt hole ready and waiting.

  Robyn frowned. “Even so, I don’t see why the issue can’t be quickly resolved to Captain Bretton’s satisfaction. Why doesn’t he look inside the priest’s hole and settle the matter once and for all?”

  “Because he can’t find the entrance, of course!” The twins chorused in unison.

  “The entrance is a family secret,” George explained. “Only the head of the family is told where the door is hidden.”

  “Papa is the head of the family,” Freddie added. “He is the Baron of Starke.”

  “I still don’t understand,” Robyn said. “Since your father has nothing at all to hide, why doesn’t he show Captain Bretton the entrance to the priest’s hole and thus save the household from these repeated searches?”

  “A very good question, Lady Arabella.” Captain Bretton’s suave voice spoke from the door of the nursery. “It is one I have posed to Lord Bowleigh myself on several occasions.”

  Robyn’s stomach jumped with fright, but she rose to her feet, and looked steadily at the captain. “And what does my husband answer you, Captain Bretton?”

  “Why, he informs me that the hole was blocked up fifty years ago, when his father was still a boy, and that he was never told where the entrance was located.”

  Robyn raised her chin. “If that is what my husband has told you, Captain Bretton, then I have not the slightest doubt in the world that it is true.”

  The captain’s eyes narrowed. “Your devotion is touching, my lady. You have become a most loyal wife in recent weeks.”

  “Do you not approve of wifely loyalty, sir?”

  “Not when it is so sadly misplaced.” The captain snapped his fingers, and two burly dragoons entered the room, their bayonets held at the ready. “Search the room,” the captain ordered.

  The dragoons saluted in acknowledgment of the order. They didn’t speak, nor did they look at Robyn or the children. Poking their bayonets into wall hangings and window coverings, their faces bore the carefully blank expression that Robyn had seen on old television news shots of East German border guards preparing to shoot a fleeing citizen. She shivered, concealing her hands in the folds of her skirt to disguise their shaking. The soldiers finished poking curtains and turned toward the fireplace. Disturbed by the clump of booted feet approaching his cradle, Zach woke up and began to cry.

  Robyn moved swiftly to interpose herself between the soldiers and the baby. “Don’t you dare put your filthy bayonets anywhere near my son!” she exclaimed. “Why are you frightening my children like this? Good heavens, you can see at a glance that there’s nowhere in this room to hide anything. There are no cupboards, only open shelves. No paneling, only whitewashed plaster walls.”

  Captain Bretton spoke brusquely. “That’s as may be, my lady. Now, pray, stand aside and allow my men to continue their search.”

  She snatched Zach from his bed and tossed his pillow and covers onto the floor. “There, now are you satisfied?” She glared at the captain. “Hey, surprise, surprise! There wasn’t a single escaped Jacobite curled up beneath my baby’s blankets.”

  The captain said nothing. He snapped his fingers at the soldiers again. Stolidly, not once allowing their eyes to meet hers, they turned away from the cradle and moved toward the bed. Furious at her helplessness to withstand the captain’s malicious stupidity, Robyn sat down on the bed, cradling Zach in one arm and hugging Clemmie with the other. Meanwhile, the soldiers stomped around the room, sticking their bayonets into the dust balls under the bed and rattling the curtains hanging from the wooden posters. Ever
y time they passed by her, Clemmie trembled, which only made Robyn more annoyed.

  “Where is my husband?” she asked the captain, her voice icy cold.

  “Why, his lordship is in the stables, I do believe.” Captain Bretton looked smug. “I decided it would be helpful to take him to see my prisoner.”

  “Why?” As soon as she had asked the question, Robyn wished that she hadn’t. Captain Bretton’s smile was even less pleasant than his earlier sneers.

  “The foolish rebel we captured has refused to give us his name, no doubt out of some mistaken sense of loyalty to his family. But we felt sure we could persuade your husband to identify the traitor for us. I have every reason to believe the rebel is a young man from this part of the country.”

  His leering explanation left Robyn feeling uneasy. William supported the Hanoverian cause, but she doubted if he would be anxious to help Captain Bretton in building a case against some poor, misguided local lad who had thrown in his lot with the wrong set of royals. Still, she was probably worrying unnecessarily. If William didn’t want to identify the rebel, the soldiers couldn’t force him to do so. Being an aristocrat had its advantages, and refusal to cooperate with lowly troopers was presumably one of them. Robyn lapsed into a stony silence, watching as the dragoons completed their search of the nursery. They were obviously veterans at their task, and she reflected with a thrill of fear that if William had in truth been trying to hide his brother, the captain’s men would certainly have found him out.

  William arrived at the nursery door just as Captain Bretton gave his dragoons permission to move on to another room. William looked grim-faced and pale, but he spared a moment to greet each of the children and to bow politely in Robyn’s direction. The glance he finally cast toward Captain Bretton displayed his usual cool courtesy, laid over barely concealed contempt.

  Captain Bretton covered a jolt of surprise at William’s arrival with a curt bow. “Lord Bowleigh, I did not expect to see you so soon.”

  “Did you not?” William spoke with calm indifference.