Zach brushed his hands over her cheeks. “You’re crying.”
She reached for a tissue. “It’s a moving letter.”
“Yes, it is. He sounds like quite a guy. He must have loved his Lady Arabella almost as much as I love you.”
Robyn smiled at him through her tears. “Yes,” she said tenderly. “I think he did.”
The End
If you enjoyed Timeless, I would be honored if you would tell others by writing a review on the retailer’s website where you purchased this title.
Thank you!
Jasmine Cresswell
And read on for an excerpt from To Catch the Wind, another wonderful “out of time” novel from Jasmine Cresswell.
TO CATCH THE WIND
Prologue
A hungry pack of reporters lay in wait for him outside the White House pressroom. Andrew Macdonald cursed silently. He should have expected this, but he wasn’t prepared. A microphone was shoved into his face before he could escape.
“How do you feel about the President’s pardon, Mr. Macdonald?”
“Great. My mother and I are both very happy that our work to prove my father’s innocen—”
“Who framed your father, Mr. Macdonald? Was it a government cover-up?”
On another day, Andrew might have appreciated the irony of the question. But not today. Right now, the wounds of his new knowledge were still too raw. Yes, his father had been framed. Yes, his father had been chosen as the fall guy. Yes, his father had been executed to conceal half-assed plans screwed up in high places. But that, unfortunately, wasn’t the whole story. Andrew managed a tight smile.
“No. The people in the State Department who accused my father of treason honestly believed he was guilty. “A true answer as far as it went. The frame-up had been concocted at the highest levels of government.
The reporters would have preferred a different answer, and they gave a collective grunt of disappointment. The presidential pardon of James Edward Macdonald was a journalist’s dream, a story that had almost everything: an execution, spies, traitors, the launch of the first space satellite, even a princess. A government conspiracy would have made the package perfect. Still, this was a slow week, and the President’s pardon of a convicted traitor sure beat the Middle East or Japanese trade negotiations as a lead for the evening news.
A woman thrust her microphone forward. “Is your mother, the Princess Erika, going to come back to the States now that her former husband has been pardoned?”
Andrew’s voice was very dry. “Unfortunately, my mother’s memories of her time in the States are not very happy. And the President’s edict doesn’t bring my father back to life, it merely restores his reputation and his honor. As far as I know, my mother plans to remain at my stepfather’s ranch in Brazil.”
“And what about you, Mr. Macdonald? What are your plans?”
A damn good question. What the hell was he going to do now? For the past twenty-one years, ever since he’d been old enough to realize that his father’s life ended in the execution chamber of a federal prison, Andrew’s days had been shaped by the compulsion to prove that the American system of justice had failed. And today he had finally succeeded. The President of the United States had declared James Edward Macdonald innocent of all crimes.
It was, beyond question, a triumph to be savored.
Except that, last night, Grigori Ivanovitch has shown Andrew irrefutable proof that his father had been guilty. James Edward Macdonald had spent nineteen years stealing American military secrets and selling them to the Soviet Union.
Chapter 1
Jeffrey came straight from the hospital to meet Noelle and drive her to the party. She was waiting for him in the precise spot he’d instructed, and he rewarded her punctuality with a pleased smile and a quick kiss.
He smelled even more antiseptic than usual. His pink, just-scrubbed look made Noelle think about the perfumed, lace-swathed courtiers of the past. She got into the car, wondering what those long-ago gallants would have smelled like at this time of year, when cold weather had discouraged them from bathing for a month or two. In bed, behind thick curtains designed to keep out winter drafts, the stench of sweat and dirt must have been overwhelming. Grimy flannel nightshirts and heads shaved to avoid lice, topped with tasseled woolen nightcaps—surely not a sight to inspire sexual raptures.
Did courtiers take off their nightcaps when they made love to their wives? she wondered. Or were naked heads a sight reserved strictly for mistresses? Noelle smiled. For a professional historian, she really didn’t know much about history’s more intriguing questions.
Jeffrey stopped at a red light on Shaker Boulevard. Noelle glanced out of the car window and watched a shower of icy raindrops trickle through the bare branches of a maple tree, scattering over the wet pavement. The incidence of nightcap removal during sexual intercourse in seventeenth-century Europe. Now that would be an eye-catching title for a scholarly monograph, she thought.
“What are you grinning about?” Jeffrey demanded. “I don’t see anything funny in the fact that old Hayes has decided not to retire. If he stays on, I have no chance of getting a partnership this year.”
“I’m sorry, I was daydreaming. Mentally sketching out some ideas for an article.” No point in mentioning the tasseled nightcaps. Jeffrey had an extremely literal mind and would spend the next fifteen minutes explaining to her why she shouldn’t waste time researching such a trivial subject. With only a little reluctance, Noelle turned her attention from unwashed courtiers to the more important topic of Jeffrey’s career.
“I’m sorry your promotion’s been put on hold. But you’re a brilliant surgeon, and I’m sure you’ll get a partnership soon.”
He scowled. “I’m the best damn heart surgeon in this town, why should I be forced to wait? Damn! I really thought Hayes had decided to retire.”
“Maybe next year. He’ll be sixty by then.”
“Huh! I bet the old geezer’s planning to celebrate his hundredth birthday in the operating room.”
“Puffing out the candles between pulling gallstones?”
Jeffrey didn’t smile. “Heart surgeons don’t operate on gallstones,” he explained patiently. “That’s what internists do.”
“Yes, I know.” Noelle quelled a spurt of irritation. After four years of marriage, she ought to be used to Jeffrey’s literal mind. She wondered if this would be a good moment to tell him that she’d been turned down for the professorship at Yale. At least they wouldn’t now be burdening their marriage with the problem of careers in two different cities. She could stay on at Case Western Reserve University right here in Cleveland. Nothing in their lives would change. For some reason, that prospect left her feeling deeply depressed.
“I heard back from the search committee today,” she told him, trying not to sound as gloomy as she felt.
“At Yale? Great! Did you get the job?”
“No, they turned me down.” Despite her best efforts, putting the rejection into words hurt, and she swallowed over a hard lump of disappointment before continuing. “They said I had an excellent teaching record, but that my publishing credits were on the light side.”
Jeffrey appeared far more upset than she had expected. “Damn, I really hoped you were going to get that job. It would have made everything so much easier.”
She looked at him in surprise. “Not easier, surely? You would have needed to move, or I would have had to commute. I thought the only good thing about Yale turning me down was that it made things easier for us personally. For our marriage.”
“You’re right, of course.” Jeffrey reached across and patted her knee. “Well, I guess there’s always next year.”
He gave her knee another encouraging squeeze, then put both hands back on the wheel and turned the car into the huge circular driveway of his aunt’s Shaker Heights mansion. “I hope this isn’t going to be one of Aunt Marilyn’s dotty parties,” he said. “I haven’t recovered yet from the dress designer who brought h
is pet snakes.”
“I think we’re safe. Your aunt is in a political mood at the moment.”
“What does that mean?”
“I forgot to tell you. She called last week to say she’s supporting Ernie Weaver’s run for the Senate. She hopes this dinner will drum up some financial backing.”
“Ernie’s a Republican, so I suppose that’s fairly harmless. Provided we can talk her out of giving him too big a campaign contribution.” Jeffrey parked his Mercedes neatly behind a maroon Buick Regal and pocketed the keys. “Come on, Noelle, don’t hang around. We’re late.”
The door to Marilyn van Bredin’s house was opened before they had a chance to ring the bell. A waiter from the catering service took their coats and indicated they should proceed into the living room. “Most of Mrs. van Bredin’s guests are already here, sir. We’ll be serving dinner shortly.”
Jeffrey’s aunt was holding forth from her favorite position in front of the huge marble fireplace, but she broke off her monologue as soon as she spotted Noelle and Jeffrey.
“My dears! Welcome!” She trotted across the antique Persian carpet, a flutter of lavender silk scarves accenting the exquisite lines of her cashmere dinner dress. She held out her hand to Jeffrey, a familiar, imperious gesture that Noelle always thought merited at least a sharp click of the heels and an obsequious bow over Aunt Marilyn’s fingertips. Jeffrey managed no more than a fumbled handshake and an awkward kiss on his aunt’s cheek.
“I’m sorry we’re late, Marilyn. I was in surgery longer than I expected.”
“My dear boy, saving a life takes precedence over being punctual for an old lady’s dinner party.”
“Are you sure you mean that?” Noelle inquired, eyes twinkling.
Marilyn gave her a kiss that seemed considerably more sincere than the one she had given Jeffrey. “Noelle, my dear, your manners haven’t improved a scrap since the last time we were together.”
Noelle grinned. “I had too much education, Auntie. It ruined me.”
“Ha! You should remember, my girl, that many a true word is spoken in jest. By the way, you look stunning. I bitterly resent you tall, thin beanpoles who look fabulous in any old rag you drag out of the closet. God made a serious design error when He created me. A soul as large as mine can’t possibly be expected to fit comfortably into a five-foot frame. And by what cosmic miscalculation did He decide that I should be blond? I deserve to be dark and interesting like you.”
Noelle, who was grateful she didn’t need to diet, but thought her face pallid and too angular, merely laughed. She twitched the soft folds of her green dress. “This is not an old rag, Marilyn, it’s my very best outfit. I changed in the office restroom in your honor. And you’re not five feet tall. If you’re a millimeter over four feet eleven, I’ll eat my—”
“Don’t say it, dear child. I loathe clichés, and besides, I’m sure you don’t have one worth eating. In my day, a hat was a Hat. Nowadays, they’re simply something limp and woolen to keep one’s ears warm. Jeffrey, I heard Doctor Hayes is annoyed with you. You tried to undercut him with the grants committee at the hospital. A foolish move, my boy, unless you could be sure of winning. Have some champagne.”
She took two flutes from the tray of a hovering waiter and thrust one at each of them, then—almost without pausing for breath—turned her back in order to harangue the lieutenant governor, who happened to be passing.
Noelle looked at her husband, understanding a great deal more than she had earlier about his stalled career. “What happened with the hospital grants committee, Jeffrey? What did Marilyn mean about undercutting Doctor Hayes?”
Jeffrey evaded a direct answer. “My aunt is an interfering busybody,” he muttered.
“You underestimate her. She’s a fascinating lady if you’d only let yourself relax around her.”
“Fascinating? She’s crazy. And getting crazier by the week. If Ernie Weaver doesn’t rip off her entire fortune, some other charlatan will. She’s obsessive about her height. Did you hear her? She really means all that stuff about God making a cosmic error, you know. Mark my words, Noelle. She’ll leave all her money to a foundation that provides growth hormones for senior citizens if we’re not careful.”
“It’s her money, I guess. If that’s what she chooses to spend it on...”
Jeffrey’s pink face froze into fury. “It’s not her money, it’s my inheritance,” he said. “It’s family money, every cent of it.” He glared at his aunt’s petite spine, his mouth tight with dislike. “I’m beginning to think she has Alzheimer’s.”
As if to confirm Jeffrey’s worst suspicions, Marilyn returned moments later with one of her definite oddities in tow. The middle-aged man was round-faced but incongruously thin, wearing a tie-dyed shirt and faded denims that gave him the look of a superannuated hippie. The sixties impression was reinforced by his gold-rimmed wire spectacles and shaggy John Lennon haircut.
“This is Brian Defew,” Marilyn announced with an air of triumph. “He’s a channel from Los Angeles.”
Jeffrey looked blank and Noelle groaned inwardly. Aunt Marilyn couldn’t be planning a séance as part of the night’s entertainment, could she? “A channel?” she said politely. “How... um... interesting. How long have you been... um... channeling, Mr. Defew?”
“Brian, you must call me Brian.” The channel seized her hands. “Oh yes,” he murmured. “We connect. At once we connect. Do you feel the electric shock of our souls connecting?”
“Actually not. Not even a faint tingle.”
Tight-lipped, Jeffrey removed Noelle’s hands from the channel’s clasp. “That’s my wife you’re connecting with, Mr. Defew.”
“But of course. I see that from your aura—”
“Where did you and Mr. Defew meet up, Marilyn?” Anxious to keep the peace, Noelle interjected the first question that came into her head.
“In L.A.,” Marilyn replied, her voice vague. “But Brian’s thinking of moving back here to Cleveland.” Eyes gleaming with mischief, she peered at Noelle through fluttering lashes. “We’re going to have a séance after dinner, won’t that be fun?”
Brian corrected her gently. “Not a séance, dear lady. A channeling experience. We don’t indulge in silliness like darkened rooms and rattling tables. I conduct all my experiments in the blaze of normal light.”
The channel, undaunted by a look from Jeffrey that would have slain a lesser man, seized Noelle’s hands once again and stroked them softly, almost caressingly. “Indeed, Noelle, I can see that you’re a very special woman. Very special. You have a unique aura. The resonance of your purple ambience suggests you have a past of vital importance.”
He closed his eyes and pressed his fingertips to his brow, looking alarmingly like Johnny Carson playing the swami. “Yes, I can see it in my mind’s eye. Your actions have swayed nations. Your destiny has affected the path of millions of lesser souls.”
Jeffrey muttered something unrepeatable. Noelle sympathized with his exasperation. Brian Defew was too silly to be amusing. The channel continued to stroke her fingers. He had sweaty hands and as he bent to peer at the lines on her palm, Noelle saw that the wisps of his brown hair didn’t quite cover the ring of a premature bald spot. Suddenly revolted, she jerked her hands away and wiped them on her dress.
“You have a pretty nifty aura yourself, Brian,” she said, not attempting to mask her sarcasm. “Or is that the glow from Marilyn’s hot toddy?”
“You can see my aura?” he exclaimed, moistening his lips with a fat, pink tongue. “I knew that you were One of Us. I recognized our compatibility instantly, even across the room! As soon as I saw you, I found Marilyn and demanded that she should introduce us.”
“Of course, one can’t help wondering why you always spot unique auras on the most attractive woman in the room,” Marilyn commented dryly.
“Coincidence.” Brian brushed the comment away, setting his neck crystals jangling. “By the way, don’t waste your money on Ernie Deaver’s campaign. He�
��s going to lose. “
“Weaver. His name’s Weaver.”
Brian shrugged. “Deaver, Weaver, what’s the difference? He’s going to lose. His aura’s gray and gloomy.”
A strangled gasp from Jeffrey warned Noelle that this would be an excellent moment to break off the conversation. “It’s been nice meeting you, Brian,” she said just as a waiter announced that dinner was served in the dining room. Noelle sighed with relief. She grabbed Jeffrey’s arm and propelled him in the direction of the loaded buffet table before the channel could say another word.
Jeffrey shook his head. “My God, Marilyn’s totally lost her marbles if she can’t see that guy for the fraud he is.”
“Your aunt’s as sharp as a tack and you know it. But I must say her crazies are usually more entertaining than Brian Defew. “
“Only Aunt Marilyn would invite the cream of Cleveland society and then subject them to a damn séance. Let’s hope he doesn’t embarrass everyone with his show after dinner.” Jeffrey eyed the rich spread of food with a distinct lack of favor. He helped himself to a thin slice of Dover sole, added a serving of spinach, and a crust of bread, then turned to inspect Noelle’s plate.
“You shouldn’t eat all that butter,” he warned her. “If you saw the inside of people’s arteries every day, like I do, you’d change your eating habits.”
“Then I’m glad I don’t see people’s arteries. I like butter.” Defiantly, she dumped a slice of beef onto her plate, then surrendered to virtue with a selection of raw vegetables. As far as Noelle was concerned, raw vegetables, even when they were sliced thin and called crudités, still tasted like chilled cardboard.
Timeless (A Time Travel Romance) Page 43