To Justin and Kaitlin, wishing you much love on your new life together
1
The lion looked pissed.
Kendra Donovan couldn’t blame it. She’d be pissed too if she’d once been free to roam the wilds of Africa and was now confined to a fifteen-foot cage in the rather gloomy Tower of London. The majestic beast padded back and forth, its tail furiously swishing. Its black lips were peeled back in a contemptuous snarl, and feral yellow eyes glared at the visitors who’d paid one shilling each to wander the Royal Menagerie and gawk at the exotic animals.
“My most vivid recollection of visiting as a child is of the monkeys,” Lady Rebecca Blackburn, standing beside Kendra, said. “Fascinating creatures.”
Kendra glanced at Rebecca. After ten months of friendship, she barely noticed the pockmarks that marred Rebecca’s face, the result of a nearly fatal bout of childhood smallpox. Instead, Kendra saw a pleasant countenance and fiercely intelligent cornflower blue eyes beneath arching eyebrows. Rebecca’s most striking feature was her glorious auburn hair, which, except for a few loose tendrils brushing her cheeks, was mostly hidden beneath a silk, primrose-hued bonnet, decorated with flowers and three jaunty ostrich plumes. The bonnet matched the color of her fur-lined wool pelisse. At twenty-three, Rebecca was just three years younger than Kendra.
Or two hundred years older, depending on your point of view.
For just a moment, Kendra’s ears buzzed, and her stomach roiled. Time traveler. Freak.
Being a time traveler was new, but she’d always been an oddity. Her parents—Carl Donovan, a biogenetic engineer focusing on genome research, and Eleanor Jahnke, a quantum physicist—were brilliant scientists who advocated positive eugenics, believing society would be improved if genetically gifted individuals married with the intention of producing equally superior offspring. She’d been the result of their union, her childhood a bleak routine of academia, her destiny preordained by her parents. Then she’d expressed a desire to forge her own path—to explore possibilities that went beyond their focus on science—after entering Princeton at the tender age of fourteen. As teenage rebellions went, it was hardly a revolt. But it had been enough for Carl and Eleanor to walk away, washing their hands of her.
Kendra knew her father had kept a file on her, charting her growth, checking off her academic achievements—or, by his ruthlessly high standards, the lack thereof. She was certain the final note that he’d tacked into the manila folder had been: Failed experiment.
She knew that was bullshit. Her chosen career path had been successful. She was the youngest person ever recruited to the FBI, working first in their cyber division and then in the Behavioral Analysis Unit. She knew that she had a lot to be proud of. She’d been a damned good FBI agent—until she’d thrown it all away.
She couldn’t even blame her parents for how her life had imploded. She was the one who had made the decision to go rogue, seeking justice against the man responsible for the disastrous last mission that had killed most of her team. It was ironic that she hadn’t been the one to kill Sir Jeremy Greene. Instead, he’d been taken out by a hit man hired by one of his former criminal associates.
And yet her life had changed irrevocably, though in a way she could never have predicted when she’d made all her plans. Her skin prickled as she recalled her escape from that same hit man using a hidden passageway in Aldridge Castle.
She’d never made it out the other side.
Something had happened, a wormhole or vortex. She didn’t know. It had been like plunging into an icy electrical current and being spun around, then shredded and knit back together. When she’d emerged from the horror, everything had changed. Goodbye, 21st century; hello, 19th.
“Of course, His Majesty ordered the monkeys removed from the Royal Menagerie after one of the creatures tore off a young boy’s leg,” Rebecca continued.
That pulled Kendra’s thoughts away from the past—future.
Rebecca gave a delicate shudder. “It was truly horrible. After I read about the incident, I had night terrors for weeks.”
“How did the animal get out of its cage?” Kendra asked.
“Oh, well, at the time they were never kept in cages. They’re so humanlike, after all. They were kept in a room decorated like a drawing room.”
Kendra stared at Rebecca, wondering if she’d heard correctly. “You were allowed to… to interact with the animals?”
It wasn’t like people in her own era didn’t sometimes treat dangerous wild animals as children. Sometimes a person even jumped into a zoo habitat, maybe because they felt they needed to or on a dare. But Kendra couldn’t imagine being allowed to roam freely inside a primates’ habitat. Or having said habitat fashioned into a drawing room.
“No one realized how dangerous the creatures were, despite being so humanlike,” Rebecca said. “Then again, one could argue that they are like us, given our own propensity for violence.” She tilted her head to the side thoughtfully. “One has to wonder if there is any animal that is not vicious in some manner. I dare say it’s part of nature.”
“Bats are pretty peaceable. And porcupines,” Kendra said without thinking, then shrugged when Rebecca regarded her with surprise.
Rebecca asked, “How do you know?”
“I read it somewhere.” In a science journal while she was at Princeton, she remembered. Another one of her peculiarities was her nearly eidetic memory.
Rebecca shook her head and laughed as they strolled to the next cage, where a beautiful Bengal tiger was stretched out with lazy grace, its expression bored. “I was so pleased when I heard that His Grace decided to venture to London for the same lectures that Papa is attending at the Royal Society, and you were able to join me this morning.”
“Are you kidding? You saved me. Lady Atwood was talking about bringing out the embroidery. She hates me.”
Rebecca laughed again. “Embroidery is considered an acceptable pastime for young ladies, you know. Mama and I have spent many an afternoon doing fancywork. I don’t think the countess hates you so much as she is attempting to guide you in what she considers more suitable entertainments. Duke’s sister tends to be a stickler for propriety.”
Kendra said nothing. On a good day, the countess viewed her with thinly veiled tolerance. Unfortunately, there weren’t many good days with Lady Atwood.
Rebecca smiled, correctly reading the put-upon expression on Kendra’s face. “How long will you be staying in London?”
“It depends on His Grace. Or Lady Atwood.”
But not on me, Kendra thought with a flash of irritation. There were a lot of things that grated on her nerves about living in the early 19th century. Chamber pots. The lack of central heat. No Internet. How damn slow everything was. No chocolate candy bars.
But nothing, nothing, chafed as much as losing her independence.
She was twenty-six years old, an Ivy League graduate. An FBI agent, for Christ’s sake. And yet in this world, she needed a guardian. It made her want to scream. The only saving grace was that her guardian was Albert Rutherford, the seventh Duke of Aldridge. Despite his lofty title and enormous wealth, the Duke was a man of science, with a mind flexible enough to eventually believe her bizarre time-travel story. In fact, he’d been delighted by it. While Kendra continued to be cautious about saying too much—the worry that she could inadvertently change history, and therefore the future, was always at the back of her mind—the Duke never stopped quizzing her about life in the 21st century.
It had been the Duke’s idea to claim her as his ward, giving her a place in his grand household, but it wasn’t always a comfortable fit for either of them. She had to acquiesce to having a chaperone whenever she wanted to step outside when they were in London—today it was Rebecca�
��s maid, Mary, who drifted behind them like the tail of a kite—and the Duke was forced to look the other way about her relationship with his nephew, Alec Morgan, the Marquis of Sutcliffe.
That was another thing that had changed. Kendra’s palms grew clammy just thinking about it. For the first time in her life, she’d fallen in love—sheer insanity. Even more insane, Alec appeared to love her as well. Hell, he wanted to marry her. No one had loved her before, and she wasn’t sure how to handle it, so she’d so far resisted his pleas to marry. Initially, she’d thought her stay in the past was temporary, that whatever phenomenon had brought her here would eventually whisk her back to her own era. It would have been too weird to leave behind a husband in the 19th century.
But as that hope faded, her resistance to his proposal had become more complicated. Like her, Alec had been born to fulfill a destiny. He was heir to one of England’s great estates, and thus his duty was twofold: to keep his estate financially solvent and to produce heirs—male heirs—to continue his family’s legacy.
It was that latter duty that made Kendra balk at their marriage. Not for her sake, but for his. She’d been seriously injured during her last mission in the 21st century, an injury that had reduced her chances of becoming pregnant. At the time, she hadn’t thought too much of it. Marriage and motherhood were still far enough into the future to be nebulous concepts at best, and, at the time, she’d been focused entirely on her career. If and when she wanted to have children, she had believed that there were enough medical advancements to help her overcome any difficulties.
Here, there were no fertility specialists. She’d seen the advertisements from quack doctors touting cures for everything, and supposedly taking two teaspoons of a certain elixir and then burying a lock of your hair at midnight would combat infertility. She didn’t know who was gullible enough to believe that kind of nonsense, but she was a realist. No matter what Alec said now, if she married him and couldn’t give him the children that were practically a requirement, he would begin to resent her. How long before he abandoned her?
“Is something amiss?”
Rebecca’s question again jerked Kendra back to the present. She turned and saw that Rebecca was eyeing her with concern.
“Sorry. What?” Kendra said.
“You look… unhappy. What’s wrong?”
“Oh. Nothing.” She forced a smile. “I guess I’m still thinking about Lady Atwood forcing me to do embroidery.”
Only two people in this world knew about her origins—the Duke and Alec. She’d often considered sharing her secret with Rebecca, but it wasn’t easy to tell someone that you were a time traveler. Like Alec and the Duke, she thought Rebecca would eventually believe her. But what then? Would Rebecca start looking at her like she was a freak too?
Kendra lifted a gloved hand to press against her chest, an automatic gesture. Through several layers of material, she could feel the outline of the arrowhead pendant that lay heavy against her breastbone. A couple of months ago, the Duke had had the ancient artifact from America fashioned into a necklace. He’d given it to her to remind her that anything could adapt and have a new purpose, even if it was out of its original time and place.
It had been a thoughtful gesture. Still, she knew that she was as out of place in 19th-century England as the exotic animals were in the Tower of London.
She stifled a sigh, aware that Rebecca’s sharp gaze was still fixed on her. She could tell that her friend didn’t believe her, but how could Kendra explain how bizarre it was for her to be standing in this ancient fortress with the scent of wild beast and hay in the air around her? The first and last time she’d been in the Tower had been four years ago when she’d attended a joint training exercise between the FBI and Scotland Yard. Like any other tourist, she’d come to view the crown jewels and marvel at its long and often violent history. Now I’m living in that history.
She supposed it could be worse. She could have traveled back to the medieval era, when the Tower was a prison and plenty of famous folks were losing their heads. At least May 7, 1816, was considered part of the modern age, with the Industrial Revolution in its infancy.
“Perhaps you ought to take up painting,” Rebecca finally said with a quick smile. “ ’Tis a suitable pastime as well, and infinitely more enjoyable than embroidery.”
“Maybe for you. You’re actually an accomplished artist,” Kendra said, but her attention was drawn to a couple standing in one of the chamber’s shadowy alcoves. A man and a woman.
She probably wouldn’t have noticed them if not for the disparity in their dress. The woman was wearing a navy-blue bonnet trimmed with ribbons, flowers, and feathers. Her pelisse was a lighter blue than the bonnet, but just as high quality. In contrast, the man was disheveled, with a grubby brown wool coat thrown over a black jacket and pantaloons. His boots were scuffed and his shirt and cravat crumpled and stained. He wore a battered tricorn hat. Kendra might have thought they were mistress and servant, except for the belligerent expression on the man’s face and intimidating aura he projected as he invaded her personal space. The woman was holding herself stiffly, her face averted. When she moved back one step, the man’s hand snaked out to grasp her arm to prevent her from fleeing.
Kendra glanced around. A few other people had noticed the couple, tossing them curious looks. But no one made a move to intervene. For a brief moment, Kendra imagined the same scenario taking place in the 21st century. The majority of onlookers probably wouldn’t intervene there either. Instead, they’d be whipping out their cell phones, ready to record the fight that might happen so they could be the first to post it on YouTube.
Technology advanced with time; human behavior, not so much.
Kendra let out a sigh and strode purposefully toward the couple.
“Excuse me, is everything all right?” she asked, looking at the woman. She was older than Kendra had initially thought. Mid-forties, she estimated. Hazel eyes—wide now with surprise at the interruption—and strong, elegant features. Not beautiful or pretty, but what one would describe as handsome.
“This ain’t none of your business, missy,” the man answered, swinging toward her without letting go of the woman’s arm. He thrust out his chin aggressively. “Take your long nose off and poke it elsewhere!”
Kendra took a moment to size him up. Average height, maybe five-ten. Beneath the coat and jacket, he had bull-like muscles that banded across his shoulders, giving him the look of a pro wrestler. An aging, out-of-shape pro wrestler, Kendra amended silently, eyeing the belly that protruded over his cracked leather belt. She brought her eyes back to his face. Beneath his hat, his hair was light brown, liberally threaded with gray, framing a ruddy face, heavy in the jowls. His brown eyes were small and sparking with hostility as he glared at Kendra.
Kendra shifted into a defensive stance. She didn’t think the man would be so bold as to attack her in the middle of the Tower, but her training as an FBI agent meant she never took anything for granted. Rebecca was right; human beings weren’t that much different than any other species of animal.
“I think the lady has a say in whether she wants to continue this conversation,” Kendra said coldly. “I suggest you let her go.”
His lips curled back, revealing tobacco-stained teeth. “And what are you gonna do about it if I don’t, eh?”
“I shall fetch one of the Yeoman Warders to deal with the likes of you!” Rebecca said as she joined them. “We shall not stand aside while you manhandle this lady, sir. Release her this instant and be on your way!”
Whether it was the threat of involving the Tower guards or Rebecca’s unmistakably upper-class accent, the man let the woman’s arm go, and retreated back two steps. He threw up his hands in surrender.
“Oy, there’s no need to make such a blasted fuss! We were having a private conversation.”
“Well, it’s finished,” Rebecca snapped. “Be gone, sir!”
The man’s face tightened, flushing with anger. He threw a narrowed-eyed gl
ance at the woman. “We’ll speak another time, Horatia,” he warned, and glowered at Kendra and Rebecca before he hurried away.
“What an insufferable creature,” Rebecca sniffed.
“Are you all right?” Kendra asked the woman.
It wasn’t lost on her that the man had used her first name. Kendra had been in this world long enough to know that such informality meant either the two had an intimate acquaintance, or he’d just insulted the woman.
The woman cleared her throat and finally spoke. “Yes, thank you. I didn’t mean to cause such a scene.” She shot a quick glance around and seemed relieved that everyone’s attention had returned to the animals.
“You didn’t cause a scene,” Rebecca said, and smiled. “Please forgive the unorthodox introduction, but I am Lady Rebecca, and this is Miss Donovan.”
“How do you do? I am Mrs. Gavenston.” The woman smiled back at Rebecca and dropped into a curtsey. “Thank you for your assistance. I…”
She swung around to gape at Kendra, surprise and recognition registering on her face. “Miss Donovan? Pray, are you by any chance connected to the Duke of Aldridge?”
Kendra lifted her eyebrows. “Do I know you?” She was usually good at remembering faces but couldn’t remember meeting Mrs. Gavenston. Still, the last time she’d been in London, she had been forced to attend several balls. She could have met her at one of them. Or the woman could have seen her, without a formal introduction.
Mrs. Gavenston clasped her hands tightly together as she regarded Kendra with a strange intensity. “You were involved in solving the murder of Sir Giles. It was in some of the papers and people were talking about it.”
Kendra frowned. She was aware that she’d achieved a certain notoriety in London because of her involvement in Sir Giles’s murder. A few of the more titillating broadsheets had reported on the crime and even identified her by name, until the Duke or Alec had managed to suppress them. Of course, it was impossible to stop the gossip, and the Beau Monde had become fascinated by her, like the monkeys that had once been housed in the Tower. Kendra didn’t want that kind of fame.
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