Trapped in Time

by Evangeline Anderson

  “I see. I’m glad—your natural curls are much more becoming than the latest fashion for flat, lifeless hair,” Richard remarked. “But as to the wound, will you allow me…”

  He stopped abruptly to Caroline’s surprise.

  “Yes?” she asked, frowning up at him.

  She got the sense that he was struggling with himself somehow but finally he went on.

  “Will you allow me to heal you?” he asked stiffly. “I speak as a physician only, you understand. I would not see you—or indeed anyone—hurting if there was anything I could do to allay their pain.”

  “Oh…all right. Yes, thank you.” Caroline supposed he must have some kind of ointment he wanted to put on her ear. And since it really did sting and throb where the hot tongs had burned her, she was willing to let him.

  But to her surprise, instead of going for his black doctor bag, or where ever it was he kept his medicines, the big Kindred took her face in both hands.

  “What…what are you doing?” she whispered breathlessly.

  “Healing you.” His voice was a soft growl in the dimness and then he was tilting her face to the side and lapping slowly and carefully along the curve of her ear. When he got to her earlobe, he sucked it gently into his mouth and bathed it with his tongue.

  His hot mouth on such a sensitive area, sent Caroline’s body into overdrive. Immediately she felt her nipples get hard and her pussy get wet. Breathing became a real problem since she couldn’t get a deep enough breath to keep up with her pounding heart. Soon she was nearly panting as Richard continued to suck first her earlobe, and then moved lower to place a slow, hot, open-mouthed kiss against the side of her neck.

  “Oh,” Caroline heard herself whisper. “Oh, God…” She realized she was getting weak in the knees—something that had never happened to her before. The few times she had kissed and made out with guys, the experience had left her cold because she felt nothing for them. But this time was unique—she felt that spark—that connection—she’d sensed earlier between herself and Richard and it made all the difference.

  At last he pulled back and gazed into her eyes for a long moment before placing a soft, brief kiss on her lips—barely a brush of his mouth to hers. Then he just looked at her.

  They stood that way for a moment, her staring up at him and Richard looking down at her, his hand still cupping her cheek. Then, almost reluctantly, he dropped his hand and stepped back.

  “There, you’re healed and all cleaned up.” His voice was hoarse and low. “Now you’re fit to go out to the ball and find yourself a new husband.”

  “I never said I wanted to—” Caroline began but then stopped herself. For all she knew, the other Caroline had told Richard on a regular basis that she wanted nothing to do with him and couldn’t wait to find another man.

  “Good night, Caroline.” His voice was low but firm. Clearly, it was a dismissal.

  “Good…good night.” Her voice trembled uncertainly and she felt that she had never wanted anything more in her life than she wanted to stay here with the big Kindred instead of going to the awful ball.

  But that was not to be. Just then she heard the strident voice of the other mother calling up the stairs.

  “Caroline my pet, where are you? The carriage is here—we must be going.”

  Caroline’s heart started pounding for a whole other reason and she felt sick to her stomach. Social gatherings—especially big ones—always made her a wreck of anxiety. But she had no choice,

  “Goodbye,” she said to Richard and turning, she fled.

  * * * * *

  Richard watched her go, his pulse thundering in his veins. What was this new attraction he felt between them? It seemed to be the ingredient that had been missing from their marriage for the past two years—but why was it showing up now? What good could it do them at this late date when she was nearly free of him?

  But he couldn’t forget the vulnerable look in her big, brown eyes when he’d leaned down to kiss her, or her soft, panting moans while he’d been healing her.

  That was another thing—though Blood Kindred males were able to heal their mates and he had offered in the past—once when she pricked herself with a needle and another time when she’d burned herself on a candle flame—Caroline had never allowed him to heal her before. She had scoffed at the idea that the essence secreted by his fangs could heal her and called it “a dirty heathen trick.” But tonight, when he’d offered to heal her burned earlobe, the words had barely been out of his mouth before she’d agreed.

  What had changed?

  Whatever it was, it seemed to be for the better—though he couldn’t trust that it would last, Richard told himself grimly. It could still be a lingering effect of the lightning strike—in which case it could possibly wear off at any moment, leaving the old, skeptical, scornful Caroline behind.

  In fact, the old Caroline was likely to be on display at the ball tonight, he thought as he poked up the fire some more and got ready to go. A girl who planned to separate from her Kindred husband was supposed to wait until the announcement had been formally made but her dear Ma-ma clearly planned to get a jump on things. She was looking for Caroline’s next husband before the ink was even dry on the annulment of their Joining contract.

  And he was going to be there to witness the whole thing. Was he mad? Or just a glutton for punishment?

  He thought of the softness of her cheek, of her panting cries while he healed her and the sweet scent of her desire, drifting up to his sensitive Kindred nose, even through the layers and layers of fabric she wore.

  He was going—for good, or ill, he would be at the ball tonight and see how she reacted to whomever it was her mother wanted to introduce her to. It might be masochistic but he couldn’t help it. Caroline was beautiful and cruel and she drew him like a moth to the flame—he literally could not look away or let her go until he absolutely had to.

  Even if holding on until the last minute hurt like the devil and blasted his heart to shreds, hold on he would, until he was forced to let go. He loved her, damn it, and he couldn’t stop—no matter how ill-advised it was.

  Chapter Ten

  “What’s wrong with your face? And your hair! Why hasn’t Mary Ann straightened it? And why are you not wearing rouge or lip paint?”

  The questions came thick and fast, as Caroline had thought they might. She decided to use the same excuse she’d used on her lady’s maid.

  “My head and face are too tender from the lightning strike to stand too much, uh, stimulation,” she explained to the other mother.

  “But my dear—your face! That hair! So unfashionable!” the other mother spluttered.

  As formidable as the other woman was, Caroline was determined to stand firm on this. She had no wish to wear pig fat on her face or have her hair yanked straight by the burning-hot tongs.

  “I’m sorry, Mother,” she said, lifting her chin. “But I’m really not feeling very well. I told you I would come to the ball tonight to oblige you, but it has to be on my own terms. If you don’t like how I look, I’m more than happy to go back upstairs and get an early night’s sleep.”

  The other mother looked extremely surprised. Her mouth fell open and for a moment she just stood there staring. Caroline had the idea that she didn’t get opposition to her plans very often. At last she closed her mouth and shook her head.

  “Caroline, my dear, are you quite all right?” she asked. “You’re not acting yourself at all tonight!”

  “I’m not quite feeling myself,” Caroline said, which was the absolute truth, if something of an understatement. “I did get struck by lightning,” she reminded the other mother again. It was her only excuse and she was determined to milk it for all it was worth. “They say that changes people—don’t they?” she asked, lifting an eyebrow.

  “I suppose it must.” The other mother shook her head. “Well, since we have no time to spare I’ll allow it this time. After all, who’s to say you might not start a new fashion trend?” she wen
t on. “A fresh face might appeal to Lord Harkens among all the painted ones. You must just do your best to show off your accomplishments to make up for the lack of paint and fashion.”

  Caroline had a bad feeling about that but there was nothing she could do. Nothing but follow the other mother out of the house and into one of the strange wind-up carriages she’d seen as Richard carried her down the street earlier.

  Richard…what did it mean that he’d kissed her…healed her? The look on his face when he’d said she was fit to go look for a new husband had been impassive but she had seen the pain in his piercing blue eyes. He was the kind of man who didn’t show his emotions easily or often but she was guessing he felt deeply all the same.

  Well, she was having some pretty deep emotions about him too—very disturbing emotions, considering she hadn’t met him in person until a few hours ago. But the way her body reacted when he touched her was…well, it was unlike anything she’d ever experienced before, or had expected to experience. For the first time in her life she actually wanted a man to kiss her. Hell, not just kiss her—her whole body cried out for his touch. She felt like a starving woman who’s just glimpsed an all-you-can-eat buffet and is desperate to get to it.

  Not a very elegant metaphor, she had to admit, but a true one. All her life she’d been watching friends fall in and out of love, hearing them talk about the good or bad or terrible sexual experiences they’d had. And every time she’d kept her mouth shut or made something up when they asked about her own experiences.

  Because the fact was, she had no experience. It wasn’t like she hadn’t tried dating and kissing—she’d even gone further with a few of the men she’d gone out with. But their kisses did nothing for her and their caresses couldn’t seem to reach her.

  Once, in grad school, she’d come very close to having sex just so she could say she’d finally done it. But at the last minute she had stopped herself. It just hadn’t felt right—hadn’t felt like anything at all.

  And so she was still technically a virgin—a fact which was horribly embarrassing in her own world and time—but might prove to be an asset on this world, she thought.

  It was strange that everything could change so quickly. All her life she’d felt like she was from a different species than the whole rest of the human race—that she wasn’t compatible with anyone. And then Richard came along and seemed to be the ingredient she’d been looking for her whole life. The missing piece to her personal puzzle…

  But he’s the other Caroline’s husband, a guilty little voice in her head pointed out to her.

  Yes, and she was going to divorce him just as soon as she could, Caroline countered.

  True, but you can’t just—

  “Ah—here we are, dear. Remember what I told you.” The other mother’s voice finally penetrated the mental fog Caroline was in, just as the carriage lurched to a halt.

  She jumped and shook herself mentally. The other woman had been chattering away during the entire drive but she’d been paying almost no attention, lost in her own thoughts about Richard. Now they were at the ball and she had no idea of what she was supposed to do because she’d been mooning over a man she couldn’t have because not only did he belong to another woman—he belonged to a whole other universe.

  Stupid, stupid, stupid! Caroline berated herself as they climbed out of the carriage and made their way over the graveled drive to the house.

  But there was nothing she could do now except follow the other mother and hope for the best.

  Maplethorpe Hall was a tall, stately manor made of honey-colored stone that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a production of Pride and Prejudice. Caroline stared at it in apprehension—it might be beautiful but it was also damn intimidating.

  Women wearing hoopskirts even wider than hers and men dressed in dark suits with elaborately ruffled cravats at their throats were going in and out through the brightly lit front doorway. And there appeared to be a lot of them.

  “Oh dear—why do they always invite so many?” The other mother whipped out a fan and began fanning herself, as though in anticipation of the heat. “It’s always such a crush.”

  Caroline had a fan too—Mary Ann had given it to her just before she walked out the door and it hung from her wrist by a fine silken cord. She wondered how she was going to manage her social anxiety in this huge crowd of people when she already couldn’t breathe because of the too-tight corset.

  Take it easy, she told herself, as she often did when she had to give a public presentation on her work in order to get funding. You can do this—you’re a strong, intelligent woman—you’re going to be all right.

  The self-pep talk worked right up until the moment when they actually walked into the ballroom. It was gas-lit and crowded—jam-packed was more like it. There was an orchestra at one end and a refreshment table at the other with a large silver tureen of punch. In between, people were dancing and talking and flirting and laughing behind their fans.

  Women twirled, their wide-skirts swirling out around them like the petals of exotic flowers and men guided them gracefully through the dances. Everywhere there were painted, laughing faces—faces she had never seen before and yet was no-doubt supposed to know.

  It was an intimidating scene for an introvert with social anxiety and Caroline felt her heart start to pound as her palms started to sweat.

  Take it easy, she told herself nervously. You can do this—you have to do this, so just take it easy.

  But more and more details kept popping up to freak her out. For instance, she couldn’t help noting, with deep unease, that the dances seemed to have some very complicated steps. And she hadn’t danced since fifth grade when her class had been forced to square dance in PE class as part of an alternative fitness curriculum.

  The memory of that still made her cheeks hot with shame. She had stepped on her partners toes, do-si-doed the wrong way, tripped over other kids feet, and generally ruined the dance for everyone in the class until the teacher had mercifully allowed her to sit down.

  But there’s no teacher here to let me sit out and excuse me for the rest of the class, she thought, dismayed. I’m stuck. I never should have come!

  “Where is your dance card, my dear?” the other mother asked, right on cue. “There are to be five waltzes tonight, I’m told, and you must dance every one! “

  “Dance card?” Caroline fumbled. “I don’t think—”

  “Forgot it, did you? Never mind,” she went on, before Caroline could make up some excuse. “You don’t want to dance until we get you introduced to Lord Harkens anyway. Now where is Lady Arrington? She promised to introduce us!”

  She grabbed Caroline by the wrist and towed her through the crowd which almost caused Caroline to trip. Her swaying hoopskirt and heavy dress were bobbing up and down crazily and impeding her forward motion, though it didn’t seem to be a problem for any of the other women.

  Probably because they all have practice walking in these crazy clothes! Caroline thought resentfully. But just then the other mother pulled her out of the overcrowded, overheated ball room and into a much smaller area.

  In the center of the smaller room, which had elaborately flocked dark turquoise wallpaper and a mural of naked baby angels flying around the ceiling, was a pure white pianoforte trimmed in gold leaf. People were gathered around it and sitting on the bench was a young woman about Caroline’s age, playing a complicated-sounding piece with extraordinary skill.

  “Ah—there she is!” the other mother said under her breath. She nodded at a tall, thin woman draped in burgundy brocade who was standing in the crowd around the piano. “And just look at that Jane Woodrow, exhibiting herself,” she went on, nodding at the piano player. “My gracious but she’s shameless! Well, never mind, my dear—you’ll soon show her how a truly accomplished young lady plays.”

  “What?” Caroline was horrified by the thought. Her doppelganger might be an accomplished player but Caroline herself had quit piano lessons in seventh grade a
nd hadn’t played in years. She wasn’t even sure she remembered how to read music!

  But the other mother was already leading her towards the tall woman she’d pointed out as Lady Arrington.

  “Lady Arrington!” she exclaimed, when they came up to the woman in burgundy brocade. “How ever are you tonight?”

  “Mrs. Lambert. I am well. And yourself?” The tall, thin Lady Arrington looked down her bony nose at the other mother. Her demeanor was noticeably cool, but the other mother didn’t appear to notice.

  “Oh, well enough, well enough—though it is terribly hot in the hall tonight.” The other mother fanned herself. “I really don’t know when I’ve been so warm!”

  “Yes. Well.” Lady Arrington nodded slightly and turned her attention back to the piano music, a clear sign—at least to Caroline—that she wished to be left alone. But the other mother was either indifferent to social signals or completely shameless.

  “Lady Arrington, do remember that you promised to make introductions to Lord Harkens for us tonight. Pray, where is he?”

  “I have no idea—perhaps in the gentleman’s smoking room? Or playing billiards? I am not his keeper,” Lady Arrington said frostily.

  “Oh dear.” The other mother’s face fell almost comically. Caroline would have felt sorry for her if she wasn’t such an awful person, she thought. But just as quickly, her expression brightened. “Oh look—here comes his Lordship now!” she exclaimed, pointing her fan to the door opposite the one they had entered.

  Looking to where the other mother was motioning, Caroline saw an extremely short, round-faced man who looked to be in his early fifties. He was losing his hair on top which left the dome of his head as shiny and bald as a boiled egg. Apparently to compensate, he had grown a vast set of muttonchop sideburns and a walrus mustache to match. His whiskers were none-too-neatly trimmed and the fringe of the mustache drooped unpleasantly over his small pink lips.

  His hair—what was left of it—and whiskers, were a gingery shade of orange and his face was red and sweaty with droplets of perspiration rolling down his bald head and beading in the bushy sideburns. He was wearing a distinguished looking dark gold waistcoat stretched tight over his considerable belly and sucking on a cigar, which released clouds of bluish, foul-smelling smoke with every puff.