Time After Time

by Elizabeth Boyce

  “Let’s see if showing him worked,” she said, swinging into the saddle and putting Manifesto into a trot. As she passed, Hugh, in a lightning-quick move, he snatched off her floppy hat. The full length of her white blond hair tumbled about her shoulders opening like a sail into the wind.

  • • •

  Without her hat, Ellie felt suddenly naked, violated, unmasked.

  Hugh laughed. The look on his face told her everything she needed to know. All the humiliation in the barn — breeding Manifesto, cleaning stalls, lifting bags of grain — he’d done it to torture her because of her sex. She reined in the stallion and leaped off.

  With a big grin, Hugh dismounted to meet her.

  Before the corners of his mouth had time to drop, Ellie threw Manifesto’s reins over a fence pole and had her riding crop in full swing. She smacked Hugh hard across the chest. A look of shock left his lips in an O. She saw his trim jacket, his white shirt, his canary breeches, and dazzling riding boots. Everything she saw, she whipped, and whipped hard. Hugh stumbled backward. He darted behind Valaire, who had the good sense to step out of the way.

  “Wait, wait girl!” he said, laughing uncontrollably.

  “How dare you!” shouted Ellie. “How dare you play me for a fool! You knew. You knew all along, and you put me through hell for it!”

  Hugh ducked a mighty blow, the whip whirring past him like an angry bee. “I know I’ve been a cad, but you brought it on yourself.” He leaped behind a tree; the riding crop sliced off a chunk of bark.

  “Brought it on myself, you scoundrel!” Hugh jumped aside but Ellie’s whip was too quick for him. She got him square on the buttocks. “Here’s some of your own back,” she cried, hitting her mark again like a skilled fencer going in for the kill.

  “You’re the one pretending to be a boy,” he yelped, backing out of range.

  “I had to! You men and your damned sidesaddle decorum. Women with broken legs over broken hymen!” Ellie swung wildly. The crop zinged through the air and landed with a crack on his left hand.

  Hugh stopped laughing. She got in one more smack on the thigh, then he caught the whip on the rebound and yanked her to him before she could let go. He pinned her arms and tackled her to the ground. She fought like a cornered beast — shoving, struggling — claws out aiming for his eyes.

  But Hugh overwhelmed her, pinning her flat to the ground, as helpless as an impaled butterfly.

  “Calm down,” he commanded.

  “I’ll calm down when you’re in the grave!” she screamed.

  “Stop. Stop, Toby.”

  “Bloody well get off of me.”

  “I can’t let you up until you’re calm.”

  “You impossible, arrogant rogue!”

  “Hush, girl.”

  “I’ll hush you!”

  But though she twisted and fought, Ellie could not budge the man. Worn out and immobilized, she quit her battle. Panting, she glared at him. Sweat beaded on his brow. A drop of perspiration dripped and she imagined it burned an acid path down her face, replicating the ugly scar that slashed his cheek. She despised every ounce of him.

  • • •

  Her angry blue eyes, her white hair tangled with grass, her face smeared with dirt — Hugh couldn’t tear his eyes away. She was breathing hard. Her chest rose and fell. Under the rough cotton of the man’s shirt she wore, he pictured her perfect bosoms, the rosy nipples heaving toward him. She was so pretty, so untamed, such a rebellious, wild thing. He leaned down and savagely kissed her. Her lips were moist and hot. They promised something dark, liquid, and endless. She tried to bite. He stopped. Again, man studied woman. He looked for an opening, any indication that she wanted more.

  The girl’s face was hard as stone, her eyes shooting daggers.

  And then Hugh didn’t care. He couldn’t resist her — couldn’t stop himself. He pressed his lips more passionately to hers. She struggled, but he explored her face, her mouth, her eyes with his lips. He felt her relax. And then she kissed him back – an unexpected, marvelous gift. Lost in the feel of her, he forgot where his body ended and hers began. Wanting her with such urgency, his body shuddered as his lips devoured her mouth.

  • • •

  When Hugh’s mouth descended on her, Ellie felt horror, disgust. She turned her head away and squirmed to escape his grip and the heat of his body. Slime! Filth! she thought, panic racing like a cringing dog through her. But his lips pressed against her own, firm, dry, hotter than she’d expected.

  Hoping to stop him with a crushing look, she burned into his brown eyes but saw wonder there. She hadn’t expected that — cynical hunger, crushing lust, yes, but not wonder.

  He kissed her again, his lips as innocent as a child begging for candy. Giving in to him made her feel … motherly. Then he grew more insistent, the kiss deeper. Her emotions slammed against her mama instincts and a frightening heat rose inside. She didn’t want to cuddle him. She wanted to feel all of him.

  He pushed her mouth open with his tongue. Ellie willingly parted her lips, finding an inner animal with each meeting of their tongues.

  Dazed with sensation, she felt Hugh lift her from the grass and onto his lap. He wrapped his arms about her and kissed her again. Blood sang in her veins. She couldn’t remember her name, where she was from or why she was there. The morning mist rose like fire around them.

  “My God,” Hugh murmured, “my God.” His mouth covered hers. The kiss went deep, fervent and long.

  “I’ll treat you well, Toby,” he whispered. “No upstairs maid, no tavern queen, no corner store chit compares to you. You’re … ”

  “What did you say?” she said.

  “You’re extraordinary.”

  Ellie wiped her mouth. She sat up and the chill of the morning filled her like water. The pompous arse wants a tryst. Just like one of his flings with the Mortimers’ maid. “I’ll not be another of your conquests,” she said, scrambling away from him. “You’ll not be treating me like some wanton baggage.”

  “But I hold you in the highest esteem,” Hugh said.

  “The highest esteem … well, isn’t that grand. I quit! You insatiable rogue, you scoundrel, you rakehell, you, you … ”

  Ellie grabbed her hat and leaped onto Manifesto. The horse surged forward, spraying clods of earth and fallen leaves at Hugh’s bewildered figure.

  “For pity’s sake, don’t go!” he cried.

  She looked back. He’d already mounted Valaire and had the horse in full gallop.

  “Run, Manifesto!” she yelled. “Run like the wind.” The stallion responded with a burst of speed, flying over a post and rail fence and landing flat out for the barn. Ellie turned to see how far they’d outpaced him. In horror she watched as Valaire hit the post and rail with a terrifying crash. Hugh hurtled through the air and the horse jumped after him. Ellie screamed, and then Valaire fell with a sickening thud. She couldn’t see Hugh. Had his body tripped the horse? Had he been trampled? Killed?

  She turned Manifesto and raced back. Hugh, his coat torn and bloody, crawled toward Valaire. Her eyes burned with relief. But Valaire twisted and lurched, desperately trying to stand. A back hoof had wedged between two rails.

  “He’ll break his leg,” she cried.

  “Help,” Hugh moaned. “For God’s sake, help me.” He cradled Valaire’s head in his hands, trying to calm the panicked animal. Blood soaked the back of his jacket.

  Ellie secured Manifesto and dashed to Hugh’s side.

  “Calm Valaire. Please, work your magic on him,” Hugh begged, stumbling to his feet. He tore the broken rails away, hurling them from the fallen horse.

  Ellie pushed her thumb into Valaire’s mouth and stroked, forcing herself to breathe normally. “You’re going to be all right, old man,” she said, low and gentle. “Don’t you worry, your m
aster will save you. Still, boy. Still.”

  Wood cracked. Hugh knelt over the fence. Fashioning a lever with another rail he struggled to force a gap in the two rails trapping Valaire’s hoof. A torn jacket sleeve dangled in the way. He ripped the garment off. In his shirtsleeves, Ellie could see every muscle in his powerful body straining against the lever. “Come on, fence, let go,” he growled. “Let go of my bloody horse.” The lever made a cracking sound. It frightened Valaire, who kicked in panic.

  Hugh froze. He looked at Ellie, his face a mask of fear. She blew into the horse’s nostrils, whispering, cajoling. Valaire stopped his thrashing.

  Hugh shifted the lever’s position, slamming it against the top of the two rails. The lever broke, but he didn’t stop. He jammed the shortened stick further under the rail, then jerked violently upward bellowing, “Let go!” The rail shattered, sending splinters of wood flying. Valaire screamed and lunged to his feet. Ellie rolled out of the way.

  Tears ran down her cheeks as Hugh wrapped his arms around the chestnut’s neck. His shirt was dark red with blood. Valaire shook his head and Hugh stepped back. “Be a good boy now and walk,” he said, his voice thick with worry. The horse eased the injured hoof onto the ground, then took a step. Then another. Valaire limped, but the leg didn’t buckle. Hugh stopped the horse, buried his face in its mane, and trembled.

  • • •

  “Hold him for me, please,” Hugh said, fetching his jacket.

  “Don’t put it on,” Ellie told him. “I’m not embarrassed, and you’ve a bad cut on your back. The jacket will push your shirt into the scab. I can take care of Valaire. You go home and ask my sis … ask Miss Claire Albright to take care of that wound.”

  She watched Hugh’s expression. Had he picked up on her mistake?

  “No. Valaire has got to soak that leg in cold water and get the swelling down.” He took back the horse’s reins and started walking toward a nearby glen.

  “Lord Davenport,” she called after him, “you really must go home. Miss Claire can help you.”

  “Bah!” Hugh replied.

  Ellie dashed over to untie Manifesto. She trotted after Hugh on foot, calling, “Then you have to let me do what I can for you.” He ignored her.

  Hugh disappeared into a grove of sycamores growing along the banks of a brook. The morning sun had burned off most of the night’s mist, but a few wisps lingered over the water. The white bark of the sycamores appeared ghostly and dream-like in the humid air.

  Ellie tied Manifesto in the sun, giving him enough rein to graze. Hugh was in the water – his boots and stockings in a heap on the grass. Valaire balked at stepping into a deeper pool. “Come now, my fine steed,” he cooed, “You’ll like the feel of this. I promise.”

  Ellie pulled off her own boots and stockings. She waded out to Valaire and took his tail in one hand. “Go, sweeting,” she said. “You know your master won’t do you harm.” She pulled the horse’s tail and at the same time leaned her weight on his haunch. Valaire stepped into the deeper water.

  “Good horse,” Hugh declared. “Thank you for that.”

  “My pleasure,” Ellie replied. “Could you take your shirt off now and let me look at your cut?”

  “Don’t fuss at me,” he said, studying Valaire, “The horse is what matters here.”

  “Well, the horse is just fine. Now let me look at your back.”

  Impatiently he yanked at the garment to pull it over his head, but stopped. “Gad, it’s caught,” he said, drawing a pain-filled breath.

  “Here, let me.” She sat him on a rock in mid-stream. Cupping handfuls of water, she poured them on Hugh’s back until the shirt was saturated. Carefully, she peeled the cloth from him. The young scab pulled away with the linen.

  “Argh,” he said, wincing.

  “It’s bleeding freely again. Let me wash some of the mess off.”

  She lifted the blood-soaked shirt over his head and rinsed it clean in the brook. Trying not to stare, she wrung it over him, watching the rivulets course down paths between muscle and sinew. She had never seen a man’s naked back before — other than Toby’s. Hugh’s certainly was different. Heavy muscles bulged across the shoulders. His upper body tapered to a slim waist belted by ropes of muscle circling above the hip. She couldn’t tear her eyes away.

  The brook ran cool around her ankles. She soaked the shirt, and sluiced more water over Hugh’s shining, naked shoulders. He shivered. The morning chill still lingered in the air.

  “Poor thing, let’s get you dry.”

  “No, it’s all right,” Hugh said. “It feels nice.”

  Birds sang in the sycamores. Manifesto snuffled the green grass. His harness creaked. Ellie rinsed the shirt again and swabbed the last of the blood away. Then she held his dry cravat to the wound to stem the bleeding.

  “Come on shore, Lord Davenport. I think it’s best if you lie face down.”

  He pulled her into his lap. Droplets of water from him soaked her. “It’s time to call me Hugh,” he whispered, searching deep into her eyes.

  “I don’t think that’s appropriate,” Ellie breathed.

  He clutched her to him with powerful, wet arms. His lips were icy, but heat pulsed beneath the surface. She avoided his kiss — Hugh was scheduled to fall in love with Ellie the daughter of an earl, not Toby the stable girl. But how she longed to bury her mouth in his and force the cold away.

  He gripped her with frigid fingers.

  “Come on shore,” she said, slipping from his grasp. “You’ll catch your death.” She got up and led him to a grassy spot where the sun shone bright through the sycamore leaves.

  “I’m sorry for pulling off your hat,” he said. “You’re so pretty, I wasn’t thinking.”

  “All’s forgiven, as long as you promise it won’t happen again,” she said, spreading her coat on the ground for him to lie down.

  “And what shall I call you?” he asked.

  Ellie’s heart skipped. “How did you find out I’m a woman?”

  “Lank,” Hugh replied, lying on his belly.

  She sat next to him on the grass and held the cravat to the cut. A sickening feeling washed through her at the mention of the steward’s name.

  “So, who are you?” Hugh asked.

  “Lank didn’t tell you?”

  “Just that you’re female. It’s obvious you’re Sebastian Albright’s daughter, but who’s your mother? A scullery maid? A cook?”

  “No, nothing like that.” Relief flooded her. Somehow Lank had failed to reveal her true identity.

  “Please don’t tell me you’re the daughter of a countess or something. I couldn’t bear it.”

  “Why couldn’t I be the daughter of a countess?” she said, laying on the cockney accent a bit thicker. “It’d be romantic.”

  Hugh rolled on his side to look at her. “God, no. No frail little snobs for me.”

  “Must the daughter of every countess be a frail little snob? Lie back down.”

  “All ladies are frail little snobs. Every natural bone is bred from their bodies. They can gossip, they can cheat, and they can lie, but they cannot love.”

  Taken aback, Ellie said, “What a dim view.”

  “You, however, are deserving of respect. I shall court you like the highest born lady from this day forward.”

  She laughed. “That’d be nice when we’re alone, but in company you treat me like a stable hand.”

  “Ah, well that’s a rough life. I’d rather treat you considerably better.” He rolled to his side again and gave her a sly look.

  “No!” Ellie said. “I’m not going back as a woman. They’ll stop me riding astride. You must treat me as a man.”

  “Ah yes. Good point. In public then, you’re Toby. When I have you alone, what shall I call you?”

 
“First of all, you shan’t ’av me ‘alone,’ as you say.”

  “Fine,” he agreed in a way that made Ellie doubt he meant it. “Now, what is your name?”

  She sucked in her breath. “It’s still Toby Coopersmith,” she said, too panicked to think of another name.

  “That’s a funny name for a girl.”

  “A daughter only has so much control over her mum,” she said, unable to look him in the eye.

  “All right, ‘Toby,’” Hugh said, “but someday I’m going to find out your true identity.”

  • • •

  At the stables, Hugh left Ellie alone with Manifesto. She whipped off the horse’s bridle and saddle, put him in his pasture, and left the barn. Darting from tree to bush to potted plant, she made her way to the small garden shed where she’d stashed her dress. Stripping off her Toby outfit of pants, shirt, vest, coat, and floppy hat, Ellie thought about the change she’d witnessed in Hugh’s personality. He was a cold piece of horror around the Devon ton. Put him next to a bastard girl in pants, and he was as delightful as a cat on a windowsill.

  She stepped into her dress and tried to reach the buttons. After a series of odd gyrations, a few buttons submitted but the rest remained stubbornly open. She threw a long shawl over her shoulders and left the woods as if she’d been on a jaunty walk all morning. She prayed no one would see her dress flapping open in the back.

  At the sound of shoes on the pebbled path of the formal garden Ellie hid behind a water nymph fountain. Claire rounded a shrubbery with Sport on a leash.

  “Any luck?” Ellie asked, stepping from behind the fountain.

  Claire started. “Ooph! You scared me. I’m afraid if this dog has got something to offer, he’s not revealing it today.”

  “Oh, too bad,” said Ellie. “I wonder what would happen if we gave him a bit of castor oil?”

  “Let’s not try to force him too soon,” Claire said, patting the dog’s head. “Go in to breakfast and save me some kippers.”

  “I will the moment you button me up.”

  “Oh la, get behind a bush, quick.”

  • • •