Not one of revolution. And not so much as a mention of a Stuart met her rapidly scanning gaze. Had he escaped Sir Dominic and gone to live in exile? She closed her eyes, and the vision rose before her of him clutching his chest, falling...
He had died. The realization struck her like a physical blow...
There, in that dingy lodging, without her, he had died.
James ... An aching void opened deep within her, an emptiness which she knew would never be filled, would never heal. She had lost him forever.
She looked down at the figures in her hands. All she had left of him ... She clutched them to her, and stared into nothingness, numb and empty and drained...
“Christy?” A deep, familiar voice sounded behind her.
She spun about, incredulous. For one long, disbelieving moment she stared at the disheveled figure, then flung herself into his arms. “James...” she breathed, his name no more than a whisper on her lips.
“Careful.” A shaky laugh escaped him. “I have a small cut there.”
“I thought you were dead...” She clung to him, half laughing, half sobbing. He was here, alive, not torn from her...
His mouth found hers, and he kissed her with a thoroughness that took her breath away. His lips brushed her cheek, her eyes, then returned to her mouth with the fierceness of desperation. Joy and disbelief ran rampant in her, until she had to draw back, to actually see it was really him.
“How—how did you get here?” she managed at last.
“The same way you did.” He smoothed back her hair, then kissed her once more. “When you disappeared like that, the others were too startled to react. I realized what had happened—and that my disappearing as completely would be the only way to prevent revolution. Sir Dominic and his cabal—” He shook his head. “They never would have given up until the country ran with blood.”
“So you inverted the ball.” And gave up his way of life, everything he had known.
His arms tightened about her. “It seemed the only chance to avert the revolution. I’d have tried it at once, but I had to bandage that slice Farnham gave me, first.”
“Farnham. He—he caught the snowdome,” she said, recalling the whirling scene. “What happened to him?”
“He’s dead.” James’s jaw set. “Sir Dominic, though, will be all right—if he recovers from the shock of seeing us both vanish.”
A tremulous laugh set Christy’s shoulders shaking. “He must have, by now.” Her gaze fell on his strained face. “Come, you’re cold and hurt. Oh, James, let’s get back to my hotel.”
“Where?” For the first time he looked about, at the people, the cars on the street. An expression of wonder entered his dark eyes, and he shook his head. “I’ve left my own time,” he said, as if the reality of it just struck him. “My God, what have I done?”
She sobered. “Sacrificed your birthright to save England.”
“Have I?” For several long seconds, he stared at her in silence. Then his lips curved in a slow smile. “In that case, I’ve freed my descendants from the curse of being pretenders to a throne. I can continue my work—” He broke off. “We shall have to visit the Bank of England to see how well I provided for us—and the poor of this time.”
“We’re bound to be filthy rich. We’ll be able to fund all sorts; of shelters and programs. My brother—” she broke off as laughter again welled within her. “James, do you realize no time at all has passed while I’ve been gone? It’s only the beginning of December, still. That means we can be there for my brother’s wedding.”
A warm glow suffused his entire face. “And what of ours?”
For a moment, her heart stopped. “I’m not a European princess.”
“Good. The few I’ve met have been dead bores.”
To be his wife ... Happiness surged through her, driving out the last traces of pain, and she snuggled her head against his shoulder.
“I suppose I’ll have to establish a new identity.” He rubbed his chin on the top of her curls, and a contemplative gleam lit his eyes. “I believe the poor won’t begrudge us a little of all that money so I can buy whatever papers are necessary. Surely such things must be obtainable in this time?”
She nodded, bemused and relieved. James, in any era, appeared extremely capable.
His lips brushed hers. “Let’s go. I have a burning desire to obtain a marriage license.” He caught her hand, and saw the enameled figurines she still gripped. “The snowdome. Never mind, my love, I’ll put another together for you.”
“Don’t you dare!” She tucked the pieces into her purse. “What if it took me away from you, again? We’ll put them in a display case, where they’ll—where we’ll—be safe.”
“An excellent suggestion.” He led her forward, only to stop in his tracks as he stared at a Christmas banner which hung from a lamp post beside the path. “Decorations all over the streets, just like you said.” The last remnants of tension faded from his expression, and he grinned down at her, as delighted as any of the Runcorns’ boys. “Two Christmases in one year. Come, my love, I’ve got years of traditions to catch up on. Show me what Christmas is like in our time.”
JANICE BENNETT holds two B.A. degrees and an M.A. from the University of California. She has been a bookkeeper, an archeologist, and a college crafts instructor. The author of nine Regency adventures, including the award-winning Midnight Masque and time-travel Regencies Forever In Time and A Timely Affair, she currently teaches novel writing at a community college. She lives with her husband, young son, computer, horse, dogs, cats, rabbits, goldfish, and any other animals currently in need of a home.
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