by Dawn Brower
“Who are you?” he finally asked.
So now he was asking the same question as the duchess. It hadn’t taken him long to get on board with the demand-the-strange-woman’s-name game. Callista toyed with the idea of not telling them, but decided against it. The exchange had become rather tedious. “I’m the Countess of Marin,” she replied. “But you may call me Callista. I think we can leave formality behind us, considering.” She lifted a brow. “And who are you two?”
The woman mirrored her gesture and lifted a brow mockingly. “How nice to meet you, Lady Marin. I’m Regina Dewitt Kendall, the Duchess of Weston. I’m not sure if I want to be nice enough to allow you the use of my first name.”
“Gina...”
“Don’t even start, Trent.” The woman glared at him. “I don’t know her, and I’m not sure I like her either. Who walks around in a man’s T-shirt as if she owns the place?” She turned toward Callista and said, “I suppose you slept in Zane’s bed last night and think you have a firm place at his side. I should warn you, he isn’t the staying kind.”
“Are you jealous?” Callista asked. It seemed unlikely, but she couldn’t help wondering. Why would she care? Did they have a previous relationship? A little unease stirred inside of her—she didn’t like the idea of Regina being with Zane. In fact, she didn’t like the idea of any woman having a claim on him. She didn’t fully understand her feelings yet and wasn’t sure if she wanted to examine them too closely. Whatever they were, they could be put on hold for now. There were far more important things for her to consider. Zane wasn’t hers to stake a claim on, and she may not want to either way.
“Lord, no.” Regina laughed. “I’m perfectly happy in my marriage. I just call it as I see it. Zane is pretty to look at, but he is too much of the social butterfly, if you understand my meaning. It’s a fair warning from one woman to another.”
So he was a lot like Dom in that regard. He’d been quite the rake and had been unapologetic about it. There was one woman for him and that was Lady Rosanna Kendall. Callista hoped they’d found happiness with each other. She’d have to ask Zane about his ancestor.
“So your name is Trent?” She turned toward the man and ignored Regina’s quip.
“Trenton Quinn,” he replied. His voice was a little high pitched, and he was bouncing on his heels like a toddler about to get one of their favorite treats. “Did you say you’re the Countess of Marin?”
“I did,” she replied. Did he know who she really was in much the same way Zane had.
“I saw that name in one of Rosanna’s journals.” He stared at her. “She mentioned her brother Edward had been betrothed to Lady Marin before he died, but of course the wedding hadn’t taken place.”
Callista’s heart froze at the mention of Edward. No, the wedding hadn’t happened. It was one of life’s tragedies. She’d loved him in every way she’d thought possible. He’d been taken from her too soon, but his death had given her a new purpose. Through sheer will and tenacity she’d become one of the war office’s best spies. They didn’t acknowledge their agents, but especially not her. A woman wasn’t to do a man’s job, and Callista did it better than most.
“Is there a question in there?” she asked.
“Do you know anything about her?” Trenton asked.
He was so excitable. His whole face had lit up when she introduced herself. Callista didn’t like talking about herself. In her line of work, it was best there wasn’t much information to be found. It was one of the things that had kept her alive and had given her the opportunity to blend so well. What did he know, and why did he care to find out more? She assumed he didn’t mean Rosanna but had to ask to make sure. “About Rosanna or Lady Marin?”
Regina’s lips tiled upward with amusement. “You don’t like to say much of anything, do you? How did you get so good at evading questions?”
She had no idea. Callista could tutor her in the skill. The best way to avoid a question was to ask one in return. If that didn’t work, change the subject. The more controversial or distracting the better because it gave the interrogator something else to concentrate on.
“It’s a simple enough question. I wanted to clarify who he was asking about.” Callista kept her focus on Regina. Perhaps it was time to employ one of her tactics for steering the conversation in a different direction. The best way to avoid answering something was to change the topic of conversation. So she turned to Regina and asked, “Did you say you were the Duchess of Weston?”
Regina narrowed her gaze. “I did. What of it?”
“Do all duchesses dress so...” She lifted her chin in disdain.
“Don’t even think of finishing that sentence.” Regina clenched her fingers together into a fist. “Or I’ll make you regret it. As if you have room to talk with your current attire.”
Callista fought down a smile. Regina had already forgotten her realization that Callista hated talking about herself. She could walk away and they’d not remember what they were discussing until she was gone, but she didn’t want to leave yet. She wanted to interrogate them without them realizing it.
“You’re right,” she replied. “Not my place to tell you how to dress. I don’t suppose you could tell me where I can find something to eat? I don’t recall the last time I ate.”
“You didn’t eat last night at the masquerade?” Trenton said. “I thought Zane had quite the buffet out.”
There had been a masquerade at Seabrook? Had that been what had drawn her to this time? She wasn’t sure how it all worked. All she remembered was falling and being at Ulrich’s estate in France. There had to be some kind of connection. It could be as simple as Rosanna and Dom, but Callista didn’t have much to work with.
“I’m afraid not.” Callista moved closer to Trenton. “What were you two arguing about earlier?”
“Were you eavesdropping?” Regina asked. She raised her hands to her hips and cocked one to the right. Her indignation was clear by the way she glared at her and tapped her foot.
“Hard to do that when you were shouting. I think the whole estate heard you.”
“I doubt it,” Regina said. “But you’re right. We were loud. Although what we discussed is none of your concern.”
“That might not be true,” Trenton said carefully.
“What are you talking about?” She whirled around and turned her angry glare toward him. “This woman is a stranger. None of it has anything to do with her.”
It didn’t take much for those two to start arguing. Callista watched them as they glared at each other in silence. Why did Trenton think their discussion had anything to do with her?
“You don’t understand who she is.” He spoke with such conviction, as if he understood something both Regina and Callista hadn’t yet realized. Who did he think she was and why was it so damned important to him? Callista didn’t know him at all and wasn’t sure, at this point, if she wanted to. She should have stayed in Zane’s room, but it wasn’t in her nature to meekly wait for a man to aid her. Now she regretted her decision. She’d stumbled onto something that was over her head.
“Yes, I do,” she ground out. “She’s Lady Marin. She told us.”
“But not what it means. She’s Rosanna’s Lady Marin. I know it, even if she failed to confirm it.”
How was that possible? She hadn’t admitted to it for a reason. Giving someone else information without a trade wasn’t what a good spy did. It was best if one could get details without an exchange. What had she let slip out to Trenton to make him believe she was the countess Rosanna had known?
“How?” Regina asked and narrowed her gaze on Callista. She took a step forward and examined her closer. As if that would tell her anything—Callista held in the urge to roll her eyes. “She doesn’t look like anything special to me.” Or perhaps she should give in to her inner child and stick her tongue out at her. What right did she have to judge her?
“Because there hasn’t been a Lady Marin since the nineteenth century.”
Well, hell. She had known that. The title had died out with her husband’s death. How had she forgotten that little detail? She gave Trenton credit for realizing that, but she wasn’t up for more questions. Perhaps she should return to her room and retrieved the clothes Zane was bringing her. She turned to leave and froze. A man who bore a striking resemblance to her dead fiancé stood in the entrance. Her heart beat hard in her chest and breathing became near impossible. She lifted her hand to her open mouth as pain shot through her at the sight. Her hand shook as she fought to gain control of her overwrought emotions. It was too much on the heels of all she’d discovered in a short time.
“Edward?” Callista barely croaked the name of the man she’d fought so hard to find vengeance for. Had he actually traveled through time and decided to stay? Did he ever love her? She had to be seeing things. Callista swayed and the room swam before her eyes. Before she realized what was happening her head hit the floor.
The sound of footsteps pounding on the ground filled her ears. Her vision was still hazy, and she was having trouble focusing on the room around her. Callista fought to look over at Edward to ascertain if he was real or not. Voices echoed through her ears, and then one stood out above them all. Zane...
“Bloody hell, Bradford,” Zane said. “Why couldn’t you have stayed in your room?”
Not Edward. All the heartbreak she’d felt the first time he died flowed through her all over again. This time it was much worse though. She’d thought, for a brief moment, that she had him back. It was a crushing blow to realize he was truly gone for good and there was nothing she could do to change that. Callista’s vision turned black and she welcomed the oblivion.
CHAPTER FIVE
“How was I supposed to know?” Bradford demanded. “You’re acting like a total prick.”
Zane pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. He prayed for his already thinning patience to hold on a few moments longer—otherwise, he might lose it and punch his friend. Bradford was right. There was no way for him to have been aware of Callista or her history with the duke’s family. His concern was for the countess and her mental state. Had she really believed Bradford was her long-lost fiancé? She’d called out for Edward, so it must’ve been a shock to her.
She’d sounded so hopeful when she said his name. What had she been thinking when she saw Bradford? She must’ve thought all her prayers had finally been answered and then had it all ripped away from her. He hadn’t realized Bradford resembled his long-ago ancestor so much, but it made sense. At least Bradford was happily married to Regina. It was perhaps crass to consider that, but Callista had favored Edward. Zane didn’t like the feeling rolling through him. He refused to consider it jealousy—an emotion he’d never felt in his life. There was nothing to worry about anyway. Callista could moon over Bradford all she wanted because he wouldn’t give her a second glance.
He didn’t like that any better. What the hell was wrong with him?
They’d taken her back up to his room to rest. She hadn’t come down and Zane was afraid of becoming a nuisance. He’d checked on her several times, and for the most part she slept—though, the last time, she’d all but bitten his head off. He could take a hint as well as the next man. So, instead of going himself, he sent Regina a little while ago. Let Callista try and send her away. Regina was a force to be reckoned with.
They had to figure out what to do about her, and Regina was tasked with aiding her into the current century. As luck would have it, she had some new undergarments she hadn’t used yet and went to help her dress. He would take her shopping for some of her own things later as planned.
“I’m not a prick,” Zane said. “Quit being overdramatic. Being a queen bee doesn’t suit you.”
“Who is she?” Bradford asked. “You’ve been skirting around the details for hours now.”
Zane didn’t really want to explain who she was to him. As far as he was concerned, Bradford already knew more than he should, but that was part of this new emotion he didn’t like.
“She’s the Countess of Marin,” Trenton said as he walked into the room. “I thought that was evident.”
Bradford rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Mr. Obvious. I wasn’t able to figure that out on my own.” He turned to Zane. “What I don’t know is what that means.”
Zane sighed. He needed a drink—or twenty—hell, maybe several times that. It had been a trying day. Ever since he found Callista in the conservatory his whole world had been turned upside down. The way Trenton was acting—Zane believed he was aware of exactly who Callista was. It helped at least that they all had most of the pertinent information. Time travel was possible, and the evidence was upstairs if they needed more proof. Trenton had been looking for a way to find the love of his life for some time. Hell, he probably understood it better than anyone else. Maybe it would be easier to let him explain it to Bradford. He should go up and see what was taking them so long? Was Regina giving her a hard time?
“Hello,” Bradford waved his hand in front of Zane’s face. “Are you in there?”
Fuck. A drink was definitely needed. He ignored Bradford and crossed over to the bar. He grabbed the decanter of brandy and poured a generous helping into a glass. After a long burning sip, he turned toward Trenton and Bradford. “I don’t have time for this.”
“You have something burning for your attention?” Bradford raised a brow mockingly. “Let me guess, it’s a pretty brunette about this high—” He held his hand up in the air stopping below his shoulders. “Who thinks I’m somebody I’m not.”
Trenton laughed. “He’s got you there, man. Why don’t you just give in and tell him who she is.”
“She’s the Countess of Marin,” Zane said. “You said so yourself. What more do you want to know?”
Zane took another sip of his brandy. He could play the evasive game all day if necessary, but he also was aware it wouldn’t really work. Bradford and Trenton were too intelligent and wouldn’t allow him to play them for a fool. He didn’t’ want to deal with them. If he started talking, he’d have to admit he knew more than they thought about the past.
He’d made it a point of studying his family’s history and stumbled upon a lot of journals from the time Callista was from. Dominic Rossington’s journals were quite informative, and some of his wife’s were as well. Trenton didn’t realize how close he was to finding the information he sought to locate his lost love. He should give in and tell the man, but he also understood things had to play out how they were supposed to. He wasn’t supposed to discover the answers yet. There was a timeline he had to follow or he might go too soon. Something like that would prove disastrous, and Genevieve might be lost to him forever. He was being—altruistic; at least that’s what he was telling himself.
“Don’t be daft,” Trenton said. “You’re well aware what Bradford is asking, but I’ll help you and spell it out in details.”
“By all means, do,” Zane said dismissively. “I’m all agog at what you believe is going on here.”
“I stand by my earlier assessment—you’re a prick,” Bradford said.
Zane turned toward him and lifted his lips into a mocking smile. “I believe you said I was acting like a prick. There’s a difference.”
This could go on all day if he allowed it. He should just put them all out of their misery and be done with it. He was protecting Lady Marin’s secrets. When she was ready to clue them in, he’d be right by her side. Keeping her safe and secure was a priority for him, and he’d do whatever was necessary to ensure it. Something in her eyes haunted him. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but it was there, and for that reason alone he held his tongue.
He read a lot in the journals and understood a little bit about what made Callista tick. But even that wasn’t a lot to go on. There were some things even he didn’t have all the information for. His ancestors understood the basic facts, the why and how, but not everything she’d felt. They assumed it was all for vengeance, but what if they were wrong? Zane wanted Calli
sta to explain it to him in her own words and only when she was ready.
“Not much,” Bradford said and turned toward Trenton. “What do you know about the lady?”
Trenton went to the bar and poured himself a drink.
“Good to know you’re comfortable enough in my home to help yourself.” Zane couldn’t wait to have his home to himself again. He hated people. Oh, he liked these ones better than most, but even they had their limits. His patience could only take so much.
“Thanks,” Trenton said and mock saluted him. “I appreciate your hospitality.” He took a drink and faced Bradford. “Lady Marin disappeared in 1818.”
“Surely it’s not the same...”
“Oh, I’m pretty sure it is,” Trenton interrupted him. He met Zane’s gaze. “And you are too. I can tell by your lack of surprise by my response. The question is why do you feel the need to keep that information to yourself?”
Trenton Quinn was too intelligent for his own good. How much did he know? Trenton had been studying the disappearance of Alys Dewitt for a while and suspected his former girlfriend Genevieve Byrne had vanished in a similar manner. What he didn’t realize was—he was right. She had gone down the same time hole as Alys, but wasn’t in the same place as her. They all found out that Alys Dewitt had married the Duke of Weston in the nineteenth century a year ago. Rosanna’s journal had been the first clue, and then Bradford discovered a letter she’d written her family behind a painting. The rest was history—in more ways than one.
What they didn’t know was, after that, Zane had taken a keen interest in his family tree. He had to wonder how many unsuspecting fools managed to fall through time and couldn’t find their way back. So far, the only ones he’d found were Alys and Genevieve. Genevieve’s fate was a mystery. There was still a lot of unknowns concerning her situation. Rosanna Kendall Rossington had met her in France when she’d been held captive by the Comte de Dreux. It had been quite informative...