by Gina Lamm
“I don’t need a protector. I’m completely capable of taking care of myself.”
Mrs. Knightsbridge shook her head. “You poor dear. You must have gone through such a trauma.”
“I’m sorry.” Jamie threw the covers off and swung her legs over the side of the bed. Where the hell did this robe come from? “I need to get home.” Her knees wobbled as she took two steps toward the bureau. Her head swam and her stomach roiled, but she paid them no attention. She needed to wake up fast. This was too damn weird for words.
“You cannot go, miss. His lordship…”
“Is here and would like an explanation for your presence in his home.”
Jamie turned on her heel at the deep, masculine voice and was completely gobsmacked at the sight of the man in the doorway.
He looked like Colin Firth from that A&E miniseries Leah had forced her to watch over and over again when they were twelve. He was tall, dark-haired, and his chocolate-brown eyes pierced Jamie from beneath low brows. He wore an old-fashioned kind of outfit, the ones with sinfully tight pants, a waistcoat, a jacket, and that kind of frothy looking lace beneath his dimpled chin. His face wasn’t perfect, but it was stunningly handsome, and the sight of him sucker-punched Jamie in her already-churning guts.
“Holy crap,” she whispered, staggering backward and sitting on the bed.
“Your lordship, she seems to have lost her wits.” Mrs. Knightsbridge wrung her hands. “She has no recollection of entering your chamber.”
“Is that so?” Colin’s twin drew himself up even taller, that imperious look fitting his masculine face so well. His clean-shaven jaw tightened as he looked down his nose at Jamie. “Perhaps the watch will be able to assist her in remembering how she came to be lying in front of my new bureau.”
“Bureau,” Jamie said, echoing the unfamiliarly accented pronunciation. “Bureau! That’s it! The bureau!”
“Completely queer in the attic.” Mrs. Knightsbridge shook her head, the corners of her mouth drawn down. A strange twinkle in her eye made Jamie wonder if the older lady honestly thought she was crazy.
“No, the bureau! That’s how I got in. I was in the storage unit, and it was a billion degrees, and the dust cover fell on my head, and I touched the mirror on the door and I got eaten by that damn bureau!” Jamie stood and pointed at the offending furniture, wishing she could hack it to pieces for the weirdness of this dream. Of course, if it were only her and Mr. Firth, then that would have been okay. But he’d have to get over the proud grumpiness. Not sexy.
“Saints preserve us,” Mrs. Knightsbridge said. Did she sound excited, or was that just Jamie’s screwed up brain?
The earl addressed the housekeeper, ignoring Jamie completely. “Leave us, Mrs. Knightsbridge. I have some questions to ask of this…person.”
Jamie wanted to be offended at his pointed pause, but she was too busy swallowing convulsively. Damn smelling salts.
“My lord.” The rotund woman drew herself up to her full height, which wasn’t especially impressive next to the towering earl. “It is not at all proper. Are you sure you wish to be alone with her, especially after…”
He waved a hand to stop her. “I am quite capable of guarding my own virtue, and I doubt she is in a position to have any virtues of her own.”
“Hey!” Jamie’s ire rose at the thinly veiled put down. “I’m very virtuous!”
Mrs. Knightsbridge curtsied and left the room. Jamie could have sworn that the little round lady winked at her before the door clicked shut.
When he turned his attention back to Jamie, she clutched the neck of the robe closed at her throat, suddenly feeling vulnerable. The earl was tall and handsome, and really, really pissed. He stepped toward her, his shiny boots thunking solidly on the patterned carpet.
When he was only two feet from her, his brows lowered, a nervous thrill went through Jamie as his deep voice rang out. “Who are you?”
She sucked in a breath. “Who are you?” she countered, rankling a little at his tone.
He tapped his fingers lightly against the side of his thigh, the only sign that he wasn’t as cool as he appeared. “Madam, I can assure you, if your intention is to acquire a new protector, I am hardly likely…”
“What is it with everybody assuming I need protection? I’m completely capable of taking care of myself.”
His nostrils flared, and he stood up even straighter. She hadn’t realized that was possible. She was face-to-buttons with a very nice waistcoat until she tilted her chin upward to look him in the eye.
He looked down at her, disapproval clear in the corners of his downturned mouth. “You may have heard that I gave Collette her congé, but I assure you I am not in need of a mistress at the moment. And breaking into my home is not the best way to garner my favors.”
“Mistress?” Her jaw went slack. “You think I’m a hooker?”
He shook his head, a perplexed expression on his face. “I do not take your meaning.”
Jamie crossed her arms in exasperation. “Listen, who are you?”
“I am Micah Axelby, Earl of Dunnington, as you well know since you managed to infiltrate my home without my servants’ knowledge.”
“I didn’t know whose home this was. How could I know where that fricking mahogany monstrosity would spit me out? And seriously, who has servants?”
He looked over his shoulder when she pointed at the bureau again. When he looked back at her, the disbelief on his autocratic features was almost comedic. “Are you daft?”
“No, I’m not daft. I’m pissed. I don’t want to be here, and it’s cold, and I don’t know why you’re giving me the fifth degree about every damn thing! Ugh, I really need to wake up soon.”
The earl sighed and looked at the ceiling. She couldn’t stop the little thrill in her chest at the sight of his lean throat. Why’d he have to be so damn good-looking?
“Let us begin again. Your name, please?”
“I’m Jamie. Jamie Marten.” She stuck out her hand.
Instead of shaking it, as she anticipated, he turned it and bowed over it. His hand was warm, his long fingers strong but gentle as they gripped hers. The courtly gesture left her feeling warmer inside, but her uneasiness grew. This is a dream, right? Then why does he feel so damn real?
He released her hand and clasped both of his behind his back. “Well, Miss Marten, it is quite odd for a young lady to have the name of a man, and odder still for her to appear in my bedchamber.”
“Mike, do you mind telling me where I am exactly?”
He arched a supercilious brow at her. “I beg your pardon?”
“Where are we? It’s not a hard question.”
He raked a hand through his dark hair, a delicious chaos taking the place of the formerly ordered strands. “We are in my townhouse, in Grosvenor Square, in London. I trust you know where London is?”
Her knees turned to Jell-O again, and she sank back down onto his bed. Whoo boy. London? England London? As dreams went, this was the most vivid she’d had. It was making her feel ill.
“Okay, so I guess your accent is legit. What’s with the costumes, though? Do you do historical reenactments or something?”
“Costumes?” He shook his head in exasperation.
“So those are what you wear every day?” A chill ran through her, one that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. “Mike, what year is it?”
He blew out an angry breath. “Have your wits indeed gone begging? As you well know, it is the year of our Lord 1816.”
“Oh shit.”
She bent over and threw up on his extremely shiny boots.
Three
Edgars, Micah’s valet, would have an apoplexy when he saw the state of those boots. Edgars prided himself on his abilities, spending no less than a half hour polishing each boot every morning of his employment. Micah was no dandy, but he loved these damn boots, and the wench had just ruined some very expensive Corinthian leather. Besides, since Edgars had buggered off to avoid t
he scandal last season, the task of cleaning the boots would fall to his poor elderly butler.
Being a gentleman, however, he couldn’t curse at her. She drew a hand across her mouth and sat back on the edge of his coverlet, her arms wrapped across her middle.
“Oh God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean, I just, that smell from that thing she shoved under my nose before and it’s cold in here and…you must think I’m a total bitch.”
He looked skyward, begging for patience. “Madam, I cannot speak as to your character. I cannot deny that your, ahem, ill health has just caused irreparable harm to my boots, but at the moment, I’m more concerned with getting to the truth of the matter at hand. Now, are you well?”
The wench nodded her head, setting her streaked hair to trembling.
“Excellent.” He drew the word out. “So, now, please tell me how you came to be in my home. I want the complete truth and no nonsense.”
“This is going to sound crazy, and I’m sorry, but it’s the God’s honest truth. I’m from Concord, North Carolina, and the year 2012. That stupid bureau sucked me in through one of the mirrored doors and spit me out right over there. Your dog jumped on me, and I fell and got knocked out. I know it sounds insane, but I promise you, that’s what happened.”
She looked up at him with the clearest blue-green eyes he’d ever seen. She was an odd creature, with an odder way of speaking in a flat, drawn-out voice, but he couldn’t help remembering the way her lean body had felt against him when he deposited her on his bed. “I am to believe that you came to be in my bedroom by traveling through a mirror?”
She nodded.
“And you are from nearly two hundred years in the future.”
She nodded again, twisting the robe in her hands.
“Impossible.” He crossed his arms and skewered her with his best lord-of-the-manor stare. “You are either an escaped Bedlamite or a witch. I will know which I am dealing with, if you please.”
The chit’s brows lifted in desperation. “I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true.”
Micah shook his head. He’d never been susceptible to the megrims that had afflicted his mother throughout her life, but he was certain that the pounding at his temples heralded something very similar. He closed his eyes and took three deep breaths before responding.
“Madam, I have listened to your tale, and since you do not have a reasonable explanation for how you came to be lying in my bedchamber, I’m afraid I must call the watch and have them deal with you.”
“Wait, is that like the cops?” She bit her lip, and Micah felt a twinge of guilt at the worry in her expression. She must be simple—or mad. That was the only logical explanation for her oddly accented words that made no sense.
“I cannot help you.”
Micah gave her a curt bow, turned on his heel, and winced at the wet, sucking sound his boot made as it traveled through the gunk on the carpet. Mrs. Knightsbridge would also have a fit of the vapors at the state of the Aubusson carpet. In a spate of sympathy for the beautiful but daft woman in his bed, he decided to blame the carpet incident on Baron. Mrs. Knightsbridge had a fondness for his blue greyhound, and he’d not suffer under her wrath.
“Please, wait.”
At the plaintive sound, Micah turned. “Yes?”
“I can prove it.”
She stood, untying the robe at her waist. She let it fall to the bed. Micah averted his gaze, all too aware of the vision of her nearly nude form. She might be daft, but she was a beautiful female, and he was a young, healthy man with a healthier sexual appetite. Control. He must maintain control. He held out a hand to stop her.
“Madam, please remain clothed. It is not at all seemly for you to be standing there in such a state of un—What the bloody hell?”
She’d shoved a smallish, heavy thing into his hand. Bright colors danced across the front of the object and a tinny sounding music sounded in the room. Words appeared on the object. Angry Birds.
“What the devil is this?” He thrust it back at her, more than a bit unnerved. She backed away, forcing him to keep hold of the strange thing.
“It’s a phone. A smartphone. I can make phone calls, play games, and get on the Internet with it.”
“Trickery and deceit,” he roared. “Take this device away.” He shoved it at her again as the tune tinkled, birds still angrily flying across the screen.
The wench crossed her arms and stepped back again. “Don’t be stupid. It’s not magical, and I’m not lying. Look at it.”
“I will do nothing of the sort.” His jaw worked as he glared at her, and he held the phone as far away from his body as he could get it. He would throw it at the wench if she did not take it back soon.
She blew a breath upward. “Fine.” She snatched it back from him. “Then watch over my shoulder.”
She backed up against him, pressing her bottom against his thighs. He’d have to have been a monk or a eunuch not to enjoy the soft feel of her body as she pressed it so carelessly against him. Micah was neither, so to distract his lustful thoughts, he stared at the device in her hand. It was so vivid! Funny looking birds with cross faces flew across the words, the lively music playing all the while. She shifted slightly, brushing against the front of his trousers. He ceased to breathe and screwed his eyes shut.
“Okay, so these pigs stole the birds’ eggs, right? That’s why the birds are angry. So we’re going to launch them from this slingshot…”
The chit stopped speaking. Micah fisted his hands at his sides. “I shall never harm a female, but you try my patience, madam. Please move away.”
“For chrissakes, just try it. Please?”
He opened one eye. She held the object out to him.
“I should not be moved by your pleas. I should call the watch immediately.” He realized that talking to himself aloud made him sound daft, so he quieted as he gingerly accepted the small box from her hand.
“Okay, so touch the bird in the slingshot. Keep your finger on it; don’t let go. Good. Now slide it back, and you can kind of aim it.” She maneuvered his finger on the glass, helping him aim, then lifted it straight upward.
A little gasp blew from him as the red bird went sailing through the air and crashed into the pig’s wooden and glass tower.
“See? Here. Now you have to shoot the rest of the birds to get the pig.”
The next few moments were incredible. Might she be telling the truth?
***
Jamie smiled. The earl was completely transfixed by the little animated birds as they flew across the screen. It was almost funny how excited he looked, as if he were a kid with a brand-new toy on Christmas. She remembered her first video game system, and it sort of tickled her to see similar feelings flit across his face. He stared at the brightly lit object in his hand, dark eyes bright with interest as he played through the rest of the level.
“Here, go on to the next one.” She reached out and took his hand in her own and used his fingers to touch the little white arrow.
They spent several moments laughing together while the green pigs exploded. Some of her tension eased at Mike’s delight. He clearly enjoyed the game, laughing and smiling easily. He’d even seemed to forget that she’d yakked on his boots. Bully for me.
While he tried to explode the pigs with helmets, she put the robe back on. Even with the roaring fire in the room, it was still chillier than she was used to. She looked at that damn bureau again. Why the hell had it sucked her in? And why had it dumped her here of all places? She knew approximately bupkes about this place and time, but she did know she was going to need help and a lot of it.
When the earl grew frustrated at the pigs laughing at another failed attempt, he handed the phone back to Jamie.
“That was quite diverting.”
“So, you believe me? There are lots of things like this back where I come from.”
He straightened his waistcoat and assumed a thoughtful face. Her guts twisted nervously. What if he kicked her out? That stupid pie
ce of furniture was the only way back home, as far as she knew. She had to stay close to it, to figure out how to return.
“I am not prepared to toss logic to the winds quite yet. That object was certainly different, but how am I to know that it is not some sort of trickery on your part? You did appear in my bedchamber unexplained and uninvited.”
“Look, I want to leave even more than you want me to leave, but I don’t have anywhere to go at the moment. Can I stay for a little while? I’m sure that stupid bureau is the key to getting back, but I need some time to figure out how it works. Let me stay, and I promise I’ll be out of your hair in no time.” She looked up at him, desperate and disgusted with the way she was begging. He wouldn’t kick her out, would he? God, she sounded so pathetic.
“Out of my hair?” Mike looked at her, clearly confused, before he sighed and shook his head. “Even if your tale is true, it would be difficult to conceal your presence. Servants talk, and the gossip would spread—”
“You would kick me into the streets because of gossip? I didn’t figure you for an ass.”
He set his jaw then, and his eyes bored a hole in her. She gulped. She’d forgotten to be intimidated by him. Not a smart move.
“Miss, choose your words carefully. I shall have to think upon this matter, but if you wish to intrude upon my hospitality…”
“You’re going to let me stay? Oh thank you, thank you, thank you! I won’t be any trouble, and I’ll figure out how to go home and everything will be fine. You’re the best, Mike.” In an excess of relief, she threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly. Whaddaya know, she thought as she pressed close to him. That fancy-pants costume covers some pretty nice muscles.
He stood rigid, arms at his sides. After a moment, she began to get the idea that maybe she’d committed a giant faux pas. She stepped back, cheeks burning.
“Thanks,” she mumbled again, and tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. She wasn’t normally so impulsive.
He bowed to her sharply and left the room without another word. Baron the dog, who’d apparently been waiting outside the bedroom for his master, wagged his tail, thumping it against the door as Mike shut it behind him. His voice came muffled through the door as he talked softly to the hound and they walked away.