Swept Through Time - Time Travel Romance Box Set

by Tamara Gill

  Consoling herself with the certainty that, in less than two week’s time, at least part if not all of her waiting would finally be over, Lucy called the duke, arranging to meet him in the gardens to get one of his dozens of dinner jackets.

  The rain had mercifully let up. After shrugging on a short coat over her jeans and Mickey Mouse sweatshirt, she headed into the cold, damp night.

  Though the crushed stone path was well-lit with discreetly placed solar lanterns, she still carried a queasy batch of nerves. What had she been thinking? Agreeing to meet William in the garden when she had no idea where Wolfe might’ve gone?

  She assumed he’d be at the pond but, as she was quickly learning, where he was concerned assumptions could be dangerous. Just like her assuming he’d quietly revert to his life as a frog without giving her a moment’s trouble.

  But then, were she in his place, could she blame him? Would she willingly spend eternity as a frog?

  It might not be so bad—if he were a frog with me!

  Cheeks blazing with heat, she scowled while rounding the final comer leading to the wooden bench where she and William had agreed to meet.

  “Hallo, gorgeous!” William called out with a jaunty wave. He’d folded a dark garment bag over the back of the bench.

  “Hey, handsome.” His flirtatious mood was a welcome diversion. “I see you brought the goods?”

  “One dinner jacket, as requested. Though to get it, you’ll have to pay the toll.”

  “Mmm,” she said with a grin. “I don’t know, I’m feeling awfully broke at the moment.” Especially since her credit card bill carrying the majority of the prince’s clothes had arrived.

  “Really?” he said once she sat beside him. “Because if you find yourself in need of a spot of cash, you know all you need do is—”

  She pressed her fingers to his lips. “Thank you. You’re sweet to offer, but I’ll be fine. Just need to pinch pennies until my next check.”

  “There’s no need to do that, either, you know. Because—”

  “Could we please talk about something other than dry old money?” She hoped her tone came off as light, instead of desperate. She had a feeling whatever he’d been about to say was serious, and she didn’t want to be serious. Not tonight—or ever again. In a matter of days, her every dream would come true, and that was cause to celebrate.

  Even if in achieving your dreams, you’ll be selfishly taking a man’s life?

  Commanding her conscience to hush, she leaned forward, giving her future husband a kiss. Thankfully, he responded by slipping one arm about her shoulders and his other inside her coat to rest upon her waist. The kiss was by no means soul-stirring. But it was sweet and wholesome and good. And for now, that was enough.

  “Dear, Luce,” he said once they’d pulled apart. “I’ve missed you.”

  “But I haven’t been anywhere.”

  “Yes, you have...” Even in the pale moonlight, confusion and maybe even pain were visible in the smooth planes of his aristocratic face. “I’m not blind. I know something beyond this silly feud with Grumsworth has been causing you concern. Now,” his breath hitched, “if you feel comfortable enough with me for us to talk it over, please know I’m always available.” His cautious smile tugged her heart. “As long as you promise whatever’s on your mind, it’s not second thoughts con­cerning your future with me.”

  “Oh, William, no,” she said, on a gush of relief for his being so understanding, kind, gentle and all-around wonderful in every sense of the word. Cupping her hands to his smooth cheeks, she said, “Yes. I have had a work project consuming me, but I can promise you two things: one, that it has nothing to do with you.”

  Unless you consider my living with an incredibly virile, hunky medieval stud to be personal.

  Shut up, conscience!

  “And, two, that you’ll know all about it very soon.”

  ***

  A long while later, still in a happy daze, Lucy shut and locked the mudroom door, then leaned against it with a contented thud. Even though her hands and toes were freezing, the meeting with William had been well worth the price of a little chill.

  She’d spent so much time with Wolfe lately that she’d forgotten how well she and the duke got along. In ways, he reminded her of her father. He was older than her, miles more responsible, planned his days down to the minute

  And had a genuine knack for being dull as a box of chalk.

  What?

  William, dull? Never! To the contrary, he was respectful and gentle.

  After covering her face with her hands, she looked up only to gasp upon finding the object of her every male fantasy looming before her. “Wolfe! You’ve gotta stop sneaking up on me like that.”

  “I would apologize” he said, voice lethally low. “But I am not in the least bit sorry.”

  “O-okay...” She angled toward the kitchen, but he pinned her right where she stood, planting his hands on either side of her against the door. Licking her lips, she asked, “What do you want? I’m tired and on my way to bed.”

  “Look at me, Lucy Gordon. Really look at me and tell me you prefer the duke’s lukewarm kisses to this.”

  He ground his lips to hers with such force that, at first, she fought him, pushing his chest, but then he softened, probing her lips apart and boldly stroking her tongue. Try though she might, she couldn’t deny his every word having been true. Compared to this carnal bliss, the duke’s kisses might as well have been saltine crackers competing with filet mignon.

  Be that as it may, she wasn’t falling for the prince’s seduction routine again. She wasn’t going to yearn for the laughter they’d once shared. She wasn’t, she wasn’t, she—

  “I cannot breathe without you, Lucy Gordon.”

  “W-what?” she asked on a gasp.

  “I need you...” He buried his face in the curve of her neck that’d been hidden by her hair. Sliding his hands down the door and onto her butt, he lifted her up, up, crushing her midsection to his, leaving no doubt as to the urgency of his need. Rock didn’t begin to describe the exquisite hardness of his package, as he urged one of her knees round his hips, then the other.

  Lucy knew this to be sheer lunacy, yet felt powerless to stop. The moist throb between her legs had taken control and the sensation was all at once terrifying, yet exhilarating.

  Yes, she would soon marry William, but if she had this one wild night with the prince, who would know? She’d already established the fact that he didn’t even really exist. Who did it hurt if she were to get it on with a man who might as well be a ghost?

  Who did it hurt?

  Lucy Gordon, are you freakin’ out of your mind?

  Arms wrapped round Wolfe’s neck, fingers buried in his hair, she indulged in one last kiss before resting her head on his shoulder and shaking her head. “No,” she said. “I’m sorry. Believe me, I’m sorry, but this just isn’t me. I can’t do this to William.”

  After abandoning her on the mudroom counter, Wolfe slammed his fist into the centuries-old plaster wall, cracking off a huge chunk. “I can no longer play these games.” Looking away from her, then back, he said, “You make me feel off balance—as if I am losing all sense of control.”

  “How do you think I feel?” she asked, tears in her eyes. “Never have I been more attracted to any man. I can’t even watch TV or do dishes or read without thinking of you. Of your fingers in my hair each morning and the taste of your kisses each night. But the fact remains that, technically, you’re living on borrowed time. Who am I to say the sorceress was wrong in putting you under this spell? Yes, you’ve given me your version of what went down, but I know what it feels like to be trashed by a guy. It hurts, Wolfe. Bad. By your own countless admissions, you’ve told me how smooth you’ve always been with the ladies. How do I know you’re not playing me right now? How do I know this isn’t the same kind of crap you pulled back in the ninth century? How do I know that once I give you what you want, you won’t soon be long gone? For that matter, ho
w do I even know you ever really were a frog?”

  Eyes narrowed, hands fisted on his slim hips, face excruciatingly handsome and fierce, he said, “You do not.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  “So?” Bonnie said in the school lunch line on Monday afternoon. Her voice barely carried above the chatter of sixty-three nine, ten and eleven-year-olds. “You excited about Saturday night?”

  Grabbing a tuna sandwich and green blob of Jell-O, Lucy said, “I guess.”

  “What do you mean, you guess? What if this is the big night?” Grabbing a brownie and baggie of peanut butter cookies, Bonnie asked, “What if the duke finally proposes? You’ll be a real live duchess, and then I have to start bowing and stuff when I’m in your noble presence.”

  “Whatever.” Lucy headed to a table in an especially gloomy comer of the room. Outside, as usual, rain pelted the windows. “And next they’ll make me queen.”

  “Stranger things could happen.”

  Ignoring her friend, Lucy collapsed onto her seat. Though her conference papers were nearly done, Wolfe’s black cloud loomed over her every waking and sleeping thought. She’d started having vivid dreams of him, howling with pain at the moment of his change. What would it be like? It had to hurt changing from such a big guy into a tiny frog.

  Worse, it was a pain easily avoided with just three small words. I love you.

  Trouble was, she didn’t love him.

  Oh, sure, he was great fun to hang out with. Have popcorn fights with while watching movies and talking and laughing, and she’d certainly loved his cooking for her and cleaning and washing her face and fixing her hair, but none of that equaled love, did it? None of that began to rival the all-out jubilation she’d feel upon hearing that deafening roar of applause after she made her WBC presentation.

  Applause gained from his pain.

  Squeezing her eyes shut, Lucy pressed her fingers to her temples.

  This was madness.

  All day, all night, this constant circular logic. When would it end? Sure, she’d told herself it would end right after the conference, but then what? She knew better than anyone the hours of poking and prodding Wolfe would next be subjected to. It wasn’t as if she could just release him back to his pond with a final bittersweet kiss. And what happened when other scientists discovered he wouldn’t die of old age? What happened when he’d outlived them all? Would they treat him like some sort of freak frog and set him up in a nice terrarium suite at the Smithsonian?

  “Lucy?” Bonnie put her hand on her arm. “Need me to get you some aspirin?”

  “No, thanks.” Blinking back tears, Lucy looked up. “I’m fine.”

  “No, you’re not. Maybe you should go home? Get some sleep?”

  “I can’t just leave my class.”

  “Me and the rest of the crew’ll cover for you. Go on. Limp over to the office and sign out.”

  Nodding, Lucy put her hand over Bonnie’s. “Thanks. Maybe I’ll have aspirin and a nap.”

  “Either that, or a half-dozen margaritas. Whatever your pleasure.” When Lucy laughed, Bonnie said, “There’s our girl. I thought we’d lost you.”

  Lucy shook her head. “Just have a lot on my mind.”

  After taking a quick glance at her watch, Bonnie said, “I’ve still got fifteen minutes, if you want to talk.”

  If only she could share her dilemma about Wolfe. But who would believe such a fantastic tale? That said, properly disguised, what could it hurt to get a little female perspective on at least the broader points of this multilayered dilemma? “Let’s say you’d been looking for a fancy goldfish you wanted more than anything in the world. But when you found him, you were so excited that you kissed him, and then he turned into a dog.”

  Frowning, Bonnie said, “Go on, I’m sort of following.”

  “Okay, so say you already had a dog you loved a whole lot, but the apartment you were staying in only allowed one dog, and so you had to choose between them.”

  “What happened to the fish?”

  “Oh—if you don’t tell him you love him by the next full moon, he turns back into a fish, at which point, you could have your fish and your old dog, but you wouldn’t have your new dog, who you really started to enjoy a whole lot—like more than you ever thought it was possible to like a dog, and—”

  “Lucy?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I really do think you should go home. Pretty sure you have a fever.”

  “You think?”

  Bonnie answered with a solemn nod.

  Oh, Lucy knew she had a fever all right—frog fever.

  But as she entered the cottage that afternoon, it was to the heavenly smell of Wolfe’s beef stroganoff and the lilting strains of Aida playing on the kitchen radio.

  “You are home early.” He rounded the kitchen corner to land an all-too-brief kiss to her cheek. “I missed you.”

  Eyebrows raised, alarm bells ringing, she said, “I, um, missed you, too.” She eased her school bag and purse onto the mudroom bench. “Not that I’m complaining, but what’s up with your good mood? You’ve hardly talked to me in days.”

  Stirring his sauce, he shrugged. “I have no wish want to spend my last days of life scowling.”

  “These aren’t your last days,” she said, somehow talking past the sob lying in wait to make a mockery of her words. “Have you forgotten the fact that you have a whole new life ahead of you? Lounging around in the warm sun all day...”More like the cold fluorescent glare of a lab. “You know, just hanging around. No work and all play.” Yeah—playing with electrodes and test tubes. Turning away from him, she swiped a few stupid, sentimental tears.

  For a so-called scientist, she had the intes­tinal fortitude of pond scum!

  Removing the sauce from the stove, setting it on a stainless steel trivet, Wolfe said in a remarkably calm tone, “If you believe my life as a frog was a mere frolic, Lucy Gordon, either you are daft or intentionally blind. Since I know you to not be the former, it must be the latter that has you afflicted. For you see,” he narrowed his dark eyes to menacing slits, “I neither had fun, nor eternal life. Aye, I will live forever, assuming I steer clear of those who would eat me...” He crept closer. “But have you ever found true sleep, knowing a predator with glowing eyes lurked mere inches away—close enough to smell the putrid rot of his last meal on his breath? Have you ever spent the entirety of your seasons in the out-of-doors? Cold, always cold, no matter how hot the sun. Aye, Lucy Gordon. What I have to look forward to is a grand time, indeed.”

  Mouth dry, pulse at its usual gallop whenever he was around, she managed, “E-even if I said right now that I loved you, Wolfe, since it wouldn’t be true, what makes you think your curse would be broken? You look at me as if I have a choice in the matter, but I don’t.”

  Liar!

  Falling for this man would be embarrassingly easy—which only proved the sorceress’s point. He was no good for women—especially formerly gullible women such as herself.

  “Look,” she pressed her hands to the wall of his chest, unwittingly making herself one with the powerful beat of his heart. “You’ll never know how sorry I am about all of this.”

  Evidently just not sorry enough to put her own selfish wants ahead of his.

  But then why didn’t she deserve a little happiness? All her life, compared to her high and mighty father, she’d been a second-class citizen. Now, was her time to shine.

  Yeah, but at Wolfe’s expense?

  Ugh—she’d said it herself, even if she proclaimed her love for him—without that love being true, there was nothing she could do to help.

  What about the two of you exploring a real future?

  Right.

  Even if Lucy fell for him, the second Wolfe discovered himself one hundred percent mortal, he’d dump her for a supermodel, then—

  “Are you sorry?”

  “Huh?” She jerked her gaze up, up, up to his.

  “Are you truly sorry about not being able to love me?”

/>   Swallowing hard, gazing into features so handsome she’d have had to have been a poet rather than a scientist to adequately describe him, she somehow found the courage to nod. Oh, she was sorry all right. Sorry she wasn’t the kind of woman he would truly find attractive. Sorry they couldn’t have met under different circumstances. Sorry she’d ever kissed him at all.

  “Want to play Scrabble or eat?”

  “Just like that?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Don’t you want to talk more?”

  Expression unfathomably sad, he shook his head. “With whatever time I have left, I would much rather live.”

  And live they did.

  Starting with eating dinner and playing Scrabble. Far from the first time they’d played, Wolfe had become amazingly competent. When she asked him about it, he admitted to having practiced. From Scrabble, they moved on to popcorn and TV, along with a spirited debate on the Monday night bonus episode of Survivor Moon—he cheered on Team North Star, while she was for Team Jupiter. From there, they companionably washed dishes, their movements in the kitchen orchestrated like those of an old married couple.

  Swishing a hot rag about a glass while Wolfe picked up the remnants of their latest popcorn battle, Lucy considered a life spent with Wolfe as opposed to William.

  For one, she probably wouldn’t be doing much more housework. A good thing. But then at times like these, when you did chores together, it wasn’t all bad. Caring for the fork Wolfe had put to his tongue, curving her fingers round the glass he’d held to his lips.

  Her lips tingling from the mere thought of pressing against Wolfe’s, she switched her mental topics to other differences, like his love of games and TV.

  William rarely watched TV. When he did, it was either one of the public-service channels or something hoity-toity like an economic lecture or a documentary on the collapse of the Roman Empire. As for games, she wasn’t even sure he owned any. He was so busy all day, probably when he got home, he preferred to chill. With him, she’d no doubt spend quiet nights in front of a crackling fire reading or just talking about their days.

  When they had children, what kind of father would he be? Like his own father, would he insist their children be shipped off to proper boarding schools such as the one where she taught? Would he demand the kind of perfect mini-adult children who were to be seen and not heard?