Time Twist

by Jeanie R. Davis

  She felt his blue eyes penetrating deep into her soul as he placed both hands on her shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. “Did you hear me, Ari? I do not want to frighten you, but I believe Mr. Somers is a dangerous man.”

  “Dangerous man? You know him?”

  “Let’s just say that Mr. Somers has a reputation, and if the rumors are true, he has committed numerous crimes in the past. Promise me, Ari.”

  She shuddered. The room began to spin. “Yes. Okay, I promise.”

  “You look pale. I have frightened you.” Christopher’s voice softened into concern. “I wish you would resign from this project.”

  She shook her head. “I can’t. I’m too close to the end, and nobody else is available to take my place.” Her voice wobbled.

  “Just as I thought you would say. You’re certainly no quitter.” He patted her leg. “Have you eaten today?” Ari hadn’t realized until he asked, that, no, she hadn’t eaten. His lips curved into a lopsided grin as he brushed a thumb along her jawbone. “It is a wonder you have survived without me. I’ll fix you some lunch.”

  She caught a whiff of his masculine scent and tamped down the flicker that threatened to burst into flame. “It should be me offering to feed you. Especially after you rushed over here to help.”

  Before the words were out of her mouth, Christopher had left her side and began rummaging through the kitchen. He set to work making sandwiches. “You don’t have much in the way of, well, food. Your refrigerator is nearly bare. It looks like the choices are peanut butter and jelly, or whatever this is.” He held up a bag of old sandwich meat.

  “Um, that’s a tough one, but I guess I’ll take peanut butter.”

  “Good choice.” His vibrant personality inched its way back, threatening to break through the wall she’d begun to build.

  He brought the sandwiches over, along with a couple of glasses of milk, and sat down beside her again. “I hope it is all right if I stay for a bit. I don’t feel comfortable with Mr. Somers roaming your neighborhood.”

  Relief washed over her. She was more than okay with him staying. She felt safe with him. It hadn’t only been the magnetism between them she’d missed since they had ended things; she’d missed their friendship, as well. “Thank you. I don’t think I’d realized how my encounter with that man affected me. He’s really sort of creepy.”

  Once they’d polished off the last of the sandwiches, she began gathering the trash and glasses. “I’ve got it, Ari. You stay put.” He winked as he extracted the items from her hands.

  Wicked wink. She let out a sigh.

  After cleaning up, he sat back down on the sofa. He looked over at Ari, whose eyes drooped from lack of sleep the night before. He tugged on her arm. “You look tired.”

  “I didn’t really sleep last night. I’ve been worried about Sarah. Then Mr. Somers’ impromptu”—she shrugged—“well, you know.”

  He shook his head. “Mr. Somers crossed the line. You could use a nap.” He picked up a decorative pillow that had fallen onto the floor and handed it to her. She looked at him, wondering what she should do with the pillow—he took up a good portion of the sofa. She plunked it down on his lap and laid her head on top of it. He smiled down at her.

  Supported by his muscular legs beneath her, she felt safe and secure as he draped a protective arm over her.

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  It seemed as if only seconds had passed before Christopher felt Arianna relax into the pillow on his lap. Her breathing slow and even now, he knew she’d fallen asleep. Good. She needed to rest. How ironic it was that his father could torture him through the treatment of his designer. Careful not to wake her, he wove his fingers through her hair, allowing himself to enjoy the sensation. She stirred. He let the tresses fall back into place.

  Scanning the room, his eyes settled on a book within reach. As he picked it up and began to read, he chuckled softly to himself at the irony of the words. He examined the title. Sure enough, it was one of Arianna’s romance novels from the 1800s—his era. After reading a couple of chapters, he turned the book around to see what year it had been published. It was certainly not Jane Austen. He wondered when his era became romantic. This was not the way he remembered it.

  He continued reading about dukes and duchesses, forbidden love between classes of people, balls and duels.

  Funny, it mentioned nothing about the extreme poverty much of England had been experiencing, nor the countless broken men returning from the never-ending wars. And the romance. He shook his head. Hardly. Couples were united as business transactions. A man’s fortune was matched to a woman’s dowry. That is how it was. Plain and simple. No romance in that.

  He reflected bitterly about a young girl he had been quite smitten with before he’d left for Cambridge University. He’d been certain he would marry Rachel Cartwright. Smart, pretty—and poor. But then he’d been given the talk about making a prudent match. “She is well below our station, son. You are the grandson of nobility.” His father’s words still sizzled in his ears.

  How very low their station had fallen. And his dear father’s station, Christopher scowled, would be among the prisoners at Newgate Prison, had they remained in London.

  Still, he found it fascinating to read about the perception of how things had been through the eyes of an author living two hundred years later.

  He guessed it was not entirely incorrect. After all, if Father’s scientific inventions had been a success, instead of a failure, their lives might have turned out very different.

  The thought took Christopher back to a happier time. His life centuries past—yet, in real time, less than a decade ago. His grandfather had been an earl, and his father, Benjamin Somerset, had been the third of his grandfather’s sons, therefore not eligible to inherit the title. Grandfather was a kind and generous man. Christopher remembered him with tenderness.

  While Grandfather Somerset could only pass his title to his eldest son, Robert, he had ensured the comfort of his other two by providing large estates for each. Christopher remembered the home and gardens with fondness. He’d spent many a day riding his horse, hunting and studying with his tutor.

  He even remembered his parents being kind and loving. Their marriage had been arranged, just as others of his time, but Christopher had grown up believing his parents loved each other. Maybe that happened over time.

  He had once adored his father. A brilliant scientist and inventor, who could do no wrong in Christopher’s young eyes. And his mother, a paragon of patience, had indulged her spouse in his need to create.

  Images of a happy childhood, interrupted briefly by the loss of two sisters—one at birth, another around the age of three—replayed in his mind. The deaths had taken a heavy toll on Mother, but the passage of time and the addition of two more healthy babies had helped her pick up the pieces and move on. It wasn’t until Father’s inventions had begun failing more often than not that he’d become a different man.

  Christopher had overheard many arguments as his mother tried to reason with her husband. Her pleas had fallen on deaf ears. In the end, Father had turned his attention to the bottle and tuned his wife out. Still working on his inventions, he’d become something akin to a mad scientist. Christopher, his mother, and siblings had learned to stay out of his way to avoid his rages.

  The reality of his family’s situation jolted him, erasing any warm feelings he’d just experienced. Arianna shivered, as if reacting to his thoughts. Perhaps she was reliving her own encounter with his monster of a father. He tugged on the afghan draped over the arm of the sofa, and gently covered her.

  The colors in the blanket reminded him of something from his youth. He closed his eyes to remember. An antique vase came to mind. He smiled at the memory of yellows, blues, and pinks, forming a floral design. As a young boy, he’d been captivated by it, and would stare until the design blurred into a kaleidoscope of color. “’Tis a Qing Dynasty vase, son,” Mother had told him. “Very fragile. ’Twas a wedding gift
from your grandfather.”

  The sweet memory soured as he envisioned the rare vase being ripped from Mother’s fingers, boxed up and sent away to pay creditors. The first of many treasures his family lost before he’d left for Cambridge.

  The eviction had happened while Christopher had been away at school. He’d received a missive from his uncle insisting he return home immediately. Confusion had given way to alarm when he’d arrived and witnessed Father’s change of character. He had become a completely different person. Kicked out of their country estate and forced to live in a townhouse on London’s east side, he’d spend his days in the bookroom, where no one else had been allowed; his evenings in public houses, drinking himself into a stupor—a frustrated, bitter man. When Christopher had tried speaking to him about the situation, it had only served to aggravate things further.

  Then had come the final blow. Christopher’s once loving father had planned something illegal. Christopher had become aware of the scheme because Father had needed his help. He shuddered at the memory of his father’s contemptuous expression when Christopher had refused to help. It still haunted him. He realized he should have taken action then, but he’d doubted Father would truly go through with the deed. Now here he was, a nineteenth century man living in the twenty-first century, fighting to protect a family separated from him.

  And sweet Sarah. She would have had her London debut and would likely be married by now. But instead of enjoying a coming out event; instead of donning a ball gown and hearing admiration whispered about; and instead of being sought after by gentlemen of the ton—London Society—Sarah had been locked away in a tawdry house as if she’d done something wrong.

  Anger began to rise in Christopher’s chest. He took a deep breath, then reprimanded himself. He must stop reliving the past. There was nothing he could do to change it. His focus must be on the future. He pulled himself out of his dark thoughts and returned his attention to the book. He continued to read, shaking his head in amusement.

  Still asleep, Arianna turned over from her side to her back. Christopher looked down at her peaceful face in his lap. Her long lashes, perfect nose and full lips made his pulse quicken. “Arianna,” he barely whispered, “I may never have you as my own, but you will always have my heart.” He moved an errant lock of hair away from her eyes and continued to gaze at her. “This, my dear, would go against all propriety where I come from.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Arianna opened her eyes, peering up to see if Christopher had fallen asleep, too. She realized he had picked up the book she’d been reading earlier and seemed to be quite entertained by it.

  “You’re reading my book?” she asked in a sleepy voice.

  He smiled down at her. “Indeed I am.”

  “What’s so funny?” She pulled herself up.

  He held the paperback up. “This book is funny.” Mirth danced in his eyes.

  “It’s a historical romance, not a comedy.” She feigned a pout.

  “I am aware of that.”

  “Then what’s so funny about it?”

  Christopher put the book down and looked at her. His smile became lopsided, then flattened. “What is funny is the way this book describes the era, as if it were all rolling hills and romance. When, in reality, much of war-wearied England lived in poverty.”

  Arianna frowned. “Well, that wouldn’t be very romantic to read.”

  “No, but much more realistic.” His dimples puckered as his grin returned.

  “You act like you were there. How do you know there hadn’t been budding romances all over London? With all the ‘Coming Out’ balls, and those beautiful gowns they wore, and—”

  Christopher laughed out loud. “Do you truly believe those things to be romantic?”

  “Why not? The books make them sound romantic.” She shrugged. “If you’re such an expert, why don’t you tell me about the real London?”

  “Well, for one thing, the women do not—rather, did not continuously smell of lavender,” he said. “In fact, unless they were among the privileged royal, most went days and even weeks without bathing”—he cleared his throat—“back then, of course. So, you can only imagine what a lady smelled like. Add to that layers and layers of undergarments, and the gown. Then put her in a sweltering ballroom.” He shook his head. “Those lacy fans they carried in their reticules weren’t just for show. No, all the rosewater and lavender in the world couldn’t make even the most delicate debutante smell pretty.”

  Ari narrowed her eyes. For not being a Regency Era fan, he sure knew a lot about the time.

  Christopher continued, “Then there were the men. Most of them spent their days performing physical labor, or riding horses—if they were lucky—so they smelled even worse.”

  Arianna giggled as she pictured the ladies and gentlemen of her favorite era smelling bad. “Well, I like the way the book describes it better.” She pulled it from his hands.

  “Hey, I’m not finished reading.” He grabbed it back.

  “This book is for people with an appreciation of history.” She reached for it again, but he held it away from her.

  “Oh, I can assure you, my dear, I do appreciate history; however, this”—he held up the book—“is not history.” She grabbed at it, but instead caught his arm. He held it higher and with his free arm captured hers. She wriggled and they both tumbled to the floor. She continued in vain to try to wrestle the book out of his hands. Finally, Christopher pinned her down, the book forgotten.

  Only inches apart and staring into each other’s eyes, Arianna felt his warm breath on her cheeks. She saw longing in his eyes and knew he saw the same mirrored in hers. Longing they had both tried so hard to suppress now held them captive.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Neither moved. Christopher’s gaze dropped to her lips. It would be so easy to kiss her right now. Desire drew him in like a magnet. Perhaps ladies of his era smelled unpleasant, but not Ari. She smelled like tropical shampoo and orange blossoms. Irresistible.

  She held perfectly still. His eyes left her lips and probed her eyes—her earnest, blue eyes. Had she forgiven him his poor behavior from weeks ago? Would kissing her now be taking advantage of her during a moment of vulnerability?

  He released her from his grip. “I apologize; I seem to let my emotions get the better of me sometimes.” He began to stand.

  “It’s not your fault. I wasn’t exactly running away.” Ari touched her face, probably an attempt to cover the blush which had bloomed. “I only wish things could be different between us,” she added softly.

  “As do I.” Christopher extended his hand to help her up. “As do I.”

  Her phone buzzed. “I’d better get that.” She moved to the table and answered.

  “Hi Jason, what’s up?” She paused. “Maggie’s in labor? Now?” Glancing around the room, she walked out of sight, then came back to the table, notebook in hand. “I don’t have any scheduled deliveries until Wednesday, and I can bring my laptop so I can work from Denver. Tell Maggie I’ll leave right away.”

  Overhearing the conversation, Christopher was relieved Arianna would be away for a while. He didn’t trust his father and couldn’t be around to protect her all the time.

  “Bye, Jason. See you soon.” She turned back to face Christopher. “Maggie’s in labor.” Her face split into a huge grin.

  “I heard. You’d better pack some things. Sounds like you need to get on the road.”

  Ari seemed hesitant to leave him. Her smile faltered. “Christopher, thank you for coming today. I don’t know what I would have done without you.” She shivered, and he knew she was thinking about his father.

  He closed the gap between them as he pulled her into his arms, inhaling her orange blossom sweetness. “It is never a problem.” He didn’t want to release her. She made no move to end the embrace, either. Finally, he talked himself into letting her go. Loosening his grip, he kissed her lightly on her forehead.

  Her hand lingered in his. Longing sh
one in her eyes. “I should—”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll see myself out.”

  As she disappeared into her bedroom to pack, Christopher headed for the door. Just then he caught sight of her keys. They sat in a glass dish on a table near the door. Checking to make sure she couldn’t see him, he rummaged through the loose keys until he found one marked “Somers.” He quietly slipped it into his pocket. He’d just borrow it to make a copy and return it later. He knew he could easily pick the lock to her apartment to replace it. The old building was woefully out of date where locks were concerned. The Somers’ house, however, with its advanced alarm system required a key and a code to enter. Perhaps this sort of activity made him more like his father than he realized. The thought gave him pause. No. He needed to save innocent people from his father. If borrowing Ari’s key to do it helped, so be it.

  Leaving her apartment, he aimed his car south, toward his family’s house, then realized it was too late to begin a search that night. He’d rather not turn lights on and arouse suspicion, should anyone happen by. Making a U-turn, he drove to the nearest hardware store to make a copy of the key. Once he was certain Ari had left for Denver, he picked her lock and replaced the original. Arianna had told Jason she would be in Denver until Wednesday. That gave him three days to scour the house from top to bottom searching for the device.

  At first light he made his way to the Somers’ home, armed with determination. Fate had dealt him a stroke of luck, to be sure. Before sliding the key into the lock, he punched numbers on the alarm pad. He’d seen Ari disarm it once and knew immediately why his father had chosen the numbers he had. “One, seven, five, nine,” he said as he pushed each digit. Father’s birth-year.

  Upon entering the house, he was struck by how much Arianna had accomplished over the past few weeks. Amazing. His heart warmed at the thought of her. He hoped Father had been generous with his praise, although he doubted it. Father had always been stingy with compliments. “Well, I will say it aloud. Arianna, you are one talented designer. This house looks incredible.” He hoped one day to tell her in person.