Downtime

by Tamara Allen

  “My two favorite nobblers,” he said cheerfully as we approached. “Henry wasn’t half hopping when he came in. Swore up and down his life was in danger.” The grin nearly split his face. “What the devil did you do to him, Morgan?”

  “Less than he deserved.” As Derry slid over, I sat beside him. “Did he bother to mention he was there when Whitby was arrested? And he didn’t make the first effort to find out about the book.”

  Derry looked at Ezra, who nodded. “I do believe Morgan intended to punch him in the nose.”

  “You wouldn’t be the first with that yearning,” Derry said.

  “Yeah, no surprise there.” I looked around at the flowers that poured from every available spot. “You did all this?”

  “Aye, with Kathleen and Ezra’s help. Care to take some roses home with you? To remember us by.”

  “I don’t think I’m in any danger of forgetting you.” I caught Ezra’s eye and he merely smiled. “Thanks for offering, but I’ve already put history at enough of a risk.”

  Ezra sat on a bench tucked against the arbor wall. “What harm could a few rose petals cause?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe nineteenth-century aphids are a hardier breed. I don’t intend to find out.”

  A firm tread on the path drew our attention. Derry snatched up the coat he’d left on the ground and hastily shook it out as Kathleen appeared. She greeted us with a nod before handing over a crisp, white envelope to Ezra. “This came for you earlier. Derry, Henry stormed past me a moment ago without a word. What have you done to him?”

  Derry laughed aloud, then struggled guiltily to contain himself. “Oh Kath, it’s only what he’s done to himself. And that’s all it ever is, you know.”

  “Did something occur at the museum to warrant this behavior?” Kathleen inquired, turning to Ezra when it was clear she wasn’t going to get the facts from Derry.

  “I’m afraid so. Kathleen, I’m sorry—”

  “Never you mind,” she said, her glance skimming ripe with suspicion over me. “Don’t stay out too late, gentlemen. It’s damp.”

  Derry flashed me a rueful smirk behind her back. When she’d gone inside, he reached under the bench and hauled out a slim black bottle. Tugging out the cork, he took a long drink, then passed it to me. “Just the thing for warding off the damp.”

  I took a swig. Whiskey, strong enough to make my eyes water. Ezra hardly took any notice as he broke the seal on the envelope and removed the card inside. Both Derry and I saw the uneasy look that crossed his face.

  Derry leaned forward. “An invitation, is it?”

  “Yes. Adelaide Marchmont wanted us to dinner, Henry and I. Henry accepted, of course. I suppose she sent an invitation to make sure I would come along.”

  “The duchess, no less. Bravo, my boy.” Derry said it in a teasing way, and Ezra gave him a reproving but good-humored look.

  “Yes, it is always a privilege to be the night’s entertainment in the best households.”

  I passed the bottle to Ezra. “Skip it. Don’t go.”

  “Henry’s rather already promised.” He took a drink and passed the bottle back to Derry. “It really isn’t so terrible. They’re quite amused by it all.” He turned the card absently in his hands. “I suppose I should answer this. I think I shall say good night to you gentlemen.”

  “Why does he do it, Derry?” I asked when Ezra had gone inside.

  “He wouldn’t say no to them that’s asked for his aid.”

  “The ghosts?” I clarified with a snort.

  Derry smiled. “The ghosts.”

  He invited me to bunk with him and, aware of the temptation I wanted to avoid where Ezra was concerned, I took him up on it. But when he’d drifted off to sleep, I slumped down against the pillows, wakeful and half-wishing I’d bunked with Ezra again.

  “Sully, you there?” I whispered and glanced up at the moonlit wallpaper, almost expecting to see his shadow large upon it. Maybe he was hanging out with Ez, and the two of them were having a chat about me. I shuddered at the thought. Ezra didn’t need any more ammunition to skewer me with.

  Putting thoughts of Ezra and sex out of my head—the latter a little more of a challenge—I burrowed into the pillow and tried to sleep. I succeeded for a couple of hours and woke thirsty—and a little hungry, to boot. At home, that would’ve meant a beer and a slice of cold pizza. I went downstairs, less bothered by the dark now that I more or less knew my way around, and hit the kitchen, hoping for pie. My foraging was interrupted by a wisp of a figure in a white nightdress standing in the curtained doorway of the pantry.

  “Are you wanting some supper, sir?”

  I greeted her with a grin. “Hey, kiddo. Don’t suppose there’s any leftover pizza in here?” At her bewildered look, I shook my head. “A sandwich? Or pie. Something I won’t have to cook.”

  “You won’t have to cook, sir.”

  “Something you won’t have to cook, either.”

  “Pie,” she said gravely, and went to a shelf. The pies were covered with cloth. Removing one, she brought it to the table along with a plate.

  “You going to have a piece too?” I asked as she cut a generous slice.

  She seemed surprised by the question. “Oh no, sir. I’ve had supper.”

  “Oh. I thought you were looking for something to eat.”

  She handed me the plate. “No, sir. I heard a noise. Thought it might be the cat prowling the pantry.”

  “You heard it from upstairs?”

  “No, sir. From bed.”

  “Your bed? Where do you sleep, under the kitchen table?”

  She giggled. “No, sir. In there. Other side of the scullery.” She nodded toward a door off the kitchen.

  “Really? Mind if I see?”

  “You want to see me bed?” A shadow of anxiety crossed her face.

  I didn’t like her thinking of me as some sort of pervert stalking her, and I wasn’t going to let her go on thinking it. “I don’t want to do anything that makes you uncomfortable, kiddo. I was just curious to see what your room’s like, that’s all.”

  She seemed puzzled. “It ain’t much to see, sir. You can look at it, as you like.” She led me back to a room filled with pails and a mop and various other cleaning supplies, but no bed. Another doorway led to a tiny room with a single window looking out upon the back garden. A narrow bed with a white iron frame stood in the corner, a wooden table with a white porcelain bowl tucked in another corner. Painfully spare understated it.

  “Where do you keep your clothes?”

  The window seat was hinged, and she opened one side of it. Inside was a neatly folded dress much like I’d seen her wearing the day before, a couple of aprons, a shawl, and a straw hat. “What do you keep in the other one?” I asked, as she shut the seat.

  “I couldn’t tell you that, sir,” she said, turning red.

  I caught on. “So I guess I woke you up? I’m sorry, Hannah. I didn’t know you were in here.”

  “It’s all right, sir. Gentlemen often come downstairs at night. For a bite to eat,” she added hastily.

  I knew that wary look. “Don’t let any of them bother you too much, sweetheart. Including me.” I grinned at her. “Thanks for the pie. Go on back to bed. I’ll clean up after myself.”

  She’d check to make sure I did, but I couldn’t blame her for that, after witnessing Kathleen’s relentless housekeeping. Finishing my pie, I washed the plate and put it away. Going back to bed had only marginal appeal, but it was too early to be up. I was on the stairs when I heard the soft plink of piano keys coming from the parlor.

  I had a good idea who was practicing his scales at two in the morning. I listened for a few minutes from the shadow of the doorway. He could play, the show-off. I didn’t recognize the piece, some classical thing, but he knew what he was doing. Suspecting I could come into the room and he still wouldn’t notice, I gave it a shot. Ez stayed lost in his thoughts, and they didn’t seem to be pleasant ones.

  I leaned over to take
a look at the sheet music. “Brahms. That’s the best you can do?”

  At my comment he looked up, and a tired smile lifted his lips. “Wagner did not seem appropriate before sunrise. You’re having trouble sleeping here, aren’t you?”

  I shrugged. “It’s taking a little getting used to. Being shuffled from bed to bed doesn’t exactly help.”

  He nodded soberly. “I do realize. However, I cannot offer anyone’s bed but my own for the remainder of the time you’re with us.”

  I was ready to take him up on it, despite all temptations. I sat on the piano bench and he slid over a couple of inches to accommodate me. The keys were yellowed and I realized they must be ivory. Ezra folded his hands in his lap, watching me with the smile still on his lips. “You can play?”

  “Sure.”

  I gave my knuckles a good crack and, finding middle C, plunged into your basic rendition of Chopsticks. The ivory keys took a different sort of push than the gleaming plastic on my mom’s piano, but I got through the piece without making too much racket.

  Ezra’s eyes shone, lips twitching. “My dear fellow. That was quite wonderful.”

  Despite his amusement, he sounded awfully sincere. Trying to spare my feelings, I figured. “Yeah, right. I’m a regular Mozart. So come on. Let’s see what you can do.” I knew he could play rings around me. I just wanted him to relax a little before I got tough and made him go upstairs to get some sleep. Keeping the sorcerer sane and alert was as important as finding the magic that would get me home.

  Ezra tried again to swallow a grin and failed utterly this time. “I shall do my best. But I fear it will not compare.”

  He played the Brahms with a wistful quality that had me sinking into my own thoughts, homesickness coming back. Shaking it off, I distracted myself by settling my attention on him. His smile had faded, and blue eyes dark with the intensity of his concentration scanned the sheet music only intermittently. He knew the piece by heart and he put his heart into it. In the silence following the final notes, we sat without talking, until finally he let out a breath and fixed me with a concerned gaze. “I’m keeping you up.”

  Pushing to my feet, I plucked at his sleeve. “Come on. We’re going to get you to sleep.”

  Concern turned to uneasiness. “And what miracle do you have in your bag of tricks to accomplish that?”

  “I’ve had insomnia from time to time. I know all the tricks there are.”

  “Really?” He didn’t sound convinced as we started up the stairs. “You don’t intend to mesmerize me, do you?”

  “Haven’t I already?”

  I heard a soft snort behind me and took that as an affirmative. I thought I had him thinking about something besides ghosts, but back in the room, he eyed the bed as if he half-expected it to lurch up off the floor and eat him alive. He took his time getting into his nightshirt. When he finally climbed under the quilt, he remained sitting, his arms wrapped over his knees. I hit him lightly with a pillow. “You planning to sleep ever again?”

  “I did sleep. Last night.”

  “Oh yeah, that’s right. You’re good for a few weeks, then.”

  The pensive look melted into a smile. He lay down and clasped his hands over his chest, seeming as ready for sleep as Rip Van Winkle after a hundred-year nap. “Whatever you intend, do be quick and merciful about it.”

  “You kids today, you want everything now, now, now.” I tucked the pillow behind me. “Okay. Close your eyes.”

  “You are the oddest duck,” he murmured, but followed my instruction.

  That was a nervy statement, coming from him. Letting it pass, I laid a hand on his shoulder. “Take a deep breath and try to relax. What we’re going to do is get your imagination to work for you instead of against you.”

  “Think to cure me of this madness, do you?”

  Under the humor in his voice ran the faintest thread of desperation. I gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “You just need a little rest. Lack of sleep does weird things to the brain.”

  I could feel the tension in the muscles under my hand. I did know one certain cure for insomnia, and it was damned tempting to share it. But as willingly as my own imagination encouraged me to take advantage of Ezra’s vulnerability to seduce the hell out of him, something else in me balked. The guy was engaged. Maybe he shouldn’t be, but he was. And if I wrecked that, I couldn’t predict what effect that would have on his life, let alone how it could affect things historically.

  Redirecting my libido with the promise of a hot bath in the morning, I focused on getting Ezra to sleep. “I want you to picture a meadow on a hillside. Flowers, clouds, sunshine. The whole bit. And in the meadow is a flock of sheep.”

  He cocked an eye at me. “How many?”

  “Close your eyes. Now, imagine a fence, wood, about three feet high. Got it? The sheep have to jump the fence to get back home. You’re going to count them one by one—”

  “You’re not serious.”

  “Give it a shot, okay?” I moved my hand off his shoulder, a little too aware of the effects of physical contact. “Putting bedmates to sleep is not my specialty, but I’m making an exception in your case. Now close your eyes, my little shepherd, and count.”

  After another dubious look at me, he did so, and was sound asleep in all of ten seconds. I didn’t kid myself that counting sheep had actually done the trick. He was exhausted, despite his anxiety. He’d just needed to lie down and close his eyes. Satisfied that he was out for the night, I slumped back and gratefully closed my own eyes. When I woke, he was already up and gone.

  Chapter 9

  Still half asleep, I felt for my watch and remembered it was busted. I needed a new one. I could barely keep track of the day, date, and century; I sure as hell was going to keep track of time. Sliding out of bed, I headed for the bathroom, to find it occupied. At my knock, Ezra opened the door to let me in and the hot bath I’d thought I might have to indulge in became an absolute necessity. He had just bathed, himself, and stood in the patch of sunlight pouring through the curtains as he toweled himself dry. The play of lean muscle across his back made me suck in a slow breath, all too aware of the effect he was having on my own anatomy. He turned around and I risked another peek, to get an eyeful of one well-proportioned physique, a chest lightly covered with brown hair that faded away at a smooth stomach not yet softened by Kathleen’s cooking, and… damn. Talk about well-proportioned. I got barely a glimpse before the towel obscured the view, but it was enough to make me want to see more.

  And I wanted to do a whole lot more than see.

  Wondering why the hell I was torturing myself, I turned back to the tub and, peeling off the nightshirt, submerged myself before I passed out on the tile. Surfacing, I blew out a breath and opened my eyes to a wet veil of hair.

  “Morgan.”

  I pushed the hair out of my eyes. Ezra was sitting on the rim of the tub. He’d wrapped the towel around himself just a little too late to be of any help. Fighting the inclination to pull him down into the water with me, I put on what I hoped looked like a nonchalant grin. “Got any bubble bath?”

  I wondered if it was possible to keel over dead from too many thwarted erections. It was fast becoming a real concern. Ezra, if he noticed this time, revealed no sign of it in his cheerful smile as he produced the straight razor and mug. Realizing what he was going to ask, I hastily assured him I could handle the shave on my own. He tilted his head, a dubious twist to his mouth. “Are you certain? I don’t mind—”

  “It’s no problem.” And it wasn’t. Shaving, anyway. Taking the mug and razor from him at that particular moment would be a bit of a challenge. Luckily, he left it behind for me, along with a towel, before he left me to my bath; me and an erection aching for more than a few quick strokes in a lonely tub. Not about to test the theory that suffering is good for the soul, I temporarily tamed the need and, shaving without inflicting too much damage to my skin, dressed and went down to breakfast.

  Henry was hidden from view behin
d the newspaper and Kathleen was at the stove, both giving me no more than a glance as I slid into the seat between Derry and Ezra. Judging from the glum faces and the silence all around, Henry had decided to focus his annoyance on everyone this morning. As for Kathleen, I suspected she was none too pleased at the discord going on in her house. Of course it was my fault Henry was in a snit, since I’d scared the pants off the asshole yesterday, but I sure as hell wasn’t about to apologize for it.

  Ezra silently passed me the biscuits, along with a rueful look. I shrugged. Attempted guilt trips brought out the obstinate side of me. While people who knew me, including Sully, had always felt that described every side of me, the fact remained. Henry was a jerk who didn’t deserve the power they gave him. I decided to usurp it.