TemptressofTime

by Dee Brice

Everything came flooding back. How she’d hated Arnaud for having so many women. Knowing he would never bow to her demand, she’d plotted to destroy them. If they refused to leave when ordered by the countess, she would burn them out—them and their bastards. The vitriol she’d felt then almost choked her now.

  Meg’s hand covering her own drew her away from the edge of self-loathing. As if she’d shared that vision in the Gypsy’s crystal ball, Meg said, “That fire never happened. The Days lived long lives and died content, surrounded by their children and grandchildren—even great-great-grandchildren.” With a brief squeeze of Diane’s fingers, she added, “Your compassion saved them all.”

  Beyond that Diane remembered little more.

  She supposed she’d remained because she’d had more to learn. Or maybe she’d stayed in order to recognize these people—lovers and friends—when she met them again. So she could begin to care for them again. Begin to love them again.

  “Not to mention all his mistresses,” Jason inserted, his expression gleeful. “You must remember Monday through Saturday.”

  Adrian snorted dismissively.

  Walker took up the tale. “The second lesson was compromise.” Diane’s blank stare had him explaining. “When you agreed to let Adrian share your body with me.”

  Meg looked too curious for words, but held her tongue. Lessons learned from the nobility she’d once served, no doubt. Which didn’t mean Jason was off the hook for explanations. Just later and in private. She wanted to know why she’d traveled to the Tudor and Regency eras. Despite Meg’s familiarity with Diane’s past, she believed Jason knew more. Especially why she kept meeting Walker and Adrian.

  “Is anyone else still alive?” Diane asked, catching herself before she studied each of the young men clearing the table of lunch plates.

  “Nope,” Meg replied. “All Arnaud’s children lived long, full lives. All of them sired a passel of boys—also dead—who cocked up their toes in their own beds. Boring down to their slops and hose.”

  “Loosely translated,” Walker said with a wink, “not a mistress amongst or betwixt them.”

  “You taught us all Lesson Three,” Jason told her. “Control and how to use it or lose it.”

  Stifling a snort, Diane said, “I don’t recall ever being in control. In any life or on any occasion.”

  “Then your memory is faulty.” From somewhere Walker conjured a familiar crystal box. Removing the lid, he offered her a cheroot. Adrian held up the crystal match holder, allowing Jason to take a match.

  Walker went on. “Take, for example, that night in your billiard room.”

  “And the nights in your boudoir,” Adrian added.

  “That memorable night in your folly.” Jason’s contribution sent Meg’s eyebrows winging upward.

  Clearing her throat, Meg said, “You need to quit smoking. If not now, then soon.”

  Diane took the young woman seriously and calculated when her next period would arrive. Being on the Pill, she almost forgot that medicines like that didn’t necessarily prevent pregnancy, although the Pill was greatly more reliable than French letters. Since the advice seemed directed at all of them, she dismissed it as nonspecific and not an announcement of her impending motherhood. Hadn’t Meg claimed she couldn’t see into the future? Or was that Jason? She couldn’t remember, her mind was so muddled.

  “One last one,” Diane promised, holding her cheroot to the match Adrian had struck. Her eyebrows quirked to her hairline when Meg lit one as well, then blew a perfect smoke ring over Jason’s head.

  Diane quirked a brow, but said nothing. For a few moments they sat in companionable silence. Their waiters or housemen or whatever young men in domestic service were called nowadays, served coffee before disappearing again.

  “The folly,” Diane said, sounding as hurt as she’d felt the night she’d gone home again. “Is it still there?”

  All the men nodded, Walker saying, “Would you like to see it?”

  “No!” With an apologetic smile she explained. “It sent me back to the States, didn’t it? If I’d truly lost control why didn’t I stay here?”

  Adrian and Walker exchanged glances, but Jason answered. “You surrendered control, but they,” he jerked his chin toward the other men, “did not. They were still trying to control you.”

  Huffing, Diane said, “They were the problem, but I got sent to my room? That doesn’t seem right. In fact—”

  “The last four months have been hell.” Adrian took her hand and gazed at her with pleading eyes.

  Walker captured her other hand, holding it in both of his. “Every time we tried to telephone you, the lines went dead. No matter where we were when we called. Whether using landline or cellular.”

  “Every letter came back, your address unreadable, our return addresses clear as a sunny day.”

  Diane glanced at Jason for confirmation. Not that she believed Walker and Adrian had lied. But she did suspect they’d withheld something critical.

  “We,” Jason said, pointing to all the men, “thought about visiting you on your own turf. Walker’s afraid to fly and Adrian’s scared of drowning.” He sneered, then laughed.

  Meg challenged Jason. “And you? What excuse did you invent for yourself?”

  He flinched, but held her gaze. “The U.S. is enormous, leaving me little to no chance of finding you. Not without your name or knowing what you look like.”

  The young woman harrumphed, then lapsed into silence. She continued to cling to Jason’s hand. After a brief hesitation, she asked him, “What was your role in their lives?”

  “Mediator. Trying to keep them from making the same mistakes they’d made with other women.” As if realizing his gaffe, he added, “In other lifetimes.”

  “With other women?” Diane countered, uncertain how she felt about that.

  “Do you really want to go there?” Meg said.

  “Whose idea was it for the coffee table book and the book tour?” Diane asked, letting go of her momentary jealousy.

  “A joint effort,” they said, more or less together.

  “Since it seemed we couldn’t come to you, we had to get you to come to us,” Adrian said in a quiet voice.

  He and Walker stared at her. Jason looked at Meg who was studying Diane and her men.

  Stunned that she hadn’t lived another woman’s life but her own, Diane stumbled to her feet. How could she reconcile being such a terrible person—a woman considered capable of committing adultery, one who’d twice been suspected of murder—with whom she was now? Did her going back in time fix the past? Make things better for those who’d lived and died in those other times? How could either of her men have loved her then? How could they love her now?

  “I need to think,” she said to no one in particular, then strode away.

  Meg made a strangled sound, but followed Diane into the house and up the wide marble stairs to her former mistress’s rooms.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Looking around her former sitting room, Diane decided nothing much had changed in almost two hundred years. The wall sconces no longer held beeswax candles. Instead they had candle-like globes that probably flickered if guests wanted to recapture the past without risk of fire. The pale-cream paint looked fresh and the landscapes and still lifes still hung by heavy braided cords. The furniture upholstery looked new, but was the same damask fabric she remembered. And the fireplace looked the same, as well, with a smattering of ash lurking in the grate.

  Meg’s sigh had Diane smiling as she strode into the bedroom. The same wide bed, the same luxurious chaise. Too many memories of Walker and Adrian here. A few, still poignant ones of Jason too.

  “Never here,” she assured her young companion.

  “I know,” Meg replied as if reassuring Diane. “These rooms haven’t been used since—”

  “For two hundred years?” Diane scoffed.

  “For four months. That’s the squirrelly thing about time travel. You’d swear you were living in the past—like
when I was Marget and you were Diane de Vesay. But we were and we weren’t really in the past. You know? More like the string theory where time entwines like yarn overlapping in a ball.”

  “No, I don’t know. I don’t understand any of this.” She picked up a silver-backed hairbrush from the dressing table. Turning it over, she saw her own initials engraved on the back. It hurt, seeing a remnant of herself, knowing she had no right to use it now.

  “If you stay focused on your past lives, m’lady, you’ll all lose.”

  Meg’s using the lower-class pronunciation reminded Diane of their former stations—an unpleasant memory of more intolerant times. Nonetheless, Diane gave a brief smile. Putting the hairbrush where she’d found it, she sank onto the padded chaise. Her shoulders sagging, she said, “It seems men still hold all the cards.”

  “Do they?” Meg settled on the foot of the chaise and, resting her elbows on her knees, leaned toward Diane. “I think they’re pretty damn desperate.” Diane snorted. “They’ve pursued you for more than eight hundred years. And think how much trouble they went to getting you here—to the here and now.”

  “Another lie. Another attempt to control me.” Damnation, she sounded bitter. Maybe she was. Maybe Meg was right and she’d never have a future with her men if she couldn’t—wouldn’t—forget their pasts. It seemed they had forgiven her for being such a conniving bitch.

  Unwilling to capitulate just yet, Diane headed for the bathroom. Sure enough, it had been modernized and turned into a sybarite’s dream of luxury. A deep soaking tub. An enormous, glass-enclosed shower. A vanity with double sinks. Small crystal chandeliers hung over each piece. A nook provided private space for the separate toilet and bidet. Windows along one wall provided an unobstructed view of the lush gardens beyond the stone terrace.

  “Not very private,” Diane said, en route to what she hoped was a closet.

  “This entire wing is private,” Meg told her, following her into a huge dressing room. “If you’re looking for medieval or Tudor clothing, you’ll have to go to the other houses.”

  “You know this…how?”

  Meg shrugged. “I read the brochures. This house is dedicated to the Regency era. The other two—”

  “Got it.” Diane held up a pair of black satin breeches, then pawed through a railing loaded with shirts and waistcoats in a variety of colors and styles. Gowns hung along another wall while dressers occupied a third. Mirrors covered the wall with the door to the bathroom. “These walls used to be all mirrors. Vain, wasn’t I?” she asked, then laughed.

  “Since there were no hangers at the time and pegs made lumps when garments hung too long… Why not use the walls for something useful?”

  “Like checking for cellulite? Ugh.” She studied Meg for a long moment. “We’re about the same size. Pick out something for tonight, then go catch up with Jason.”

  “If I catch him, you may not see us until the ball on Saturday night.” With an impish grin, Meg added, “Which just happens to be a masquerade ball.”

  “Déjà vu all over again,” Diane quipped, seizing a black satin and lace teddy from a dresser drawer. Holding it over her chest, she gazed at her reflection. “Perfect.”

  Meg’s lower teeth raked her upper lip. “We need to talk.”

  “About?” Diane said before turning to see Meg set her jaw and narrow her eyes. Sinking onto a convenient padded bench, Diane laced her fingers and lowered her hands onto her lap. Resigned to answering questions she blurted out one of her own. “Why did any of this happen? I mean, I kind of understand going back to medieval times but…” Giving a helpless shrug, she met Meg’s gaze.

  “You want to know about your visit to Tudor times.” A smile quirked Meg’s lips and brightened her eyes. “You tell me.”

  “I don’t—” Feeling foolish, Diane confessed, “Curiosity I guess. Everybody sees Henry the Eighth as lusty and licentious—demanding and getting what he wanted when he wanted it. I read somewhere that he was also deeply religious. I suppose I wanted to find out for myself which was true.”

  “Couldn’t both be true?” Meg said, sitting tailor-fashion on the floor, leaning against a wall of drawers lacking handles. “Haven’t you known faithful and lusty men?”

  Her face heating, Diane shrugged both shoulders. “Do I? Did I? I believe Adrian remained faithful to his wife. But I also think he lusted for other women.”

  “Me and the other Days you mean.”

  Diane nodded. “And I can’t picture Walker without a woman in his…life. Even if neither man took steps to betray Adrian’s wife—”

  “You,” Meg corrected with a grin.

  Ignoring the jibe, Diane continued. “She—I was a vindictive, vicious bitch.”

  “They loved you nonetheless and love you still.”

  “I don’t know how they could!”

  A soft smile curved Meg’s lips. “The heart wants what it wants.”

  Diane blinked back tears, realizing but suppressing her heart’s yearnings. “Why—why don’t he and Walker remember what happened? While it was happening or after we…I went elsewhere?”

  Meg’s gaze darted to the floor, to the wall behind Diane then to the door leading to the bedroom. Diane braced for yet another lie, another betrayal. At last Meg met and held her gaze.

  “Because you didn’t want them to remember.”

  Gasping as if her friend had punched her in the belly, Diane couldn’t move. Eons later—at least that’s how it felt to her—she shook her head.

  Meg raised her hand, cutting off any protests Diane might voice. “Think about it. You were ashamed of wanting the Days and our children dead. Ashamed to admit you wanted—lusted for—both Walker and Adrian to make love with you.” Her lips twisting in a wry grimace, she added, “You even lusted for Jason.” A laugh bubbling from her, Meg went on. “Despite considering him too young, too—”

  “How old is he?”

  Meg’s smile turned sly. “Older and more experienced than you think.”

  “As are—” Biting her tongue, painfully cutting off her suspicion that Meg was older than anyone, even Jason. “Why can’t I remember more of my past lives with or without them?”

  Sighing, Meg shrugged. “I suppose you learned what you needed to learn and forgot the rest. Which could be a blessing.”

  “A blessing?” Diane squeaked.

  “You may have suffered miscarriages, lost loved ones.” Another shrug seemed to close the discussion as far as Meg was concerned.

  Humming, Meg stood. “It’s going to feel really strange to see this house as a visitor.”

  “A guest,” Diane corrected. “A very welcome guest.” Despite Meg’s forcing her to face unpleasant truths about herself, Diane knew she’d found a lives-long friend.

  * * * * *

  The next morning

  Adrian gaped like a fish on a hook. “There are no female time masters,” he protested, sounding as uncertain as he was beginning to feel. Now that he could remember some of it, this assignment had seemed so simple. Teach Diane to allow her emotions to reign on occasion. Teach her to trust her heart as well as her mind. Teach her the pleasures of the flesh. Teach her… Fuck! He’d forgotten the rest of it.

  “Nonsense.” Walker went on, “Women mastered time long before we men did.”

  Adrian snorted in disbelief.

  Walker chuckled and leaned back in his chair. “Think about it, my young friend. As an infant you awaited your mother’s breast to feed you. A little older, you waited for her to clothe you. Later still, you waited for the girl of your dreams—for that moment, at any rate—to grant you the use of her body.

  “It seems to me we men are still dancing attendance upon our women. Waiting untold hours for her to find the perfect gown, then waiting yet again while she decides whether or not she’ll take it off to please us. In short, men are time slaves to women.”

  Flummoxed and feeling sick to his stomach, Adrian had no ready response. He watched as his mentor finished his breakfast,
quaffed the last of his coffee then stood as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

  “Where are you going?” Adrian finally managed to ask.

  “To see Diane.” Walker heaved a heavy sigh, then met Adrian’s gaze. “Finish your breakfast, then join me in her rooms where—unless I’ve gone totally mindless—I shall be awaiting the lady’s pleasure.”

  * * * * *

  Later that day

  The billiards room held the lingering fragrances of fine cigar smoke and potent brandy. As Diane entered, Meg at her side, she could also smell a hint of aroused male musk. That increased as she strode deeper into the room and neared Walker and Adrian.

  Meg stepped around Diane, heading to Jason like a messenger pigeon going home. With no apparent hesitation, Jason tucked the young woman to his side, then pressed a kiss to her temple.

  The men wore contemporary trousers, topped by billowy-sleeved shirts with lace-trimmed cuffs and leather ties. All of them could pass for eighteenth-century pirates. Well, Jason looked more like a panting puppy as he watched Meg slide off her thigh-length vest, exposing her cobalt-blue slip-dress. Her bare legs looked even longer due to platform patent leather heels.

  Her gaze caressing first Adrian then Walker, Diane said, “We never did play poker.”

  For a moment neither man seemed capable of speech. Adrian recovered first. “Are the stakes the same? We’re playing for clothes?”

  Jason shifted Meg even closer to his side. “That’s our cue to leave. I’m not letting you get naked with anybody but me.”

  Meg pushed free. “Spoilsport,” she teased. “Besides, I happen to know where to find the cards and poker chips. You won’t locate them without me.”

  “What’s the hitch?” Walker demanded, his dark eyes filled with suspicion.

  Diane answered, her gaze on his face. “Whoever wins the hand gets to ask a question. The rest must answer truthfully. And completely. Nothing left out—even if it hurts someone’s feelings or puts somebody in a bad light.”

  Meg grinned. “I’m game.”

  Jason scowled, but nodded. “With one caveat. No questions about past sexual encounters. We’ve all lived other lives. Been with other people.”