Forgotten Time (Ravenhurst Series, #1) A New Adult Time Travel Romance

by Lorraine Beaumont

  “What will happen to the girl?” Milford asked, shakily wringing his hands.

  “The girl, she is gone,” he said simply.

  “She can’t be gone; he is going madder as each day passes.” His body began to tremble even more than moments before. “I have to find her. There is no other option. Where do you think she went?” he asked, hoping he would give him the answer he needed.

  “Think you she would magically appear, after the lengths you went to, to rid the Earth of her human existence?” he asked with slow deliberation, shaking his head saying, “Tsk. Tsk.”

  Milford took a step forward, pleading. “I did not realize what I was doing; my ear was bent to the rantings of an evil, vile creature.” He defended himself even though he knew deep down it was all his fault.

  “And yet when I warned you, you chose not to heed my warning.” He turned away, dragging his fingers across the roughhewn surface of his worktable. He grabbed a few herbs and tossed them into the kettle hanging over a pile of hot coals. The concoction hissed and bubbled, spluttering white puffs of smoke into the air. He walked casually away, brushing his hands off as he strode towards the door.

  “Please wait,” Milford begged as a sob tore from his throat. Tears began to fill his eyes, stealing his sight. He was desperate; he needed to fix what he had done.

  “Why should I?” he asked frankly, his commanding voice taking on a sharp edge.

  “Because I need you to help me; you are the only one powerful enough.”

  “Ah, now it is my power you seek?” he inquired darkly.

  “I came to you before, but you turned me down,” he said defensively.

  “And look! Here you are, my little, silly friend.” He swept his arm to the room at large. “You have returned to try to fix something that should have never come to pass in the first place.” He crossed his arms and tapped his chin thoughtfully. “And now you want my help?”

  “Yes, yes, I do. I am begging you to help me, please.”

  “What are you willing to sacrifice?” he asked.

  “Sacrifice? Anything, anything at all; I will go to any lengths to fix what I have done.”

  “So be it. It will be done,” he said simply with a flick of his wrist, turning back towards the door.

  “How long?” Milford asked, his lip quivering as tears streamed down his pale, dirty face.

  “However long it takes.”

  “That is not good enough. I cannot live forever,” he argued desperately.

  “Oh, my friend, in this instance, you can and will. At least, until your job is finished, even if it takes an eternity.”

  “Why can’t you simply bring her back?” he probed, not fully understanding.

  “It is not that simple.”

  “But you are so powerful,” he persisted.

  He laughed at that, it had a bittersweet edge to it. “My foolish, little friend, even I am not that powerful.”

  Milford’s mind returned to the present. He felt a familiar sadness welling inside of his chest as a tear slipped from his eye. He dashed it away. He would not fail.

  <>*LB*<>

  …Ravenhurst, out of sight does not equal out of mind

  Later that evening, Sebastian was back in the library, staring at the same stack of papers. Instead of taking care of them, he was contemplating the hand he was dealt. What in damnation could he do? There was something altogether unsettling about Marguerite’s demeanor; she seemed changed. It was almost as if she were another person altogether. He shook his head, wondering if the brandy he drank earlier was finally taking hold of his senses and making him addlepated.

  He felt out of sorts, unsettled. What in the hell was the matter with him? Since when did some chit evoke this kind of reaction in him? No woman ever had this effect on him. He needed to get out of the house. He needed to be alone for a while. He laughed and ran his hand over his face. What a ludicrous statement.

  It would take days to actually run into someone in this estate, if you chose not to. Regardless, he kept feeling a pull towards the upper floors. Maybe he should just check on her, make sure nothing was amiss.

  He stood and walked halfway across the room before stopping himself. Make sure nothing was amiss. He laughed aloud, and it had a harsh edge to it.

  Hell, she left him standing in the middle of the room, so close, but so far away, again. His pride balked. She had her chance, but she turned him down. That realization stung more than he wanted to admit.

  …Ravenhurst, stupid is as stupid does

  The lone, flickering candle illuminated the stairwell; casting shadows on the rough, stone wall. Katherine’s booted feet scraped across the stone stairs as she made her descent further into the darkness below. The air became even more chilled the further down she went. She pulled the shawl back on her shoulder, but it kept slipping. Her heart was hammering in her ears, blocking out all other sound.

  Spiders and other nasty crawling things bounded away from the flickering candlelight. At least, the light from above illuminated the stairwell a little.

  As if on cue, the light from above disappeared completely. Oh, that is just perfect. She wanted to scream. Truthfully, she was scared to death. She had no idea what prompted her to go investigating in the first place. She never did this crap when she was younger. When she heard strange noises, she stayed her ass in bed, covering her head with blankets until the morning came.

  Now she was stuck. Of course, she did not think to stick something in the crack to keep the door from shutting. Stupid! She was just asking for something bad to happen to her.

  An eerie sense of déjà vu crept into her body.

  She froze mid-step, trying to recall what was hovering just out of her grasp. She wanted to bolt back up the stairs, her mind screaming again… run while you can.

  Literally forcing herself to take another step, Katherine lifted her foot off the stair and gingerly placed it on the next step. Her foot skidded forward, twisting slightly to the side. She tried to lift her foot back up, but was off balance. Horrible visions raced through her mind as her foot flattened whatever was under it completely. It was probably a poor, wee, little mouse, its tiny bones crushed easily under the weight of her body, rendering it lifeless in a matter of seconds. She swallowed back a cry of remorse.

  What good would it do anyway? She got her balance and lifted her foot back up, envisioning the god-awful mess that most likely coated the bottom of her shoe.

  Shaking whatever it was off the bottom, she sent it sailing through the air until it smacked into something hard.

  Thump… thump… thump… it rolled.

  Oh, good Lord, that was all she needed… a rolling carcass.

  She covered her mouth, trying not to gag. She refused to throw up, and took another step forward, trying to get wherever she was headed to as quickly as possible. All she really wanted to do was take her ass back up the damn stairs and shove the Narnia wardrobe over the stupid hole. But no, she had to be a hero and go investigating. She was a complete and total idiot.

  She screamed when her foot hit something again, launching it into the air. It hit the stone hard, and then rolled onto the ground. She didn’t hear the distinct sound of thump… thump… thump as it rolled down the stairs, whatever it was. Was she at the end finally? She hoped so; this investigating shit was for the birds.

  The stupid candle barely gave off any light. Thankfully, whatever she sent flying didn’t sound like a soft, furry mouse… unless it was Medusa-fied. Great, that was all she needed to think about, a snake-haired Medusa.

  She was freaking herself out.

  That was it.

  She was officially swearing off movies forever, that is, if she ever got out of this freaking hole, she sucked up her fear and finally made it to the bottom of the stairwell. There was nothing in front of her except a huge door.

  She tried to turn the handle. It was locked. No big surprise there. Maybe she should knock and say, “Hullo, nasty, vile, creature, whoever you are, can I come i
n?” Right.

  Well, she wasn’t a complete idiot. She looked down; there was a faint light coming from underneath. She leaned down, trying to see beneath the door. It was impossible. The stair was too close and her butt kept hitting it, pushing her head forward into the door. She felt like an imbecile. She gave up and sat down on the stair.

  Now what was she supposed to do? She set the candle down and the light flickered across the floor onto broken bits of something… A cylinder, maybe? A paper hung out of the top. She picked it up. The paper was rolled up and sealed with wax; she broke the seal and tried to read it. The light was too poor, plus the paper kept rolling back up as fast as she unrolled it. Finally, she gave up and shoved it into the front of her gown.

  She grabbed her candle and started climbing back up the stairs, hoping all the while that the damn door wasn’t locked.

  …Pain does not always fade with time

  He waited behind the closed door. He knew it was locked, but it did not stop him from walking forward when he heard her outside. He could see in his mind’s eye how her head smashed into the wood of the door. Was she trying to break it down? No, he knew better. She was a clumsy one, this one. Not like the other.

  He ran his hand through his long hair, his fingers tangling at the ends. He worked the knot loose, pulling a white strand out. When did his hair turn white? Was it so long ago?

  He cocked his head to the side, listening. She retreated the way she had come, clomping loudly up the stairs. She was singing. He shook his head; yes, she was an odd one.

  Another door creaked open from across the room.

  “Ah, I see you have come once again. To what do I owe this visit?”

  “She is not there yet.”

  “Oh I know,” he said absently as he walked over to the shelves lined with ancient tombs. He pulled one out and looked at it briefly; then he pushed it back up on the shelf and pulled another out. He ran his long fingers over the top, feeling the hand-molded leather ripple under his skin.

  He placed it gently on the roughhewn worktable and opened it up. Light skittered across the lettering on the pages, illuminating the words he sought.

  “So what should I do?”

  “Wait,” he said absently as he read.

  “But what if she interferes?”

  “Well, I really can’t say, I guess we won’t know until it happens.”

  “How can you be so calm about this? Everything hangs in the balance.”

  “What would be the point in worrying? It will turn out the way it was destined to.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Well… no, I am not sure. Some things need to be left to chance.” He glanced back at the pages, and the words blurred before his eyes.

  “Fate.”

  “What?” he said, trying to focus his eyes, but the words kept eluding him, just as she had done.

  “Some things must be left to fate, not chance.”

  “Oh, right… Fate,” he said absently.

  “I will leave you to your work then, I thought you should know.” He walked back out the way he came.

  “I already knew,” he said, barely audible even to his own ears. The door closed, taking the light from the room once more. He settled back into the chair behind him, propping his elbows up and rested his chin on his fingertips.

  His body tingled.

  It would seem the end was near, or was it another beginning? Yes, another beginning was better.

  He chuckled lightly. Oh, what he would give to see her face when she realizes her little plan went awry!

  Would she try again?

  Images of the girl that tormented his soul eclipsed his mind. She was so unattainable, her amber eyes stealing his breath whenever he looked at her. He shook the image of her lovely face from his mind, feeling the familiar tightening in his chest. He let out a sigh.

  It didn’t matter, she could try, but she would fail.

  Of that he was certain, this time he would change fate, or be damned trying.

  Radcliff Manor

  The Duke of Radcliff, Grayson Radcliff, was an imposing man with a scar that started at his brow and continued down the side of his face, until it just barely touched the corner of his mouth. He was a loner by society’s standards, but they accepted him as they did anyone with a title in what they viewed as an elitist group.

  He knew they held him in disdain, but not one of the fools would ever dare give him the cut directly. Invitations piled up on the silver salver in the hall; asking him to attend long weekend parties and many soirees. They, as a group, did not like him, but they still shoved their simpering daughters in his face with high hopes that one of them might end up wearing the shoes of a duchess.

  He wanted no part of their daughters and no part of marriage.

  Well, that was the case until recently…

  The last time he went to see his Mistress Bliss, she was bent over a table while another titled lord (one he couldn’t stand) slammed into her repeatedly from behind. She was wearing the peignoir he had given her, a light green, frothy confection. Her cries of pleasure filled the room as she neared climax, blocking out all other sounds.

  He stood there, watching. Her face flushed, her eyes closed in pleasure, her breasts swinging back and forth against the hard surface of the table.

  It was obvious she was enjoying herself immensely. He tried to remember if she had ever reacted to his lovemaking with as much enthusiasm. He thought not.

  She screamed out once more and her gaze caught his. Her expression of pleasure evaporated, replaced by pain as she watched her lover and protector walk from the room and out of her life forever.

  Grayson’s mind came back to the present. Things had a way of turning out exactly as fate planned, he supposed. If his mistress had not betrayed him with that pathetic popinjay, he would not have left London when he did and his houseguest would surely have met a far worse fate. He walked slowly back to his room, his arms laden with food. The broth sloshed over the rim of the bowl onto the bread that he prepared. His staff was not due back until the storm passed.

  He was all alone with his winter princess, but found he did not mind his current predicament one bit.

  <>*LB*<>

  …Ravenhurst, second thoughts

  Devlin made it to Ravenhurst; but was not sure why he went there. He should have been on a ship to a faraway place by now, but an unforeseen force pulled him back. He did not want to think about what or who was really behind his motives, not when he was about to make the final move to seal his fate. He paused and looked heavenward, contemplating what his next move would be.

  A loud bang sounded behind him. He turned. A woman flew right past him, her long, flowing cloak, trailing out like wings behind her. The hood slipped, revealing a mass of raven hair that whipped around her in the wind as she ran further out into the darkness of the night.

  Devlin stared after her. Were his eyes playing tricks on him? Surely not; he realized this must be a sign. The one from above, the one he was waiting for. He turned away from Ravenhurst, leaving its occupants and his good intentions behind. He followed the mystery woman into the darkness. He now had a new purpose.

  <>*LB*<>

  …Radcliff Manor, captivity be damned

  Isabelle was finished being a captive. She wondered what in the hell the world was coming to? First, she was stuck in her own cellar, thanks to her poor choice of a husband. She barely escaped, only to find herself now somewhere else entirely and tied to a bed. At least, she was warm and felt clean. That was something, she supposed. Which brought on another barrage of questions? How did she get clean? Why was she tied to a bed? And who took her and why? Surely, it was a man by the looks of the room she was in, a wealthy one at that.

  She knew he could not be conspiring with Devlin, although Devlin was, in her mind, a sorry excuse for a human being. He would never willingly let another share his joy of restraining her without some word of derision. No, her Devlin would be happy keeping her in the pits of hell
as long as it served his loathsome purpose.

  Isabelle knew without a doubt his needs were never satisfied. She knew she should be thankful for the respite, but this was getting utterly ridiculous. The way her luck was running, there was no end in sight either. She heard the sound of the door scraping against the floor and quickly closed her eyes.

  <>*LB*<>

  …Ravenhurst, plans gone awry

  Milford quietly walked into the library. The fire crackled and hissed in the hearth. Sebastian was seated in front of the fire. Milford pushed back his shoulders and straightened his waistcoat.

  Oh, he was not looking forward to this one bit. He cleared his throat; he may as well get this ruse set in motion.

  Sebastian looked up from the fire, noticing Milford standing awkwardly to his side. “Yes, Milford what is it?”

  “She is gone,” he said tonelessly.

  Sebastian shook his head. He couldn’t have heard him correctly. “Who is gone?” he questioned warily, as his heart began pounding erratically.

  Milford shifted on his feet. He looked at the ground, not able to keep direct eye contact with Sebastian. He felt terrible, so he said nothing and let Sebastian fill in the blanks.

  Sebastian was on his feet in an instant. “How long?” he asked.

  Milford shrugged his shoulders; it was the most non-committal answer he could give, not wanting to lie outright.

  Sebastian strode past him to the foyer and grabbed his coat. He came back to the library door. “What are you waiting for, man? We have no time to dally!” he called out over his shoulder as he strode back to the front door.

  Milford rolled his eyes and trailed behind slower than necessary. He did not want to leave the warmth of the house to search in vain outdoors. He knew it was freezing outside, but he saw no other alternative.

  He knew if Sebastian went to her room, which he would eventually, he would find the secret passage and unlike Katherine, he would break the door down and all would have been for naught.