A Lady Out of Time (Helen Foster)

by Caroline Hanson

  “You seem to know what you’re doing,” she said, desperately needing to lighten the moment before she did something stupid like proposition him.

  His brows rose, and he spoke through gritted teeth. “Which skill are you referring to? My ability to cut a dress off a woman, or remove a corset?”

  “Um, well, both. I guess. If you put it that way,” she finished lamely.

  His pupils were large, his cheeks flushed as he looked directly at her. “I’m a gentleman, not a monk,” he said, and then he unsnapped the eyehooks all the way down her chest, the corset falling open. She sagged in pleasure as the garment came free, taking a deep breath and closing her eyes briefly.

  “That thing is torture,” she said.

  “Let me guess, no corsets in the future?”

  “No. I’m more of a mini-skirt and jean girl.”

  “The last half of that sentence was totally incomprehensible.”

  There was still one layer of clothing separating her body from his gaze and touch. The thin linen shift she wore under the expensive corset, the garment made to keep the corset from her skin so it would stay clean and last longer.

  “Hold still.” He rested his palm in the hollow of her waist, his fingers on her hip. She thought she felt the faintest press of his fingers, and a vivid image of him gripping her by the hips and yanking her forward, pulling her against his hard body slammed through her mind. Then his touch was gone as he pinched the fabric between his fingers and lifted it away from her skin. He paused then—the knife poised to slit the material and bare her body to him.

  Knowledge hit her. He was hesitating. This was what he did. He didn’t commit rashly but weighed every option. How many times had he urged her to reconsider, not to act? And now he was thinking again, perhaps reaching the conclusion that cutting off her clothing and seeing her naked was an irrevocable step. His gaze searched hers, looking for something. Hell if she knew what.

  “I don’t see fear,” he said. His dark eyes went down to her lips, down the column of her neck, lingering on her chest, to the straining points of her nipples, which showed just how unafraid she was.

  “Nope,” she said weakly. “No fear.”

  He shot her an inscrutable look, then his lips quirked up into a smile, quickly wiped away. Her stomach flip-flopped when she saw him smile.

  “Why did you smile?” She couldn’t help but ask.

  “Nothing. It isn’t appropriate for a lady’s ears.”

  “Really? Now you’re gonna treat me like a lady?” she said, scornfully.

  The smile came back, making him look like a man she didn’t know. An Edward that didn’t exist. Sexy, playful, a man who laughed. “It occurred to me that this…interlude has to be worth at least a thousand pounds.” He set the blade to her shift and she noticed his pulse pounding at his neck.

  Helen laughed feebly. “Not a monk,” she said, the heat of a blush warming her cheeks.

  “And thank God for that,” he murmured. Then the fabric separated, her stomach exposed. He stopped near her chest so that her breasts stayed covered. She looked like she was wearing an obscene tank top.

  Embarrassment flooded through her, and the most ridiculous hope that he would find her attractive. Ignoring the massive scar, of course.

  Helen watched him taking in the upraised flesh, his eyes tracking from her hip to just below her breast where she was a mass of scar tissue. If she’d been stateside when the attack happened, she might not have had a scar. But she’d been in the middle of nowhere, where clean drinking water and mosquito netting was a luxury.

  Just being alive was a success. And that was how she’d always felt about that scar. It was a reminder of just how damn tough and lucky she was. Every once in a while she’d thought about getting it removed, but she’d always decided against it. The scar was part of her identity, and she’d been almost obstinate in her pride over the damned thing.

  The type of woman he was used to, a lady, would have had it removed. There was a part of her that wished she didn’t have this reminder of how much of an outlander she truly was. Wished she was just as perfect as the weak, pale women he was used to. The scarred skin was paler than the rest of her, stitch marks that looked like little pinprick dots of white visible along the length of it.

  He touched her gently, one finger tracing the scar. It was a gentle touch, almost soothing, and again, she wondered what he’d be like in bed. If he’d touch her for hours. If this intensity and fascination with her skin would extend to the rest of her body. She shivered.

  “So much damage,” he said quietly. “No one could survive that.”

  “Not in your time, they couldn’t.”

  “How did it not become infected? The wound must have been deep to require so much suturing.”

  “It did become infected. My intestines were a mess. I was in the hospital for a month. African hospitals…they just don’t cut it,” she said, grimacing. Had that been a half-assed joke?

  He stood up abruptly, going to the bed and pulling off the bedspread, placing it on top of her and covering her nudity. She couldn’t help but see the bulge in his trousers, proof of his arousal making her feel a flash of weakening desire.

  He wanted her. Edward the proper and perfect still got a boner when he cut off a woman’s clothes. Helen looked down, finding the thought amusing and not wanting him to see her face.

  Edward sat down on the bed, a small distance away from her, running his hand along his thigh near his knee as though wiping away the feel of her skin. His legs were crossed, evidence of his desire for her hidden away. Helen could practically feel him retreating from her, becoming the self-contained Duke who didn’t touch her or find her remotely attractive.

  She felt ridiculous strapped to a chair with a shredded gown and a blanket thrown over her like an afterthought. Somehow the blanket put a damper on the whole desire thing. The dress cutting, well, she’d been so turned on that every other feeling, like shame and worry that he wouldn’t believe her, was secondary. But, now that he was so distant and sitting so far away from her, as though the whole thing was a horrendous embarrassment and accident, now she felt exposed.

  “Okay, so you cut my clothes off, you’ve seen the goods, are you going to let me go?” she asked, voice sharp.

  “I don’t think so,” he said casually without looking at her, as though she’d asked if it might rain.

  “Why the hell not?” Helen pulled against the bonds again.

  “I need time to think.”

  “What is there to think about? I’m gonna lose a limb here. I have no blood flow. You’ve got to untie me,” she said intensely.

  His eyes narrowed. “Or what? And let me say that if you scream, I will gag you, then you will have no opportunity to convince me that you are…from the future.”

  “What else can I do to convince you?”

  He held up a hand so that she wouldn’t speak and interrupt his thoughts. Authoritative jackass.

  “Explain some of the differences between my time and yours.”

  “Why?” she asked suspiciously. She shook her head in denial. “Don’t you know that’s not a good idea? What if you do stuff to change the outcome of things?”

  “How so?” he asked, genuine interest in his tone. He crossed his arms and waited. Helen thought about how she knew that messing with the space-time continuum was bad…besides the debriefing she had before she left, she’d have to say that all of her knowledge came from bad sci-fi. Which hadn’t been invented yet.

  “Well, what if I tell you about some contraption that sounds amazing, and then you go and invent it before it was supposed to be created? You could upset the whole timeline of the world.”

  After a long pause, he nodded, still watching her closely. “Isn’t that your purpose here?”

  “Oh. Well. Yeah, so I’m here to change the future. But my change is good. It’s worth it. It will save millions of lives.”

  An expression similar to a grimace crossed his face, and she wondere
d if he were skeptical about her motives.

  She took a deep breath. “Edward, what I am here to do will save millions of lives.”

  “Millions?” he repeated as if he couldn’t comprehend such a thing.

  “Yes. Millions.”

  A few minutes passed before either of them spoke. Well, before he spoke. Helen didn’t have much to say beyond 'please let me go’ which hadn’t gotten her squat.

  “If what you say is true, then you rather conveniently change from an amoral criminal to a heroine.”

  Why did she feel as if he were setting a trap? Helen laughed, the hysteria of it ringing loud and clear. “I’m sorry. It’s not funny. Nothing is funny. It’s all…a disaster. Yes, despite what you have seen, I am a hero. Heroine. I’m trying to make things better.”

  He frowned. Helen was surprised by his next question. “Are you…typical of most women in your time?”

  That was funny, so she laughed again. He’d clearly been trying to be diplomatic, but it hadn’t really worked. The way he said 'typical’ conveyed just how outrageous he thought she was. “I suppose I’m a little bit different than most women. But, in my day, women can vote. Women can get a divorce. We hold jobs and own property. Men and women are equal.”

  His eyebrows rose loftily at that. He covered the lower half of his face with his hand, masking his expression. “You are a soldier, then.” He scrutinized her like she was an insect. A praying mantis or one of the weird bugs that one looks at and thinks, ‘what the hell is your purpose’?

  “Yeah. A soldier.” Defensive much?

  “Your parents approve of this?”

  “They’re dead.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  She had nothing to say to that. The silence became awkward. He cleared his throat. “Colchester is working for this faction you want to stop. The Nazis? And he has the plans, and you must get them and destroy them? Anything else I should know about?”

  She spluttered. “You shouldn’t know about any of it!”

  Both of his dark eyebrows raised. “But I do.”

  Helen looked at him steadily, willing him to see her as she really was, someone who had a mission to do good. Someone strong and capable. She’d probably never know what she actually saw on his face. “And where does that leave me? And the diary?”

  “I told you, I don’t have the diary.”

  “I want it,” he said it with cold precision.

  Helen shook her head, “I can’t give it to you. If you get it now, then this never happens. You can’t look for it or even act like it exists. In your lifetime, you are the duke.”

  “And later?”

  “By then, it was ancient history and nobody cared. It probably would have created more of a scandal to strip your family of the title than to leave it alone. Being a duke or even royalty…by my time it’s more honorific than anything.”

  “You’re saying my title becomes irrelevant?” She could see that the mere idea shocked him.

  “No. There is always a fascination for royalty or people who are…wealthy or deemed better than everybody else. But lords don’t shape policy like you do today.”

  “You cannot get in to see Colchester without me,” he said, changing the subject.

  “Does he know you want the plans?” she asked, feeling as if her heart stopped as she waited for him to respond.

  His expression was fierce. “I simply told him I had a proposition for him.”

  “So, you didn’t mention the plans?” She couldn’t help but ask him twice.

  “No. I did not.”

  Tears filled her eyes, “Oh, thank God!” She squeezed her eyes closed, felt the tears slip down her cheeks.

  “What happens now?”

  She blinked rapidly, wishing she could wipe her face. “You let me go, I get the plans and destroy them…then I move to the country and become a spinster.” Well, that had been the plan. But that was before she knew the Germans were here. She would have to take out Colchester and anyone else he was working with. All those cats would just have to wait.

  “This is your only task, then? You do not go back to your time?” he asked, tone cold and dispassionate.

  “No, I’ll stay here.” She couldn’t read his closed expression. “Where are you meeting the Baron?”

  “He’s having a party at his house tonight. Part of his debauched club. Ms. Wells and some of her girls will be there.” Edward stood, coming towards her and disappearing behind her chair. She felt him loosening the ropes, untying them.

  She stood as quickly as she could, shaking the tension out of her arms and moving away from him to the opposite side of the room. “You do understand that you can’t help me, right?” Helen asked. “I’m trained in how to do this. All I need you to do is get me into the party.”

  “I’ve seen your abilities. But don’t forget that you were tied to that chair because of my abilities. Whatever rights you have in the future are irrelevant. You are here now. In my world, and with the restrictions that are placed upon all of us. You are a woman, and you will not get very far without me.” He smiled at her, something slightly devilish in it, as though what he were about to say gave him great pleasure. “You, Miss Foster, are stuck with me.”

  Chapter 18

  Later that night, as Helen got into the carriage opposite Edward, she was surprised to see that he handed her a half mask made of black satin. “This is surprisingly kinky of you. I like it.”

  “Yes, tying you to the chair was just the start of my depraved desires. In actual fact, the mask is to hide your identity,” he said, boredom in every word.

  “Does it work?”

  “No, but I do suspect that those engaging in vice like to pretend that they are anonymous when they are in the throes of their debauchery.”

  “Speaking of debauchery. How will this work?”

  She saw him shrug in the dark as the carriage rocked along the dark London streets. “You will pretend to be my mistress. A lot of the people there have already seen us together so that won’t be a surprise. What will be a surprise is that I’m there at all.”

  “Not a regular?”

  “No. Not a regular.”

  She cleared her throat, uncertain how to say what she needed to say. “Thank you for doing this. For helping me…” She paused, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with emotion. “For believing me and…everything. It’s actually a surprisingly long list of how many things I would need to thank you for. I should just get you a cake or something.” She saw him raise that infernal eyebrow at her. She took that as his I-don’t-know-what-you’re-talking-about-but-I’m-sure-it’s-beneath-me expression.

  Her stomach flopped like a fish on land as she said the next words. “The other thing about tonight. It’s important that they believe we’re together.”

  After a delay, he said, “Go on.”

  “So, uh…if I have to act like your mistress, that’s okay.”

  There was dead silence in the carriage. The fish in her stomach had died and was about to be vomited up. Her hands were clasped together tightly.

  Helen hastened to clarify. “I’m not a virgin. In my time, things are different, and morals are more…relaxed. You know, it’s not a big deal is what I’m trying to say.”

  His lips pursed as though he had something to say and was trying to keep his mouth shut or look for other words. Helen wished she had found other words. She couldn’t believe she just said that. She licked her lips.

  Edward opened his mouth to speak and then closed it again, apparently struck dumb by her statement. “I very strongly doubt that we will need to prove the authenticity of our relationship. But…” He cleared his throat loudly, as though the words were choking him. Helen leaned forward, peering at him in the dark.

  “Are you laughing at me?” Helen asked, totally mortified.

  There was another moment of silence, and then he did laugh, the sound loud and sincere, so infectious it made her smile too. She reached over to him, slapping him on the knee. “Don’t laug
h at me! I’m being serious. I can’t have my cover blown just because you get all stuffy and decide you can’t hold my hand or put an arm around me.”

  “I will endeavor to remember that. Who knows, perhaps the entrance exam for this club of debauchery is steeper than I had imagined.”

  Helen scowled at him. He chuckled again, the sound knowing. The carriage began to slow. Her cheeks felt hot. The carriage stopped and Edward got out, waving the footman away so that he could personally help her down. He held her hand snugly, a frisson of awareness pulsing through her at his touch.

  She could still see a trace of a smile on his full lips. Helen tried to let go of him, but he kept her hand, wrapping her fingers around his arm so that she stayed next to him. The house in front of them was large, several windows open, the sound of loud voices and laughter billowing out to meet them. But all she could think about was his firm grip on her hand, keeping her by his side.

  “Don’t worry about tonight. All will be well. Now, two things before we go in,” he said, facing her fully. He looked down into her face, his eyes glinting with amusement. But his voice was very serious. “First of all, it will be my great honor to sleep with you in order to save millions of lives, and I will do my best to acquit myself in a manner that would make generations proud.” A corner of his mouth twitched.

  “Ha.”

  “I’m very serious. I will do whatever it takes to convince them of our amorous relationship,” he said gravely, but then he chuckled.

  “Great, what’s the second thing?”

  His smile was so sincere and open it made her blink. He looked boyish, transformed into a man she didn’t know but wanted to. “You should probably call me Edward.”

  Chapter 19

  They were met at the door by a large man in a mask. A torch was set up next to him, giving the impression that they were entering through a doorway to hell. “Interesting touch,” Edward murmured. “Everywhere I go, they use flowers to decorate a party. One doesn’t see nearly enough flames,” he murmured in that same lazily curious manner that always made her wonder if he were joking or serious. She assumed joking. Edward extended a gloved hand, proffering his invitation to the man at the door. The man nodded, and he stepped inside. Instantly, Helen went on alert, her breath coming faster as the moment to act neared. Edward was leading her through the entryway and towards the party when she stopped him.