by Allison Lane
“What?”
“I wish Emily had at least told me the rules of this game she’s playing. Obviously, there are topics I am not permitted to mention. The words refuse to form. I suppose disclosing them would break some cosmic regulation I don’t understand.” She shrugged.
“You belong in Bedlam.”
“It must sound like that. In fact, I did not fully accept it myself for quite a while. I have no idea what happened, except that I woke up in Emily’s body fully four days before she died. The obvious conclusion is that she stepped aside early so that I could save her life. The only reason she would have for doing so is that she plans to return. In fact, I expected to be gone as soon as the fever broke. When she didn’t come back, I figured that she also wanted me to take care of Fay for her – Grace knows about your arrangement, by the way. Since Emily believes I can do this, there must be something that will prevent Fay from making your life miserable once you jilt her. I just haven’t found it yet. Emily must love you very much to have waited all these years to save you.”
He recoiled in shock. “That blow to the head did more damage than I had supposed.”
She glared, but it was a reasonable conclusion. “Skepticism is inevitable. Let’s see what I can come up with to convince you.” She paced the library for several minutes deep in thought. Fortunately, Emily’s afternoon gown had a full skirt so she didn’t need to shorten her stride. “Frederick is lucky he sailed for England when he did. Shortly after he left, the United States declared war, in part because of impressments and England’s intransigence over trade.”
“Impossible. We repealed the Orders in Council in April, and the treaty negotiations are nearly complete.”
“Nice try, but too little, too late. Americans didn’t have that much patience. Still don’t, for that matter. In your time, they were brash from the newness of freedom. In mine, they’re a world power used to controlling their own destiny. But enough of that. Let’s see . . . 1812 . . . On July 27, Wellington won a victory at Salamanca, capturing two French eagles. Word of both events should reach London this week.”
His face turned even whiter. He glanced at the newspaper, but it was on the floor, its folds obscuring the headlines.
“What’s wrong?”
“You can’t have seen the paper. I was in the hall when it arrived and have been reading it ever since.”
“And?”
He held it up. The report of Salamanca was on the first page. His head shook. “You look so normal.”
“How would you expect a time traveler to look? Like some alien monster with three heads and a tail? I just wish Emily had left me with a few of her own thoughts. Research doesn’t begin to cover everything I need to know to live in this period.”
He pounced on the admission. “If Emily brought you back here without warning, why had you researched this period?”
“I write novels set in Regency England. I need to make the stories believable.”
“Coming here must be the ultimate research tool,” he growled. “Have you enjoyed dipping into our lives?”
She didn’t miss the spark of anger. It was inevitable. Emily had perpetrated an enormous hoax on him with this escapade. Drew was not a man to enjoy being a victim, however loving the motives. But her own emotions were also close to the surface. Scorn on top of everything else was too much.
“I didn’t ask to be wafted back nearly two hundred years,” she spat furiously. “And I sure as hell could have done without Lady Clifford or that bloody quack! God, what I wouldn’t give for an aspirin right now! Or my computer. Or a Twinkie!” She strode around the library, arms waving in frustration.
“What—”
“Never mind. I doubt they will allow me to explain.” She cast her eyes to the heavens, fighting to regain her composure. “Look, I’m sorry you got stuck in the middle of this mess. I’ve been thinking about what you said earlier. Since Emily pushed me into the fireplace, perhaps she was giving me a clue after all. Someone may have deliberately pushed her at the ball. In one of Lady Clifford’s tirades over my clumsiness, she mentioned that Fay had stalked away from the scene because I made such a cake of myself. So she might have tried to get rid of a rival. As you pointed out, she knew that you had planned to marry Emily.”
Drew stared at her wordlessly. His head was spinning, but despite all logic, he believed her. Shy, hen-witted Emily had managed to reach into the future and bring back a woman who could save them both. But he was having trouble sorting out his thoughts. He had just gotten used to the idea that Emily was intelligent, and now he discovered that she wasn’t Emily after all. His head shook.
“Sit down,” he said wearily. “Can we start at the beginning? I haven’t quite taken all this in yet.”
She smiled with understanding, resting her hand briefly on his shoulder before resuming her own seat.
“My name is Cherlynn Andrews Cardington,” she began.
“I thought you said you weren’t married.”
“I’m divorced. It’s quite common in my time,” she added as he flinched. “Believe me, I’m much better off without the creep.”
His head was again shaking.
“Drew, my own life really isn’t relevant to this discussion.”
“But I’d like to know.” Curiosity was pushing all else aside. Or perhaps he needed extra time to assimilate her claims. “Tell me a little about yourself.”
She shrugged. “I was born in 1972 in Virginia – only a couple of miles from Frederick’s farm if I understand his descriptions. The area has completely changed since he lived there, of course. I never got along with my family, so wasn’t much disturbed when the last of them died. I already had degrees in English literature and European history and had moved on to my own life.”
“Degrees?”
“College degrees. From the University of Virginia. Awards for finishing a course of study, like you probably got from Oxford.”
“Women in college.” His head was spinning.
She laughed. “Women have full equality in my day. They vote, get equal educations, serve as judges, senators, governors, doctors, soldiers, sailors, and everything else. They work construction crews, run corporations, and fly the space shuttle. England’s prime minister during most of my youth was a woman. Anyway, I worked for a Congressional committee until I met Willard and stupidly married the jerk. What a disaster!”
“Did he beat you?”
“Not physically. But my breeding didn’t match his – something you should understand. America doesn’t have the kind of class system England still does, but you’d never know it in some circles. His parents hated me on sight. He married me anyway in a burst of rebellion, but regretted it the moment they cut off his allowance. We toughed it out for a while, but after my miscarriage, I gave up and walked out on him. The divorce decree came through just before I left for London.”
“Where you bought a title.” Pain ripped his chest at the thought of something so precious being offered up like the cheapest bauble.
“That was an accident,” she said with a shrug. “And it is one of those topics I can’t find the words to explain. Perhaps when this is over, I’ll be able to tell you about it. It was after I came into possession of the title that I visited Broadbanks Hall – though I would have done that anyway. It’s one of the best Regency houses in the country; you did a marvelous job of redecorating.”
“Oh, God!” he moaned softly.
“I shouldn’t have said that, I suppose.”
“It’s just so hard to take in.”
“I know. It took me weeks to accept it – though I was out of my mind for much of that time. At any rate, I toured the house. When I got to the great hall, Emily attacked. I guess I was the first one she found who could help her.”
“Does she want to be a marchioness that badly?”
“No, Drew. I believe it was you she wanted to save more than herself. At least that’s the impression I’ve gotten from Grace.”
“Where is
she now?” he asked suddenly.
She shrugged. “Who knows? Perhaps she’s occupying my body. Her lack of medical knowledge wouldn’t matter since everyone else knows how to keep it alive. Or she may be watching me – she needs to know when to return. If she had let me know a little more, perhaps I wouldn’t have blown my cover so badly. But at least I’ve nearly finished. You won’t be marrying Fay.”
“Nothing could force me into it.”
“I believe you, because my head isn’t freezing up. If you’d gone through with it, you would have died in September of 1815.”
He recoiled. “Wh— How?” he stammered.
“I don’t know all the details, though Lady Travis claims you found Fay playing around with a groom. After revising your will to banish her to Scotland, you walked in here and blew your brains out.”
“Oh, my God!” He was shaking.
“But you won’t do that now, will you Drew?”
He shook his head.
“Good. Nothing is worth killing yourself for, especially a bitch like Fay.”
He stared.
“Sorry. I forgot where I was again. Women do occasionally swear in my day, particularly when the subject is so venal.”
He laughed. “So how do you know what Lady Travis has been writing?”
“I bought fifteen of her letters to Lady Debenham in an antique shop shortly after I arrived in London. Old letters are a great research source for those interested in the culture of a time period rather than the dry facts of war and politics.”
“I’d better burn all my correspondence,” he muttered. Then another of her odd comments returned to mind. “You mentioned Napoleon’s Russian campaign.”
“Right.”
“The winter?”
“Of the six hundred thousand troops that started the campaign, seventeen thousand will return. The horrors they encounter will be remembered well beyond even my time.”
“Dear Lord! Where did he find that many men?”
“Many of them came from conquered countries, but he also pulled some troops out of Spain.”
“Leaving the armies more evenly matched,” he breathed, hope and wonder flooding his body. “Is this the end of the war, then? Is Salamanca Wellington’s final push into Spain?”
“Almost.” She was surprised that the words came, but relaxed and continued. “He has split the army by now, half to take Madrid, the rest to hold off the French at Burgos. But Burgos is better defended than he thinks. He hasn’t the troops to take it by force, and he left his siege equipment elsewhere, so he’ll pull back to Ciudad Rodrigo and Badajoz for the winter.”
“I thought you couldn’t talk about future events.”
“I can’t, at least not about anything that matters. Think about it. Even if you went to London to warn the government that Wellington needs more men and equipment to take Burgos, and even supposing they believed you and didn’t lock you in Bedlam, by the time anyone could act, Wellington would have discovered the information for himself.” She shrugged.
“Will he win?”
She managed to nod.
The last of his tension relaxed. “Enough of war. I agree that Fay probably pushed Emily at the ball. All I need is one witness. Then I can keep her quiet about Randolph. I’ll start with Lady Clifford.” He paused as another thought hit him. “Do you recall how long my father will live? How long do I have to keep Fay quiet?”
Her mouth worked silently for a moment. She finally managed two words. “Not long.”
He bowed his head in a moment of grief, but in truth the marquess suffered considerable pain. “Thank you, Cherlynn. Or should I call you, my lady?”
“It would be better to stick to Emily.”
He nodded, then smiled and relaxed. The unreality of this conversation would catch up to him later, but for now he intended to satisfy his curiosity.
“Enough about my time. Tell me about yours. What was that you said about women and space?”
“You would home in on that one,” she complained with a grimace. “Describing the space program requires briefings on dozens of subjects.”
“So what are you waiting for?”
Sighing, she launched an explanation. Images floated through his head – of cars, airplanes, and rockets traveling at unimaginable speeds; of tall buildings filling cities that held enough people to dwarf even London; of organ transplants, wonder drugs, and artificial body parts; of photographs, moving pictures, and satellite surveys of earth and the universe; of telephones, computers, and an information network connecting the world.
“It sounds like Eden,” he murmured in awe.
“Technologically, perhaps. But there is much to be said for your time, Drew. Why do you think so many people read stories set in the past?” And she went on to describe the pressures exerted by technology, from the push to always be doing something to the need for acquiring ever bigger, faster, and better technology; the search for relief from that pressure that led so many people into drug addiction; the crime that grew from addiction and from packing people so closely together; the destruction of the environment; the wars that were still fought; the diseases that even advanced medicine couldn’t cure; the lack of respect that pervaded every level of society.
The dressing bell sounded. “And just as well,” she said with a sigh. “I’ve been talking too much. You live in a wonderful age, Drew. Enjoy it. Hungering for another life will prevent appreciation of what you have.”
“Very true. But before I can start living, I need to defang a serpent. There are still a few tenants who might be willing to answer questions about Fay’s activities.”
She nodded. “I will chat with the village gossips tomorrow – individually – in hopes of learning something useful. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner Emily will return.”
He watched her leave the library, confusion again filling his mind. Did he want Emily back?
The question shocked him, but it wouldn’t retreat. Even as he went upstairs to change, it hammered at his head.
Emily had seemed the perfect bride only five months ago. She was beautiful, and her kisses raised a hunger for more. She was a model of propriety otherwise, versed in the accomplishments that would make her a delight in the drawing room, trained in the niceties of entertaining and of supervising a household, and with both the breeding and the manners to charm society.
Cherlynn had none of that. Yet she challenged and excited him in ways he had never considered. Her intelligence was formidable; debating with her left him glowing with pleasure. She was determined, forthright, and independent, all traits that should have made him shudder, though they didn’t. But his greatest confusion arose from the kiss they had shared in the folly. It had been the most shattering experience of his life, inciting more passion than the most accomplished courtesan. He had attributed his response to love, but now he wondered. Emily – Cherlynn – had participated as never before. Was that what had made the difference? Or had his fascination with Cherlynn’s mind affected his emotions? Did Emily share that passion, or was it all Cherlynn’s? Did it matter?
Probably not, he admitted ruefully as Mason helped him into his jacket. Cherlynn would be gone soon, taking her intelligence and independence with her. If he was lucky, the passion was Emily’s and had been suppressed by custom. But whatever the truth, he owed Emily too much to allow a momentary infatuation with a woman from another time to interfere with his marriage.
And marriage there would be. On the fifteenth of September, as scheduled. He had already dispatched his secretary to London to acquire a special license in Emily’s name. She had saved his life and his sanity. A century of devotion wouldn’t begin to repay that debt.
A wave of guilt washed over him. Why had God gifted him with such extraordinary intervention? He had done nothing to deserve it. Even innocence in Randolph’s death didn’t make him a candidate for sainthood. Others were certainly more worthy.
Or was Emily the true recipient of celestial favor? She was cari
ng enough, as her recent actions proved. Whatever the truth, his marriage would be quite different from the one he had envisioned. He could no longer consider his own needs. Her efforts deserved both recognition and reward. And part of that reward would be fulfillment of her every wish. He would have to work hard every day to make sure she never regretted her decision. The prospect was daunting.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
As dawn filtered through the window, Cherlynn gave up trying to sleep. Too much had happened the day before.
“Damn it, Drew!” she muttered, pulling on a dressing gown to combat the chill that permeated English nights even in August. “Why the hell did you have to kiss me?”
Her feet paced faster, but couldn’t out-race her memories. His hand tracing her cheek, moving across her hip, sliding under her bodice to cup her breast. His fingers unpinning her hair, whispering down her throat, peaking her nipple. His lips and tongue hot and wild as they plundered her mouth. Never had she encountered such a carnal kiss. Heat pooled in her womb, as it had been doing all night.
“Okay, so you want him,” she chastised herself, trying to force the images away with logic. “Who wouldn’t? The man positively radiates sex. But it wasn’t you he was kissing, girl. It’s Emily he wants and Emily he loves. Don’t ever forget it.” Not that she would have the opportunity. Now that he knew who she was, she needn’t fear a repeat.
Fear?
Who was she trying to kid? Even the most naïve Regency miss would want more of Drew Villiers. That hunk of blazing manhood could warm the coldest night, fill the loneliest heart.
And more. He had an interesting mind. Intelligent and educated, of course, but that wasn’t unusual, even for a Regency aristocrat. It was his curiosity, his tolerance, and his almost-twentieth-century willingness to embrace change that had surprised her. He cared about the people of his estate and wanted to improve their lives. Those who accepted jobs in the new industries worried him, for he anticipated the problems that Dickens would describe so eloquently. He was open to new ideas, even accepting, though with understandable reluctance, her appearance from the future. And his respect for others transcended both gender and class boundaries.