Blackwell 2 - Timeswept Rogue

by Amy J. Fetzer

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  Amy J. Fetzer

  shared. It would happen. She could feel it. Like an ache in her bones. And just as she sensed the old trunk lying near, she sensed a rushing tide she couldn't stop. It made her want to run. And selfishly she wanted Ramsey with her.

  His kiss suddenly gentled, soothed, and slowly, with the tenderness of homage, he drew back.

  "Why did you do that?" Breathless, blinking.

  He quirked a smile. "You had that look about you."

  A tapered brow arched smoothly, at touch chilly. "And that was?''

  "Kiss me. Ramsey," he said dramatically. "Afore I say aught I'll regret."

  Her lips twitched. "Oh, really?"

  "Ah, there 'tis again," he said, then kissed her, a wild slide of lips and tongues, possessive, sassy and far too enticing to let it continue. Or he'd take her to his bed, if just to prove 'twas where she was true to her heart—and him.

  "Have you the key?" he murmured against her lips, adoring her dreamy expression.

  "Huh?" Slowly she opened her eyes.

  "The key." He glanced meaningfully at the trunk. "Do you not wish to open it?"

  Her gaze locked on the gold name plate. "No!" came quick and sharp as she pushed out of his arms, then softer, embar­rassed, "No, thanks anyway."

  He searched her face. "Are you not curious? Frankly Penel­ope, 'tis chewing me insides." He tapped the trunk with his foot.

  She smiled weakly. "Mine too, but I don't think I'm ready to see what's in there."

  Ram's chest tightened and he tamped down the urge to solve the puzzle for her now and be done with it. She looked unbelievably fragile, like a jade kitten he'd once seen, exquisite, smooth and hard on the surface, yet with little pressure the crush of his hand would crumble her into powder.

  "The gift has waited this long, I daresay 'twill wait til you wish to unwrap it." Her shoulders sagged and he realized how

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  much the damned thing terrified her. What secrets did she believe were inside an old chest that could possibly harm her?

  As she tiredly scrubbed her hands over her face, he wondered if he'd the strength to watch her agonize over it afore she opened the trunk.

  Penny caught her breath when he bent and slid his arm behind her knees, lifting her in his arms and moving toward the bed.

  "Put me down, Ramsey ... or is this your way of telling me you're horny?"

  He blinked owlishly, utterly shocked. "Cheeky wench," he said on a huge grin, then dumped her unceremoniously on the mattress. Penny bounced, shoving hair from her view and glar­ing at him. It had no effect and with a broad finger, he pushed up her chin, checking the knife wound. 'Twas smaller than he first realized and could wait to be properly tended.

  "Sleep," he ordered, then slipped off her sandals.

  She propped herself on her elbows. "I'm not tired."

  He pushed her back down. "You are an exceedingly poor liar, Penelope." She opened her mouth to argue and he warned, " Twould be unwise to defy me."

  "God, you're a bully."

  "I'm not accustomed to being disobeyed." Firm, but apolo­getic.

  From her vantage point he looked like a giant addressing his underlings. "I'll just bet," she said and watched him turn to leave.

  Ram paused, looking over his shoulder; feline-green eyes regarded him with an odd intensity. Abruptly, he turned back and ducked beneath the netting, bracing his palms against the mattress on either side of her. She lay still, her eyes glassy, cat-like, her rounded breasts swelling with each erratic breath, threatening to spill from the snug confinement. She licked her lips and the unspoken invitation drew him closer. He wanted to assure her, keep her safe from demons and dragons out to harm her and as her expectant gaze locked with his, he slowly lowered his head, brushing his mouth to hers. Her purring sigh teased his lips and the fire quickly sparked atween them. He increased the pressure, his chest hovering a fraction over hers

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  as his warm lips rolled back and forth, imploring her to give over the honeyed sweetness. Velvety heat seared through Penelope, sliding richly over her skin and tingling her toes. Last night blossomed in her mind, their scorching passion, her brushfire lust and the freedom she found in his arms. And she arched slightly, a subtle plea, her hands hesitating to grasp his shoulders and pull him down, her body screaming to feel his weight, but he drew back, smiling when it took her a moment to open her eyes.

  "I promise, Penelope," he whispered, brushing the pad of his thumb across her lips, "you've naught to fear."

  Penny blinked. Except you, she thought, her insides quivering from the power he wielded with a single kiss. He straightened and quietly left her bedroom, sealing the door behind him.

  Chapter 21

  Ramsey stood outside Penelope's door, grinding his teeth, debating whether or not to reenter the chamber and satisfy the mounting hunger she created in him. God, he wanted to make love to her. Right now. Again and again, wild and passionate and devouring until she begged him to cease, and then he'd refuse, taking her to that lush peak once more and savoring her breathless cries of pleasure.

  God.

  He was erect.

  He was sweating.

  Sweet Christ, he had to cease pondering over such images. Tis bloody unnatural, he thought. Shoving his hands in his pockets to disguise his state lest someone come upon him, Ramsey twisted around and leaned back against the adjacent wall.

  He smothered his vivid imagination, recalling the day's events and the consequences. He'd more important matters to contend with now, he reminded, to be selfish of his own. He heard the clink of crockery and straightened, seeking out the source. He found Margaret on her knees, collecting up the shattered dishes into her apron.

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  She sniffled, her tiny sob catching him in the gut.

  "Aw, Meggie me rose," Ram soothed, bending. She wouldn't look at him and he tipped her chin up. Her face was streaked with tears.

  "I'm being silly I know, but when I heard her scream and those gun shots," her voice broke with tears, "I swear my heart dropped to my toes."

  He pulled her to her feet and she nestled the broken dishes carefully. "I don't think they truly meant to hurt her, Meggie."

  She reared back. "For the love of Mike, Ramsey, they tried to kill you!"

  " 'Twas merely a warning." His calm voice soothed.

  "Maybe," she said, yet wasn't convinced. "But after losing our little Tess, I can't help worrying." Her lip quivered.

  "Ahh, lassie, you love her so, don't you?"

  Margaret nodded, leaning against him as they left the guest room. "She's all I've got," Margaret murmured and Ramsey withdrew a handkerchief and blotted her wet cheeks. Did Penel­ope realize how much love surrounded her?

  "How long have you known Penelope?"

  Margaret glanced at Penny's closed door, then at Ramsey. "I practically raised her."

  His features tightened. Though 'twas common in his century for servants to tend to children, somehow he imagined 'twould be different now.

  "I can't tell you anymore, 'cause I promised, but let's just say Penelope has a right to be ... unresponsive to relation­ships." She stared up at him for a moment, then finally smiled. "She's a bit reclusive, if you haven't noticed."

  "I have."

  "But she needs you. You're good for her. Even if she'd rather die than admit it."

  "Are you saying you're rather fond of me, Meggie?" He grasped her free hand, bending over it for a kiss.

  "Go on with you now," she said, pulling free. "You're sort of hard not to like, Ramsey O'Keefe." Straightening her shoulders, Margaret headed off, then paused, casting a back­wards glance at the big man. "I don't suppose you dirtied up

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  that room enough for me to have something to do?'' She nodded beyond to his bedchamber.

  "I've taken care of meself for years and see no reason to c
ease now."

  "I 'spected as much," she said, disappointed. Ram's shoul­ders shook with silent laughter as he watched her ascend the staircase, muttering about insensitive police leaving her enough dust to clean up til Sunday.

  Ram turned into his quarters, suddenly exhausted. He sat down on the bed, then fell back, throwing one arm out. His knuckles smacked the side of the strong box and he winced, coming upright, pulling the chest close. Upon finding it locked, went to his frock coat, digging in the pocket. He returned with a small key suspended on a strip of leather, inserting it into the lock. Taking a deep breath afore he turned the key, he flipped the latch, his smile pleased and reminiscent as he settled comfortably on the mattress.

  Braced within the molded shelf of the box was his sextant and a gold and silver astrolabe, gifts from his father, to chart his courses home, his sire had said. And though he'd never mentioned it, Ram knew Father had sold his finest horse to purchase the expensive instruments. His hand dipped inside the box, coming back with a silhouette of his mother. He smoothed a thumb over the artfully-cut black paper, his mind filling with sweet memories; her softly accented voice, the scent of lilacs, and her love of music. His throat burned. His gaze fell on a locket, small, unadorned and tucked in the corner of the molded velvet. He didn't touch it, couldn't, for he knew hidden within the folded gold was a wisp of downy brown hair, new, still scented with innocence. A lump thickened in his throat, shame and outrage simmering beneath the surface. He smothered it, suddenly overturning the chest on the coverlet and separating the items. Picking up his signet ring, he briefly studied the etched gold before slipping it on his middle finger. A sparkle caught his immediate attention and he grasped the end of a gold chain, holding it high in the air. He frowned as the beautiful dark pink pear-shaped diamond twisted and turned in the fading twilight, the gem's brilliance winking in soft rainbow patterns

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  across the wall. His features suddenly stretched taut. 'Twas one of the stolen diamonds, he realized. Yet why would Dane put such a valuable piece within?

  There were random items remaining on the bed, bits of his past he prized and though he'd seen them a month ago, it felt like years since he'd looked upon his possessions; his jackknife, the date of his first voyage carved into the worn handle grip, his divider, protractor, and reflecting quadrant, a pearl encrusted jabot pin once belonging to his grandfather—the only item his father refused to sell when they were nearly penniless—and a pressed sprig of red paintbrush tucked in oiled paper. His younger sister had picked that for him—-the day afore she was killed by a British bullet.

  Ramsey carefully placed his possessions back in the chest and leaving it open, pulled the bundle close, untied the hide straps and unfolded the soft skin. A creased paper addressed to him lay on the top and he immediately recognized the dark fluid script to be Dane's. Quickly he broke the seal, unfolded the parchment and read.

  My dear friend,

  Tess and I pray this finds you hail and hearty. I must first write the words I could not say to you afore. Thank you, my friend, for allowing me to keep her here with me. Your sacrifice is the greatest gift of your heart. You will never be forgotten, this I swear. Since we had no indication of what century you would arrive in (Gad, I cannot believe I am actually penning such a notion), we could only hope 'tis the future, for your sake. This I envy you, Ram, for my wife speaks of the wonders only if I press her. She wishes to live in my time, and I admire her for that. I will confess to you that she has set Coral Keys society on their rumps with her bold talk and the vitality she radiates. I honestly believe 'twas her smile that coaxed Father from the grips of his despair over Desiree. She cajoled him into riding again beneath the guise of lessons for herself. Oh, how I love the little sneak.

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  'Twas her doing, this package. She cares deeply for you, my friend, and wept for days at the loss of your presence. Tess wishes this to be placed in the hands of Lloyds of London as quickly as possible, that it may find you when you need it most. She is tormented with the knowledge that you will be alone and eased her anguish by providing you with your favored possessions. She insists (and you above of all souls can attest to how accomplished she is at that task) we must warn you that our world's progress has wrought conveniences and dan­gers you must understand. I shall let her explain and bid you fare well, Ram, and God speed.

  Dane

  Ramsey blinked rapidly, then pinched the bridge of his nose. He would miss them forever, he thought, and set his cap to discover their legacy. And how it had died. He pulled a small tapestry-covered book from the stack and slowly opened it, reading Tess's neatly penned words. He threw his head back and laughed when she scolded him for jumping ship and in short words told him not to attempt to bed every wench who looked in his direction. His lips curved in a tender smile with the memory of Tess's quick set down, slicing his seductive tactics to ribbons. Suddenly he considered himself fortunate not to be the recipient of her sharp tongue. What would she think if she knew of the relationship he'd struck with Penelope?

  Ramsey read of disease and automatic guns, of medicinal advances, drug dealers, women's rights, whose progress amazed him, and mostly she stressed not trusting his secret to anyone.

  Then she mentioned Penelope. And he swore his heart stopped.

  1f you should actually arrive in my century, consider contacting her. I'll admit that Pen is rather cool to anyone she doesn 't know (and some she does) but that's upbring­ing. Have a little patience. I know why you went, Ramsey, and you can't devote yourself to looking for the perfect mate. It grows as it did between Dane and I. We were

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  forced friends. We had no other choice, stuck out in the middle of the ocean together. You have the advantage. You know you have traveled through time. I had to wait until a man was killed at my feet before I understood.

  He read on, taking comfort in her words and wishing she'd tell him more about Penelope. He reached for another journal, the motion sending his spyglass to the floor with a soft thump. Retrieving it, he opened the brass and black leather scope and sighted out the window. Rising slowly Ram moved closer to the glass; for several moments he studied the horizon, focusing on a small boat, its single occupant tugging a net up over the port side. Suddenly he yearned for the sea, the rolling list of a deck 'neath his feet, the bracing wind stinging his cheeks. And the rotten food, foul water, and cramped quarters, a little voice niggled. He lowered the scope and dropped his head forward. The restlessness he recognized. 'Twas the same as when he'd been in port for any length. Ramsey needed to work.

  A knock sounded and Ramsey hailed them enter as he snapped the scope shut.

  Anthony poked his head into the room.

  "Am I interrupting?"

  "Nay." As Anthony stepped inside, Ramsey's eyes darted to his possessions and he cursed his thoughtlessness.

  Anthony's gaze fell to the objects on the bed, the open chest and the pile of letters and books. He turned a jaundice eye to Ram, yet when no explanation was forthcoming he said, "I'm leaving."

  Ram bowed slightly, "Good day to you, then."

  "No, you've misunderstood," Anthony said on a short chuckle, his gaze darting to the items strewn across the green comforter. "I'm leaving the country in the morning."

  Ram's brows shot up into his forehead.

  "I've some business to take care of, ah—" His gaze shifted to the bed again, then back to Ram.' 'Ah, people to see, contracts to sign, you know, clients to pamper." His gaze strayed again and he burst with, "My God, Ramsey, is that an astrolabe?" Anthony walked swiftly to the bed, gingerly picking up the

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  instrument. "Damn me, it is!" He examined it, dipping into his pocket for his glasses and putting them on before taking a closer look. "Magnificent." He turned it over on his palm. "Is this really made of gold and silver?"

  Ram nodded once, desperately searching for a plausible excuse to offer. Obviously t
he like was no longer common in this century.

  "May I?" Anthony indicated the sextant. Ramsey couldn't deny the request without reason and handed it over.

  Anthony studied the antique instrument. It was in excellent condition, well-oiled and dust free, and he marveled at the hand-bored markings. Turning it bottom side up, his eyes flared a fraction at the name scrolled in gold filagree across the thin base.

  His gaze shifted to Ramsey. "I suppose you'll tell me this R. M. G. O'Keefe is an ancestor of yours?"

  Ramsey gave him a tolerant look and without a word, took back the sextant, replaced it in the box and snapped the lid shut.

  "Come on, Ramsey. Give over. The inscription is too remarkable to be a coincidence." Everything about this man spoke far deeper than a stroke of luck.

  "I beg you, do not ask, Antony, for I can offer you naught that will satisfy your questions." With his back to him, Ram gathered the papers in a pile.

  "Try me, Ram. I'm not such a hard sort."

  Ramsey stilled, darting a glance at his new friend. "Nay, I cannot."

  Anthony's gaze searched the stack of books and papers for an explanation. For an instant he thought he recognized the handwriting on the outside of one envelope but Ramsey tossed the oiled hide over the entire mess before he could decide.

  Ram faced Anthony. He was not ready to trust his secret to anyone, not yet. "I thank you for your concern," he said, not unkindly. "Is there aught I might do for you whilst you're traveling?"

  Anthony blinked, taken back. "Well, ah, no, then again," he said slowly, "you could stay here. With Penelope."

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  Frowning, Ramsey turned away. Moving to the window, he braced his forearm on the upper frame and watched the sea. "I had planned to find quarters of my own as soon as possible." He could not go on living in her home, not when he could afford one of his own. Regardless that they were, for proprieties sake, well chaperoned, 'twas improper. And by God, he could not disregard the absurd feeling of being kept. Yet leaving her could be deadly, he reasoned.