by BETH KERY
"You're in love with her."
Ryan started slightly. His mother hadn't asked a question, she'd made a bald statement.
He opened his mouth to say something along the lines that it was too soon to tell, that he hadn't known Hope long enough to know if he was in love with her or experiencing an intense infatuation.
Actually, Ryan didn't like to dwell too much on that aspect of their strange circumstances. After seeing Hope firsthand in her time period, he was all too aware of what would be expected of him if he were a man with even a semi-stiff backbone who lived in the year 1906. Decent men didn't go around seducing gentlewomen like Hope Stillwater, let alone do what he'd done to her in that bordello bedroom, and then just walk away.
Problem was, Ryan wasn't an early-twentieth-century man. He existed in a very different time, one where people didn't proclaim their love after a few days of knowing each other, let alone get married like Hope's father—and possibly even Hope—would expect of him.
The situation was so confusing it was just easier for him not to think about it for the time being.
Eve didn't seem to mind his muteness over her disturbing proclamation about him being in love with Hope. She stepped toward Ryan, her eyes shining with amazement.
"Do you know that young girl back there— Hope Stillwater—is the kind of woman we read about in our history books? An activist for women's and children's rights?" Eve asked, her voice laced with barely restrained excitement.
"Yeah. She said the name Miss Addams a few times last night. I finally realized she was talking about Jane Addams. Hope regularly gives lectures and attends meetings at Hull House. Apparently Miss Addams was a sort of mentor of hers," Ryan admitted, referring to the founder of the field of social work in the United States.
Eve shook her head in continued amazement. "Wow. She knew Jane Addams. The Jane Addams. Can you imagine the chutzpah a girl like Hope must have had to possess to be so nontraditional during that time period?"
Ryan rolled his eyes. "There's no need to remind me of Hope's chutzpah."
Eve gave a chest-deep chuckle. "I'm glad for you, Ryan. I always hoped you'd find someone special someday—someone who means to you what your father did to me. And Hope certainly is special."
There it was again, that casual, anxiety-provoking reference to Hope and him being a couple. Once again, Ryan ignored it.
"I suppose you could call the fact that she was born a hundred and twenty seven years ago and wears pantaloons underneath sweatpants 'special.'"
"Ryan, you know what I meant," Eve scolded even though her eyes sparkled with amusement. "She's so . . . alive. I've never known anyone like her. You know that saying,
'light up a room'?"
"She does, doesn't she?" he admitted gruffly after a pause.
"She certainly does."
"She has other characteristics that aren't quite so stellar, though. She's as impulsive as a three-year-old sometimes. Once Hope gets an idea in her head there's no stopping her."
"And you love her for it." Eve chuckled before she took a sip of diet soda. "She's exactly what you need, a big, strong, dominant man like you. She'll put you in your place quicker than you can say 'mercy.'"
"I'm scared she's going to try and go back through the mirror."
Eve paused with the soda can tilted to her lips. Her blue eyes widened at his sudden intensity.
"She wants to go back," he added.
Eve swallowed thickly and lowered the can of soda. "Honey, that's only natural. She loves her father. She's left a whole way of life behind."
"I know," Ryan said. Why'd he say that, anyway, when he'd just been thinking about the impossible complications of Hope and him having a relationship? It was because he was worried about her safety, of course. "But there's no telling what would happen to her if she tried to use the remaining mirror. I wish I understood the mechanics of it."
"It's stranger than fiction. I can't help but feel some kind of mechanical explanation would be woefully lacking. Maybe you should ask Alistair about it?"
"Do you really think he knows something about the mirror?"
Eve shrugged. "I don't know for sure. But you yourself have said the circumstances of him giving you the Prairie Avenue mansion were strange. Now we discover there's a mirror in the household that serves as a portal between time periods and you bring this amazing woman back with you—a woman who's clearly as much in love with you as you are her."
Ryan's heart bounded in his chest. Did his mother really think so? He got his answer when she gave him a knowing smirk.
"You're right. About Alistair I mean. I'm going to talk to him about it tomorrow. The strange thing about it is that Hope and I saw each other, communicated and spoke even, by means other than the mirror . .." he trailed off thoughtfully.
"What else is bothering you, Ryan?"
He grimaced. The photographs of Hope and him making love in the Sweet Lash had come to mind. He'd re-hidden them in the secret compartment in the mantel the day they returned.
"There's something I haven't told Hope yet—something about some photographs I found of her at the mansion—"
"Ryan, you never told me you found photographs of me."
He looked around in surprise to see Hope pushing through the swinging door that led to the storeroom.
"I, uh . .. there were some photographs of you in the information Gail gathered for me from the Chicago police archives," he mumbled uneasily. Hope didn't appear to notice anything suspicious in his behavior, thank God.
"I keep forgetting to ask you how those toilets work. It seems quite the miracle the way they flush without a tank above my head," Hope stated matter-of-factly as she joined them.
"And what did you think of the toilet paper?" Ryan asked, his lips twitching with humor.
Hope colored and glanced at Eve apologetically. "Ryan thinks I'm silly for thinking the paper in the bathroom is a miracle of softness."
"I always wondered what people used before toilet paper—" Eve began, but Ryan cut her off.
"Hate to interrupt what I'm sure'll be a fascinating conversation, but I told Ramiro I'd meet him to go over some things I missed at the meeting yesterday."
"You go on, Ryan," Eve said as she grabbed Hope's hand and drew her into the boutique's showroom. "Hope and I will be busy getting her ready for the gala tonight."
"I can't thank you enough for letting me borrow one of your gowns, Mrs. Daire. They're so beautiful, like something an elven princess would wear. I'm a little concerned about the ... er . .. lack of material involved, but if you tell me they're sufficiently modest for this time period, I'll take your word on it."
"We'll get you all set up, darling. You're going to be the belle of the ball," Eve said as she began drawing down dress after dress from the rack.
" Oh, and Ryan said I was to ask you about the specifics of 'bras' as well." Hope turned when Ryan touched her shoulder. He dropped a kiss on her parted lips.
"I'll be back in an hour or two to get you. We should have time to look around the city a little more before we have to show up at the Field Museum," he whispered near her mouth a moment later. Hope slowly lifted her eyelids and stared at him bemusedly. It made him feel like a god that his kiss put that silly, dazed expression on her face. "And don't start wearing bras just because I brought it up."
"You would prefer I wore my corset?"
"I'd prefer you wore neither." Hope glanced nervously at Eve. "I'm sure this is not an appropriate conversation for us to be having in front of your mother," she whispered.
"No worries, Hope," Eve muttered distractedly as she glanced at a green gown and then Hope with a furrowed brow before she rehung the dress. "Believe it or not it doesn't come as much of a shock to me that a healthy thirty-three-year-old male would prefer that a pretty woman not wear a bra." She grinned in a satisfied manner when she drew down a rose-colored gown and held it up to Hope. "Bingo. Looks like Ryan will get his wish."
"What do you mean?" Hope asked a tad
nervously as she studied the floaty, silk-chiffon dress.
"I mean that I might have designed this dress specifically for your figure and coloring it's so perfect. And no bra or corset is going to ruin that perfection."
Ryan turned and headed for the front door, chuckling to himself at Hope's panicked expression at the thought of going into public with her beautiful breasts unbound.
TWENTY-FOUR
Ryan dug his fingers into the collar of his white dress shirt, attempting to loosen it just a tad. He tied his bow tie and glanced at
his face briefly in the gilded mirror, scowling when he noticed the cut on his brow that hadn't yet fully healed. His jacket hung on a raii of the brass bed so his holster and gun were in full view. He looked exactly like what he was—a cop dressed up in a monkey suit.
He grabbed his jacket, shrugging into it as he walked down the hallway. Hope'd been locked up in the bathroom for well over an hour now and he was starting to wonder what the hell she was doing in there. They still had to pick up Ramiro and Gail and he wanted to leave early so he could take a different route to the Field Museum than the one he'd driven this afternoon driving to his mother's. It had been a strangely gratifying experience to show Hope the city and see her wide-eyed expressions of wonder as she exclaimed over the towering high-rises, the speed at which cars flew down Lake Shore Drive and the scandalous fact that women showed their legs in public.
He'd also had his smugness punctured a few times in regard to the modern advancements of his world in comparison to hers. As they'd pass Navy Pier on Lake Shore Drive he'd pointed at the Ferris wheel.
"That's a copy of Ferris's original wheel from the Chicago World's Fair in 1893." He noticed that Hope'd looked at the wheel and glanced over to him as though she wanted to say something but was too polite to do so.
"What?" he asked.
"That's not a replica of Mr. George Ferris's wheel, Ryan."
"Are you sure? I could have sworn I read it was."
"Of course I'm sure. That," said Hope as she pointed at the wheel, "is nothing compared to Mr. Ferris's wheel. The original Ferris wheel was as tall as many of these high-rises, as you call them. There were thirty-six cars and each of them held sixty people. It was an engineering wonder. He built it to rival France's engineering feat for their World's Fair, the Eiffel Tower, you know. He surpassed it as far as I'm concerned."
No, he hadn't known. "Over two thousand people could ride it at once?"
Hope had nodded as she gawked at the thick orchard of towering buildings to the left of her. "My mother and father were intimate friends with Mr. and Mrs. Ferris. I rode the wheel on several occasions. Once while my mother and I were on the Ferris wheel a man had a terrible attack of nerves because of the great height. He began shouting and racing about the car, knocking people over. He was inconsolable and of course there was nowhere for him to go. It was quite frightening, as you can imagine, especially for us children to be locked in that small space with a madman. But my mother just matter-of-factly removed her skirt and threw it over the poor man's head. She began to soothe him with her voice and he went quite still under her skirt until we made a full turn of the wheel."
"She took off her skirt?" Ryan had asked incredulously, especially now that he'd learned firsthand about a woman from Hope's time period's modesty in regard to matters of dress.
Hope had chuckled when she saw his expression and nodded. "Yes. Not only was the panicking man shocked into silence. Everyone was speechless, but the men on board were flabbergasted at the sight of my mother in her petticoat. I wish you could have known her. She was a very beautiful woman in addition to being quite unique."
"I guess it's clear where you got it from," Ryan had said under his breath.
Later he'd taken her to .the top of the Sears Tower so that she could see a panoramic view of the city. He'd been a little unsure about taking her up to the 110th floor, and initially the paleness of her face as she slowly approached one of the windows on the skydeck hardly reassured him. His mother had provided her with a skirt, boots and a sweater to wear. Was he going to have to remove the skirt and fling it over her head to stop her from panicking?
His partially amused, partially concerned thoughts ceased when Hope had turned around and he saw her exultant expression.
After that he'd had trouble keeping up with her as she rushed around from one side of the skydeck to another, identifying known landmarks and exclaiming over the massive growth of the city.
"He lives on our block, you know," Hope had murmured happily as they descended. The elevator was crowded with tourists and Hope was sandwiched between the corner and Ryan's body.
"Who?" he asked, only mildly interested. He pressed his body closer to her and dropped a kiss on top of her head. Her scent filled his nose. She felt so small against him, so soft...
very, very nice. She tilted her head back and regarded him with eyes that never ceased to capture him completely in their velvety soft snare.
Nice place to be trapped. He found himself wondering idly if there was enough time to take her back to Prairie Avenue, strip her bare and bury his nose in every inch of her smooth, fragrant skin. Maybe if he broke a few land speed records on the way home and wrangled a promise out of Hope that she'd get ready for the gala in twenty minutes flat he'd have time to—
"Mr. Joseph Sears. He lives just two houses down from us. I look forward to telling him of his family's towering contribution to the city someday."
His eyebrows had gone up at her casual melding of their time periods. She'd noticed his amusement and smiled.
"I thought you said I should try and think of my father as still being alive—accessible to me. If it were true of him, wouldn't it be true for everyone?"
Ryan had shrugged. "You love your father, Hope. You can picture him with the clarity that only intense emotion can bring. I'm assuming you don't feel the same way about Joseph Sears, but I may be wrong."
She'd lowered her eyes and blushed so intensely it'd surprised him. Did she really believe he thought she had a thing for Joseph Sears? She cleared her throat.
"Are you saying that was how you did it, Ryan?" she whispered. She looked up at him cautiously through thick lashes. "Is that how you traveled through time?"
Ryan's mouth gaped open stupidly. He grasped for something logical to say, but the elevator door opened and everyone inside crushed to get out.
It wasn't that he was trying to avoid answering her, he assured himself presently. It just seemed like one thing had led to another since they'd returned to the car and then Prairie Avenue.
And now Hope had disappeared into the bathroom for over an hour.
He knocked on the door.
"Hope? We need to get going. We're going to be late."
"Maybe you should go without me, Ryan."
"What are you talking about?" he shouted through the closed door. "You begged me to go." He tried to open the door but it was locked. "Open up, honey."
His brows furrowed in concern when nothing happened for several silent seconds.
"Hope? Are you all right?"
He heard the snick of the lock being released. The door opened slowly.
Ryan stared.
"Is it. .. bad?" she whispered.
"Bad?" Ryan muttered, poleaxed by the sight of her in the sleeveless, rose-colored gown.
The fabric over her breasts was pleated but fit very snugly. Silver beading just below her breasts further highlighted the most succulent decolletage Ryan had ever imagined.
Below the beading the fabric fell to her toes in a graceful, wispy cloud. Her long, curly hair fell around her shoulders in a sexy spill. She wore no necklace, but the flawless expanse of skin on her chest, neck and shoulders required no adornment. His mother must have loaned her the long, delicate silver filigreed earrings that glittered next to her midnight hair.
She looked ethereal. .. otherworldly.
"You're beautiful," he said as he met her anxious gaze. He wished his words hadn't so
unded so lame, so inadequate. Ryan was used to seeing professional models wear his mother's designs. As a matter of fact, he thought he'd seen a blonde with legs that went up to her armpits model this very design at one of his mother's shows last year. But nothing could have prepared him for seeing Hope standing there in the same gown, looking so uncertain when she deserved tributes of poetry and song to her unsurpassable beauty.
She gave him a tremulous smile. "I feel naked."
"You look like something from a dream. And nobody at the gala is going to think anything other than that. But if that doesn't help any, think of your mother taking off her skirt to calm that panicked guy on the Ferris wheel." His eyebrows rose when her black eyes sparkled. "Surely you have as much courage as her."
That did it. She went to the sink and picked up the tiny silver beaded purse that matched her ensemble. She took a long, deep breath, mastering her anxiety.
"Well, it certainly is easier to do that without a corset," she admitted with a witch's smile.
Ryan noticed Hope's broad grin as they climbed up the white marble steps of the Field Museum.
"Guess you're not disappointed, even though it's not the Field Museum you remember from Jackson Park?"
"Oh, it's exactly what I'd hoped it would be when I heard Mrs. Potter Palmer coaxing Mr.
Burnham into building it several months ago at a dinner party given by the Glessners. He recaptured a bit of the magic of the White City and the Chicago World's Fair. I don't think you present-day Chicagoans have any idea what you owe Daniel Burnham for his elegant city plan," Hope said, referring to the renowned Chicago architect.
She stared up at the fantastic, white marble, neoclassical structure. Glowing lanterns had been set at the edge of every step. Hope felt as though she were attending a party at an enormous Grecian temple. Ryan didn't comment on her proclamation but merely gave a shake of his head, a restrained expression of amazement on his face.
Ryan opened the massive front door for Ramiro, Gail and herself. Hope drew near him and paused for a moment in the doorway.