Escape To Me

by Diane Alberts

  They had unfinished business, he and she.

  How dare she lie to him? Make it seem as if she came from the future? Never mind the fact he’d sought to do the same. Somehow, her lies and secrets were different from his. He was a male, and she an innocent. And a woman.

  Ladies didn’t go around throwing their virginity away at a moment’s notice. Then again, perhaps she wasn’t a lady at all. He’d made discreet inquiries all around town about any unmarried, gorgeous, twenty-six year old spinsters. He’d gotten lots of odd looks and plenty of rumors circulating, but no damn answers. No one claimed knowledge of any such paragon. All the spinsters were described as dull and boring. And plain.

  Not his Eleanor.

  I live far from here. In a place where no one ever sees me. You will be no different, even after tonight.

  A chill racked his spine, and he gulped another glass of punch. They ought to serve better beverages at these crushes. Maybe then he’d come more often. In all reality, he was here for one reason—he hoped to catch her.

  Once he found her, he’d either shake her until her teeth rattled or sweep her into his arms and run away with her until he could find a way to make her want to stay. To make her his in every way. Scotland, perhaps. He had a small estate there he’d been meaning to check on.

  But first, he had to bloody find her.

  Where would a woman who never got seen be hiding? In the shadows? He searched every corner of the room, but he didn’t see any swishing skirts next to him. Maybe it was as she’d said—she was a tavern wench.

  But how would she know about his son? How would she have seen him enough to love him—as she claimed she did?

  His instincts screamed no. If ever a true lady had existed, she was it. Why hadn’t he recognized her? He knew all the debutantes. He scanned the ballroom for what had to be the millionth time, searching amongst the flowing couples for a sign of her blonde curls…a tad on the short side. Or maybe a hint of periwinkle eyes crinkled in laughter at something her dance partner murmured in her ear.

  He rubbed his neck, amazed that he felt like punching a fictional man in the nose for making Eleanor laugh.

  What the bloody hell was wrong with him?

  He pulled at his cravat, of a sudden so hot he couldn’t catch his breath. He dodged his way around all the marriage-minded mamas parading their daughters in front of him like prizes. He didn’t give a damn if he acted rude.

  He needed air.

  ***

  Eleanor leaned on the balcony railing, frowning up at the moon, and tried to ignore the painful fact that for the third night in a row, she’d stood in the same exact room as Thomas and he’d had no clue. She’d seen his focus slip from one blonde to another, but it never fell on her. She’d like to think he scanned the crowd for her. Or to believe the reason he left with drooped shoulders every night was due to the failure of said mission.

  But she wasn’t a fool.

  He had no reason to search her out. Their business had concluded the night she left him alone in a hotel. She refused to step into his vision, no matter how much she wished to see him again. Even if she cried herself to sleep every night as she remembered his arms around her.

  No, it wouldn’t do to embarrass them both by begging him to hold her one last time. She’d been blending into shadows for all her life—why should she stop now?

  Unfortunately, she had no pressing need to confront him. The condom had done its job. Her monthlies had come right on time last week. She’d be lying if she said she hadn’t shed a tear or two. Part of her had hoped to be required to find him. To show her face again.

  But alas, no such luck.

  A footfall sounded behind her, but she didn’t turn around. Whoever it was would pass by soon enough. Why waste the energy for mere courtesy?

  “I’m sorry, am I disturbing you?” Thomas’s voice washed over her, inciting a riot of emotions inside her all at once.

  She gripped the white railing tighter, terrified to face him. Anxious over whether he’d recognize her with clothes on.

  Her stomach lurched as she pictured him smiling as he passed her, none the wiser that she’d shared his bed a week ago. Yet, she also remained terrified he’d recognize her and denounce her in front of the ton. Her heart beat deafeningly loud in her ears, drowning out the sound of anything but her fear. How could he not hear it? His steady footsteps faltered and then stopped altogether. She closed her eyes and prayed for mercy.

  Please, God, let him—

  A swift intake of breath, and then, “Excuse me, would you mind turning around, miss?”

  She gulped in the crisp air, the world spinning and tipping to the side in front of her. Did he recognize her? Did he know who she was? Refusing to turn around and find out, she stepped deeper into the shadows.

  He didn’t take the unspoken hint, instead grabbing her elbow to spin her around. When he grasped her chin and tilted her face up, she slammed her eyes shut and bit back a groan. The moonlight shone through her closed lids, and she squeezed them tighter, not willing to see the anger and disappointment in his face as he realized his temptress had been none other than a spinster he’d overlooked for years.

  And a boring one at that.

  “Look at me.” His curt voice made her flinch. She shook her head and jerked her chin in an attempt to free herself. He tightened his grip on her jaw, refusing to let her go. “I said look at me, Eleanor.”

  She shivered at the sound of her name on his lips, giving in to his demand. When she met his eyes, he groaned and brushed his thumb across her lip. “It’s you.”

  “Y-Yes.” Swallowing past her swollen throat, she said, “It’s me.”

  “You left me.” His mouth tightened and then he moaned, crushing his lips to hers. She gasped, taken aback all over again at the hunger he woke in her, and fought his hold. If he continued kissing her in such a fashion, her skirts would end up over her head within the minute.

  He pulled her closer, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, and before she knew it…she was kissing him back. She no longer pushed him away, but instead clasped him closer. As she had feared, she was swept away by torrential passion and helpless to fight it.

  He dragged his lips away, frowning down at her with a harsh line to the same mouth that had moments ago been driving her insane with want. She blinked up at him, trying to recollect why he’d wish to scowl at her instead of kissing her some more.

  He gripped her upper arms, shaking her gently. “Why? Why did you use me, then leave without telling me who you were?” His eyes flashed in anger, but his voice cracked. “How could you just leave me?”

  She licked her parched lips. “Why would I stay?” Her voice rose above polite volume, despite the knowledge that the ton would devour her alive if they overheard her. “We went there for a night of passion. Both of us went so far as to travel forward in time, with the help of Madame Eve, to ensure absolute privacy. Where, in all the secrecy, was there a clause stating I must tell you my identity?”

  Thomas shook her again, and she shrugged out of his grip. Her feet got caught up in her dress, and she hit the ground on her bottom with a loud whoosh of her skirts.

  How undignified.

  “You,” he pointed down at her, “told me you were from the ‘modern times,’ and as such, I had no cause to worry about ruining you. You lied.”

  She shrugged from her seat on the ground. “You still don’t need to worry. No one will ever want to marry me. And I'm not with child. The only people who know anything about us are me and you. And Madame Eve. She won’t tell our story, though.”

  His face turned bright red, and he squatted down beside her to thump his chest. “I know. Every time I see you, I’ll picture you naked beneath me. When I see your lips, I’ll feel them on mine. When your breasts tease me from your corset,” his gaze dropped to her heaving bosom, “I’ll ache to taste them in my mouth once more. I will not forget.”

  Her cheeks heated, and she waved her fan in front of her face. She gla
nced behind him to ensure they were alone. “Shh. Someone will hear you.”

  “I don’t care. I’ve been searching for you nonstop this past week, and I have no intention of letting you out of my sight ever again.” He stood, grabbed her waist, and lifted her to an upright position. His fingers burned through the fabric, reminding her of what she knew all too well—how much she wanted him to touch her again. Love her.

  As he dragged her to the French doors that led into the ballroom, she smoothed the wrinkles from her skirts. Couples whirled by the glass, unaware of the battle going on in the darkness of the balcony.

  The closer to the doors they got, the more Eleanor dug her heels into the stone. “Wait, what are you doing? Where are you going?”

  “I’m taking you inside to dance with me. Twice. We’ll drink the god-awful punch, smile, and flirt. Shortly thereafter, we’ll make a public exit together. Come tomorrow, I’ll call on you and take you for a ride in the park. By noon, word of my courtship will be ablaze among every gossipmonger in the ton. In a month, I’ll propose marriage.”

  “No!” She yanked free.

  Eleanor walked a few steps backward, trying to collect her thoughts. He planned to marry her? Why ever would he do that? He took his chivalry too far if he thought she’d wed him over one night of passion. She’d not doom them both to a loveless marriage for society’s sake. Society remained ignorant of her fall from grace. And, truth be told, they couldn’t give a damn about her, regardless.

  He advanced, thunderous fury clouding his features. “No?” His voice was deceptively soft, but she wasn’t fooled. A muscle in his chin ticked, and she could hear him grinding his teeth. “What do you mean no? Are you refusing me?”

  “First of all, I don’t recall being asked.” She tilted her chin and glowered down her nose at him. No easy feat, given her short stature. “Secondly, I will not marry you out of some nonsensical sense of chivalry.”

  Thomas growled and backed her into a wall. His hands rested on either side of her, and she quivered as he leaned in. His hot breath fanned her cheek. “Will you do me the honor of being my wife?”

  “Why?” she whispered. “There’s no reason for you to—”

  “You push me too far.” His voice held a warning in it. “You will be my wife. Even if I have to force you to Scotland to accomplish the fact. I am not above kidnapping my bride.”

  She clasped his forearms and looked up at him, pleading for the words she needed him to say. “I must know! Why do you want to marry me?”

  He pushed off the wall to pace in front of her, tugging on his cravat. “Because I spent the past week thinking I’d never see you again. Because every minute away from you is one I lose holding you in my arms. Because you made me feel alive again. Made me care about life.

  “I don’t want to spend years being lonely and miserable. I didn’t think anyone could awaken my heart after Suzanne died, until I met you. You made me whole again. And I won’t stand by and let you walk away from me again.”

  “Oh, Thomas.” She bit her quivering lip, trying to hold back tears at his words. Dare she hope he spoke true? Somehow, she doubted it. The more viable option was that he sought to be a gentleman. Time for her to be strong enough to save him from himself. “How can this be? I’m nobody. You’ve passed by me every day for years, never seeing me. You even asked me to dance a few times. Yet, you didn’t recognize me as we made love. How can I believe you need me to live? Your honor can rest easy. You owe me nothing.”

  “I owe you everything,” he vowed.

  “No, you don’t.” Her voice broke on the last word. She needed to leave his presence before she drowned herself in pitiful sobs. She sought to ease his conscience, not make him feel worse. “I’m leaving now. Please don’t follow me.”

  When she was halfway across the balcony, and almost free, he asked, “You said you loved me. How can you leave me if that’s true?” His voice came out in a mere whisper, but he might as well have shouted it.

  She froze, tears running down her cheeks, fists clenched at her sides. Her arms shook with the desire to wrap herself around him and never let go. Taking a calming breath, she turned on her heel. His haunted eyes met hers.

  She twisted her skirt, weighing her options. “I do love you. It’s why I refuse to force you to marry me. You deserve better.”

  “I need you. No one could make me feel better. I know this is all sudden. I know I’ve been a fool. But, let me court you. You can take as long as you’d like to decide if I'm worthy to be your husband. Give me time to show you my intentions are true. You’ll see how much you mean to me. And you’ll doubt me no longer. Just give me a chance.”

  His impassioned plea broke through the wall surrounding her heart, the bricks tumbling with a loud bang. He meant his words—wished for her to be his wife. What started as a one-night stand had turned into much, much more. Eleanor threw a silent prayer of thanks up to the starry sky, making sure to include thanks to Madame Eve. The wonderful woman who somehow had managed to make all her dreams come true.

  She returned her attention to Thomas and nodded, incapable of speaking. A smile broke out across his gorgeous face. She couldn’t get over the fact that he belonged to her.

  With a joyous cry, he sprinted across the balcony, sweeping her into a tight embrace as he kissed her. Her fingers twined in his hair, her slipper clad feet dangling in the air as his palms lowered to her buttocks to pull her closer.

  When the muted sound of a conversation broke through the silence, they broke apart, laughing at each other’s exuberance.

  He kissed her nose and then lowered her until her feet touched solid ground once more. She preferred them in the air, herself.

  He struck a dandy’s pose, holding out his arm. “So, my lady, shall we enter and give the gossipmongers something to keep them up all night?”

  Eleanor beamed at him and slid her hand inside the crook of his elbow. “Why, yes, my lord. Please lead the way.”

  “Anytime, my dear. Anytime.”

  Indeed, all heads turned to them as they entered the ballroom. Echoes of “who is she?” filled the room, making Eleanor and Thomas smile as the orchestra struck up a minuet.

  Who, indeed?

  ~ABOUT THE AUTHOR~

  Diane Alberts lives in Northeast Pennsylvania with her husband, four kids, and a bird. She lives in the mountains-but wishes it were the beach. She has been writing since she was in elementary school, but only recently fulfilled her dreams of being published in 2011. Enjoys dyeing yarn and knitting in her “spare” time.

  She loves interacting with readers, so feel free to email her!

  Email address: diane@dianealberts.com

  Website: www.dianealberts.com

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