“My l-lord,” Stephens stammered. “I-I know this was a gift from Miss Amesbury . . .”
At the mention of that name, something happened to Hartley. The look on his face matched Stephens’s expression. Like his heart was hurting. Who was Miss Amesbury? And what did she do to make Hartley react like that?
Intriguing and mysterious. And I felt a surprising amount of jealousy. I shouldn’t have felt so proprietary over him, but I didn’t like his reaction.
“I’m so sorry!” I said loudly, causing both men to look at me. “I am such a klutz. I wasn’t looking where I was going and tripped over my own feet. I didn’t mean to knock it over. I’ll help clean it up.” I bent down, putting shards into my open hand. I glanced up at Stephens and saw gratitude in his warm brown eyes.
“It’s fine,” Hartley said through gritted teeth. “Please, I would like to speak with you in the library. Stephens, can you make certain this is taken care of?” He went back into the library, not waiting for his butler’s reply.
“Of course, my lord.” Stephens held out his tray, and I put the shards I’d picked up on top of it. I heard a soft “Thank you” as I walked past him.
It was easy to take the blame. I hoped I wouldn’t be around for very long, and I figured better me than Stephens.
I was actually feeling pretty good at having helped someone. It was the first time since I’d arrived that I’d been able to. Hartley stood behind his large desk, with papers and books spread open around him. I walked over to one of the chairs placed just in front of him. I was more used to the corset, but it was still restricting my movements, and I didn’t want to make a fool of myself in front of him.
Because he was even better than I remembered. I wanted to sigh just from being near him. He was still so perfect looking. My heart fluttered happily in my chest, and my hands still trembled slightly. So pretty. I wondered what he thought of me. Now that I was done up and era appropriate.
I tried clearing my throat, wanting to come up with something witty to impress him or make him laugh. Or fish for a compliment.
But before I could win him over with my brilliant wordplay, he looked up at me with those clear, beautiful blue eyes, and I froze. My mind turned to mush, and my tongue actually stopped working.
“I thought we should have a discussion about why you are here.”
That would be helpful. Because I had no idea who Miss Blythe was or why Hartley would let her stay in the house. “That sounds good.”
Gesturing toward one of the chairs in front of his desk, he said, “Please, be seated.”
And I tried to be graceful and elegant, but stymied by the infernal corset, I was veering into lumbering elephant territory. I carefully backed onto the chair, feeling a little like one of those crane games, hovering and adjusting myself to land in just the right spot. It didn’t help matters that he stood behind his desk, watching me. Once I was finally in the seat, he sat down, too.
He leaned back in his chair, folding his hands across his stomach as he watched me. Did guys here work out? Did he have washboard abs under all those layers? I bet he did. He certainly had broad shoulders and big arms. And strong hands. I fanned my face. I was starting to feel feverish.
“How much did your father tell you?”
“My father is . . .” I sucked in a sharp breath, not finishing my sentence. My brain had been so distracted by his beauty that I’d nearly said my father was dead. But Miss Blythe’s father was obviously very much alive. “He didn’t tell me anything.”
His hands flew apart as he leaned forward. “He just put you on a boat bound for England and told you nothing else?” Hartley sounded surprised and skeptical, but I needed as much information as I could get.
“Pretty much. Er, I mean, yes.”
Now he looked uncomfortable. Embarrassed, even. He drummed the fingers of his left hand against his desk. “Your father and I met on a ship coming back from the West Indies. I was there to check on some of our investments, and we met while playing cards. Your father is a terrible player and quickly lost an enormous sum. One he knew he would be unable to pay back. We struck a deal. I would cover his debt, and in return he would send you here. To me.”
What? I could feel my eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “Are you saying that man sold me to you?” My voice sounded really high and thin. Was I like a prostitute? He was about to be super disappointed if that was the case. Because hot or not, I was not going to have sex with him. “What kind of father sells his daughter?”
“He did not sell you. We made an arrangement that was mutually beneficial. He told me that he was a professor of botany and that you were equally interested in plants, and I thought you would make an excellent bride for my brother.”
His brother? Bride? What?
Hartley had to have seen my total shock and confusion. “You truly did not know any of this?”
I shook my head slowly from side to side. I hoped that meant “no” here. I desperately needed some clarification. “You want me to marry your brother. Why?”
“There must be an heir.”
An heir to what? His title? His home? “You’re the earl. Aren’t you supposed to have the heir?”
“I will never marry.” There was a scary seriousness and finality to his announcement. I wondered whether that Miss Amesbury had anything to do with his decision. “And since my brother does intend to marry, he will be the one to produce an heir. And at the moment, he has taken an interest in a rather . . . unsuitable young woman.”
She must have been awful if Hartley was willing to ship over some girl from America that he’d never even met. “You’re pimping out your brother? Expecting to breed him? Like a horse?”
“You mistook me. I did not say . . .”
“And you brought me here to be his breeding partner?”
His ran a finger along the top of the white knot around his neck, pulling it away from his skin. “I would never have put it so indelicately, but that would be the general idea once you are wed.” He put some emphasis on the last few words. Like me being forced to marry someone I’d never laid eyes on made everything else better.
Since everything he was saying annoyed me, I had to admit that some perverse part of me enjoyed making him uncomfortable. Poking at him gave me a small amount of satisfaction. But I wasn’t stupid enough to keep poking a bear and not expect to get my hand bitten off.
“But I don’t love your brother. How can you expect me to marry him? What if I don’t even like him?”
He raised one eyebrow. It was so cool. I’d always wished I could do that. Then he added a wry smile that despite my anger made my heart go gooey. “Everyone likes my brother. Love has nothing to do with it. This is about the most practical arrangement. As marriages always are. James need not love you. Only be intrigued enough by you to wish to marry you. Given that you’re American and a fellow plant lover, I don’t imagine your task to win him over will be too difficult. And I will assist in any way that I can.”
Sharing a scheme with Hartley sounded like it had possibilities. But I didn’t want to marry this James. It all sounded medieval and horrible. Like I was somebody’s property to be sold. I felt indignant on Miss Emily Blythe’s behalf. I probably should have been trying harder to see this from Hartley’s point of view, but I couldn’t stick my head that far up my butt.
I was about to tell him what he could do with his plans to wrap me up and give me to his brother like a birthday present when I forced my mouth shut. I had to stay quiet. I had to play along. I’d already considered what would happen if Hartley kicked me out. I was stuck. I had to convince him to keep me around and had to play along with whatever stupid idea he had until I could figure out how to get home. Staying alive and, well, comfortable, was my number one priority.
Even if it meant I’d have to do what Hartley wanted and somehow manage to make this James fall in love with me. Which I had no idea how to accomplish seeing as how so far I hadn’t convinced anybody to fall in love with me. I was fairl
y certain that there were no copies of The Rules in 1816.
So many things could go wrong. Emily Blythe would eventually show up. At some point this was all going to blow up in my face. But I couldn’t think about it or else it would overwhelm me. I would take this one day at a time. And hopefully get back to my own century before anyone discovered the truth.
On the plus side, unless James was some kind of genetically mutated troll, odds were good that he looked something like Hartley, so at least that part would be enjoyable.
Trying my best to keep my temper in check, I showed Hartley my clenched teeth in a facsimile of a smile. “Basically, this is what you want. And you always get what you want.”
He must have heard the challenge in my voice, because the small half smile was back. “I don’t recall any recent defeats.”
“Which means that there are defeats which aren’t recent.”
That made his smile widen, but he didn’t answer. I had expected him to be upset, but instead, he seemed amused. I sucked in a breath, instructing my body to stop responding to how much more gorgeous he became when he smiled.
Which I was failing at miserably. As a distraction, I decided to take advantage of this rare good mood.
“There’s something I need to know.”
CHAPTER SIX
THINGS I’M GOING TO INVENT IF I GET STUCK IN 1816
Bras and underwear
She was annoyed with him. Hartley could tell. With the exception of his sisters, women were never cross with him. He should have been annoyed in turn, but instead he found it infinitely delightful. She had spirit, which he appreciated. Her anger caused her cheeks to flush and her chest to rise rapidly up and down, making her even more attractive. He wondered whether she would have boarded the ship in Boston if she’d known the truth about the arrangement. He suspected not. “And what is it that you wish to know?”
Miss Blythe scooted to the end of her wingback chair, leaning forward slightly, as if beckoning him closer. He wondered if she realized what she was doing. He took in her appearance—so changed from their first meeting. Now that she had been properly outfitted and coiffed, she was even more beautiful than he had initially imagined. She lacked the innate grace or elegance that he was accustomed to, but that somehow made her even more appealing. She wasn’t practiced or studied. She was simply herself, and he was finding it rather intriguing.
He cleared his throat, reminding himself that she wasn’t his to be intrigued by.
“What am I supposed to be doing all day?” she asked.
Such an odd question, and not at all what he expected. He wasn’t often surprised, as he’d found most people’s behavior was generally easy to predict. Not so with Miss Blythe. She had managed to surprise him on both occasions that they’d spoken. He wasn’t quite sure how to answer. “Whatever it is that women do all day.”
“Which is what, exactly?”
At first, Hartley thought she might be joking with him. But he saw now that she was quite serious. It confused him. “What did you do in Boston?”
She twisted her soft lips to the side, averting her eyes. “It’s complicated to explain. But it’s different here than it was there. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to be doing.” Her eyes, which reminded him of the greenest grass in summer, flitted up to meet his. “What do you do all day?”
“I manage my estates, go to my club, attend social gatherings, eat, dress.” It was odd to sum up one’s daily life so succinctly.
“Maybe I could help you with that,” she offered.
“You wish to help me dress?” he asked, not able to keep the amusement from his voice. It conjured up images he should not and could not think, so he immediately dismissed them. He did note, however, how prettily she blushed at his comment. “I have a valet for that purpose.”
“That wasn’t what I meant. I meant I could help you manage your estates.”
He couldn’t think of a single woman of his acquaintance who knew or cared anything about running an estate. “And how, exactly, do you propose to do that?”
She stood up, and he did likewise. Miss Blythe walked over to him, standing entirely too close as she looked at his accounting books on his desk. “What are you doing now?”
Giving into a momentary weakness, he closed his eyes as he detected the faintest scent of rosewater. She must have washed her hair recently. Forcing his eyes back open, he took half a step away from her. “I am going over the books from Rosewood. The ones my estate manager keeps, ensuring their accuracy.”
“Don’t you have a bookkeeper or accountant for that?”
Initially he had thought her skin to be pure and fair, but this close he noticed several freckles across her nose. He found them rather endearing. He shook his head, as if he could banish his unwanted observations. “My father was cheated out of most of his fortune, and I intend to make certain the same doesn’t happen to me.” He had sacrificed too much to gain the money back.
Half expecting her to ask further invasive questions, he was surprised when she didn’t push the issue. “I can definitely help you with that. I have this thing with numbers.”
“Thing?”
She glanced at the page, still standing too close for him to be at ease. “Three thousand two hundred and twenty-six.”
“What?”
Her green eyes danced with merriment. “That’s the total. Three thousand two hundred and twenty-six.”
Looking down at the page she pointed to, he grabbed the paper under the book. He had come to the same conclusion, only it had taken him a great deal longer, checking and rechecking. She again astonished him. “You did all those sums just now in your head?”
“It’s just something I’ve always been able to do. I was thinking about majoring in math in college, but I loved history more. American history. So I minored in math instead.”
It seemed an odd subject to study, given that she had been alive for most of America’s so-called history. This did not fit at all with the image he’d had in his mind after his agreement with her father. “I thought you were interested in botany.”
Her eyes went wide, her expressive eyebrows climbing up her forehead. “Oh! Of course. Yeah. I totally love botany, too.”
“And you’re saying you went to university, as well?”
She took a step back. “Yeah. I mean, yes?” Her voice rose at the end, as if she were asking a question rather than answering one. Was she prevaricating? Because there was an unmistakable frantic look of panic in her eyes. “Didn’t you say my, um, father was a professor?”
Another bizarre question. “Yes.”
“He let me go. He wanted me to have an education.” That frantic looked consumed her features. “I didn’t get a degree or anything because that won’t happen for . . . anyway, I just got to go to class and stuff and pretend like I would graduate.”
Whilst he noted the faintest trace of sarcasm, what she said did make some sense. From the short time that he’d known him, Professor Blythe had seemed very dedicated to education. It didn’t surprise him too much that the professor had let his daughter attend classes, presumably with her chaperone.
And she was obviously much more intelligent than he had initially imagined. Some men would find that repugnant, but he was sure James would appreciate it. Hartley himself had always much preferred the company of smart and clever women to the vacuous sort the ton was fond of raising.
“While I appreciate the offer, I am capable of handling my own affairs, thank you.”
“Whatever. Just thought I’d help out.” She headed over to the bookshelves and began to run her fingers across the spines of the books. “Can I at least read? Do you guys let women read? Or are you worried it will hurt my brain or something?”
“By all means, help yourself to whatever books you’d like, Miss Blythe.”
That made her stop and look at him. “Seeing as how I didn’t play high school sports, I’ve never had the chance to get used to someone calling me by my last name. It’s weird.
You can just call me Emma.”
His heart beat a little faster. “No, I cannot.” She couldn’t be serious, offering to let him call her by her Christian name. That indicated a familiarity and intimacy that existed only between family members, betrothed couples, and spouses.
“Why not?”
“It would be . . . unseemly.”
She gave him a strange look and then pulled four books from the shelves. “Where I’m from everyone calls me Emma. It’s okay if you want to.”
Some part of him did want to. That was the problem. “I shan’t be doing so.”
“Okay. Suit yourself.” She held up one of the tomes she had selected. “I’m going to go get started on this. I’ll see you around.”
She had made it nearly to the doorway when he regained his ability to speak. “Wait, Miss Blythe! There is one other thing.”
Miss Blythe paused, and he glanced down at the invitation on his desk. The one he had meant to refuse but had forgotten. He would have been hard-pressed to explain his out-of-character behavior. Not only in his conversation and interest in her but now in looking for an excuse to prolong their encounter. “There is a ball this evening that we should attend.”
She went very still. “Are you asking me out on a date?” Her voice was little more than a whisper.
A date? “What does fruit have to do with this situation?”
Where a moment earlier she had been the very essence of quiet, now her entire body seemed to shimmer with a barely contained excitement. “I don’t know what you call them here. But you want me to go with you to a ball. A real-life ball. Where we’ll dance and dress up and everything? Seriously?”
“I am always serious, Miss Blythe.” Why was she questioning his intent?
“You always keep your word, and you’re always serious. Got it,” she said in a breathy tone. “But a ball! How cool is that?” He didn’t know why she thought the temperature would be involved, but her obvious joy at the prospect of attending something as routine and simple as a ball was affecting him more than it should have. He was glad he had asked her.
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