“I wanted to kiss you. Which is why I did.” She shook her head. “I can’t believe I just said that out loud. Is this stuff like some kind of truth serum?”
Her eyes were heavy lidded, and she reached out to touch him. He took another step back, staying out of reach. The temptation was almost more than he could bear. If he hadn’t already crossed the line, he had come very close to it, and it had to be stopped.
Even if he wanted nothing more than to forsake propriety and honor and carry her into her room.
Hartley reminded himself of the fact that he had just told her what had happened the last time he decided to forsake propriety and his honor. As if he hadn’t learned his lesson at all. As if being a gentleman didn’t matter. As if he wouldn’t destroy lives if he couldn’t master himself.
“Here’s another truth bomb for you. I’m pretty sure I’m about to puke.”
Puke? He only had a moment to wonder what that meant before she tossed her accounts all over his new Hessian boots.
* * *
When I woke the next morning, I sat straight up, which scared Sir Reginald. He hissed at me and leaped from my pillow, running under the bed.
The first thing I noticed was that my head felt like it had turned into a steel drum that was being banged on repeatedly. The next was that my tongue had been encased in a layer of gross, like some elf had custom-made a tiny fur coat for it.
I groaned and then immediately clapped my hands over my ears, because the sound increased the drumming pain.
No more drinking. No more peer pressure. I would just say no.
Drinking was stupid. Port was stupid.
Then I remembered something else.
That kiss.
Bex’s romance books had been totally right. Bones melting. Veins exploding. Blood pulsing. Heart bursting. Loins . . . doing whatever it was that loins did.
It had easily been the best and most intense kiss of my entire life. So intense that I could still feel the imprint of his lips against mine, and they tingled as I recalled every single detail.
Either he was the world’s best kisser, or I’d been a lot drunker than I’d thought. Because it had been like magic.
Right up until the moment when I vomited on him. I wanted to groan again but didn’t want to inflict any more pain on myself. My own stupidity at kissing Hartley was already causing enough.
I’d attacked him, and then I’d “befouled his person,” as Charles might say. He must have carried me to bed. Again while I was unconscious. And he’d probably had Rosemary clean me up and loosen my corset, as I was still wearing it but could breathe. Given that I didn’t smell anything putrid, he’d probably had somebody clean up the hallway, too.
The things I said, the things I did . . . how was I ever going to face him again? I buried my face in my hands. He had apologized. Repeatedly. Given their whole deal with honor and chivalry, he was probably just being polite and kissing me because I was a shameless hussy forcing myself on him. He’d immediately said it was a mistake and couldn’t ever happen again.
I was the world’s biggest, most pathetic idiot. At the time I’d imagined he was into it, but, you know, drunken moron here. Which apparently meant no ability to judge and total failure to grasp reality.
Forcing myself out of bed, I did my best to clean my teeth and then rinsed them out a lot with water. I got out of my dress, letting my stays fall to the floor. I washed as much of me as I could and decided I’d ask for a bath that evening to sanitize myself.
Rosemary came in not much later, helping me dress and promising to order me a bath before supper. She offered to bring me breakfast or lunch, as it was pretty late, but the thought of food made me want to gag some more. I told her no thanks. I wandered downstairs and found Charles in the library. Where she was a lot more chipper than she had any right to be.
She wished me a good morning and said she had news. “I have decided on a trial run. I will be hosting a small, informal dinner here this evening for some family members so that you can try out your newly acquired skills.”
“Why are you shouting?” I whispered. I wished I had sunglasses, as the one day I had an enormous hangover also happened to be the one day it wasn’t raining. Nature was so stupid. I’d never realized how bright the stupid sun was before.
Charles smiled at me but lowered her voice. “I want you to wear the lilac, and I shall have Danvers bring you some of my jewelry to wear with it.”
“’kay,” was what I managed as I sat down at my desk. I didn’t want to look for spell books or pretend to write letters or visit anyone or sew or do any of the stupid things we normally did. I hoped my head would shrink by about ten sizes before the stupid dinner party. I realized how nice and cool the desk was, and I couldn’t help but lay my forehead against the surface and close my eyes.
Currently, my desk was the only nonstupid thing in my life.
“Sit up, please.”
“In the future, we can put our heads on desks if we want to.”
She immediately hushed me. Anytime I tried to mention my time or all the cool stuff that we had, Charles wouldn’t let me speak. At first, I had thought it was because she was afraid someone might overhear, but she explained that no one should know too much about the future, as they could alter it by knowing.
Which made sense. But now that I had someone to confide in, I hated that I couldn’t share that part of myself.
I did as she asked and opened my eyes when I heard the patter of rain against the windows. It was like missiles being dropped, but at least it was darker. I almost yelped when I realized Charles was staring at me. “There is something different about you.”
“What?” I asked defensively, suddenly out of breath. “There is absolutely nothing different about me. I’m exactly the same. Exactly.”
She hummed, as if she didn’t believe me. “Did something happen with Hartley last night? Has he compromised you?”
Women’s intuition or voodoo powers? I was afraid to ask. “What do you mean, did he compromise me?” I wasn’t an international spy with secrets for him to steal.
She opened her mouth to explain, but a crack of thunder shook the entire house, and I couldn’t help it. I screamed.
Charles reached out for me, grabbing my hand. Her eyes were wide. “Are you all right?”
Breathing in and out slowly, I ordered myself to calm down and only shook a little when the next booming sound hit. “I’ll be okay. I’m sort of terrified of thunderstorms.”
“Is there a particular reason?”
“My parents died during a really bad thunderstorm. It’s some psychological thing.” Did they have psychology yet? Maybe I could invent that, too.
She waved one hand, and the storm seemed to go silent, as if moving away from us. I was about to ask if she had done that and to clarify what “compromising” meant when Hartley came in the room. He greeted both of us, and I found that I couldn’t look him in the eye.
Charles folded up her letter. “I need to have this posted. Excuse me.”
I fought the urge to get up and follow her, because that had so obviously been deliberate. She was supposed to be my chaperone, guarding my virtue and outfitting me with my own chastity belt, but instead it was like she left me alone with Hartley every chance she got.
I wished for Hartley to stop standing there, to go to his desk and work. He didn’t. He waited there patiently until I finally raised my gaze to his.
He cleared his throat. “There is something I would like to say.”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THINGS I’M GOING TO INVENT IF I GET STUCK IN 1816
A sanctuary for peacocks
“Just please don’t apologize again.” I wasn’t sure my fragile ego could take it.
“I was simply going to say that we found something women don’t do as well as men.”
Hackles raised. Was he trying to say I wasn’t a good kisser? “Tell me you’re not about to say something really sexist and dumb.”
He g
ave me a look of mock confusion. “I’m not sure what you’re referring to. I only meant that it seems women don’t hold their liquor as well as men.”
It was like . . . he was trying to tell me a joke. To make me laugh. To ease the tension that was so thick it would have taken a chain saw to cut through it.
It didn’t work.
“Ha ha. You’re hilarious,” I muttered. “Can’t we just pretend that it never happened?”
“We can’t. It did happen. If there’s one thing I cannot abide, it is a lie.” His tone had shifted from playful to condemning.
Which made all my McGuilty Regretty O’Shame come flooding back. “Aren’t you lying to James? About me?”
His posture straightened, as it usually did if I questioned him in some way. “I’m not lying to him. If he asks, I will make my intentions perfectly clear. As head of this family, he does have some obligation to listen to me and accept my counsel.”
Hartley could dress his master plan up however he wanted, but it was still a lie with lipstick on it.
“It is worth pointing out that our inhibitions had been lowered, and neither one of us were behaving like ourselves. Had we been in full possession of our faculties, we wouldn’t have done something so out of character . . .”
I balled up my hands, cutting him off. “I freaking get it!” I had embarrassed him with my skanky ways. To my credit, I refrained from pointing out that his character was more likely to take lollipops from orphans and kick unicorns.
Instead of the yelling making me feel better, it just made a shot of pain reverberate inside my head. I suppressed my moan. “I am never drinking again.”
“That is probably a wise decision.”
I glared at him. I didn’t need his smug condescension.
And still he stood. Like some hovering bird of prey.
Then he said, “Do you play chess?”
“No. I don’t play chess.” It was an unusual question for him. My curt response seemed to upset him, and I felt bad. “But if you have checkers, I will destroy you.”
A shadow of a smile played at the edges of his lips. His very beautiful, sexy lips that kissed like I was the star of my own personal romantic movie. I forced my eyes up.
“You’re speaking of draughts. I believe I do have it here.” He walked over to a cabinet, and I watched him, every move elegant and powerful all at the same time. “I had Stephens move the games down from the nursery so that I could play with Jemima when she is older.”
He was so good with kids. Such a great uncle. It was really sad that he didn’t plan on having any of his own. Hartley walked over to a small table near one of the shelves and cleared it off. He gestured for me to come over, and, dragging my feet, I went.
It was better than fake letter writing.
We set up the board. It was made of an expensive-looking wood, and instead of red and black, the board and the pieces were black and off-white. Red was my lucky color when I played, so I made do with the white ones. These were definitely not made of plastic. Some kind of heavy stone. Marble?
“You’re going to destroy me, then?”
“Yep. I totally am.”
He placed his last black piece in place. “And how do you propose to accomplish such a feat?”
“As long as I get to go first, I will always win.” I couldn’t explain that my senior year in college I’d worked as a teacher’s assistant, and during my office hours I would play online checkers because nobody ever came in. It got to the point that I would beat the computer every single time. “And seeing as you’re such a gentleman, I know you’ll let me go first.”
“I am always your humble servant, but the rules clearly dictate that black begins the game.”
I grabbed the board and spun it around so that now I was black and he was white. It made him laugh softly. “By all means, Miss Blythe. Make your first move.”
Even though I felt regret about last night, somehow this made it better. Sitting with him like this, talking to him about inane, innocuous things, about our childhoods and our families and things we liked—obviously I had to be guarded in how I said stuff and tried to find period-appropriate equivalents, but it felt like just before the kiss. When we had been sitting together, sharing secrets, confiding in each other.
I liked him. Obviously I was attracted to him because, hello, fallen angel’s face, but this was something more. Even though he repeatedly aggravated me, I genuinely liked him as a person. It was fun talking to him when he was like this—attentive, playful, charming, kind. That he was skipping work to play checkers was not lost on me.
Hartley got to find out that I hadn’t been kidding. The first time he was amused that I won. The second, perplexed. By the third he was getting a tad annoyed.
We started the fourth game. “You can’t beat me. You should just give up,” I said as I indicated he should king me.
“A Portwood never admits defeat,” he murmured, surrendering one of my captured pieces while studying the board. His blue eyes flicked up and startled me. “Would you care to make a wager?”
Just how sad would it be if I said yes, and that if I won, he’d have to kiss me while we were both sober?
While I debated how bad that humiliation would be, I nodded. “I’ll take that bet. And I’ll think about what I get when I win.”
“And I shall think on what boon you will grant me when I defeat you.”
When I trounced him again, fortunately the blow to his male pride had turned back into amusement. “Very well. Name your terms. Hair combs? A new gown? Jewels?”
My mouth opened. He must have known some seriously mercenary women. I meant to say something, letting him know I wasn’t like the others. Like Libby. I couldn’t. Because I knew my terms wouldn’t be along the lines he’d just mentioned.
After being gone for almost the entire afternoon, Charles wandered back in. Like she hadn’t been conspicuously absent for hours and hours. “Emma, my dear, we should get dressed for the party.”
She was right. It would take eons for a bath to be prepared, not to mention how long it took to do my hair and put on my many layers of clothes.
“Thanks for the game,” I said, getting up. It shocked me when Hartley’s hand darted out, lightly encircling my wrist. Sparkling tingles shot up and down my arm. His piercing blue eyes mesmerized me, making my pulse frantic.
“I am afraid my pride insists on a rematch. Later this evening, perhaps?”
My mouth had gone totally dry, and for a second I could only nod. When I regained the power of speech, I said, “You already owe me. Are you sure you want to go even further into debt?”
“I would not mind being indebted to you, Miss Blythe.” His words were so soft and delicious. Like he was implying something else.
Or that could have been my delusional imagination.
Charles made a fake coughing sound, and I tugged my arm away. I could feel the echo of his fingers still pressed on my skin.
What was wrong with me? Maybe all the alcohol still wasn’t out of my system. I didn’t know how else to explain my crushing on somebody who was not interested.
Maybe I’d ask Charles if there was some spell she could do to make me act like less of an idiot around him.
* * *
We all stood in the foyer, waiting for the guests. I heard the nickering of horses outside, and my stomach started doing flips. This was it. We were going to see if all of Charles’s hard work had paid off. If I could be around other people and behave.
It felt like taking a final exam. I was all wound up, heart racing, nervous and excited all at the same time.
Or that could have been because Hartley was standing so close to me that the sleeve of his jacket kept brushing the little patch of exposed skin right above my gloves, making me shiver.
I could see my reflection in one of the hallway mirrors. The lilac dress had been a good choice. It had short, puffy sleeves and enough cleavage to be daring but still respectable. The color went well with my hair, which wa
s shiny and bright from having just been cleaned. Some of Charles’s diamonds glittered at my throat and ears. We’d even done a little 1816 makeup. I couldn’t believe how much clearer my skin had gotten in my time here. In this soft light, it even looked like it glowed a little. Hartley’s reflection shifted into the mirror next to me, and I tried really hard not to think about what a good couple we made. Where my dress was pastel, his outfit was dark. How my black hair contrasted to his blond. I thought we looked like we belonged together.
I had only a moment to enjoy my election as mayor of Crazy Town, as the front door opened, and the guests were being helped with their coats and umbrellas by Hartley’s servants. Charles and I had very different definitions of what constituted a small party. There was a literal horde.
“Are you ready?” Hartley murmured next to my ear, sending a flash of heat down the side of my neck.
“I think I’m going to puke again.”
“Do anything but that, and all will be well.”
Another joke. It didn’t settle my stomach.
“And in case I didn’t mention it earlier, you look lovely tonight.”
Compliments? From Hartley? Now I had an entire roiling sea inside me as all of my skin flushed. Vomiting turned into a more distinct possibility. Then the introductions started, and I had to put on my game face. Charles had run through the invited list beforehand, telling me who was who. I knew exactly what to say, who to curtsy to, who to nod to, who to offer my hand to. Charles was Emma-ing me all over the place, letting everyone know about our close relationship.
My gaze shifted toward the locked library doors. Hartley had this thing about his private space, which I totally got, but little did he know that before he came downstairs I had stuck Sir Reginald in there. Tomorrow morning, I would get Mrs. Farnsworth to open the door for me to let the poor cat out, allowing me to find the right key and get access whenever I wanted. My only hope was that the psycho feline would stay quiet until morning and not wreak too much havoc.
I had to do something, considering how much time I’d been wasting daydreaming about Hartley. I should have been more dedicated to finding my way home.
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