“But why would you say no? You and Hartley are perfect together, and it’s quite obvious that the two of you care about each other. I’m not certain I understand what the problem is.”
“I’m not going to marry him only because he feels bad about kissing me.” What I did not say was that if there had been another reason, if he had asked me because he had feelings for me, my answer might have been different.
That I might have been willing to give up everything and stay here with him, if he wanted me to.
But the reality was that he didn’t.
“Marriages have been started on far less,” Charles said, crossing her arms at me.
“Not back home they’re not. When I get married, it will be because I’m in love, and he loves me.” I glanced at the open window, not wanting to continue this conversation. I didn’t want to tell her that I’d let the time travel cat out of the bag with Hartley. Or about the items I’d shown him. When I had gone up to my room to figure out what to take into his study as proof, for a moment I’d considered bringing down my clothes. But I worried that Hartley might have had a heart attack if I showed him Victoria’s Secret.
I could see her mentally creating a list of all the reasons why she thought Hartley and I should get married, and I was too worn out to listen to them. Sir Reginald suddenly streaked past us, thankfully headed straight for the backyard. Right where I said I’d meet Hartley. “I better go grab him before he takes off!” I called over my shoulder, grateful for the chance to escape.
But the black cat was nowhere to be found. I didn’t worry too much, knowing that tomorrow morning I’d wake up to find him hovering over me, like some feline Grim Reaper.
The grass was actually dry for once, and I kicked my shoes off. Rosemary would chase me down and force a bonnet on my head if she saw me out here without one, so I went into the hedge maze. I wanted a few minutes to myself before Hartley came out here to tell me what he thought about my reveal.
That had probably been one of the scariest things I’d ever done, telling him the truth. When I’d imagined Hartley’s reaction to last night, the one thing I hadn’t considered was a proposing Hartley.
I sat down on a stone bench in the center of the maze. Some part of me had wanted to throw my arms around him and say yes, I absolutely would marry him. But I couldn’t. Because I wanted to go back to my own time.
Didn’t I?
But what if I didn’t have any choice in the matter? What if one day I just woke up in my own bed in the correct century? I wouldn’t want to leave Hartley the way that Libby had left him. I’d heard the pain and sadness in his voice when he talked about her, even if she was a lying, cheating wench. After everything he went through with her, I couldn’t be responsible for abandoning him, even accidentally.
I heard someone walking through the grass, and my pulse leaped as Hartley came around the maze corner, a serious, kind of scary expression on his face. My lungs constricted as my throat closed in.
Did he believe me?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
THINGS I’M GOING TO INVENT IF I GET STUCK IN 1816
Twinkies
“What is your name?”
Of all the things I expected him to ask, that one hadn’t occurred to me. “Emma. You know that.”
He had paused at the hedge, but now he walked down the path to sit directly across from me on a matching bench. “I was speaking of your surname.”
“Oh. Damon.” Another thing I’d been lying about for weeks.
There was a wry twist to his lips. “Like a daemon, sent to bedevil and vex me?”
“Ha ha.” I realized that I was twisting my skirt, anxious for his response to what I’d told him. “So?”
“So?” he repeated, crossing his long legs in front of him, his black boots shiny in the sun.
“Do you believe me?” The words were so hard to get out. The last time my heart had beat his fast we’d been . . . never mind.
I wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t believe me. If it hadn’t happened to me, I wouldn’t have believed it, either.
Hartley stayed quiet for a minute as the smirk fell from his face. Then very seriously he said, “I believe you. I don’t pretend to know how such a thing would be accomplished, but you have given me evidence that makes it rather hard to ignore or dismiss your claim.”
A wave of relief washed through me, chasing out all the fear and anxiety. I was struck with the urge to laugh. “I don’t know how it happened, either, but I have a theory. It might seem far-fetched.”
“More so than traveling through time?” I loved his teasing tone. It made things seems normal between us again.
“I think it was magic. I think I said a spell and ended up here. My guess is that I have to find a spell to take me back home. Since the original paper was in your house, my hope is that you have a book or something that will have the way for me to get home. I’ve been searching for it.”
Was it my imagination, or had his face gone pale? He cleared his throat. “Since you are still here, I assume that you haven’t found such a book.” Letting out a sigh, he continued, “I wish you had come to me sooner. I could have helped you.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to tell him that Charles had already been helping me look, but I refrained. I didn’t want to bring her into this conversation, fearful that I might slip up and say something I shouldn’t and reveal that the women in his family had magic. I’d already blown up his worldview enough.
“Sorry about lying. It’s just that I had this roommate who majored in musical theater, and I probably saw her production of Oliver! like three times, and I didn’t want to die in the streets of London. I was afraid you would kick me out if I told you the truth.”
That intense gaze, the one that made my stomach flip, was back. “I never would have abandoned you. I might not have believed you initially, but I would have done my best to assist you.”
My heart glowed warmly at his words. All this time I’d spent afraid had been for nothing. Hartley was such a good man, of course he would have done what he could to help. “I know.”
He adjusted his coat, slightly pulling it away from his chest. “It is rather odd to think that my present is your past.”
“Yeah. And I even studied this time period in college. Oh, women totally go to college in the future. And have jobs. And own property. We even get to vote for president.” Okay, maybe I should have been holding back, but where Charles hadn’t wanted to know anything about the future, Hartley wanted to know absolutely everything.
He asked about what my life had been like growing up. How people lived and what their homes were like in my century. I finally got to tell him everything about my parents’ accident, how I’d grown up in foster care, what school was like, how I’d studied American history.
“You miss your time,” he interjected.
“So much! We have such better stuff than you. Like indoor plumbing. We shower on a daily basis and have toilets that take everything far away. And toothpaste and toothbrushes. And real soap and shampoo. And razors! You have no idea how much I want to shave my legs!”
I went on to tell him about electricity, television, and movies. About computers and the Internet. The last one was a little hard to explain, but I told him that the entire sum of human knowledge could be accessed at any time for any reason to answer any questions.
He looked awed. “And what do the people use such a thing for?”
“Mostly cat videos and porn, unfortunately.” Not wanting to explain what one of those words meant, I started talking about the food. “I really miss junk food.”
“You ate food made out of junk?” He looked so adorably confused.
“It’s food that’s not very good for you but is so delicious you don’t care. Like Twinkies.” I explained that they were these little oval sponge cakes that had whipped cream inside. That led to a discussion about more food, and I talked about what I’d eaten on the airplane, which led to a long conversation about how flying
worked. I talked and talked, and time just sped by. I tried my best to explain everything, but even I realized that so much of what I said was either incomprehensible or too fantastic to seem real.
I also told him about the bad things. About terrorism and crime and prejudice and all the hard things that went on in my world.
“I would suppose that every time period would have their advantages or disadvantages. No place would be perfect,” he mused. “That what would matter would be the people you chose to pass it with.”
That drive I felt to go back to my own time? That was about being timesick, not homesick. He was right. The people who loved you mattered. I felt more at home here than I ever had anywhere else. I wanted to pass my time with Charles.
And with Hartley.
Who would never feel the same way about me. Desperate to change the direction of our conversation, I said, “At least I didn’t go into the future. I could never have pulled off that allover black leather look.”
“People will wear black leather as replacements to their clothing?”
“I don’t actually know,” I said in a rush. “In movies people in the future always wear black leather.”
“That sounds rather uncomfortable.”
“You have no idea. I tried leather pants once. They nearly had to call the fire department to use the jaws of life to pry them off me.”
He blinked. “There were approximately six words in that last sentence that I understood.”
That made me giggle, and there was movement in the periphery of my vision. I glanced up and saw Sir Reginald high up in a tree above us. I wondered whether he planned on dropping down on my head in his plan to destroy me. Then the cat cocked his head to one side with a look that I’d never seen before. Was he scared? Had he gone too high? Even if he was planning on doing me in, he had alerted me to Mrs. Farnsworth trying to break into my desk drawer. Didn’t I have some responsibility to save his life? What if I let him die and then slavery wasn’t abolished or something? The tree had plenty of low branches, which would make it easy to climb.
“Before I forget, your housekeeper has been trying to break into my locked drawer to get at my stuff. You should probably fire her. And now I’m going to go save that stupid cat,” I told Hartley as I stood up. I was about two feet up when it seemed to finally dawn on him what I was doing.
“You can’t climb a blo—a tree.”
“Why? When I was eight my foster parents had these fantastic trees. I used to pretend that I was a fairy and go up as high as I could. I can climb trees just fine.”
Now he was standing next to the trunk, glaring up at me. “I am not questioning your ability, only saying that it is not a ladylike thing to do. Or modest.”
Pausing, I grinned at him. “I’m not flashing anybody. If you’re looking up my skirts, then you’re not a gentleman, and that’s on you.” Not that I was much worried about it given all the layers I wore. But I liked when I could tease him.
It was then I realized that my corset wasn’t bothering me. Even if it had moved my pancreas to where my stomach should be, somehow I’d gotten accustomed to it. At some point it had just become a part of me.
Much like living here in Hartley Hall.
I got closer to Sir Reginald, and just before I reached him, the cat unfolded his limbs, stretched, and sauntered down the other side. Just leaping from branch to branch, totally unconcerned.
“Please get down before you get hurt.” Hartley’s voice sounded drawn, his face tight.
“I won’t get hurt. It’s not like I’m going to fall and break my . . .” I realized too late what I was saying. “Oh, Hartley, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to . . .”
He walked away from the tree, and I carefully came down, jumping the last little bit. He stood in the middle of the garden, in a grassy spot. I put my hand on his shoulder, and he slowly turned. His expression was so haunted, so lost. I wished that I could hug him. Instead I left my hand on his arm.
“I’m sorry,” I repeated. “I shouldn’t have joked. I know what it means to lose someone.”
“Yes, you do. You have lost your parents along with your entire world. Your loss must feel more tragic and intense than mine.”
I probably should have moved my hand, but I didn’t. I definitely shouldn’t have moved closer to him, but I did. “It’s not a competition about who feels worse. Loss is loss. But you can be glad that you remember her and that you have some happy memories. I don’t remember my parents at all. I don’t know what they looked like or how they sounded.”
Was it my imagination, or was he edging toward me? “At least you are not to blame for their demise.”
Hartley had to get off his guilt trip. “I need you to listen to me,” I said.
He gave me a small half smile. “You rarely give me a choice in the matter.”
That made me smile back. “This is important. It wasn’t your fault. Her death was an accident. You shouldn’t blame yourself.” There were lots of things I wanted to add. That obviously that Libby woman hadn’t really ever loved Hartley if she had married someone else. And considering how important honor was to him, I found it really hard to believe that he would want to be with a disloyal woman who had acted so dishonorably. Who had encouraged that same behavior in him. She had brought out the worst in him. I settled on, “You deserved better. You still deserve better.”
I was thisclose to offering myself up as a possible candidate when he responded, “As do you.”
Technically our bodies weren’t touching, but the space between us was almost nonexistent. Did he mean something by that? Could Hartley ever love me the way that I loved him? “Who do I deserve?”
His hands moved, and the tips of his fingers skimmed along the side of my face, and I couldn’t help but close my eyes and breathe deeply. My heart hammered hard in my chest, making it difficult to keep air in my lungs.
Why was it that when he barely even touched me I experienced a million different sensations at once? It made me feel like I was under a spell even more powerful than the one that had thrown me through time.
Directly to him.
I opened my eyes to see that expression in his eyes again. Just like the one from last night. Filled with wanting and desire but tempered with something softer. Affection? Adoration?
Could he tell how much I craved his touch? His kiss? Did he know how hard I’d fallen in love with him?
“Emma . . .” He breathed the word out, almost like he hadn’t intended to say my name. I loved when he dropped the “Miss Blythe” thing and called me Emma. It was like he’d shot little love arrows straight into my heart. But he did attempt to finally answer my question. “You deserve a husband who will protect you. Who will care for you.”
Who will love me? I wanted to ask but didn’t. I closed the gap between us, sliding my hands around his waist, wondering if he would push me away.
He didn’t.
“And who is that man? Who should be my husband?”
“I . . .” The words seemed to catch in his throat as his hands moved from my face to the back of my neck, his gaze fixed on my lips. “It is my responsibility—”
“Not another pity proposal,” I interrupted him. I had wanted it to sound like a joke, but it didn’t come out that way. Which was most likely due to the flashes of heat his burning touch sent through me.
And I didn’t know if another proposal was the direction he’d been headed, but if he wanted to marry me, it needed to be because he loved me. Not because he felt an obligation or responsibility toward me.
His lips hovered above mine, and I wanted to kiss him so badly that I almost cried out in frustration. But he had to make that decision. While sober, so that he couldn’t blame it on anything else.
“I am not feeling any pity at the moment.” His husky words made my stomach flip, bottom down to my feet, and then skyrocket back up to my throat.
“Me neither.” How I managed to form words in that moment was beyond me.
Every torturou
s second that passed made my fiery need coil up inside me so tightly I worried I might spontaneously combust.
“If not pity, then what are you feeling?” he asked, and as his mouth moved it grazed the top of my lip, and I felt that explosive sensation even in my toenails.
And despite the fact that I was literally putty in his hands, I still retained some tiny shred of dignity. I wasn’t going to make a complete fool of myself by admitting to something he wouldn’t say back. “You first.”
That made his eyes darken and his grip on me tighten, which I was all about. “I am feeling as if I would very much like to . . .”
His words trailed off as he lifted his head. My pulse throbbed so loudly in my ears that it took me a second to realize why he’d stopped. He’d heard someone coming.
Then I heard it, too.
“My lord?”
It was Stephens. Headed through the maze, looking for us. We glanced at each other in panic and hastily let go. We went to opposite ends of the hedges while I smoothed out my hair and my skirt and he straightened his coat and cravat. We didn’t look disheveled, but even I knew how bad this could look.
And I wouldn’t force him into marriage.
“Over here!” Hartley called out, looking cool while all my nerve endings were so frazzled I hoped I was able to walk out of the garden under my own steam.
An out-of-breath Stephens finally reached the center of the maze, where Hartley had his hands behind his back and that world-weary expression on his face. While I was very interested in the pattern of the leaves that made up the hedge.
The butler glanced at both of us, but I knew he would never betray Hartley even if he did suspect something was up.
Not that anything had happened, but I had the distinct feeling that it almost did.
“What was it you needed?” Hartley asked.
He gave us a slight bow. “My lord, I have come to inform you that your brother has arrived.”
Hartley had only one brother. James.
James was here.
And I felt nauseous.
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