by Kim Bowman
The man had certainly proved how much he cared for Delia by marrying the youngest daughter of a baron a few months after the ball. The heartbreak had been too much for his sister and she'd run off…
He shook his head, trying to clear the image of Delia's pain from his mind. He'd been right to forbid the two from marrying. The swine would have spent Delia's inheritance and left her penniless.
Fists clenched, he stormed through the doorway. It wasn't hard to spot Delia's red dress and the blue of the young man's navy uniform among the jungle of foliage that lined the room. Even knowing he'd find her in the arms of McDaniel didn't ease his temper, and the sight of the two embracing sent his fury plummeting into blind madness.
Slapping twigs and leaves aside, he advanced toward the unsuspecting pair, removing his gloves as he reached them. Without warning, Donovan swooped down on his prey and punched McDaniel, unleashing all the hurt and rage he'd carried toward the man on Delia's behalf for eight years. McDaniel stumbled backward and crashed to the floor, taking a potted plant with him.
"Henry!" his sister screamed as she dropped to the fallen man's side and helped him sit up. "Look what you did. His eye is already swelling shut."
Donovan stood transfixed, shocked and humiliated that he'd let his emotions trigger such barbaric conduct. What had he done? How had he come back to the past and made things infinitely worse than before? He'd known full well what would happen, had lived it — still lived it every day. But instead of the knowledge working to his advantage, it was a hindrance. The scene he'd caused would be the talk of the ton for the next month. His mother would be beside herself when she found out.
"Let's go, Delia. I'm taking you home." If he could just get her away from here, away from McDaniel, maybe he could reason with her and convince her not to make a hasty decision.
Delia stood and glared at him, a defiant gleam in her eyes. "I'm not going to just leave Henry. I love him. You can't make me."
"You should do as your brother says, Delia. I'm fine. Go on home." He touched the area surrounding his right eye and winced.
She sat back down and took his hands. "No. I won't leave you."
"Donovan!" Tess yelled.
"Have you gone quite mad, Gatewood?"
Donovan wheeled around. Lord Norcross stood in the doorway, glaring at him. Tess averted her gaze and hurried to help Delia, but not before he saw the disapproval radiating from her liquid blue eyes. Had the earl's arm been around her waist?
He'd lost Tess to Norcross. Eight years of living with that finally boiled over. He unleashed it on Norcross with a vengeance, hitting the earl full force in the nose.
Lord Norcross jerked back, staggered, grabbed the doorjamb, and kept his feet. Glaring, he whipped out a handkerchief and dabbed at his bloody nose. Then he threw down the soiled linen and drew his arm back, coming at Donovan. The gentlemanly thing to do was to let Norcross have the satisfaction of landing a blow in return, to take the punch. But he was past the point of feeling generous tonight. So just as Norcross swung, he ducked and uncoiled, driving his fist into the man's face. Blood spewed, and the earl crumbled to the floor, holding his nose.
Donovan shook his hand and cursed violently. An intense sting burned his hand to the bone. Oh but it was a good, satisfying sort of hurt. Probably he'd just broken his knuckles. And it had been worth it—
A sharp pain spiked through his shin — the one Past Duke had kicked earlier — and he grabbed his leg.
"That was for Henry." Delia had jumped to her feet. She drew her foot back. "And this is for me."
Donovan whirled around and danced back. An inch; his poor bruised shin escaped by an inch. "Stop that, you hoyden!"
There was a loud whoosh, and then his skull split in two, sending him spiraling into darkness.
****
Donovan's senses prickled at his consciousness, pulling him awake. People chattered in hushed tones, pottery pieces pinged as they clanked against each other, probably a maid cleaning up the broken pot, and ever so quietly, music played. Something cool and soft dabbed at his forehead. His eyes fluttered open, and Tess's face swam into view.
"It serves you right," she scolded, pressing a cold compress to his cheek.
"W-w-what happened?"
She let out an exasperated sigh. "Lord Norcross took exception to your unfounded attack on his person and broke a chair over your head."
Over her shoulder, Lord Kringle tsked. "I expect this type of behavior from Paisley. But you, Gatewood?"
The thrumming in his skull made it impossible for him to speak, much less express regret to his host for such behavior. He tried to sit up. Searing pain shot through his head and he groaned.
"Take it easy. You took a nasty blow to the head." Tess tried to push him back down, but he wanted none of it and sat up.
The room swirled in every direction, making him sick at his stomach, and he dropped his head in his hands. He definitely should have stayed down longer. Almost wished he was still unconscious. Then he wouldn't have to face what an utter fool he'd been, how shamefully he'd acted. Let me wake up. I beg you, have mercy and let this nightmare end now.
"I say! You've gone quite pale, Gatewood. Best I send for the doctor," Lord Kringle said.
"That's very gracious, but not necessary. I'll be fine in a moment." He'd created enough scandal for one night. It was past time that he leave.
He glanced around. "Where's Delia?"
"I'm sorry, Donovan. She left."
"Of course she did. Do you know where she went?"
Tess bit her lip. "Promise you'll hold your temper when I tell you."
He knew. Heaven above, he knew where they'd gone. And it was all his fault. To say he'd made a mull of it was putting it lightly. "They headed to Gretna Green, didn't they?"
She sighed. "Delia said it was the only way, because you'd never consent to letting them marry."
Cursing under his breath, he staggered to his feet. "Lord Kringle, would you be so kind as to have my carriage brought around and see that Miss Warren gets home safely."
"The footman is already fetching the coach and my wrap," Tess said, handing him his hat and gloves. "I'm coming with you."
"I appreciate the offer, but—"
"You've just sustained a nasty injury to the head and could very well have a concussion. You are in no condition to travel alone." She pulled her gloves on. "Not to mention that when you find Delia, she's going to be in no mood to listen to you."
Guilt stabbed at his conscience. Her reputation had already been tarnished tonight because of him. The last thing he wanted was to cause her more scandal. But what if he never saw her again? Things with Delia had already turned out far worse than they had the first time he'd attended this blasted ball. Now that he knew what he'd be losing, the thought of letting Tess out of his sight — out of his life — was unbearable.
Maybe that's what he deserved.
Chapter Eight
No good had ever come from this blasted holiday. Past Duke had told him he had to come back to fix the future, and he'd tried, truly he had. But just as she'd done the first time on Christmas Eve in 1812, Delia had run off with McDaniel.
Soft laughter drew his attention. In the seat across from him, Tess had propped her arm against the side of the carriage and placed the back of her hand over her mouth.
"May I ask what you find so amusing?"
Tess wiped the tears from her eyes. "Do forgive me, Gatewood. But surely you see the irony? You've worried since Delia had her début that she'd somehow cause a scandal. Yet… yet… oh the look on Lord Kringle's face when he saw you unconscious on the floor of the conservatory — and then when he saw the chair splintered on the floor, he turned as white as my pelisse. I could barely contain my mirth when the poor man said, 'I say, Lady Kringle will be in a state over her hall chair.' But when Delia told him you'd be more than happy to reimburse him if he'd send an itemized accounting of the damages, I had to bite my tongue to keep from laughing out loud."
/> Donovan narrowed his eyes. "She said what?"
"Come to think of it, I believe she mentioned you'd buy two new chairs so Lady Kringle would have a matching set."
"Two chairs — madam, I was the injured party, in case you've forgotten," he snapped.
She tilted her head to the side and furrowed her brows. "But you started it."
"I did nothing of the sort! That imbecile Norcross insulted me then accosted me when I had my back turned!"
"You punched him in the nose — twice. And attacked poor Mr. McDaniel for no reason." She tsked. "You really should learn to control your temper."
Donovan gritted his teeth and slapped the palm of his left hand with his gloves. "Innocent indeed. I found him all but having his way with my sister. What sort of man carries on secret liaisons with innocent girls? Delia's but a child who just had her come-out. What was I supposed to do?"
"But he loves Delia. And she loves him."
He snorted. "Loves her. A respectable man wouldn't have left the Kringles' ball with her, causing a scandal."
"Need I remind you that the scandal tonight was entirely of your doing? And what should the poor man have done? Let her leave alone, possibly coming to harm?"
Bile rose in his stomach, burned. He knew all too well what harm awaited Delia in a few short months if he didn't find a way to set things right.
"And furthermore, Mr. McDaniel didn't run off with Delia, but ran after her."
He waved his hand in the air. "Irrelevant. If what you say is true, then the honorable thing for McDaniel to have done is to see Delia home safely. Furthermore, I—"
"Henry McDaniel is the fourth son of Earl Ralston. It's commendable that he sought his own income by joining the navy. Delia told me he asked for her hand right after her début and you refused him—"
"Yet he still pursues her behind my back and against my wishes!"
"Has he any other choice?"
"He—" Donovan clamped his mouth shut and slapped his leg with his gloves. Trying to reason with Tess was proving to be as effective as arguing with Past Duke.
She sighed. "I do believe you've taken it into your head to dislike Mr. McDaniel for no other reason than his affection for Delia."
"That's preposterous! I—"
The carriage lurched. Donovan's head bumped against the window. He hissed and let out a curse, grabbing the back of his head.
Tess leaned forward and picked up his hat, placing it on her seat. Then she crossed to sit beside him and pulled off her gloves. Her soft fingers gripped his head and pushed his chin aside. "Let me see. You really should have permitted Lord Kringle to send for the doctor."
The gentle touch of her fingers as she ran them through his hair and inspected his injury made him shiver. Her warm breath against his neck sent an electric current pulsing through him, making him forget the throbbing in his head. Innocent though her ministrations were, the passion they aroused combined with the eight years of pining after her had him burning with desire. The dam broke, and the floodgate of suppressed emotions and sensual craving swept logic and willpower away. He twisted and pressed her against the seat.
A surprised gasp escaped her. Even in the dim light of the carriage, Donovan could tell her eyes widened and her mouth fell open. His gaze rested on her full, voluptuous lips.
"Is it true you've turned down every marriage proposal you've received?"
"Wh-who told you that?"
"Delia mentioned it. Is it true?" A bit of guilt gnawed at him for not being completely honest. But his sister had confessed it to him. He didn't see a reason to point out it had been the first time he'd lived through Christmas Eve 1812 and not tonight.
Tess shrugged and glanced over his shoulder. "I-I suppose it is."
"Why?" His voice was no more than a whisper.
She looked down. "Several reasons."
He put his hand under her chin and lifted her face so that she had to meet his gaze. A fiery surge of emotion overwhelmed him as he stared into the sapphire depths of her eyes, and unable to contain it any longer, he claimed her mouth with a tender vengeance. She twined her arms around his neck, returning his ardor with the same passionate fury, and he deepened the kiss. The way her lips clung to his only intensified the exquisite feeling of having her in his arms.
Breathless, Donovan reluctantly pulled back, but didn't break contact. He trailed kisses up her cheek, afraid to stop touching her. Terrified if he did she'd vanish and he'd once again be alone in his study, consumed with the aching emptiness that had haunted him for the past eight years.
He tipped his head back and looked at her. "Promise me you won't marry that dimwit Norcross." He had no right to ask — demand — such an assurance. But, heaven help him, he couldn't bear the thought of her with anyone else.
"M-m-marry Lord Nor — I — he—"
Donovan tightened his hold, closing the gap so that his lips grazed hers. "Just promise me."
"I-I promise," she said, her voice shaky.
He captured her lips again in a hungry kiss, parting them effortlessly. A wave of hot desire swept over him. The uncontrollable flame coursed through his blood like an amorous fire. She raked her fingers through his hair, returning his passion with sweet fervor. Donovan had to have her completely, needed to feel her skin next to his. He loved her with all his being… he knew that now. And he had to make her his in every way.
"…And what should the poor man have done? Let her leave alone, possibly coming to harm…"
"…Mr. McDaniel didn't run off with Delia, but ran after her…"
The words broke through his sensual haze, sending cold shivers down his spine. He leaned away from her.
"Donovan?"
"A few minutes ago, you said they didn't run off together, that McDaniel went after Delia." He straightened and sat back on the seat, watching Tess.
"Oh… I suppose I did, didn't I." She let out a sigh.
"You lied to me." He was surprised to hear the ache in his voice.
She placed her hands on his chest, her eyes beseeching. "I didn't — could never — lie to yo—"
"When I came to, I asked you where Delia was, and you told me she and Henry said something about heading to Gretna Green to marry."
"No… what I told you was that Delia said they should just run off to Gretna Green because you'd never consent to letting them marry. I just didn't mention that he refused. She screamed he was no better than you and left. Mr. McDaniel said to tell you he'd see her home safe."
Donovan was at a loss. A complex mixture of anger, hurt, bitterness, and disbelief warred within him, making his senses reel. "Why?"
Tears glistened in her eyes and she averted her face. "Because I thought perhaps I could help you see reason — and not just for Delia. Mostly I did it for you." She looked at him. "If you succeed in separating Delia and Mr. McDaniel, the spirit will go out of her eyes and she'll hate you. But not nearly as much as you'll hate yourself." Her shaky hand came up to rest on his cheek. "Sometimes the right decision isn't always the best decision."
A deluge of agony ripped his heart in two. If she only knew. "And sometimes we aren't given a choice at all." He leaned forward and tapped on the roof of the carriage. "To my townhouse."
Chapter Nine
Every detail of Christmas Eve 1812 had been etched into his memory, but he'd foolishly forgotten that in this 1812, none of those things had happened yet.
Just like tonight, Delia had run off. Only then it had been after the ball when they'd had a heated argument in his study. She'd gone to McDaniel, and the man had refused her. He'd told her he couldn't go against her brother's wishes and he'd escorted her home.
Donovan's hand was on the latch opening the door before the carriage came to a stop. He couldn't look at Tess. If he hadn't let his feelings for her cause him to disregard the fact that he should have been with Delia instead…
"Donovan, wait!" she yelled in a pained, choked voice.
Ignoring Tess, he ran to the townhouse and shoved t
hrough the door as Lawrence opened it, nearly knocking the startled butler over.
"Delia!" His voice boomed through the townhouse.
"Your grace—"
"Delia!" He started up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
"She's in the parlor with Mr. McDaniel, your grace," Lawrence announced.
He stopped and jerked around. "And my mother?"
The butler cleared his throat. "Her grace said to inform you that you mucked it up and you could fix it without her. Then she retired to her suite with strict orders she wasn't to be disturbed."
Of course she did.
Tess stood in the entryway. As he passed her, she grabbed his arm. Tears shimmered in her eyes. "Donovan, I—"
The agony and dread he'd lived with for the past eight years slammed through his body with an unbridled fury, stopping him in his tracks. He'd thought his battered soul couldn't be hurt more, but the pain and sorrow marring Tess's beautiful features ripped him to shreds. Every smell, every emotion, every sound… every nuance was ten times more powerful. And that made the anguish of knowing what he'd lost — would lose once more — an unbearable torture. He couldn't live through that again.
Yet that was exactly where things were headed.
What am I doing? He was right back where he'd ended up the first time. Once again losing the chance to be with the woman he loved, pushing her straight into Norcross's arms. And Delia… she'd run away from him, hated him just as she had before. He'd fixed nothing. Made things worse, actually.
He was trying. Heaven help him, he was honestly trying to do what was right—
"…sometimes we aren't given a choice at all."
But he had been. He'd been given the chance to fix everything. And curse it, he wasn't about to let his sense of right — his father's beliefs — cause him to make the same mistakes again.
One breath. Two, and his heart resumed a steady, even thumping. Her beseeching gaze never left his face, and as they stared into each other's eyes, her pain faded, her eyes widened, and her intriguing lips opened.