An Earl Out of Time: Time After Time Book One (Time Out of Time 1)

by Louise Allen

  He nuzzled down my neck, around my throat and then licked deep into my cleavage, bending me back over his arm to give himself access. His tongue slid along, under the edge of my neckline, found my nipples and the next thing I knew my breasts were free of the gown and its tiny apology for a bodice.

  Lucian’s mouth on me was electrifying. I pushed up against it and made no attempt to struggle as his free hand slid up my leg, pushing my skirts with it. The erotic impact of his hand on the bare skin of my thigh above the garter was staggering. I was beginning to grasp the attraction of stockings and corsets but I was utterly frustrated by his clothing. His chest was enclosed by a snug-fitting waistcoat, his coat was too tight to push off his shoulders, I was thwarted by the lack of a fly to unzip and I couldn’t work out how to open the falls of his evening breeches.

  And I wanted to open them because the thin fabric was doing absolutely nothing to hide the magnificence of what was inside. I wriggled and growled and Lucian laughed against my breast.

  ‘Later, let me make love to you now.’ And his hand finished its upwards journey and homed in with absolute assurance on its target and proceeded to reduce me to jelly, then to a squirming, panting knot of tension and then lit fireworks that would surely rival whatever was happening later that night.

  I came to my senses to find him adjusting the bodice of my gown with an efficiency that argued a lot of practice. I could hardly complain, I was not exactly a quivering virgin myself.

  ‘Let me.’ I shifted so that I could touch him, but he stood up.

  ‘Not now.’ His voice was husky, reluctant. ‘We must get back to our supper… Aah.’

  That gasp was all the encouragement I needed as I slid to my knees and managed, at last, to undo his falls. It did not take long, nowhere near as long as I sensed we both wanted, but the whispering darkness made us urgent.

  We walked back a longer way and I suppose, by the time we emerged into the light, we looked respectable enough. The ground had been dry, thank goodness.

  James grinned at his brother and got a repressive frown in answer, but I think poor Sir Clement would have been too deep in his gloomy thoughts to have noticed if we had got it on right beside him in the box.

  I managed to pull myself together sufficiently to enjoy the famous shaved ham, which was delicious, even if it was thin enough to see through. We ate capons and cheesecakes and drank the arrack punch which went straight to my knees which had had more than enough excitement already that evening.

  I think we were all rather tipsy as we left to find the carriage with the last of the fireworks banging and wooshing overhead.

  ‘No wonder the people who have estates out here complain about the noise,’ James said as the carriage moved off.

  ‘I suppose we are in the country, almost, aren’t we? Do many people have country estates so near to Town?’ I was so very aware of Lucian close beside me that I could hardly articulate a sensible question. Or perhaps it was the wine.

  ‘Some,’ James said. ‘But not many. London is growing at such a rate that estates are being sold off or cut up for building. Lord knows where it will stop.’

  I could have told him, but I doubt that he would have believed me. Thinking about the likely reaction of the three men to the twenty first century reality of London kept me amused and distracted from the dilemma of what to do about Lucian and bed when we got home.

  Not much had been distracting Lucian from thoughts of bed – and not for sleeping either. He caught me in his arms as I opened my bedchamber door.

  ‘Cassie?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ It was almost a wail and I couldn’t believe how indecisive I was being about this. We had already become very intimate indeed – I could still taste him – I wanted him badly. I was on the pill, I had condoms. But…

  ‘I understand.’ He let go of me and stepped back.

  ‘You do? It is more than I do.’ I was furious with myself. ‘I am not trying to be a cock-tease, honestly.’

  ‘I know. But you cannot help remembering that in your time I am long dead. That must be disconcerting.’

  It was probably disconcerting for him too. Somewhere in his future and in my present was a family vault…

  ‘No, that isn’t it,’ I told him truthfully. ‘I could vanish at any moment – back to when I come from. Or altogether if we do something to change the course of history and it affects me. I cannot help the feeling that if I sleep with you it will have consequences.’

  ‘I would be careful – ’ he began.

  ‘No, I don’t mean me conceiving. Something more nebulous. I can’t explain because I do not understand.’

  ‘Bad consequences?’ Lucian asked. He looked as though he was taking my vague apprehensions seriously.

  ‘I honestly do not know,’ I admitted. ‘If I did, then I could make a decision. As it is – ’

  ‘As it is it would be wrong of me to try and persuade you,’ he said slowly, as though trying to persuade himself. ‘I do not want only one night with you, Cassie.’

  ‘Neither do I,’ I confessed. What I was beginning to feel for this man, muddled though it was, went far beyond the anticipation of mutual sexual pleasure. Perhaps all I was trying to do was to protect myself from a broken heart when I found myself with a two hundred year gap between me and my lover.

  Lucian put one hand on the door frame and leant in to kiss me, hard and fierce and quick before he straightened and turned away. ‘Dream of me,’ he said, his voice low as he left me there clutching the door handle to stop myself running down the passageway after him.

  Chapter Twenty Two

  I did dream that night, but not of Lucian. There was a big house in wide parklands, sweeping steps to a double front door, balustrades and pillars, woodland and deer. There was a vault beneath a chapel. But the ornate iron grill stayed closed and nothing stirred in the dusty depths, not even when the sound of children laughing floated down from high above.

  I woke feeling as though I had solved something, but I had no idea what.

  I must have been brooding even more than Lucian at breakfast, because when he said, ‘What is wrong, Cassie?’ I jumped, surprised to find anyone else was there.

  When I blinked at him, confused, he bit his lip and glanced at the door that had just closed behind Garrick. ‘I am sorry. Last night – ’

  ‘No, not that. And nothing is wrong. I dreamed and I woke thinking that I had an answer.’

  ‘And did you?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Can you tell me what you dreamed about?’

  ‘A stately home in a park.’ I described what I could recall – leaving out the part about the vaults – but Lucian shook his head. ‘Could be anywhere.’

  ‘I know, just a generic stately home,’ I said, trying to think of all the National Trust and other great houses I had visited and failing to come up with a match.

  ‘The first post, my lord.’ Garrick came in with a silver salver laden with folded and sealed papers. ‘And I have some intelligence concerning Lord Wraxall.’

  ‘Excellent. Just one moment...’ Lucian was flicking rapidly through the post. ‘Ah, a reply from Emily Cowper. If you will excuse me, Cassie.’ He broke the seal and scanned the contents, then passed me the slip of card enclosed.

  Ladies Voucher, Almack’s, I read. It was printed in elegant curling blue script. Deliver to – and Miss Lawrence had been handwritten in the space. Then Tickets to the Balls on the Wednesdays in April 1807. The bottom had been initialled, although I couldn’t make out what that said.

  Bouncing up and down and going, ‘Squee!’ would scandalise Garrick so I smiled and said, ‘Thank you so much, Lucian.’

  ‘Lady Cowper is the sweetest soul, I thought she was the best bet.’ He only looked a little bit smug. ‘How do you want to spend the day?’

  ‘Do I need more clothes?’

  ‘That is taken care of, Miss Lawrence,’ Garrick assured me.

  ‘In that case I would like to go window shopping th
is morning.’ I kept catching glimpses of fascinating little shops and I was itching to poke about in them.

  ‘Not without a footman to escort you, Miss Lawrence.’ Garrick sounded scandalised.

  ‘No?’ I had no wish to cause talk, not with a coveted Almack’s voucher to live up to, but the opportunity to be a Regency consumer was too good to miss.

  ‘I will borrow one for you, and a maid.’ Lucian sounded amused by my disappointment. ‘Selbourne has a full staff because his mother and sister are coming up next week, so he will have people to spare. I will send him a note at once.’

  Bond Street was fabulous. Piccadilly was fabulous. It was all fabulous. I did my best not to contribute to every male-held stereotype of women and shopping, but this was like being let loose in a cross between the biggest antique shops in the world, the most fabulous jewellers and the most high-end craft workshops.

  Lucian had tried to give me money to spend, but I had refused to take more than five pounds for emergencies. If I started spending there would be no stopping me and I had no idea if I was ever going to be able to get myself home, let alone transport the swag I was coveting. Besides, how could I ever pay him back for all the gowns and accessories he had already provided me with?

  When I finally got back to Albany I tipped the borrowed footman and maid. They seemed awestruck by my self-restraint in the shops – or possibly I had completely over-tipped them. Whichever it was, there were three of us happy as they took themselves off and Garrick let me into the apartment.

  He smiled as he took my bonnet, gloves and pelisse. ‘Your outfit for this evening is in your bed chamber, Miss Lawrence.’

  I thanked him and went to gloat over yet another gorgeous gown with its accessories – pale blue silk with a silver net overskirt and silver ribbons. I could get used to this life. On the other hand, I was terrified that I might have to.

  We set out at half past nine after dinner. I made a good meal because I remembered reading that the refreshments at Almack’s were pretty dire, although I didn’t ask Lucian if that was correct. I suspected he was finding my erratic knowledge about aspects of his world rather disconcerting.

  The carriage was driven by a regular coachman this time. For one thing, as Lucian pointed out, we were not up to anything suspicious and secondly Garrick had mysterious plans for his own snooping that evening.

  Almack’s occupied a long, rather unprepossessing, building on the southern side of King Street where a big post-modern office block stands now. There were iron railings either side of the doors we had entered by that first morning which were at the end of the building and above I could see the tall arched windows of the ballroom. There was a bustle of carriages, almost a traffic jam, and the torches were blazing and I realised with a jolt that I had been just along the street a week ago. And I was still two hundred years adrift.

  I wasn’t concerned about Trubshaw because he would work his dubious charms on the neighbours who were suckers for his starving cat impression. But what about Sophie, and my clients – and the police? I dragged down a big, steadying breath and told myself there was no point in worrying. I couldn’t get back yet and there was nothing I could do about it so getting in a state was pointless.

  ‘There is no need to be nervous,’ Lucian said, as the carriage door opened. ‘Almack’s always seems to make ladies anxious.’

  ‘I am not nervous,’ I said and then offered a conciliatory smile when he looked at me sharply. I must have sounded as rattled as I was feeling as yet another thing to worry about struck me. If I got home – when I got home – how was I going to explain where I had been? It could have been worse, I told myself, gathering up wrap and reticule and fan and managing my skirts as I climbed down. I might be married, or have children. Sorry kids, Mummy just popped back to the nineteenth century for a bit, get your own tea, will you? simply wouldn’t cut it.

  My precious voucher was bowed through and we were inside. Now we were not in such a rush as we had been the other morning I could look around and my jaw dropped. All dressed up for company, with candelabra blazing, music playing and chattering, gorgeously-dressed guests milling about, the place was transformed.

  The men were all in full evening dress which meant knee breeches with their swallow-tailed coats. I must ask Lucian how he kept his stockings so beautifully wrinkle-free, I thought as we inched towards the double doors into the main ballroom. He was greeting people, making introductions. I smiled and responded and tried not to gawk as I was ruthlessly carried on to the next encounter.

  ‘What am I going to do if I’m asked to dance?’ I murmured as the sound of music got louder.

  ‘Say you have a sprained ankle after our collision with the coach on Sunday. It is on the mend but you must not strain it,’ Lucian whispered back as we reached the ballroom at last. The music was coming from overhead where the orchestra sat on a balcony, supported on columns, the walls were hung with large mirrors in gilt frames and huge candelabra blazed from the ceiling.

  It was already exceedingly hot. I took a deep breath and wished I hadn’t. Frankly, it stank of candle wax and perspiration which did nothing for the illusion of glamour. ‘Phew!’ I fanned myself.

  ‘The ventilation is poor, I’m afraid,’ Lucian said.

  That and a complete lack of deodorants, I supposed. Not everyone was as scrupulous about personal hygiene as the friends I had already made and even the most fastidiously clean person was going to be dripping after an evening in here. I could feel the sweat begin to slide down between my breasts, so who was I to criticise? There was no dry cleaning either. Did I remember that all but the simplest cotton gowns had to be unpicked before they could be washed and then must be remade?

  ‘Patronesses,’ Lucian murmured, steering me towards two middle aged women, both dark, one rather sweet-faced, the other looking as sharp and alert as a terrier waiting for a rabbit to pop out of a hole. ‘Lady Cowper and Lady Jersey.’

  I had been watching other young women and thought I could probably manage an approximation of a curtsey without falling flat on my face, so I gave it a try when Lucian introduced me. ‘I must thank you for the favour of a voucher, Lady Cowper,’ I said in what I hoped was a suitably refined manner.

  ‘Your American cousin from Boston, did you say, Radcliffe?’ Lady Jersey asked before her colleague could reply. ‘Does that account for your accent, Miss Lawrence?’

  Patroness of Almack’s, I reminded myself. Probably has a licence to be rude to single, young, untitled, women. Smile and behave yourself. ‘Yes, Lady Jersey.’

  ‘Very novel. You do not sound at all like your countryman, Mr Monroe.’

  ‘No, ma’am. Regional accents do vary, even in America.’ Oh dear, from her expression having any accent at all was obviously not the thing. I could have commented on hers, but I didn’t want us to be thrown out.

  ‘I hear you caused a scene outside the Palace on Sunday.’ She seemed more curious than disapproving and produced an eyeglass though which she scanned me, head to toes.

  ‘We were knocked down by a speeding carriage, Lady Jersey. His Royal Highness, um, came to our rescue.’

  From her expression I guessed that she would have paid good money to have seen that, but all she said was, ‘How very… gallant of His Royal Highness. Were you injured, Miss Lawrence?’

  ‘A slight sprain, ma’am. I fear I must not dance tonight.’

  ‘How unfortunate.’ Apparently I was the clumsy one. ‘That will not help your purpose in coming to London.’

  And that was husband-hunting, presumably. I showed perhaps rather too many teeth when I smiled back. ‘I do not think that the sightseeing and shopping that were my purpose will be much affected, Lady Jersey.’

  ‘So amusing,’ Lady Cowper said, managing to get a word in edgeways finally. Obviously she thought I was joking and could not believe that any single woman under the age of thirty was not desperate for a husband. ‘With your injury I will not introduce you to any eligible dance partners tonight. Lord Ra
dcliffe, remind me to do so on the next occasion when Miss Lawrence joins us.’ She gave me a brisk nod. ‘Lord Radcliffe will no doubt be able to introduce you to young gentlemen who are eligible in other ways.’ Her look was assessing. ‘And perhaps some who are not quite so young.’

  ‘Ladies.’ He steered me away before I could attempt another wobbly curtsey or inform her that at twenty six I was not on the shelf. Or so desperate that I was ready to settle down with a middle aged gentlemen for some nice cocoa before bedtime.

  ‘Sheesh.’

  Lucian snorted, but when I looked at him he had his face well under control. ‘They are two very influential ladies,’ was all he said. Then the corner of his mouth twitched.

  ‘Find me Lord Wraxall before I disgrace myself, then we can get out of here,’ I said. ‘And we must have another look at the mirror in the refreshment room. You saw me in it while an assembly was going on, so it must work, even when there are other people around.’

  ‘We could.’ Lucian sounded less than enthusiastic. I was about to question that when he added, ‘There he is. Thin, brown hair, next to the tall chap with dark red hair and the plump one with eyeglasses.’

  ‘Wraxall’s the one with the beaky nose? Right. Don’t introduce me, I intend to be rude about you. I can get him into conversation, I think.’

  ‘That would be extraordinarily fast of you.’

  ‘I know.’ I winked at him and sauntered off.

  Lord Wraxall was holding forth to his companions who were nodding agreement like the Chinese figurines I’d once seen in Brighton Pavilion. I found a potted palm to lurk beside and pretended to view the dance floor while eavesdropping. Best to get some feel for the man before I attempted to make contact.

  ‘It is a great mistake to ignore modern inventions,’ he was saying. ‘The manufacturers and engineers and rude mechanicals involved are, naturally, quite beyond the pale.’

  ‘Oh, absolutely,’ Eyeglasses agreed. ‘All they create is noise and dirt and mud and they attract hordes of thoroughly undesirable types at their manufactories.’