by Nichole Van
Though Emme would freak out and be all judgy and, like, ehww, how could you? Which was understandable given that whole situation in the past. But Emme hadn’t met No Rules Timothy. No Rules Timothy who smiled (!) and laughed (!!) and told punny jokes and fixed her broken things and held her with such tenderness . . .
She really liked that Timothy. Anyone would like that Timothy—
“Does Emme still dislike me that much then?” His deep bass voice vibrated straight from his chest.
Oy vey.
“Uh . . . let’s say an apology wouldn’t be a bad idea.”
Silence. They were still stationary. Heaven knew why. Totally at the mercy of the ferris wheel gods.
“So what happened with that anyway? With Emme?” She had to ask it.
He shrugged. “I made a regrettable choice. One I never intend to make again.” The resolve in his tone said it all. “And you are correct. I do owe her an apology.”
Good enough. She’d take that explanation.
Another lengthy pause. The sounds of the amusement park drifted up. Screams as a roller coaster plunged. The ding ding ding of the prize booths. Children laughing and crying.
He brought his other arm around, skimming his fingers from her shoulder to her elbow and back again. Leaving tingling goosebumps with each pass.
“Mmmmmm.” His voice rumbled under her ear. “And what was this about kissing me?”
Jasmine smiled against his chest. Pressed her face into him.
“Jasmine?” He jostled her shoulder. She could hear the teasing laughter in his tone.
“You’re terrible. A gentleman would pretend not to have heard me say that.”
“True. But a man would be a fool to let that comment pass.”
The ferris wheel lurched to a start. Gasping (again), she grabbed another handful of his shirt.
“Miss Fleury.” A finger pressed her chin upward.
She lifted her head and stared into his pale eyes. They faced into the setting sun, the warm light raking his face, turning his irises into shades of molten gold.
“I have you.” He ran a thumb over her bottom lip. She was quite sure every hair on her neck and arms instantly came to attention. “And I will not allow anything to harm you.”
That thumb did its brushy-thing again. Her lips joined in the tingling. He slid his fingers along her jaw. Soft. Tender. Another thumb-swoop.
Uhmmm . . . wow.
His eyes drifted down to her mouth. And then . . . he grinned.
Not the smile she had been seeing. The one that spoke of a lost childhood and joy re-found.
No. This smile was all male.
Possessive. Anticipatory. Decidedly wicked.
A thrill snaked down her spine.
“I know that smile, Lord Linwood.”
Said smile grew larger.
“You do?” His eyes stayed firmly focused on her mouth.
“Mmm-hmm. It’s the I’m-thinking-about-kissing-you smile.”
His eyes flicked up to hers, eyebrow raised. “There, you are wrong.”
“Not even—”
“This is the I-am-going-to-kiss-you smile.”
Oh! Well, in that case . . .
His hand left her face and spanned her waist and ribcage all at once, pulling her that final inch into him.
Her eyes fluttered closed. She felt the gentle puff of his breath against her lips.
Sweet. Warm.
Testing but not touching.
Teasing man.
She arched up. Closing her mouth over his.
That first touch of his lips . . .
Oh my!
Every cell in her body focused on the sensation.
Soft. Exploring. Agonizingly tender.
Jasmine had kissed more than her fair share of men over the years. But not one had made her feel like this.
Alive. Whole. Enthralled.
As if she were something to be revered. Treasured. A gift.
The man could kiss!
She responded in kind. Moving her body up to meet his, snaking her fingers into his hair. Reveling in his strength. In the way his huge body engulfed her.
His hands tangled in her hair and then angled her head to the side, allowing him to capture more of her mouth.
She lost all sense of time. The world condensing down to just him. To the rightness of his arms around her. The delicious rush of his lips on hers.
“Jasmine. You undo me.” His voice a raw whisper.
Timothy tried to think past the noise of blood rushing through his ears. But nothing came.
His lips left hers, nibbled along her jaw, nipped at her earlobe and then came back to her mouth.
So lush. So accepting. Sweetness which hinted at her untamed soul.
How could this woman turn him inside out? Flay him bare and then have him revel in the sensation of finally being seen?
A thousand thoughts burned through him. Kinningsley. His troubles. Miss Heartstone. The approaching deadline. His uncertain future.
And, yet, when he was in Jasmine’s arms, it all seemed small. Insignificant. As if he could conquer anything with her at his side.
Pulling her mouth back to his, he sipped her lips. Let his world narrow down to just him and her. This moment.
Where he guarded every emotion, she bared everything. Where he was stoic and cool, she was warm and effervescent. Sunshine to his midnight.
She seemed his opposite in nearly every way.
But therein lay the deception.
She wasn’t so much his opposite, as his completion. Bright where he was dark. Free where he was tethered. Round where he was concave. Reaching outward to fill his hollow surfaces.
The other half that made him whole.
That flooding sense of rightness filled him. She was right. They were right.
He pulled back, resting his forehead against hers. Eyes closed. Face at peace.
The last gasp of sunlight touching his cheeks.
And knowing she was so right for him, how could he ever let her go?
Chapter 21
Caerphilly Castle
Caerphilly, Wales
April 30, 2015
The wind whipped across the stone ramparts, tugging at Timothy’s coat.
They had finally made it to Caerphilly Castle in Wales and were standing atop the enormous gatehouse, looking toward the inner keep. Jasmine leaned against the cold rock wall, fingers effortlessly sketching the view. It was fascinating to watch the world come alive under her pencil.
He had recognized the ruined castle with its massive walls and distinctive leaning tower as they pulled up. In his day, it belonged to the Marquess of Bute. Timothy had actually visited the ruin once while staying at a nearby estate. At that time, it had been overgrown and covered with trees and vining plants.
Though still a ruin, now it was scrubbed clean and, though collapsed into rubble in many places, it stood proud. Wind snapped the banners rising above the inner towers and rippled the extensive moats surrounding the walls. Even now, the castle would be a formidable structure.
“This is perfect,” Jasmine murmured at his side. “Just perfect. Exactly what the mural needs. You can practically see the knights riding out in their armor.”
Truth.
He could nearly hear the horns calling warriors to battle. Smell the campfires and hay and refuse of everyday living. See ladies in their jewels and velvets waving silken handkerchiefs from the ramparts.
Did those who built this castle foresee a future where the castle would sit abandoned in the midst of a modern world, cars whizzing around its perimeter? Surely not.
They thought their castle would stand tall and proud for millennia. A beacon for the ages of their might and honor.
But it had only stood for maybe two hundred years before becoming obsolete. No longer relevant. Stone carted off and the entire site left to fall into ruin. Changing technologies and social mores making castles and the barbarism that drove them unnecessary. Everything that had bee
n sacrificed to build this place coming to naught.
It was a familiar feeling for him.
He waited for the inevitable panic to set in. But nothing came.
Just birds chirping, cars rumbling. The distant laughter of school children running through the keep.
Heavens but Jasmine had changed him, hadn’t she?
Since telling her of his troubles, a gentle sense of peace had grown on him.
Some might label it futility, he supposed.
He had changed. He laughed now. Teased and joked. Indulged in machinery and regularly kissed an American-born woman with no known family connections or inheritance.
A woman he had no intention of ever being without.
He had never gone looking for love. Had considered himself incapable of the emotion.
Most Linwood men seemed to avoid it.
But now it stared at him out of two lovely blue eyes.
Basically, just as Kinningsley had become everything his forebears despised. He, Timothy Linwood, had turned away from his heritage.
And yet, what else was to be done?
The portal would not allow him to return. He had taken to checking it just once a day. The longer the portal remained closed, the more an idea had taken hold.
Perhaps . . .
Perhaps he wasn’t meant to return to 1815.
He wasn’t sure he wanted to spend the rest of his life in this century. The thought of never seeing Marianne or Isabel again flooded him with grief.
And as returning to his own time most likely meant leaving Jasmine behind in 2015, he was torn on the entire idea anyway. Would she be permitted to return with him? And, if so, keeping her in his life in 1815 would be . . . difficult.
But it wasn’t like he was being given a choice about it either. He could live constantly waiting for the portal to let him through. Or he could just move on. Establish a life for himself here.
He had even chatted with James about it the night before. He had started the conversation with a much needed apology, expressing his regret over his behavior with Emme.
It had lifted a weight he hadn’t even realized he carried.
From there, he and James had discussed options. Investments. Things Timothy could do if he were not allowed to return to 1815. It had been nice to chat with James over the last several weeks. They laughed over memories of their time together at Eton, all the common experiences of growing up in the same small village. He recognized it as a gift. To have an old friend he could talk to anytime, someone of his own milieu who had experienced both centuries as well.
And it wasn’t as if this century were all that bad. He enjoyed watching more of those animated films with Jasmine. Disney movies, she called them. Laughing and talking with her, telling stories about their childhoods. He read voraciously, his mind often overloaded with information about circuits and electrical currents and motors. He tinkered and cleaned. He still rode and boxed regularly.
But the thought of giving up his heritage was profoundly painful.
Partially, it was the knowledge that, without him, the viscountcy would struggle. Though his heir, Uncle Linwood had a wife and no sons. Without an available family member to marry, Miss Heartstone’s money would be lost. Uncle Linwood would never stoop to any other measure to recoup the family fortunes.
However, Timothy realized the pain was more than inbred duty and honor.
The simple fact was this:
He liked being a viscount.
And how long had it taken him to realize it?
He had never questioned his life before. Never asked if he would actually choose to do what he did.
But now, thanks to Jasmine and her insistence he explore his own emotions and feelings, he knew.
He liked making decisions and serving in the House of Lords. He liked caring for his family and tenants. Liked being the paterfamilias.
It was more than mere duty and adherence to a set of rules for him. There was tremendous satisfaction in the work of it all.
And it had all been taken from him. Without his permission.
He continued to carry his talisman gear. The one he made so long ago. It reminded him of where he had come from. Of the responsibilities he just couldn’t seem to reconcile with leaving behind.
Could he ever rebuild such a life for himself here? But for the sake of remaining with Jasmine, how could he not?
“You’re quiet today.” Jasmine nudged him with her elbow. “Well, quieter than usual . . . which is pretty darn mum.”
He shrugged. “Just thinking.”
“I have been wondering about you,” she continued. “It’s not normal to skip straight from bargaining into acceptance. I would expect some depression along the way. Just a sense of sadness. A lack of will to do anything.”
“That fairly sums up the emotion, I suppose.”
A knowing smile. “It should pass. Just give it time.”
How did she do this? Drag personal thoughts and emotions from him so easily? It was her gift.
The breeze grabbed at the edge of her sketching pad, threatening to tear the paper. Without thinking, he set his hand on the paper, stilling it so she could continue drawing.
“Thank you.” She flashed him an impish smile from underneath the knitted sailor’s hat she wore. It pulled down over her ears and kept her hair out of her face, making her look more like a page boy than a grown woman.
He studied her profile as she drew, committing the beauty of her to memory. Tracing the line from her forehead, over the bump of her button nose, across her plump lips and around the curve of her sharp chin—
“You keep staring at me like that, my lord, and you’re liable to get kissed.”
As if that would deter him.
He continued to stare, a wry grin tugging at his lips.
She had done this to him. Turned him into a man who craved tenderness.
Without even lifting her pencil from the paper, she popped up on her toes and softly brushed his lips with hers.
“You know I can never resist your dimples,” she whispered against his mouth, giving him another peck.
Her easy affection always caught him off guard. She was like a silken summer breeze—warm, tender, seeping effortlessly into every crevice of his soul.
Jasmine, who just made everything more . . . bearable. It wasn’t her almost incessant cheerfulness or quirkiness. It was that combination of gentleness and steel that was the core of her. That she would not allow him to trample her, but at the same time, used kindness and humor to bring him out of himself.
He liked the person he was around her. Liked hearing her voice, her crazy thoughts, her soft laugh.
He leaned back against the rampart, shoulders to the castle, all his attention focused on her. She finished her drawing and he took the pencil and pad from her hand, setting them down.
“Come here.” He pulled her to stand between his legs, wrapping his arms around her waist.
She came willingly, tucking her hands against his chest, craning her neck to look at him. Deep blue eyes dancing, fingers curling into his coat.
How could a man resist her?
He dipped his head, just as she arched in his arms, reaching for him.
Their lips met gently in the middle.
Her mouth cool from the spring breeze. She smelled of sunshine and fresh air. Tasted of freedom and happiness.
Something unfurled within him. He could spend a lifetime like this and never get enough.
He pulled back, resting his forehead against hers.
“Care to share your gloomy thoughts?” Her words a puff of air against his nose. “You have certainly heard enough about my woes.”
“Rita still texting?”
“Every chance she gets. Relatives!”
“Amen.”
“Cobra says there’s nothing more to be done. I’ll probably just never know who I am. And I need to come to terms with that.”
A pause.
“Yes. Sometimes that is the only answer
.”
“Perhaps.” She popped on her toes, brushing her lips over his one more time. “But sometimes just talking makes it easier to bear.”
He closed his eyes. Soaked in the luxury of holding her.
“No. There is truthfully nothing to be done. I cannot return home,” he finally said.
“Really?” She feigned surprise. “I would never have guessed.”
He gathered her close. “Holding you helps,” he whispered in her ear.
They stood in silence, wrapped around each other. A car alarm beeped in the distance. Wind ruffled his hair.
He finally voiced his thought.
“What if I never return?”
A beat.
“I have wondered the same thing.”
“Would you mind? If I remained here?”
“No.” A shrug. “It’s been nice having you around.”
“You like No Rules Timothy?”
She chuckled against his chest.
“Something like that.”
“Good. Because I like bright, beautiful Jasmine.”
She froze. Pulled back.
“Really?” Eyes so very wide and breathless.
“Of course. How could a man not?”
She rolled her eyes a little. “Seriously? Do you want to hear all the stories?”
Her tone wrested a small grin from him.
“Dimple-touched. That’s what I’m calling that particular smile from now on. I’ve decided to start categorizing them. Make a study of it.”
That comment earned her a subtle chuckle.
“Ah. I see you agree with my research. I’m calling that your Reluctant Laugh. The one unwittingly coaxed from you.”
“And this smile?”
“Mmmmmm, that smile, Mr. Linwood, is titled Hungry Wolf.”
Which about summed it up. He kept the smile on his face as he bent to claim another kiss.
And another.
And another.
Ten minutes later he raised his head again. “So, what are these stories about other men? Anyone you need me to challenge to a duel?”
Her face brightened noticeably. “You offering?”
He brushed his thumb across her petal-soft cheek. “I think I should always enjoy being a knight-in-shining-armor to your damsel-in-distress.”