“Excuse me. I am feeling a bit under the weather. Would you mind if I went back to my room for the evening?”
Sebastian rolled his shoulders and then lifted his hand to the back of his neck, and rubbed it for a moment.
His beautiful face, it was stern… unreadable. What would he do? I leaned forward a little for effect. It worked on Ned.
Sebastian’s expression softened a bit. He had to admit she looked deathly pale, and judging by the way she was leaning over, perhaps something disagreed with her stomach.
“You know, Marguerite, you may call me Sebastian. In case it has slipped your mind, we are to be married soon and we will be on a very familiar basis shortly. Do you not think it would be prudent for you to start acting the part?” he asked softly.
I blinked. His fiancées name was Marguerite. That was a pretty name. “Yes, of course, ah… Sebastian… if you say so.” I tried to smile at him, but couldn’t. I felt ill. I glanced over at the gargoyle. It looked like it was laughing at me. I narrowed my eyes at it, preparing to say something like… stop looking at me… but didn’t. I walked quickly from the room, directly to the front door. A little voice mocked me from somewhere… Run, run, run… if you can. I wasn’t sure if it came from my mind or somewhere else. Suddenly, I wondered if this was how Dorothy felt when she woke up in Oz, with all the little people, squawking, “Ding -dong, the witch is dead!” I looked down at my shoes. Nope, they definitely weren’t ruby slippers and I was no Dorothy. My mind balked at the absurdity of it all.
Could it be possible that I somehow managed to travel into the past? Or was I simply losing my mind? Maybe it was a dream. I had to think. Turning away from the door, I grabbed the banister.
Another little voice snickered in the distance. This time I heard little feet running away. I wasn’t sure if I was hearing actual things, or if my mind was playing tricks on me. Could it really be true? Could I have actually traveled into the past, where a man—well, a really good-looking man, believed I was his missing fiancée? A place where servants waited on my every whim. Could this be my new reality?
I closed my eyes and gripped the banister tighter, fighting the urge to run out in the dark of night, screaming like a fool. I took a deep breath and then another. Calm settled over me. I could find no other explanation… it had to be true. And why would this be the only possible explanation? It was simple, really.
I had to be in the past because I couldn’t make this shit up if I tried… that’s why.
DESPERATION
HAWTHORNE MANOR * THE CELLAR * ISABELLE
WATER ran in rivulets down the side of Isabelle’s mud-laden prison, splashing on the ground. The constant noise was driving her crazy. She could not stand it. It was cold, damp, and smelled of rotting potatoes. The dampness of the room chilled her to the bone. She could hear creatures scampering about in the dark. Fear hit her so hard, her stomach roiled in response and she heaved. Closing her eyes, she tried to banish the nightmare that surely must have invaded her dreams but she knew she was not asleep. She was awake, living her worst possible nightmare... she was trapped.
Bile rose in her throat as she remembered what brought her to this place. She covered her mouth with her dirty hand, but the smell of damp earth on her fingers made her heave again. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She wiped her face with her sleeve and made herself stand to get away from the stench of her own vomit. She wrapped her arms around herself, shuffling across the floor over to the door … hoping. It was no use. The door was locked.
A faint shaft of light lit the edges. She would have yelled, but she knew it was pointless, since she knew exactly where she was: her very own cellar, the one she hated. It was far beneath the ground, and on the other side of the door, the crumbling stairs led back up to where the old cookhouse once stood. She shuffled back across the room, away from the door, to the farthest corner. A moldy sack hung on the wall. She grabbed it and tossed it on the floor. At least, it would give her some kind of protection against the cold. She sat down and leaned against the wall, tucking her legs in the folds of her gown and closed her eyes once more.
She sat in silence, berating herself for her stupidity. She was not some naïve girl. She was well into her prime. She had many experiences thus far in her life. She knew what it was like to love, and to lose one’s love. She knew what it felt like to get older and watch helplessly as time began to take more and more of the beauty she once had. She knew what it was like to kill someone as well.
Yes, Isabelle knew many things. Some things she welcomed and some she wanted to forget, but found they still haunted her in her dreams from time to time. She guessed now she was being made to pay one of her many dues.
She sighed out loud.
“Oh my dear husband, why did you have to betray me with her?” Her voice sounded harsh and raspy from vomiting. The gears of her mind spun round and round replaying the day her world smashed to pieces…
HAWTHORNE MANOR THREE DAYS EARLIER
“Thank you, Charles,” Isabelle said, handing off her green ermine-lined cloak and muff to her butler. Her face was flushed with chill, having just returned from London, and she was not expected home for a few more days. But she was eager to see her young husband, Devlin. They had only been married for a short time and she rather enjoyed their love play. “Wherever is my husband?”
“His lordship is otherwise occupied, Madam,” Charles replied nervously, tugging at his cravat.
“Oh,” she said simply. “Do you have any idea how long he will be?”
“I can not say as I have the answer to that particular question, Madam.” His voice cracked awkwardly.
Isabelle raised her brow in question. Charles looked piqued. “Are you feeling all right?”
“Ah, yes, Madam,” he said hesitantly.
“Well, I am weary from my travels. Would you please be a dear and tell cook I would like to have a small meal prepared, perhaps some soup and toast? Oh, yes, and have one of the maids bring it up to my chamber. I think a nice warm bath is in order,” she said, shivering slightly.
Charles’s eyes widened. “Are you sure you would not prefer to have some hot tea in front of the fire?” he coaxed.
“Heavens no, my clothes are damp, and truth be told, Charles, I am quite simply exhausted.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “Do not tell anyone, but I am not the young miss I once was.” She smiled, giving him a wink for good measure. Charles had been in her family’s employ since she was a young girl, and luckily, she was able to keep him after she married the Old Duke.
“Is Judith with his lordship?” Isabelle asked distractedly. She glanced at a pile of missives on a silver salver on the hall table. There were quite a few invitations. Turning back to Charles, she saw his face was pale and he was staring down at the floor. “Charles, is something amiss?”
“No… ah… no,” he said, focusing on the ground.
“Charles, you look pale. Perhaps you should get some soup from the kitchen and take yourself off to bed. You may be coming down with something.”
“Thank you. You may be right,” he agreed. “I am suddenly not feeling well.”
“Of course, take yourself to bed. I will tell cook myself about my dinner.”
“Oh, perfect, I will accompany you,” he said hurriedly as he took her elbow and tried to guide her towards the kitchen.
Isabelle walked alongside Charles as he pushed her towards the kitchen. She had no idea what was wrong with him, but he was certainly acting strange.
Once in the kitchen, she directed the maid to make a bite for Charles and slipped out before he could notice she was gone. She hurried down the hall and up the stairs. When she reached the top landing, she made her way toward her room.
She heard moaning. She wrinkled her brow, wondering whatever the noise could be, but walked faster just the same. Dread filled her body. She stood outside her door, listening… afraid to open it suddenly. She heard another moan and muffled voices. Swallowing her trepidation, she grabbed the h
andle, and opened the door. It opened soundlessly. Her eyes widened as her breath caught in her throat.
Judith, her husband’s sister, was naked as the day she was born. Her head was thrown back, her long blonde hair swaying back and forth, as she moved up and down on top of a man. Isabelle had no idea who she was with; her body blocked the man’s face. Isabelle’s ire rose instantly. She was ready to give the girl a firm dressing down. How dare she enter her private chambers with…?
Her stomach lurched as Judith was thrown backward onto the bed. Devlin rose over her, pushing her legs up into the air, as he drove into her repeatedly. His body glistened with sweat and his head was tilted backward, the unmistakable expression of ecstasy clearly etched on his handsome face. Judith moaned louder, her body writhing under him as he picked up his tempo and lifted her legs even higher…
“Devlin,” Judith cried out his name in pleasure.
Isabelle stood in the doorway watching, stupidly, frozen in place. Devlin opened his eyes as his body convulsed finding his own release. His sweat-dampened hair fell forward. He pushed it back and dropped Judith’s legs, his eyes never leaving hers. Isabelle was stunned; her mind was not able to process what she had just witnessed.
“Judith, it seems we have an audience,” Devlin said, breathing heavily, his lips curved up in amusement. He leaned back on the bed and ran his hand through his dampened hair.
Judith rolled over onto her stomach, an irritated expression on her face. “My goodness, Isabelle, had I known you liked to watch, I would have offered you a chair… that way you would not have had to stand on your feeble legs so long.” She snickered meanly. “Devlin does take a while, does he not?” she taunted, and began laughing again. The peels of her laughter pierced Isabelle to her core.
“Oh, right, you would not know that, would you?” Judith smirked.
Isabelle finally got her voice back. “She is your sister!” Her voice cracked. “How could you have sex with your sister?” She lifted her hands helplessly in the air.
Judith laughed harder.
“Hmm, that is a good question.” Devlin stood and tossed on his robe. “Ah, I see your dilemma.” He crossed his arms and tapped his chin. “What kind of sick deviant would have intercourse with his sister?”
“You’re a sick monster!” Isabelle’s stomach clenched.
“Tsk, tsk,” he said. “Be careful what stones you throw, wife.” He narrowed his eyes. “You married this monster… remember?”
“That was before… I did not know… I mean how…” Isabelle could not even finish.
“Goodness, Isabelle, you just saw how,” he said callously, then chuckled lightly. “Oh do calm down Isabelle,” he said finally. “I am not a complete monster, well… at least not a deviant one.”
“What are you saying?”
“It seems you are in luck,” he said. “Although Judith and I share some similarities in coloring, she is not my sister.”
“What do you mean she is not your sister?” Isabelle looked back and forth between the two.
Judith snorted loudly and rolled onto her back. “Goodness, you are slow.” She sighed and pulled her long hair over one bare shoulder. “Devlin, please save me from this woman’s stupidity.”
“It was a lie Isabelle,” Devlin said tonelessly.
“A lie?” Isabelle repeated.
“Yes, a lie,” Judith said meanly. “Are you deaf as well?” She sat up. “Come on Isabelle, did you think someone as young and virile as Devlin would truly be interested in someone as old as you?” She shook her head. “You really must be slow of wit.” Climbing from the bed, Judith stood up and walked across the room. She settled herself on the chair in front of the dressing table and gave Isabelle an ugly look in the mirror.
Isabelle watched her uninhibited display. Her naked body still firm and ripe from youth. She too once looked much like Judith, when she was young. Time had taken its toll on her body, but her mind was sharper now, more so than it had ever been.
In the reflection of the mirror, Isabelle studied the girl’s face. And suddenly she could see the distinct differences between the two. She had been played for a fool. She should have known from the start.
Isabelle straightened her spine and pressed her shoulders back. “Get out of my house and take your whore with you.” Her voice shook with unbridled anger.
“Devlin,” Judith whined. “You are not going to let the old bat call me names, are you?”
“Now, now, wife, do not be hasty,” Devlin said in a placating tone. “Surely we can come to some understanding.”
“Understanding?” She gaped at him. “Are you a bloody idiot?” She stood rigidly. “I said get out or I will call this house down upon your insolent heads. Do you understand what I am saying?” She lifted her chin a notch. “And do not think to take anything with you either, except the pathetic pittance you came to me with. And your whore,” she scathed the word, “can go just as she is since I am the one that bought her clothing as well. Or have you forgotten my money paid for all you have?”
Devlin raised a perfectly arched brow at her, daring her to say more. “We had a deal Isabelle,” he said. “Or have you forgotten that as well?” He took a step forward.
Isabelle took a step back. “I am warning you. If you do not leave this instant, I will make sure you are escorted from this house and taken directly to the magistrate.” She turned to leave and in doing so made one more stupid mistake in a long line of them. Before she could make it to the door, a burst of white stole her vision and pain brought her to her knees. Another sharp pain followed and she finally crumpled to the ground.
‡
Footsteps sounded from above and brought Isabelle back to the present. She opened her eyes and awaited her captor’s arrival.
CONSEQUENCE
RAVENHURST KATHERINE
THE dim light flickered in the hall, throwing shadows against the door of my borrowed room. It loomed before me, fading in and out of focus as I swayed on my feet. All the alcohol I drank caught up with my body, but my mind still raced. I was trying to decide which existence to believe—either I was a raving lunatic or somehow, someway, I actually managed to travel into the past. Or… perhaps I was having an alcohol- induced hallucination. I grabbed my skin under my arm and pinched. A sharp pain shot up my arm.
“Ow that hurt!” I rubbed my fingers against the rising welt.
“What am I doing?” Would the room still be as I remembered it? Or would my delusional brain conjure up something else in its place? I twisted the handle. It didn’t budge. I tried again… nothing. I wanted to scream, but who would help me if they heard? I wanted out. Out of the dress, the house, out of this… this place I found myself stuck in. Angry, unshed tears welled in my eyes. I dashed them away and grabbed the handle again. With all my weight, I pushed against the door. This time the door swung open easily and my body sailed through the opening. With a jarring thud, I landed on the carpet. My gown flew up. Cold air chilled my stocking-clad legs and butt. Lifting my head slightly, the floor blurred before my eyes. I gave up and dropped my head back down.
‡
Two black, shiny objects floated in and out of focus in front of my face. The carpet pile was wet under my cheek. I focused my eyes on one of the objects tapping up and down. It was a boot. A cool breeze wafted up my gown, and I closed my eyes in humiliated horror—my ass was showing.
“Good evening, milady,” he said finally, his voice crisp and proper, emphasizing his accent.
Lifting my head, I tried to focus on his boots.
“Do forgive my intrusion into your private sanctuary, but I found no other alternative to share a moment of privacy with you.”
Pushing my gown over my butt, I crawled up on all fours. “No problem.” My words slurred as I tried to stay upright. My hair fell down in front of my face, which thankfully blocked everything but the shiny boots.
“Milady, can you stand without, erhm… becoming ill?” he questioned warily.
“S
ure.” Just as soon as that word was out of my mouth, I fell forward and my face rubbed across the rug. “Damn, that burned.”
Warm hands grasped me under my arms and pulled me up off the floor. I swayed on my feet. “One minutes my good man. I’ll be right back.” And with that, I zigzagged my way into the bathroom.
KEY THREE
A while later, I emerged from the bathroom, feeling at least a little less drunk. Pushing my wet hair off my face, I wiped my hands on the front of my wet gown. I had an incident with the sink and all I wanted to do was lie down. I veered towards the bed but an “Ahem” made me turn. The man from earlier was standing by the fire and pointed towards the chair.
“Milady, please take a seat,” he instructed in a clipped voice, sounding very refined… very English.
Reaching out, I patted the chair—the damn thing was moving. I fell down on the chair and leaned forward.
When the room stopped spinning, I lifted my head and looked up at the man. He smiled and his eyes sparkled mischievously in the firelight. And that is when it hit me—like a ton of bricks—I knew him. “Ah… I know you… don’t I?” I was trying to act nonchalant. Like I really wasn’t a thief. I knew exactly who he was. Double Crap.
Milford raised a brow, his green eyes showing surprise. He cleared his throat. “I would not say ‘know’ as in we have been formally introduced.” He grew quiet for an awkward moment. “If you are asking if we have seen one another before, then my answer is yes. Yes we have met one another before.”
“Yep… I mean yes, I do know you.” When he didn’t say anything, I supposed he was waiting for a confession. “You are the gentleman with the necklace from my work,” I said and heated with guilt. “Ah… I, um… well… you know… borrowed it.”
A Knight Such as This: Enhanced with Interactive Content: (Time Travel Romance) Book 1 & 2 (Ravenhurst Series) Page 8