by Nichole Van
Night had long ago settled. The fire burned low. She sighed, body rising against his arm.
The silence should have felt uncomfortable.
It didn’t.
Sebastian shook his head and tilted it back to rest against the top of the sofa. How could he ever have imagined the events of this day?
That letter? The one that had teased her into returning to the past?
He sucked in a painful breath at the thought.
He hated him. The man to whom she wrote those words. Whoever he proved to be.
She had lived so . . . much.
Why, in all his campaigning as a soldier and responsibilities as an earl, had it never occurred to him Georgiana would experience her own changing journey?
He chuckled, running his hand over his face.
“What?” she asked, muffled.
“You are truly a ghastly chaperoner.”
He could feel her smile.
“According to the dashing Earl of Stratton?”
“Precisely. The remarkable-and-in-no-way-pathetic Earl of Stratton.”
She laughed in his arm.
She did not, however, contradict his assessment.
He sighed and slumped even lower into the sofa, extending his still booted feet toward the fire, crossing them at the ankle.
“So what are we to do now?” he asked.
“What do you mean?”
He gestured at them, nestled together. The silence of the empty house around them.
“In 1813, being this alone with a gently bred young lady would necessitate our betrothal.”
She let out an exasperated puff of air.
“I’m not saying that will happen, mind you,” he quickly corrected, holding out a staying hand.
He wasn’t in the mood to hear her go on about how un-marriageable he was.
Not again. Not tonight. Not ever, actually.
“I’m just pointing out that this situation is compromising,” he continued. “We disappeared at the same time in 1813 and there will probably be talk.”
She shrugged. “Please. It is what it is. You heard James. I am not going anywhere, so it seems unlikely I will return. Besides, Arthur cares mightily about family honor, and he knows about the portal. He will put two and two together and cover for us. Running off with you would be a terrible scandal, so he will concoct some plausible story. Something about my aunt in Shropshire suddenly needing my help and you returning unexpectedly to Stratton Hall.”
“And us here?”
He couldn’t help it. He had to ask the question.
“What do you mean?” She pulled back to look at him.
He gave a charming smile. “Well, I am quite dashing, and you have spent the evening cuddled next to me . . .”
She didn’t deny it.
“I was cold, Sebastian. And you have warmed my toes.” For emphasis, she wiggled her feet which were still nestled under his hand.
Treacherous little beasts, those toes.
“Besides,” she continued, “we are good friends. And in the twenty-first century, good friends who share a house are called roommates. It happens all the time and no one finds it untoward.”
She nudged his shoulder.
“Come, roomie.” She unwrapped herself from his side and stood, holding out a hand. “It’s getting late and tomorrow will be Monday, so we will be able to start hunting for information. Besides, I am so ready for a shower.” She tugged him to his feet. “Let me show you the marvels of twenty-first century plumbing.”
He allowed Georgiana to drag him upstairs and walk him through using the water closet and wash basin with instant hot water.
And then there was the shower.
How had he lived so long without such an amazingly marvelous thing? He stood under the streaming fountain, letting the warm water wash over him. Wondering if the next few days would prove as overwhelming as the first.
With smart phones and hot showers, what could he possibly offer Georgiana that compared?
The girl he knew was long gone. Georgiana had changed, altered through the sheer business of living.
Would he love the woman she had become as much as the girl she had been?
And heaven help him if he did.
Chapter 18
Duir Cottage
September 16, 2013
Birthday in minus 22 days plus two hundred years
Monday dawned bright and clear. The crisp air strongly hinting of autumn even though the leaves had not yet started to change. Georgiana stared at the ceiling for a moment before getting out of bed.
She tried hard not to over-think the situation with Sebastian.
She tried not to. With varying success.
After going to bed, she had lain awake debating if he had been serious in his conversation with James. That he was reevaluating his offer of marriage.
Trying to decide how she felt about it. A part of her was relieved at the thought.
But there was also a piece of her heart that wanted to weep.
It was all most confusing.
Tumbling out of bed, Georgiana dressed in a long maxi skirt and loose sweater again. No need to shock Sebastian’s sensibilities too much. Though she did put on some light make-up. Thank goodness Duir Cottage boasted two separate bathrooms. Sharing a bathroom with him would make their current situation even more awkward.
First things first. Sebastian was going to need some twenty-first century clothing. At several inches over six feet, he topped James by nearly half a foot, but perhaps there was something in James’ clothing that would work for a few hours. Until they managed to drive to Birmingham and acquire a wardrobe for him. She dug through the warmer clothing in James’ dresser, coming up with an outfit that would hopefully work.
Clothes in her arms, she trudged downstairs to find Sebastian kneeling in front of the hearth, making another fire. He wore his breeches and shirt from the night before, wrinkled and rumpled. His hair was still wet, a testament to his fascination with the shower. And he had put James’ shaving kit to good use. Appreciatively, Georgiana watched him apply a struck match to the kindling wood, muscles visibly moving under his fine linen shirt.
He really was a marvelous specimen of manhood.
“Good morning.” Sebastian turned around, tossing the burning match back into the fire. “I thought we could use a fire. And I boiled water for tea.” He gestured toward the electric kettle on the counter with a sheepish grin. “I felt absurdly proud of myself for remembering how to do it.”
Georgiana laughed. He was Charming Sebastian again this morning. Boyish and at ease.
Charming Sebastian she knew. Could deal with.
It was Intense Sebastian that messed with her breathing and made her toes tingle.
As long as he didn’t make an appearance, her heart would, most likely, make it through the week unscathed.
Besides, it was only her toes he made tingle. Not all of her, right?
“I also checked the portal. It is still decidedly closed.”
She gazed at him with wide eyes.
“Oh—and what would you have done if it were working?”
He opened his mouth to speak and then shut it again. Shrugged.
She padded over to the empty fridge. They were going to have to go grocery shopping too.
Poor Sebastian. He was in for a serious crash course on twenty-first century life today.
An hour later, Sebastian stood in the kitchen, dressed in James’ clothing.
An awkward silence hung between them.
“I look ridiculous.”
It wasn’t a question.
Georgiana pursed her lips together, determined not to giggle.
James was a fairly casual person, particularly when it came to twenty-first century dress. Sebastian, however, could not carry off jeans and a t-shirt with such easy aplomb. At least, not when the clothing in question was two sizes too small.
Pulled down firmly over Sebastian’s boots, the jeans drifted a full five inche
s off the ground. More capris than pants. And the t-shirt hit just below his belt, far too short.
She was quite sure if he raised his arms, the shirt would drift up to his armpits. Though pulled taut across his chest, it did marvelous things to his broad shoulders.
All in all, he was being a remarkably good sport about the whole situation.
“You could look more ridiculous,” she offered, now biting her lip harder. “I am sure Marc has a Bronco’s jersey around here somewhere. It’s bright orange and—”
“Go on. You know you want to laugh.”
Her lips twitched. “No—not really.”
But, really, she did.
He shook his head slowly, eyebrows raised in disbelief.
“I mean, some would say you even look dashing—” She broke off, laughter bubbling.
With a pointed look, Sebastian placed his hands on his hips, causing the shirt to lift dangerously into midriff territory.
“Let me go see if I can find you a jacket.” Georgiana hurried toward the staircase, muffling her giggles in her hand.
An oversized military-style jacket helped. A bit. The sooner they got him clothing, the better.
The car required a little longer for Sebastian to settle into. It took an hour of driving before he stopped violently recoiling every time they passed an oncoming car. However, given that flinching was not unusual when she had a passenger with her, she didn’t think too much of it.
Shatner texted her as she drove. He wanted to see her.
Actually his exact words were something along the lines of ‘hey, how’s your beautiful face?’ but she read enough between the lines to understand the sentiment.
She ignored it because, well, she knew better than to text and drive.
Shatner texted again an hour later as Georgiana sat waiting for Sebastian to model another outfit for her. She meant to respond to Shatner, truly she did, but then Sebastian walked out of the fitting room in a sculpted, immaculately tailored three-piece Italian suit.
Georgiana forgot to breathe.
Honestly! How was a woman to function when large men with charming smiles blithely modeled designer clothing in front of her? She was only human after all.
Shatner texted for a third time during dinner. Georgiana glanced at it and quickly typed back that she would call him tomorrow.
She tried to care about Shatner, really she did.
But Sebastian kept drawing her attention.
They were seated at a restaurant in an old warehouse rehabilitated with industrial fixtures and modern furniture. The kind of place that dismantled traditional British food and put it back together in interesting ways.
They had completed their shopping for the day as the car was nearly full and Georgiana was quite sure she was near the limit on her credit card. Fortunately, James had authorized any and all expenses, and his pockets were more than deep enough.
It was all worth it. Every penny.
Who knew Sebastian would have such excellent taste?
He sat across from her in a fitted white button down shirt tucked into designer jeans that clung like a glove. All topped with a gray-blue tailored suit coat with just the right amount of sheen. His Caesar haircut had been trimmed and gelled and his side whiskers were thinly sculpted on his cheeks.
When had he become so impossibly handsome?
Georgiana gave a happy sigh just drinking him in.
He looked not unlike a young Daniel Day Lewis. Last of the Mohicans Daniel Day Lewis, which she had watched more than once while in the hospital recovering, right along with just about every period film ever made.
There had been little else to do.
And Daniel Day Lewis had been a particular favorite.
Over a dinner of deconstructed shepherd’s pie, she and Sebastian plotted their strategy for research. She explained concepts like photographs and the Internet.
As they talked, unbidden, her eyes drifted to his lips. How would they feel?
She sucked in a deep breath, trying to clear her thinking.
Shatner. She had Shatner.
But did she really want Shatner?
That was a treacherous thought.
She was such a terrible girlfriend. Shatner had always been kind and good to her. This was a horrid way to repay him. Tomorrow. Tomorrow she would call Shatner and arrange time to see him. Talk to him. Assess the state of her heart.
Sebastian opted to snooze on the ride back to Duir Cottage, saying that keeping his eyes closed was better for his sanity.
Once home, Sebastian pulled off his suitcoat, rolled up the sleeves of his fitted shirt and built another fire. Georgiana made tea and then curled up next to him on the couch. She couldn’t help it. Her toes were cold, and he was so warm and the fine cotton of his shirt so soft. Besides, now he smelled like wool and the expensive cologne she had insisted on buying.
It was a combination impossible to resist.
She nestled into his arm for a bit, just breathing him in, Sebastian wrapping his hand around her toes again.
Wanting to broaden Sebastian’s understanding of the twenty-first century, she flipped on the flatscreen TV next to the fireplace and made him watch Sherlock, digging Godiva chocolates out of the pantry.
Cuddled up against Sebastian Carew, watching Benedict Cumberbatch and eating mocha dark chocolate truffles.
Ah, yes. Now this was bliss.
Duir Cottage
September 17, 2013
Birthday in minus 21 days plus two hundred years
On Tuesday, Sebastian decided showers were manna sent from the gods.
It had only been a day, but he could not see living without them from this point on.
Surely as an earl, he could find a way to have such a thing constructed in Stratton Hall. He would have to ask his steward about it.
Georgiana had laid out what she wanted him to wear, bless her. The clothing made no real sense. Trousers she called blue jeans and an incredibly soft knitted maroon tunic that the silky label along the neckline called cashmere. It felt marvelous against his skin. He tucked the tunic into his jeans, which sat perilously low on his hips, and secured it all with a worn leather belt.
What was it with the twenty-first century and this habit of making new things look like they had already seen a lifetime of use?
Pushing the sleeves of the tunic up his arms a bit, he surveyed himself in the bathroom mirror.
It wasn’t half bad. Definitely more casual than a nineteenth century gentleman but infinitely more comfortable.
He strolled downstairs and then kept right on going down to the cellar. He figured if he checked the portal every day, eventually it would let him through. Back to the world he knew. Away from the confusion that was life with Georgiana.
However, just like the previous day, he could feel the electric current of the portal, but nothing pulled him forward. It was still shut.
Georgiana was in the kitchen fixing breakfast, hair hanging practically to her waist. From what he had seen the day before, most twenty-first century women wore their hair down, regardless of their age. She had on a flowy, lacy, rose-colored shirt but, instead of a skirt, today she wore jeans too.
Tight jeans that hugged her legs and made him swallow. Hard.
She smiled at him from the stove where she was stirring what smelled like eggs and sausage, surveying his clothing.
“Nice,” was all she said before turning back to dish food onto two plates. From her tone, he assumed that meant he passed muster.
They sat at the table, eating eggs and drinking fresh orange juice. An almost surreal luxury. Who had so many oranges that they could actually juice them and toss the remainder?
But then the chocolate the night before had been a revelation too. Solid and yet impossibly smooth.
No wonder Georgiana was so tethered to the twenty-first century. What could life in the past possibly offer her? Most certainly not solid chocolate and liquid oranges.
Nor a relationship with her beloved br
other.
For not the first time, he pondered why Fate demanded his life be so tethered to hers. It seemed he had spent nearly a decade as a satellite spinning in tight orbit around her star. Helplessly pulled to her, unable to set his heart free to chart its own course through the universe.
Why? What did Fate want from him?
“So today, I thought we could start by seeing what we can find on Blackwell and Lady Ambrosia online. Also, if it’s all right with you, I thought to phone Stratton Hall and see if I could arrange a meeting with their curator. Perhaps we will find something there.”
Five hours later and Sebastian had the beginnings of what would surely be an impressive headache.
They had come up with nothing.
The laptop crashed, as Georgiana described it, every time they tried to pull up information on Lord Blackwell. Lady Ambrosia seemed to have never existed. And Stratton Hall had yet to return their numerous calls.
“Emme warned us this would happen,” Georgiana sighed, as they sat at the kitchen table. Shifting, she tucked a jeans-clad knee under her, chewing on the end of a pencil. Her toes were, again, bare.
Did the woman ever wear stockings?
Did he want her to wear them?
Part of him was proud that he now knew her big toenail turned purplish when cold.
Sebastian drummed his fingers against the table.
“It is a bit discouraging,” he admitted.
“I’m not sure what to do next. And I’m worried for you.”
“For me?”
“Well, yes. You do still have to get married, you know.”
Ah, yes. There was that.
He pressed his fingers against his forehead, hoping to ease the tension in his skull before the pain moved into the pounding stage.
“Do I?”
She blinked at him, obviously surprised. Rain tapped against the windows, autumn weather settling in.
“Don’t you? You stand to lose sixty thousand pounds, Sebastian. That is an absurd sum of money. Millions of pounds by 2013 standards.”
Sebastian nodded. “True, but a third of the money goes to the gooseberry society run by the late earl, essentially staying in my keeping. So technically, it is only forty thousand pounds I stand to lose.”