Forever, Lately

by Linore Rose Burkard

  She swallowed. “No. When you vanished before, I fell on my face. If I don’t go with you, I’ll be dropped again.”

  He glanced down at the floor. He frowned.

  “Now are you ready?” Julian smiled into her eyes. He was standing rather unsteadily, upon Claire’s queen-size bed with her in his arms.

  “Hold me as tight as you can!” she said. He shifted to do so, wobbling on the mattress.

  “Watch it!” Claire cried. “Or we’ll—”

  They crashed to the mattress.

  “Fall.” She made a move to get up, but St. John tightened his arm around her. He gave her a husky look.

  “Oh dear,” said Claire.

  He pulled her in for a soulful kiss. Claire was immediately immersed in the delicious warmth of him, and overcome with only one thought: to stay in Julian’s arms forever. But she could not forget his danger! The demolition crew would show up in the morning and start their destruction. And Miss Andrews was still a threat. No, even if she could not go back with him, Julian must return before it was too late.

  Claire forced herself to draw apart from his intoxicating embrace. “We must try again.”

  He blinked. And sat up. “Right. Once more then.” She started to rise, but he said, “Let’s try it from where we are.” He circled her in his arms, and Claire laid the shawl this time against her breast, after which he drew her up against him as tightly as possible. Half a minute passed and nothing happened.

  “What could be wrong?” Claire asked, into his ear. She drew apart from him just enough to meet his gaze. Somehow the shawl had transferred from her chest to his, though she didn’t realize it. “Why isn’t it working?” she asked.

  “I don’t know,” he said. And then he was gone.

  Claire hardly felt the small drop from where his lap had been to the mattress. She stretched out on the bed and sighed. It was no use. Getting Clarissa’s half of the shawl wasn’t optional. Without it, Claire could never return.

  A minute later she heard the door open and rushed out to meet him.

  “We must get the other half from Miss Andrews,” he said.

  Claire studied him. “I must get it. You have to go back.”

  He raised a brow. “Leave you at Miss Andrews’s mercy? Perish the thought! I've more honour than that.”

  “You do, of course; I'm sorry. But I can manage her.”

  He looked at her affectionately. “Let me send you back, and I’ll stay and get the shawl.”

  Claire grimaced. “Absolutely not! You’re forgetting—you could be stuck here for good when they raze this place tomorrow!”

  His lips compressed. “Then we must get the shawl before that happens. But we’ll do it together.”

  Claire sighed. A part of her loved that he didn’t want to leave her. If only the rest of her wasn’t worried. She said, “You have to go while you can. We don’t even know where she’s staying. What if we can’t find her?” Her clear blue eyes clouded with worry.

  “Not to fear,” he said. “If I know Clarissa, she will find us.”

  “But it might be too late!” Claire cried. “Tomorrow—”

  He put a finger lightly on her lips. “Don’t fret. Even demolitions take time. They may arrive in the morning, but they won’t begin wrecking the place until afternoon.”

  Claire hoped he was right, but sleep evaded her that night. She and Julian never did share a glass of champagne before the fire as the atmosphere was fraught, for her at least, with fears of the morrow. Julian was impressively calm, glued to the laptop. He was determined to learn everything he could about car tires and engines, for his idea was to speed up the advancement of the carriage when he returned home. He’d emerged from the spare bedroom dressed in the extra Brooks Brothers clothing she’d bought. He wore his Regency-fitted trousers and boots, but had on the shirt and argyle sweater from the mall. He had that five-o’clock shadow, which somehow she hadn’t noticed earlier—her heart gave an extra beat at the sight of him.

  But Claire couldn’t stop worrying. What if Clarissa wouldn’t give up the shawl? Only one other person could return with it. If Claire got the shawl, then Clarissa would be sentenced to life in the here and now. If Claire didn’t get the shawl, Clarissa could return after Julian and still manage to get him killed. And if they didn’t return before the cottage was razed, they’d all three be stuck in the present! Oh! What to do!

  She really had to convince Julian to return without her. Then, assuming she could find Clarissa and keep her here for the day, he’d be safe. She and Clarissa would both be stuck in the present, but Julian could go on to live a long life. She sighed.

  If she could convince Clarissa to give up the shawl before the cottage was demolished, even better. But it was taking a huge risk to count on that. Why would Clarissa want to stay? Claire continued tossing and turning, filled with unrest. She got up, grabbed her robe, and went out to where Julian was seated at the laptop.

  He didn’t hear her coming in her soft slippers. Claire leaned over and saw he was reading about the Prince Regent. But his hand slipped out and took one of hers—he had heard her.

  “Cannot you sleep?” he asked.

  “You shouldn’t be reading this,” she said, her face creased in worry.

  He met her gaze. “Why not?”

  “It’s spying on people.”

  He raised his brows at her, while she pulled out a chair and sat. “How could I possibly spy on people who lived more than two hundred years ago?” he asked, innocently.

  “Because you’re one of them.”

  He turned back to the screen, repressing a grin.

  “What have you learned about the Prince Regent that you didn’t already know?”

  “That he will try to divorce his wife and fail; that he will be cruel and bar Caroline from the coronation; and that she will die shortly afterward, conceivably from a broken heart.”

  “You know too much.” Claire tried to shut the laptop, but he put a hand over hers and stopped her. She gazed at him with full eyes. “Don’t you see? You still have to live through this. It will be terrible when you already know how things turn out!”

  “Terrible? I call that providential.” He smiled roguishly at her.

  “Seriously, you shouldn’t be doing this.”

  He took a breath and sat back. He pushed his chair out a foot and motioned for her to come to him. “In all honesty, there are so many things I wish to know more about that I don’t think I could sleep at all if I lived in this time and had this at my service.” When she stood up, he took her by the waist and drew her onto his lap. He stroked the side of her face.

  She said, “Promise me you won’t look up anyone else.”

  He studied her. “Ah. You are afraid I will look up myself.”

  “No, not that,” she said, hoping he’d believe her. “I don’t think it’s healthy.” But he took her chin in one hand and studied her face. “You’re a terrible liar.”

  Claire frowned. “All right. I don’t want you looking up yourself.” She stared into his grey-blue beautiful eyes. “Stick to car engines, and I won’t say a word.”

  He kissed her. “Go back to sleep.”

  “I wasn’t able to sleep, that’s why I’m here.” She paused. “And what about you? If you don’t sleep, I won’t let you drive tomorrow.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I only have tonight,” he said, and glanced at the laptop. “With this. I can catch up on my sleep when we’re back home.”

  “You have to be fully alert to drive. Cars are dangerous, Julian.”

  “Of course; in the wrong hands.” He gently stroked her face with his thumbs. “I was born for speed, I assure you.” A smile played at his lips as he added, “Look how fast I got here, to your time. In the blink of an eye.”

  Claire frowned. “If getting the shawl allows me to return with you, we’ll be leaving Clarissa here—for good.”

  He nodded. “I’ve had that thought. We’ll have to deduce a way for all of us to go back.�
��

  Claire’s pulse jumped in her throat. “But she mustn’t return the same day as you! Not tomorrow!”

  Julian bit his lip and gently pushed a tress of hair behind her ear. “I do believe you are jealous,” he said softly. “I can assure you—”

  “Yes, I’m jealous,” Claire said, glad to let him believe that was her motive. Her real intention—of keeping Clarissa from causing his death—must be kept from him. It was the only thing she’d ever been able to keep from him, she realized.

  “You needn’t be. But we must endeavour to find a means of getting all of us back, unless Clarissa wishes to stay here.”

  Claire’s eyes lit with a thought. “Remember the publishing contract I told you about? All that money is guaranteed me.” He nodded, so she continued. “Clarissa looks just like me—I’ve always wondered about it. If she did wish to stay, she wouldn’t be penniless.”

  He added, “And she is well able to look out for herself.”

  “Precisely. All she need do is assume my identity. She’ll be famous enough after the book’s released.” Claire’s eyes grew large as she warmed to the idea of how easily Clarissa could transition to modern life due to their mirror images. “And because she’s actually from the Regency, she’ll be able to write better books than mine!” She drew back and smiled at him. “I think she may well be happy here.”

  “You are still the most beguiling woman I’ve ever known,” he said, smiling gently. “You almost convince me. But I wonder if Miss Andrews would agree with your assessment?” His eyes lit with a thought. “I’ll look her up and see what her fate is.”

  Claire grasped his arm and cried, “No, do not!”

  He surveyed her calmly. “There is something you do not wish me to know.”

  She averted her gaze instantly, assuring him that he was correct. She said, speaking slowly, “I know this: that any information you can find from that”—she motioned at the laptop—can change.” She looked back at him. “It happened for Grandmamma. After she fell in love with the marquess, she looked up his family line—and there was her own name, listed as his wife, Charlotte Grandison.”

  He gazed off into the distance, thinking it over. “Let us see if your name appears as my wife.” His hand moved toward the keyboard, but Claire stopped him, looking rather tragical. He directed a patient look at her.

  “Do not,” she said softly. “I couldn’t bear it. If my name doesn’t show.” She gazed at him sadly. “Please—stick to car engines, or your Regent, if you like. But leave us and our fate to God.” With earnest eyes searching his, she added, “You are a man of your word. If you give me your word that you won’t look up yourself—I’ll believe you.”

  He looked at her thoughtfully. “I have a better idea. I’ll look up your books.”

  She chuckled and said, “No! Don’t.” But he’d already entered her name in the search bar. When various images of Claire came up, all of them the old Claire, with long bangs covering her face and eyes, he turned to her with a smile. “I cannot credit my sight! How on earth did you manage to hide your beauty so well?” He looked back and shook his head. “I must say, 1816 was good for you. It brought out the real you.”

  She leaned up and kissed the side of his face and said softly, “It did more than that. It brought me to the real you.” It seemed ludicrous to her now that she’d ever thought St. John was a figment of her imagination—a mere fictional character. Thank God, he was not!

  Before he could respond, they heard the sound of vehicles approaching the cottage. It sounded like heavy trucks or equipment. They went to the window. It was still dark, but sure enough a parade of headlights was coming slowly up the drive.

  Claire hurried for her coat and boots. Was the machinery here already? And not even dawn, yet? She’d have something to say about that. And they were blocking her way—she wouldn’t even have room for her car to leave if she didn’t stop them.

  If it be now, ’tis not to come.

  If it be not to come, it will be now.

  If it be not now, yet it will come—the readiness is all.

  William Shakespeare

  CHAPTER 61

  Omar and Clarissa had searched the mall for another half hour before conceding defeat. They returned to the Trailblazer.

  “Use that tracking device,” she said. “We can’t leave yet, if they’re here.”

  But instead of doing as she asked, Omar turned thoughtful eyes upon Clarissa. “Let me understand something,” he said. “Are we tracking this guy because he ripped you off? Or because you’re jealous?”

  Clarissa studied him cautiously. She wasn’t sure what he meant by “ripped you off.” As she considered how to answer, he continued, “He didn’t really do what you told me before, did he? Pilfer your money? Or take advantage of you?”

  Clarissa looked away. “I told you I needed to follow and harass him, and I’m paying you for it. You don’t need to know why.”

  He leaned over toward her. “But you haven’t paid me yet.”

  She looked at him nervously. “You said you would wait until I get that first installment of the advance from…from that publisher.”

  He raised a brow at her. “Did you forget the name of your publisher?” He stared out the windshield a moment, thinking. “There’s a lot you’re not telling me. Something weird’s going on with you.”

  Clarissa took a deep breath. “I don’t want that woman to have him.”

  “I thought so,” he replied. “How come three people said they saw you with him in the mall?”

  “She looks like me.”

  “Is she your sister?”

  “No!”

  Omar gave her a dubious look, but started the engine. “Methinks the lady doth protest too much. Why are they staying in the cottage? If it’s your place, and you hate her and don’t want them together, why are you letting them stay?”

  “I’m done with the cottage. I’ve moved into the lodge,” Clarissa replied.

  He looked over at her with a smile. “They don’t know, do they?” He shook his head, smiling. “You’re a devious bit of devilry, aren’t you?”

  Clarissa didn’t know what he meant. “Why do you say that?”

  “Because!” he said, backing out of the space. He headed toward the lot’s exit. “They don’t know the cottage is getting razed tomorrow, do they? You didn’t tell them!”

  Clarissa stared ahead, her mind buzzing with this new revelation. Even the amazingly bright lights of the stores and streetlights at night—like a magical fairyland in contrast to the dull lighting she was used to—failed to get her attention. So the cottage was about to be destroyed? She remembered Adam’s reassurance. You can stay here as long as you want. And, Be with me. I’ll make sure you have everything you need.

  No wonder!

  “Okay—you don’t have to answer,” said Omar, turning smoothly onto the main road. “But I’m beginning to understand you, Miss Channing.”

  This got her to turn to him in annoyance. “Call me Clarissa.”

  He glanced at her with a raised eyebrow and a smirk. “I’ll call you whatever you like, your beautifulness.” He turned his attention back to the road, but said, “But if you want my advice, save your money and give it up. Whatever you think you’ll gain by trailing that guy—it won’t be worth it. Let them get thrown out of the cottage tomorrow—and let it rest.”

  “I don’t want your advice!” she fumed. “I only want your help. And I will pay you.”

  “Fine. Where do I take you? To the lodge?”

  “No. Find them. Or let us wait by the cottage until they get back.”

  “What’s the point in that?” He was scowling.

  Clarissa stared miserably ahead into the darkness, and didn’t answer.

  “Look,” Omar said, turning the car onto a highway, “I’ve been with you since this morning on a wild-goose chase for a guy you have the hots for. That doesn’t excite me, see? You’re not paying me enough for 24/7 surveillance, and frankly, the job n
o longer interests me.”

  She stared at him in consternation.

  Omar shrugged. “I thought we were after a bad guy; what you told me before, that he stole from you. And I get it, you know, the wrath of a woman scorned, and all that. But I’m done, here. I’m taking you back to the lodge.”

  Clarissa frowned. She looked large-eyed at him.

  He felt her gaze and wouldn’t look at her.

  “Omar,” she said softly. “I understand. But what if I were to pay you more?”

  He shook his head, still refusing to look at her. “I’m going home,” he said. “I’ll drop you and then I’m going home. I’m done here.”

  “But—but—I thought you would do any work for hire.” She stared at him in consternation. He said nothing, just kept that intense face on the road. Clarissa had an insight.

  “Take me with you,” she said softly. “Take me home with you again. I don’t want to go to the lodge. I don’t want Adam.”

  He glanced at her, a mixture of interest and wariness on his features. “I know you don’t. You want that St. John guy.”

  “No,” she said. Her face hardened. “I only want to give him grief. I want to hire you for one more day just to give him grief. Then, you can forget about me. Or—or—take me home with you again.” She paused, letting him digest her offer. “If you’ll help me, I will forget about St. John, I promise you.”

  He looked over at her again, his lips pursed, thinking. “I don’t know,” he said. “I don’t know about you.”

  “Can you stop the car?” she asked.

  He looked ahead and saw a wide shoulder, but asked, “What for?”

  “Please. Just stop the car!”

  Omar pulled onto the shoulder. He turned off the engine, and then, frowning, turned to Clarissa. She had already unbuckled her seat belt. She slid over to Omar and put her arms around his neck. She remembered that kiss from Adam and knew exactly what to do. “Here’s all you need to know about me,” she said. She twined her arms around him like a boa constrictor. And pulled him in for the kiss.

  O Rose, thou art sick