The Girl Who Stepped Into The Past

by Sophie Barnes

  “Let me know if you think of anything else,” he said.

  Her hand was already on the door handle. “I will.”

  To remind her he was there if she needed anything else, that his offer from earlier still stood, was tempting. He refrained only because he respected her far too much to pressure her any further. She’d rejected him, after all, and he would do well to abandon all hope of seduction, however loath he was to do so.

  Chapter 7

  Jane’s legs shook as she walked away from the study. It had taken extreme focus for her to resist the Earl of Camden’s advances. So she’d feigned affront and indignation, tossed his proposal back like an insult, and pretended she’d never consider such a thing, when nothing could be further from the truth. Because she’d been considering it since the moment she’d first laid eyes on him, not just in the flesh but as nothing more than a painted canvas hung on display.

  But this was not the twenty-first century. Casual flings did not exist between men and women unless the woman in question was a whore, so the thing that had stopped her was not a need to protect her virtue, for that was lost long ago. Nor was it the concern she had about falling in love with him and then having to leave him behind if she found a way back to her own time. It was the notion that Camden had thought she would happily have an affair with him, that she was the sort of woman who’d welcome his proposition without caring one whit about what happened afterward.

  Ironically, she might have been okay with it if they hadn’t been in Regency England. She might have treated herself to a one night stand with him as a means by which to get over her awful breakup with Geoffrey. Both would have been consenting adults with no expectations of the other. But that was not the case here, so she supposed it came down to perspective.

  “Goodness gracious, Jane!” It was Mrs. Fontaine and she was hastening toward her. “I have looked everywhere for you without a sign to be found. Heaven’s girl, where have you been?”

  Jane straightened her spine and tilted her chin. “His lordship called for refreshments.”

  “Well!” Mrs. Fontaine’s eyes were as sharp as a vulture’s. She dipped her chin while carrying out a careful assessment of Jane’s expression. “Lord Rockwell wishes to take a morning bath, so you’ll have to help Margaret heat up the water. Mr. Goodard has carried several pails upstairs already.”

  “I’ll get to it right away,” Jane promised. She turned and marched toward the stairs and almost collided with Mr. Snypes who was rounding a corner.

  He caught her swiftly by the elbow. “Careful, Jane.” His eyes met hers and although they were kind, they also conveyed a tremendous amount of pain.

  Straightening, Jane thanked him for his assistance. “Are you all right?”

  His lips widened into a tight smile. “Of course. It was just a slight collision.”

  “That is not…I mean…Lady Tatiana’s death and—”

  “She did not deserve what happened to her.” He glanced away, cleared his throat, and stepped around Jane. “If you will excuse me.”

  Jane watched him go for a second while contemplating his reaction, then caught herself and proceeded to climb the stairs. She had a job to do after all, and getting thrown out because she failed to do it wasn’t an option.

  So she spent her time sweeping and dusting, changing bed sheets, mending clothes, polishing silver, and preparing baths. The latter chore was the only one that filled her with longing. Going for days on end without washing properly was not something she was accustomed to, but requesting a bath would be considered highly inappropriate. She had a pitcher and basin like the rest of the servants and a washcloth that went along with it. But it was a far cry from the comfort of a warm bath, which was probably what propelled Lord Rockwell to whisper close to her ear as she started to leave his room, “You are more than welcome to join me, Jane.”

  The thought of doing so did not agree with her at all. “Thank you, my lord, but I have other things to attend to.”

  “Like Camden, no doubt,” he said with a chuckle.

  Jane’s cheeks heated, but rather than flee, she straightened her spine and stared Rockwell down. “Perhaps.” What the hell was she doing, suggesting such a thing? All she knew was that she felt a need to put this arrogant aristocrat in his place.

  But Rockwell didn’t seem to care. If anything, he looked amused. “Then you had better be off.” She’d almost reached the door when he added, “He deserves a lovely woman to ease his pain and offer some pleasure, so I hope you are up to the task.”

  With her heart pounding in her chest, Jane slipped out into the hallway and pressed her back to the wall while struggling for breath. Good lord! Rockwell certainly didn’t lack the courage to speak his mind, did he? And she…Jane inhaled deeply and pushed away from the wall, aware her entire body trembled. All she could think of now was Camden and what Rockwell had said. Ease his pain. Offer some pleasure. She had the power to do precisely that, and damn it all if she didn’t want to.

  His face lingered in her mind’s eye every second of every day. Her thoughts when she lay in bed at night invariably strayed to the wild imaginings of what it would be like if she only surrendered. And there was a pull – an undeniable pull that drew her to him in a way no other man had ever drawn her. It surpassed anything she’d ever felt with Geoffrey, and fighting it was proving to be a torturous affair.

  But experience had taught her to think things through and avoid rash decisions based solely on sexual need. She had to be smart and consider the possibility that there was no going home. And what then? She had nowhere to go, no money, no family or friends beyond the people she knew here at Summervale. And they would all judge her if they discovered she’d slept with the master. Her reputation would be ruined.

  With this in mind, she drew a lungful of air and made to return below stairs to the kitchen. But she didn’t get far before Mr. Snypes appeared once more, this time blocking her path near the stairs. “We meet again,” he said, coming toward her.

  Jane slowed her progress until she stood immediately before him. “So we do.”

  He rocked back on his heels and nodded. “You should have known her.”

  The comment threw Jane momentarily off guard. “The earl’s sister?”

  “Lady Tatiana would have liked you.”

  “How can you possibly know that?”

  He studied her for a moment. “Because you’re likeable, Jane. Don’t think I have not taken notice.”

  “You’ve been watching me?” The idea sent a chill down her spine, not because Mr. Snypes wasn’t attractive or charming in his own sort of way, or because he’d given her any reason to fear him, but because of the loneliness that seemed to seep from his every pore.

  A sad smile crept into place on his face. “It’s not a crime, admiring a pretty woman.” His hand suddenly rose to her cheek, his fingers brushing against her jaw.

  “I believe that depends,” Jane muttered. Her heart was in her throat. This wasn’t normal. Having this man caress her like this without her offering any encouragement at all was wrong – a violation of her personal space and a reminder of her inferior position here.

  Angered, she backed up a step and knit her brow, prepared to give him a piece of her mind. “Mr. Snypes! I—”

  “You too, Jane?” He snorted and dropped his hand. “Am I so abhorrent that not even you, a mere maid, would take a fancy to me?”

  “You forget yourself, sir.”

  His jaw clenched and for a second she feared he might shout at her. But then his face twisted and he turned away, leaving her there to wonder at what had transpired.

  Camden. She needed to speak with him right away. Because what she’d just witnessed was not okay. It left her feeling rattled and uncertain. More than that, it made her wonder who else had rejected Mr. Snypes and why it had been so important for him to win a little affection from a woman he barely knew.

  But when she drew closer to the library, the angry words resonating from within gave her p
ause. Approaching the door, she paused to listen. Only one man could be heard and that was Camden, his voice cutting the air like a blade demanding justice. Tempted to retreat, Jane hesitated a second. The matter she wished to discuss with him could wait until the following day. And yet, she sensed she was needed – that he required an anchor in the storm he was caught up in.

  Her knock was quick, followed by instant silence, and then the command for her to enter. She did so slowly, almost fearing what she would find. Her gaze went directly to Camden whose hair was in disarray, a few stray locks falling over his brow in a wild way that made him look rather dangerous.

  Jane’s heartbeat quickened. She gave a hasty look in Harrington’s direction and saw the viscount appeared to be in a state of shock. “Lord Camden.” Her words came naturally, without any effort as she moved toward him. He did not move but stood as if frozen, his eyes dark with restrained fury as he stared across at his friend. “You must try to calm yourself.”

  His jaw tightened against the clenching of teeth. “How can I when all the evidence I have collected suggests his involvement in Tatiana’s death?”

  Jane sucked in a breath while Harrington held up both hands in visible protest. While the earl had been alone, the idea of Harrington’s possible involvement had apparently festered. Guilt squeezed at her heart. She’d made the suggestion while trying to understand all the facts they’d gathered so far. But that didn’t mean they’d arrived at the right conclusion yet.

  “I would never harm your sister, Camden. You have to believe me!”

  “You did not love her though, did you? More than that, she was in love with someone else, which means that your assurance about her being excited to wed you, all that talk about her longing to make your engagement public, cannot have been true. Can it?”

  Harrington stared back at Camden while Jane quietly watched. It hadn’t occurred to her to warn the earl not to say anything about their findings until they had been confirmed. But it was too late for that now. His anguish had morphed into fury and clouded his judgment.

  “I can explain,” Harrington said. He sounded tired and defeated, his eyes gazing blankly into the void. And then he blinked, appeared to focus and gather himself. “You are right about Tatiana loving another. She confessed it to me the day before she died, but the man in question was not a possible match for her. He—”

  “Used to be her tutor,” Camden said.

  Harrington nodded. “Our marriage would not have been a love match, but that does not mean I did not care for her. Her happiness mattered to me, Camden, which was why I promised to give her the freedom she wanted and allow her to maintain her connection with Mr. Thompson as long as she allowed me to pursue my own interests.”

  “Are you saying you were encouraging her to keep Mr. Thompson as her lover?” Jane had certainly heard of open marriages but had never known the subject to be aired quite so candidly.

  Harrington nodded. “It was what she wanted.”

  “But…” Camden sounded thoroughly confused. He shook his head. “How could you have allowed that as her husband? How could you live like that without being bothered by it, regardless of whether you loved her or not?”

  Harrington shrugged. “I am not selfish enough to insist upon holding her captive while I go philandering about as I please. It would not have been fair.”

  “So you admit to me, her brother, that you would have been unfaithful?” Camden’s disbelief was evident in his tone.

  “If that is what you wish to call it, then yes, Camden, that is precisely what I am admitting, though I do feel as though you are being shortsighted.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes!” Harrington closed the distance between them and stared straight into his friend’s angry gaze. “She could not marry Mr. Thompson, but with me she could have at least continued to enjoy the love he and she felt for each other while I offered friendship and protection.”

  Camden shook his head. “What of children? How would you have handled it if she had conceived a child by him?”

  Harrington’s gaze did not waver, though the edge of his mouth did twitch ever so slightly. And then, spontaneously, he reached up and cupped Camden’s cheek with his hand. “I would have been incredibly grateful, and I would have loved him or her as my own.”

  Jane stood in stupefied silence, watching the troubled expression on Harrington’s face and the heartbreaking depth of emotion brightening his eyes, until his hand fell away and he took a step back. It seemed to take immeasurable amounts of control for him to gather himself, yet he did, his composure returning gradually to the well-polished gentleman she knew him to be. Not a hint of longing remained, hidden beneath a now cool façade as he turned away and walked to the door.

  Once there, he paused to address his friend. “I hope we can put this matter behind us now, Camden. As you have no doubt discovered –” he darted a look in Jane’s direction “—our positions will often result in unhappiness. Your sister and I were merely attempting to find a workable solution.”

  “Do you believe him?” Camden asked once Harrington was gone.

  “I do.” Feeling a need to be near him, Jane moved a little closer to where he stood. “How long have you known him?”

  Camden blinked and turned his head toward her. “Since the age of thirteen. We shared a room together at Eton.”

  “And in all of those years, it never occurred to you that he was in love with you?”

  Camden’s mouth dropped open, and for a long moment after, she could see him trying to make sense of that. Eventually he shook his head. “What?”

  “It was very evident in the way he spoke to you. The way he touched you and the way he—”

  “No, Miss Edwards. You cannot possibly suggest such a thing. It is not right!”

  Sympathizing, Jane reached for his hand. She knew his nineteenth-century views would not be as accepting of such a thing as hers were. “Why?” she pressed, because she felt it was important for him to know who his friend really was and the sacrifice he’d been willing to make for Camden and his sister. “Because he’s a man?”

  All he did was nod in response.

  “And as a man, he must love a woman?”

  “What you are suggesting goes against nature.” His voice had gone unbearably quiet.

  “No, my lord. What I am suggesting is that your friend’s existence must be extraordinarily lonely. Imagine having to live with something like this in a world where being…different…is punishable by death?” She’d read about this as part of her research and knew that it would be another forty-three years before homosexuality only carried a prison sentence. “A man like him will never be free. Not in this lifetime. He will never know what it is to hold the one he loves in his arms or to marry that person before the eyes of God.”

  Tears welled in her eyes as she spoke, the sadness she felt on Harrington’s behalf so excessive, she could not bear it. She placed a hand on Camden’s arm and pressed down gently. “Have some compassion, my lord, and consider the offer he made to your sister. It was kind and deserves your appreciation. You cannot deny that.”

  He seemed to struggle with that for a moment, then he slowly raised his gaze to hers. “How can your view be so different from the norm?” He stared at her with inquisitive eyes. “It is as though you see a world I have yet to discover.”

  How was she to respond to that?

  “Had you not been here,” he added, before she could form an appropriate response, “I fear I would have lost control.” His hand settled against her waist, and although she knew she should not allow such intimate contact, she lacked the strength to deny it. “I need you, Jane. I need you more than I have ever needed anyone else before.”

  The declaration coupled with the use of her first name left her feeling rather unbalanced. In fact, she could hardly breathe on account of the rapid beat of her pulse. It drummed swiftly beneath her skin, stirring her senses, and causing her nerves to collide in her belly. “My lord…” Dear God
, if he kissed her, it would be her undoing.

  “James.” His hand shifted, pulling her closer, so close she could see the traces of gold in his eyes and the hint of stubble beginning to emerge along his upper lip. “I want you to call me James.”

  And before she could think, before she could form a plan of retreat, he dipped his head and pressed his mouth to hers, scattering all of her thoughts and making her mind go blank. The only thing that remained was acute awareness of how he felt and how her body responded. It was as if a burned-out furnace had been re-ignited, hotter than ever before, and although it might not have been wise and she might regret it later, she chose to live in the moment. Without hesitation, she wound her arms around his neck and threaded her fingers through the wisps of hair jutting over his jacket collar.

  His hands pressed over her back in return, holding her to him with increased strength as he deepened the kiss with the same kind of urgency she was beginning to feel. It was an innate need to be as close to him as possible, to crawl beneath his skin, and cling to his very soul. It prompted her to run her hands over his shoulders, to grip his jacket, and wish they were somewhere else – somewhere infinitely more private and without the restraint of clothing.

  “Christ, Jane.” His voice licked the edge of her mouth, sending ripples of pleasure along her spine. Breaths fell in swift succession, just as heavily as hers, brushing over her skin before being replaced by his mouth.

  All she could do was sigh as he kissed his way along the length of her neck while his hands tracked a similar path down over her waist and her hips. And then there was nothing between them, just the perfect fit of his hardness against her softness. Leaning back slightly while holding her firmly in place, he gazed down upon her with parted lips and half-lowered eyelids.

  “You cannot imagine what you do to me, Jane.”

  Her cheeks heated with awareness. Desire was evident in his expression and in something else as well. “I can feel it,” she confessed, provoking a low chuckle from deep within his chest.