by Kit Morgan
Aldrich stared at him a moment in shock. He knew the duke well enough to know that his words were heart felt. Aldrich sighed and closed his eyes in resignation. “She doesn’t know, does she?”
“No. Not yet. In fact I’m surprised she hasn’t figured it out by now, but then, these people did think of everything. Almost.”
“What do you mean, almost?”
“They didn’t think about what would happen if I told you the truth. Which I have.”
Aldrich stared at him a moment. The only sound in the library was the ticking of a clock on the fireplace mantle. Within those few seconds of silence, he missed Tory. Missed her deeply and realized that no matter what Duncan told him, he couldn’t give her up. Wouldn’t. She was his and his alone. He’d see to it. As to any possible threat to his unborn children, he’d think about that later. After all, he could only handle so much at one time.
Time, there was that word again. “I have to speak with her,” he said. “She must be in her room.”
“I can send Becky to fetch her. Would you like to meet with her in the drawing room?”
Aldrich looked at the clock on the wall. “I’ve an hour until tea. Perhaps that would be a better time. She’s probably resting.” He sighed. “I planned to court her, you know.”
“Planned?”
Aldrich gave him his full attention. “I will court her, even if I have to take her to London to do it. She could stay in your townhouse, could she not?”
“Of course, anything that suits you,” the duke agreed. He, too, looked at the clock. “I’m not crazy, just so you know. I’ve been living with this knowledge for years.”
Aldrich ran a hand through his hair. “And Cozette? What about her?”
“She’s from this century,” Duncan confessed softly. “We both are. There’s nothing fantastic about us. Not in that way, at least.” He gave Aldrich an odd look then quickly turned away.
Aldrich studied him as another thought struck. “I’ve known you for a good long while, Duncan. My father said you were a good man, that I should get to know you, that I’d be glad I did.”
The duke watched him a moment. “Are you?”
“Until this moment, yes.”
Duncan closed his eyes with a sigh. “And now?”
Aldrich took a deep breath. “Now I’m not sure how I feel.”
Duncan opened his eyes and nodded in understanding. “I’m sorry, Aldrich. I had hoped my telling you wouldn’t affect our friendship.”
Aldrich looked at his friend. “It wouldn’t have such an affect, Your Grace, if I didn’t believe you. But the fact is, I do.”
* * *
“Pssst, you there, yes you.” Tory’s voice was low. She didn’t want to frighten the child as she played near the cell window. “Come here, sweetie, I won’t hurt you.”
The little girl stared at her with wide blue eyes. She couldn’t be more than four or five. She held a stick in her hand and was scooting a rock through the dirt with it.
“Hi,” Tory said gently. “I’m Tory, what’s your name?”
The child continued to stare.
“Hey, I work for the duke and duchess up at the big house, Stantham Hall. I need to get a message to them or a Sir Aldrich.” Actually, at this point, Barnes the butler would do. She had to get out of there! If the magistrate was, indeed, a real magistrate and not some over-zealous re-enactor, then the last thing she wanted was to get carted off to London. If that happened she could be lost forever in a time she knew very little about.
Tory pushed the thought aside. “Look, sweetie, I need you to find your mommy or daddy and have them get my message to Stantham Hall.”
The child blinked a few times and continued to stare. She had blonde hair, was cute as a button and made Tory’s heart squeeze for a moment. What would it be like to have children with a man like Aldrich?
But there wasn’t time for that. “I’m the duchess’s tutor … make that governess. Tell them I’m stuck in here under false pretenses.”
The little girl backed up a few steps.
“Oh no, please, don’t leave!” Tory thrust an arm through the bars. Like that would help.
Naturally, it didn’t. The child bolted into the crowd and disappeared.
“Nuts!” Tory drew her arm back inside. “Now what?”
She turned and looked at the dimly lit cell. Once night fell, it would be swallowed in darkness. She didn’t like the dark. She preferred well-lit streets along with electricity, cell phones and microwaves. If her crazy idea of being in another century was correct and she was stuck there, then what? What if Aldrich never came to rescue her?
“Oh my gosh,” she said with a sudden realization. “He … he really does have feelings for me.” Because if there was one thing she knew from all the romance novels she’d read was that back in the day, a man did profess love for a woman quickly. In fact, people married after a kiss in the garden all the time. Well, at least in the regency novels. But she wasn’t in the regency era. This had to be the Victorian era.
“Wow, he’s into me,” she whispered, her smile growing. “He’s really into me.”
Of course, that would mean …
She looked at the window above her. The light was still good. But it had to be getting close to teatime, by her calculations, if it wasn’t over all ready. When she didn’t show up, would someone come looking for her? She certainly hoped so. Because she could be in real trouble. Worse. She could be dead.
* * *
Aldrich stood at the edge of his favorite section of the gardens. He stared over the fields to the woods beyond, where “proof” of all Duncan had told him was wandering. Make that patrolling.
If someone was out there coming to harm Tory and marrying the woman would protect her, then of course he’d do it. To keep Tory safe he’d do anything. The thought of losing her ripped at him, accompanied by an odd cold, an icy emptiness that made his insides quiver. The sensation lasted only a minute or two, but that was two minutes too long in his book. He never wanted to feel like that again.
But what now? Even if he believed Duncan, would Tory? And if she did, would she want anything more to do with him? Or would she demand to be taken back to her own time?
Perhaps it would have been better if Duncan never told him. He’d have continued to pursue Tory, as was his plan. Aldrich knew how to woo a woman and wanted the pleasure of wooing Tory Phelps. He’d spare no expense and knew she would enjoy long walks in the gardens, fishing, riding, a trip to London …
But those were things that one did while courting in this century. What did they do in Tory’s?
“That’s it,” he said to himself. “By jove, that’s it! I’ll not tell her.” Because wasn’t that the original plan? To bring her to him, let them fall in love, so on and so forth? Except what did the duke’s friends have planned for them after that? Tory would have to be told the truth at some point. Were they not planning to tell her and only shock him with it? If so, then that would mean …
“Bloody hell.” Aldrich spun on his heel and headed back to the manor. He didn’t know how much information Duncan was holding back, but holding he was. Aldrich knew there was more to it and questions had begun to form. But his questions could wait. Protecting Tory was the most important thing right now. That is, if there was an actual threat. From the sounds of it, so long as he could marry her and leave (the question was to where, or in this case, when) she would be safe. Him too for that matter.
Aldrich was half-way back to the house when he stopped and spun around. “Duncan’s in the woods,” he reminded himself aloud. He glanced at the house and back. He wouldn’t be able to speak with Duncan until he returned. And when he did, would he have MacDonald with him?
One of Aldrich’s hands balled into a fist. He’d still like to punch the man in the face. But then, if not for him, he never would have met Tory. What plan was this of the fates? Was he destined to marry a woman from another time? Would he have been able to resist her otherwise? Normally h
e’d consider someone like her beneath him. But he was drawn to her, so much so he knew he had to win her.
But first things, first. He had to calm down. He didn’t want Tory to see him like this. She’d be heading down to tea about now. Best he join her.
Aldrich took a deep breath and continued toward the house.
* * *
Tory awoke to an odd sound, like a key turning in a lock, but too cumbersome to be her front door.
“Rise and shine, Lovey,” came a gruff voice. “It’s time to go.”
Tory snapped awake and almost fell off the bench. She had no idea how long she’d been asleep. She’d only slept because she’d been so frustrated a flood of tears escaped. Once they started, they were impossible to stop. She hadn’t cried herself to sleep in years.
She noted the lantern the magistrate hung on a peg near the door and wondered what time it was. Just after dark? Midnight? Who knew?
“I said, get up!”
Tory looked at the village cop, then at the set of manacles in his hands. “You have got to be kidding!”
“Afraid not, Lovey. Now be a good girl and come along quietly. We’ve a long road ahead of us.”
Tory stood, despite healthy protests from aching muscles. “You are not putting those on me!”
“And why not, you traitorous wench? Be glad I don’t have a good old-fashioned brank to shut that pretty mouth of yours.”
“Brank? What the heck is a … oh, never mind. I don’t want to know.” She sidestepped away from him. “I have rights!”
“Traitors have no rights.” He backed toward the door. “William, get down here!”
Footsteps came stomping down the stairwell and a brown-haired, gangly teen appeared in the doorway. “Yes, sir?”
“Our prisoner isn’t cooperating. I think she needs convincing that she’s not above the law.”
The teen looked at Tory and grimaced. “But, you told me she told you she works for the duke.”
“She’s a traitor to the crown, part of a plot to usurp the queen. The proof is upstairs, son. You’ve seen it! When the duke finds out he’ll be furious. We’ve got to take her to London and hand her over. It’s what he’ll want.”
“Are you sure there’s a reward, Father?”
The magistrate smiled. “For the likes of her, I’ve no doubt there is. Now help me.”
Tory locked eyes with the youth as he nodded and said, “Yes, father.” His expression suddenly changed to one of determination.
“Uh-oh,” she said under her breath and backed up a step. Gangly teen or not, she was no match for the both of them. Not in a small cell and without a weapon. And what was this bit about a reward? Oh, no …
“You’re taking me without telling the duke!” she backed into the bench. “You’re after the reward!”
“Ah ha! So there is a reward,” he said with a sneer.
“That’s not what I meant!”
“No? You might as well have signed a confession with that statement, Lovey.” He then lunged.
Sixteen
“Aldrich, you’ve got to eat something,” Cozette urged. “Don’t worry, we’ll find her.”
Aldrich paced to the other side of the drawing room. “No one’s seen her, I don’t understand it. And where are these blasted friends of yours, Crumpet?”
Cozette eased herself into a chair. She was tired, he could tell. “Duncan is still searching for them.”
He sat, snatched a scone off a trya and sighed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
“It’s only been dark a few hours, maybe she is with one of the tenants?”
“Barnes and I questioned them already. No one has seen her.”
“Probably because none of them knows what she looks like. You’ve … commandeered most of her time since her arrival, Aldrich.”
He glanced at her and sighed. “So I did.”
“You are in love with her.”
He smiled faintly. “So I am.”
She smiled back but said nothing.
“You should retire,” he said. “I only returned to the house to see if perhaps Tory had come back.”
“Did you question the villagers?”
“The stable master and one of the footmen did. They had nothing to report. Oh and one of your tenants was going into labor when Barnes and I were about our business, but stay here. Please.”
She nodded in understanding. “I will. I’m sure Mrs. Pembroke will send one of her children for the midwife. I usually visit after a baby is born.”
He stood. “Thank you. I want you here if she shows up.”
“Aldrich, our friends the …” she swallowed. “…MacDonald’s can find her easily enough.”
He frowned. “If they were here, which they are not.”
“Trust me, they will be.”
No sooner had she said it, the sound of footsteps could be heard coming up the grand hall. Duncan appeared first, followed by a tall, broad man and a beautiful woman.
Aldrich knew this had to be the MacDonalds. He made straight for them. “You! Do you have any idea what’s going on?”
The big man glanced at his wife and back. “Ye needn’t fash yerself, sir. She canna have gone far.”
A Scotsman, he thought and turned to Duncan. “You’ve heard?”
“Yes, we ran across one of my tenants on our way here. He said you were searching for Miss Phelps. What happened?”
“I don’t know.” He hoped the couple before him had nothing to do with Tory’s disappearance. “When she didn’t come down to tea I sent Becky to fetch her. That’s when we discovered she was missing.” Another man Aldrich had never seen before stood behind the newcomers. He’d entered unnoticed, which only served to make Aldrich more suspicious. He looked the three over carefully. The woman was petite, beautiful and studied Aldrich with interest, her bright green eyes roamed over him in a peculiar way. Her husband, on the other hand, eyed him casually, as if waiting. It was then he noticed the pair had the same bright color to their eyes. Odd. Odder still was the sense that something was passing between them. He could feel it.
Aldrich shook it off and narrowed his gaze at the thin man standing behind them.
“Ah, yes, I believe introductions are in order,” Duncan said. “Aldrich, may I present Mr. and Mrs. MacDonald and their associate, Lany Mosgofian.”
“I’m bloody well aware of who they are,” he said with a wave at the couple. “And I don’t care who this other man is unless he can help find Tory.”
Mr. Mosgofian glanced at his larger counterpart, who shrugged in response. Mosgofian shrugged back. “We can help you look for her,” he said. “But first we need to clarify something.”
Aldrich watched him step around the couple and stand in front of them. “His Grace has informed us that he’s told you,” he tossed a dagger of a glare at Duncan. “More than he should. We want your word, Sir Aldrich, that you’ll tell no one of this.”
“My word?! And when were you planning on telling me, or Miss Phelps for that matter, about all of this? She’s out there somewhere, in a world she doesn’t know and you’re asking me for promises?”
“Promises mean protection,” Mr. Mosgofian said. “Yours and hers.”
“And ours,” Mr. MacDonald put in. “Anonymity is imperative in this business.”
And what business would that be, Mr. MacDonald?” Aldrich spat and closed the distance between them. The big Scot was a good head taller than him and broader, but he didn’t care. He met the man’s gaze and then some.
“We’re in the business of saving lives, if ye want to know. Yours and Tory’s are but two in the larger scheme o’ things. Now, if ye dinna mind, we’d like to get on with it.”
Aldrich stared at him a moment, before taking a step back. He was tired, angry and wanted to hit the man. But what good would that do? A fight would waste valuable time. What if Tory was in danger? “How do you plan to look for her?” he asked.
“In our usual way,” the Scot answered.
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Aldrich noted Mosgofian cringe and was about to comment when Barnes rushed into the drawing room. “You Grace, Joseph Pembroke is here to see you. He says it’s about Miss Phelps.”
Mosgofian sighed, glanced at the ceiling and mouthed a relieved, “Thank you.”
He ignored the skinny man’s prayerful response, reached Barnes in two strides and took him by the arm. “Where is he?”
“In the kitchen, sir. He’s in a dither over his wife. She’s …”
Aldrich shot out of the drawing room and into the grand hall.
“ … in labor, you know,” Barnes finished lamely. He gave Duncan and Cozette a helpless shrug.
“Did he tell ye where the lass is?” Dallan asked.
“Yes,” Barnes said. “Apparently, she’s been arrested.
* * *
Arrested! What on earth for? Aldrich asked himself as he spurred his horse toward the village. Thank heaven there was a full moon to see by, or it’d be much slower going.
He crested a small rise and the dim lights of the village came into view. He’d have to manage this carefully and not lose his temper, or Tory might suffer the consequences. He knew the current magistrate hadn’t held the office for long. Aldrich didn’t even know the man’s name. All he knew was that he’d taken over for the old magistrate after he died last year. Who knew what kind of man he was? Aldrich hoped not the type to stir up trouble where there was none and go on a witch-hunt.
“Bugger,” he said at the thought and kicked his horse into a gallop. Riding fast was dangerous, even with the bright moonlight to guide him. But he had to get to Tory! Considering the way she talked, her mannerisms, her boldness … no wonder she got arrested! If he’d been smart, he’d have gone to the village himself to look.
But a man or woman getting arrested during a carnival was common. Drunkenness and brawling the usual charge. Depending on whom the stable master and other servant asked, they might get several different accounts of such arrests, or none at all. Blast. Even Aldrich had to admit it would be next to impossible to question every person who attended the carnival that day. He should be thankful he knew where Tory was and concentrate on that.
