Yesterday and Forever

by Victoria Alexander

"They're magnificent," she breathed.

  "You like them?" Surprise colored his words. "I was under the impression you weren't particularly interested in history."

  "I'm not much on history," she said ruefully. "All those names and dates drive me nuts. But this"—she gestured toward the marble reliefs—"this is art. I'm an artist. Pretty basic stuff, commercial work, but it's how I make my living."

  Adam shook his head skeptically. "I still do not understand why your society permits women to work like men."

  The pleasure of their day together so far took the sting out of his words. Maggie wondered if she was developing some tolerance for his sexist attitudes. It wasn't as if the man knew any better.

  "Coleridge." She laughed. "How am I ever going to get through to you?"

  He raised an eyebrow. "I have had the exact same thoughts about you."

  She laughed again and this time he joined her. In easy companionship they continued their tour until they paused in front of the Rosetta stone.

  "Amazing, isn't it?" she murmured softly, awed by the huge tablet. “How one discovery like this can unlock so many ancient secrets?"

  "I don't understand." Puzzlement spread across his face.

  "Well, see how it's divided into three sections?" She waved her hand at the black basalt rock. "The top is Egyptian hieroglyphics, the middle I think is a different form of Egyptian, and the bottom is Greek. It's the same information written in all three languages."

  "Good God!" He gasped, obviously shocked by her casual comment.

  Maggie widened her eyes and stared at him. "You didn't know that? No one's figured that out yet?"

  "Not to my knowledge. And I do try to keep abreast of the latest discoveries."

  "Oh, Adam, this is a terrible mistake. I shouldn't have said anything. Please don't tell anyone!"

  "Why on earth not? This information should be acted on at once."

  "No." How could she make him understand? "Don't you see? If you told anyone it could change history. It could be really minor, just a change in a date. But it could have serious repercussions."

  "I'm sorry." He shook his head in confusion. "I don't see what possible effect this could have."

  She struggled to find the right words. "I don't either, but it seems to me there are dangers involved in time travel. Things like paradoxes. You know, how you can't go back in time and stop your grandfather from marrying your grandmother because then you'd never be born? Which means you couldn't go back in the first place and so on and so forth.”

  Maggie shook her head. "I don't think you're supposed to change history. Even something that seems relatively minor and insignificant could ultimately have a big impact.” She stared helplessly up at him. “Am I making any sense?"

  "I believe so," Adam said. "Perhaps you're right. How very intriguing." He spoke thoughtfully, as if considering the idea. “You mean to say that anything you do here could have long—range effects. The smallest thing could change the future and your world. Is that what you mean?"

  She breathed a sigh of relief. "That's it exactly.”

  "So have you come to any other conclusions about traveling through the ages?" Maggie noted the twinkle in his eye and her mood lightened.

  “As a matter of fact I have." She smirked. "I've read a lot of science fiction and watched a lot of Star Trek and Terminator stuff." She groaned at his look of complete confusion. "I'll explain another time, Coleridge. Trust me on this one." Explaining photography was nothing compared to space travel and Lt. Commander Data.

  "Anyway, it seems to me there are probably, or at least there should be, rules about time travel. Laws of nature maybe, like gravity. Rule number one, what we just talked about: Don't change history."

  A quizzical frown creased his forehead. "But how can there be rules or laws if no one has ever done this before? If no one knows what these rules are?"

  “That's exactly it. We don't know that no one has ever traveled through time. For all we know, people could be doing it every day."

  "That's extremely farfetched. I sincerely doubt there are travelers romping through the centuries." He lifted a skeptical eyebrow. "But for the sake of argument, I'll grant you that. We don't know for sure. So"—an amused light glimmered in his eye and Maggie ignored the thought that he was humoring her—“what are these rules?"

  "Well, it seems to me right now there's one more person in this world, in this time, than there’s supposed to be. There's an imbalance. So it only makes sense that I'm going back. That will put everything back the way it's supposed to be."

  “You still believe your carriage will come back for you on the twelfth?"

  She considered his question carefully. "I’m not certain. It's just something I feel. I can't explain."

  Maggie paused, then nodded toward the stone. "It all seems so relative, doesn't it?" she said. "Time, I mean. Ancient Egyptians probably thought they had all the time in the world, yet now their incredible civilization is just a memory. The amazing art they created is relegated to a measly display in a museum." Her words drifted into silence and she gazed at the massive black rock, its secrets still shrouded in the shadows of time.

  Adam seized the opportunity to study her unobserved. He had never encountered such a woman as this before. She was spirited, stubborn, unruly, yet courageous and undaunted. He found her language both puzzling and atrocious, but she obviously had intelligence and depth he had not encountered in a female before.

  Intelligence was not an attribute he would have thought attractive and definitely not one he had sought before. But in Maggie, her mind was as compelling as the lovely package it came wrapped in. Add to that the immediate physical attraction between them and Adam would be hard-pressed to keep his resolve firm to stay away. Right now he was not entirely certain he still wished to.

  "Coleridge, are you listening?"

  "What? Oh sorry." He struggled to regain his composure, but her brilliant green eyes bored into his accusingly.

  "I said, what's next?"

  “Classical sculpture?"

  "Great, let's go." She took his arm once more and they resumed their tour of the best the British Museum had to offer a visitor to London in 1818.

  ***

  Maggie wandered aimlessly through the Coleridge mansion alone. She and Adam had spent the better part of the day at the museum, but tonight he and Lydia had a party to attend. A soiree, whatever that was. They'd invited her along but Maggie begged off. She wasn't ready to face a lot of people yet and was grateful Adam and Lydia didn't push her.

  Maggie had a tray brought to her room for dinner and thought she would enjoy being alone with time to think. But as the evening wore on, she grew bored and lonely. Her solitary, impromptu exploration of the house filled the hours, but even as she prowled the halls, the frustrating restlessness continued.

  Her self-guided tour did take her mind off her problems. She discovered several more parlors or salons. None quite as large as the green-and-gold room she'd stumbled into her first morning, but all equally elegant. She found what she assumed was a ballroom, with a huge chandelier covered with sheets hanging like a forlorn ghost in the center. She made her way through an enormous formal dining room and the smaller breakfast room she'd seen this morning. She checked out the location of each of the mansion's several water closets, those up-to-date conveniences of which the staff was extremely proud. Maggie found one on her first day and with relief vowed never to use the chamber pot in her room.

  Eventually, her meandering led her to the library. She was growing to love this room. Warm and inviting, it reeked of furniture polish and old books. A distinctly masculine room. Adam’s sanctuary. Maybe that was why she felt so comfortable and secure there. Say what she would about the man, he did give her a feeling of safety and protection.

  Maggie wandered over to a bookshelf and perused the titles, some familiar, many unknown. She noticed a great number of scientific books standing side by side with classics, including Chaucer, Milton, Dante. Maggie co
nceded the respect due the great authors but in terms of actual reading had always found them ponderous and frankly boring.

  She moved to another shelf and discovered Shakespeare. Maggie ran her fingers over the assorted collection and decided to pass. She enjoyed the Bard but preferred his works onstage rather than on paper.

  Roaming around the room, she caught sight of a copy of Pride and Prejudice. She hadn't read Jane Austen since college and grabbed the book with delight. She was never all that wild about Austen but the book represented something familiar in this completely foreign place.

  She snuggled down in a comer of the library sofa and within minutes, lost herself in the lighthearted tale of love and misunderstanding. Maggie found the book far more enjoyable now than when she first read it. Perhaps because then the characters were part of a world she could not relate to. Now, at least for a while, their world was hers.

  "So you like the writings of Miss Austen?"

  His now familiar voice interrupted her. Maggie glanced up from the volume and her heart skipped a beat. Adam leaned lazily against the doorframe, arms crossed, regarding her with interest. She hadn't seen him dressed formally before now and he not only looked fantastic, he exuded an aura of controlled power and sensuality.

  Staring at him, Maggie wondered why men ever gave up cravats and ruffled shirts, form-fitting jackets that emphasized broad shoulders and trim waists and skin-tight pants that left little to the imagination and had hers working overtime. With his blond good looks, dark, velvet eyes and dimpled cheek, it was easy to see why women were attracted to him. She could well imagine how he acquired the now forgotten reputation of rake. Excitement quivered within her.

  Her best interests lay in avoiding Adam. Logically that made sense. But her decision to settle in the library was based as much on a suppressed desire to see him as it was on the need for a good book. Logic had little to do with it. She was tempting fate, dangerously and deliciously.

  She smiled. "I find I like her more than I used to. Do you?"

  "She is extremely popular."

  "In my time this work is considered a classic example of the British novel."

  He shrugged, expressing his opinion of the questionable taste of her time. “I find her writings too sentimental for my taste."

  "And too romantic?" Maggie's tone teased but she treaded dangerous waters. Wasn't it only this morning she swore not to get involved with him?

  He lifted an eyebrow, an amused smile on his lips, daring her to dive in. “You think I don't enjoy romance? That perhaps there is no romance in my soul?"

  Plunging ahead, Maggie took a deep breath and laughed. "Well, you just don't strike me as the romantic type. You're so businesslike and, well . . .”

  "Controlled, perhaps? Precise?”

  She laughed again. "I was going to say stuffy."

  The eyebrow shot up once more and she noted a genuine look of surprise in his eyes.

  "I'm sorry," she said quickly, trying not to laugh this time. "I really don't think you're stuffy. It's just that you're so dramatically different from anyone I've ever known. I'm just not used to the sort of, oh, formal way things are here." She aimed for an apologetic look but couldn't quite hide the twinkle in her eye.

  "Stuffy!" He snorted, and strolled casually across the room to the shelves.

  Not romantic? Adam Coleridge? Earl of Ridgewood?

  Adam had never received a single complaint about either his manner or his attentions to women. Especially not from women. In his hell-raising days he'd considered himself a charming and accomplished lover. And since then he had not lacked for female companionship when he chose to pursue it.

  He surveyed the books on the shelves. "I suppose you find Lord Byron or Sir Walter Scott romantic?"

  "Not particularly." Adam heard the amusement in her voice. If he looked her way, he would surely see a challenge light her eyes. Not romantic? Ha! He'd see about that.

  A nagging thought in the back of Adam's mind reminded him of the necessity of keeping his distance from this woman. But what harm could an innocent flirtation do? He was a man and men could control their emotions. And after all, she was the one who had issued the challenge.

  Hadn't she?

  He plucked a volume from the shelves and pulled a chair close to Maggie.

  "Do you like Shakespeare?" He looked at her sharply. "Do you even know Shakespeare?"

  "Give me a break." She laughed. "Yes, I know Shakespeare. Not personally, of course." She paused at his look of confusion. "It's a joke. See, that's what I mean about you. You have absolutely no sense of humor. You're too uptight, too severe, too straitlaced, too—”

  “Stuffy?" he asked.

  "There you go again. You take everything way too seriously."

  "Miss Masterson, you have maligned my character and personality and you expect me to simply wave it away. I have grave responsibilities which account for the serious aspects of my nature. However, I do enjoy humor when I see it. And as for romance, I may consider it silly and uninspired in the work of Miss Austen but I recognize and appreciate it in the hands of a master.”

  "In what?" A teasing tone sounded in her voice. “The Taming of the Shrew?"

  "That may well be appropriate under the circumstances." The amused smile returned. He had the look of a man who had just gained the upper hand and knew it. "However, in terms of romance, my first choice would be Romeo and Juliet. Do you not agree?" He stared deeply into her eyes.

  Yep, dangerous waters all right. How long would she be able to stay afloat? Unfortunately, the danger added to the thrill. Upped the stakes. Maggie had no qualms about playing this little game. As long as they played only with words.

  "I do. What could be more romantic than 'a pair of star-crossed lovers.’ "

  Surprised, Adam nodded appreciation at the quote. Maggie smiled smugly. The first point to her, but the game had barely begun.

  Adam flipped open the book and paged through it, quickly finding the passage he wanted. " ‘He jests at scars that never felt a wound,’ " he read. " ‘But soft! What light through yonder window breaks? It is the East, and Juliet is the sun!’ ”

  The balcony scene. The ultimate romantic scene of all time, at least in Maggie's eyes. Had been since the seventh grade when she and Jimmy Bennett were picked to memorize the lines and recite them for a class. The assignment meant a week of after-school study sessions at her house or Jimmy's. But Maggie didn't care. She'd had a silent, hopeless crush on the boy all year. The balcony scene always brought back the poignant pangs and passions of first love.

  Jimmy moved away at the end of the school year and as time passed, Maggie rarely, if ever, thought of him. But Romeo and Juliet never failed to leave her with a flutter in her stomach and a longing in her heart.

  Still, if a man of her own time had pulled this, Maggie would have laughed out loud. To call reading Romeo and Juliet hokey and clichéd was an understatement. Although, to be honest, it had never happened before. At least not in her adult life. Somehow, from Adam, it seemed not merely right but . . .perfect.

  “ ‘Arise, fair sun, and kill the envious moon, who is already sick and pale with grief that thou her maid art far more fair than she.’ "

  As much as she enjoyed Shakespeare on the stage, the best performances, even Jimmy's, paled next to the impact of Adam reading the immortal words. His rich, strong voice swept through every corner of the book-lined room. The mellow, honeyed tones wrapped her in a cocoon of sensual imagery. Even the look of him in the elegant, formal evening clothes added to the rich texture enveloping her. The library shimmered in the gaslight, the atmosphere rich with the possibility of magic.

  " ‘See how she leans her cheek upon her hand! O that I were a glove upon that hand, that I might touch that cheek!’ "

  Maggie studied his expressive face, quelling an impulse to run her finger along the line of his chiseled jaw, feel the shadowed stubble there. The temptation lingered to run her hands through his already tousled thick blond hair. She
could almost feel the silky texture of his cravat and yearned to pull it free, releasing his throat to her caressing lips.

  It would take so little to fall in love with this man. Possibly she was already a bit in love. Thoughts of him certainly seemed to be on her mind every waking moment and she'd only known him for what? Two days? But on the other hand, time had taken on whole new possibilities.

  What was it about him that drew her to him like a compass needle to magnetic north? Would this irresistible pull be as strong if she were on familiar ground, or was her growing desire more a result of time and place than anything else? Maggie didn't think so. Deep inside she instinctively sensed that with this man it would be the same regardless of where or when.

  “ ‘Lady, by yonder blessed moon I vow, that tips with silver all these fruit-tree tops—O, swear not by the moon, th' inconstant moon.’ ”

  Adam's hands cradled the book gently, almost reverently. His strong, steady fingers stretched occasionally to turn a page. She longed to reach out, entwine her fingers with his, revel in the touch of his hand.

  Her thoughts drifted back to this morning's kiss and she dwelled on what might have happened. What could still happen. She imagined being in his arms again. Imagined what magic those fingers could create, what secrets they could unleash.

  Lost in her thoughts and Shakespeare's words, Maggie hardly noticed when Adam closed the book. His hands clasped hers and her startled gaze met his. It took a moment to realize he wasn’t reading; he knew these words by heart.

  “ ‘Good night, good night! Parting is such sweet sorrow . . .' "

  He picked up her right hand and brought it to his lips. Turning it over, still gazing into her eyes, he kissed her palm lightly. A surge of sensual delight shot through her.

  " 'That I shall say good night till it be morrow.’”

  He kissed the other palm. His eyes never left hers. A yearning for more washed over Maggie. Her head swam. Her body ached.

  “It’s very late." His gentle voice abruptly jolted her back to reality.

  “What? Oh, yeah. Right," she stammered, trying to regain whatever shred of composure she had left, but he still held her hands. She snatched them away and looked up to see him regarding her with an amused expression. Too flustered to do battle, Maggie wisely held back. She stood and headed for the door, then turned back to Adam.