“I’m not entirely certain, ma’am,” Hannah whispered.
“Well, dear, you are welcome to stay as long as you need to. We’ll have a guest room prepared for you and Gwen will give you some of her clothing.”
“Thank you.” Hannah kept her questions to herself, overwhelmed with the consequences of the potential answers. She was uncertain if she’d stumbled upon a possible Amish sect or some other religious conservative group.
“No thanks necessary, dear. You enjoy your tea and rest. You might have a head injury. Perhaps we should get the doctor.”
“No!” Hannah gasped and then realized she’d reacted a bit harshly so changed her tone. “Sorry. I have a slight headache, but I don’t think I’ll need a doctor.”
Mrs. Butler pursed her lips but gave a slight nod. “All right, dear. You get a good night’s sleep and if you’re still in pain in the morning, I’ll send for him.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Hannah forced a smile.
Gwen peeled off her gloves and then pulled the pins from her hat as Nanny poured Hannah another cup of tea. Gwen’s quick smile and gentle way put Hannah at ease, but then her mind turned to the possibility that perhaps Gwen might not be here of her own free will.
As Gwen removed her coat, Hannah was taken aback by the young woman’s appearance. Full-figured and tall, Gwen had dark green eyes similar to her brother’s, and flawless skin. Her chestnut hair, parted in the middle and pulled into a simple chignon, shone under the candlelight. Hannah slipped a lock of her own hair behind her ear, suddenly embarrassed by how she must look.
“Hannah?” Gwen sat across from her and patted her hand. “You’re safe here.”
“Thank you.” Hannah needed to buy some time and figure out where she was so she could get out of here. She looked up when “the painting” chose that moment to walk in the room. Hannah’s stomach did a somersault. He stared at her as though looking for something deep inside of her.
He is beyond gorgeous. The painter didn’t truly capture his size or strength.
She berated herself slightly, needing to get a grip on her thoughts, needing to stay focused on two vital questions.
How am I going to get out of the house, and where am I going to go?
Not a particular fan of horses, she’d never learned to ride, so she’d probably have to walk. Emma and Sophie had taken Hannah to visit their horses occasionally, and the only thing she had discovered was that they were big and kind of scary. Stealing one and riding off into the sunset was hardly an option for her. Hannah lowered her head and stared into her tea.
* * *
Christopher watched Miss Nelson closely, noticing her mind working frantically behind her glorious hazel eyes, and wondered where she’d come from. Really. She was exquisite. Petite, barely reaching his chest, she had dark glossy hair that framed an oval face. A liberal smattering of freckles covered her nose and swept up in a smile over her cheeks.
He knew she was frightened and confused, but she also appeared to be plotting something, and that intrigued him. She didn’t seem the least bit impressed with him, which only reiterated the fact that Gwen was wrong about his effect on women. In fact, Hannah seemed irritated by him.
“Christopher, please ask Nanny to make up one of the guest rooms,” his mother said, interrupting his thoughts.
He fisted his hand in his pocket, a little chagrined that he had to leave Miss Nelson again. However, he would never let his mother know that he was drawn to this beautiful girl and wanted to explore that a little more. “Yes, Mama.” He returned within minutes. “The staff is preparing the south room for you, ma’am.”
“Thank you.”
Christopher caught her frown. She was obviously annoyed with his use of address.
Miss Nelson took a sip of tea, and then she lowered her cup with a shaky hand. “I’m quite tired. Would it be all right if I went to bed?”
“Of course, dear,” Mrs. Butler said. “Gwen will show you the way. In the morning we’ll help you find your way home.”
“Thank you.”
* * *
Gwen led her up the stairs and down a long hallway.
Fabulous. No easy escape.
Gwen opened the last door on the left and Hannah walked into a spacious bedroom. A large fireplace on the south wall glowed in welcome, and sconces had been lit, creating a peaceful warmth to the room.
“Will this be acceptable?” Gwen asked.
“Sorry?”
“The room? Is it acceptable?”
Hannah nodded. “Oh, yes, it’s beautiful, Gwen. Thank you.”
Gwen smiled. “I’ll return shortly with a nightgown for you.”
Hannah explored quickly while Gwen was out of the room. Two windows on the west wall appeared to open onto some form of a roof.
At least I know which way is north. It’s a starting point.
Closing her eyes, Hannah tried to remember what she saw when she first walked up to the house. She realized her room sat over the kitchen. Taking a deep breath, she visualized her trip from the barn to the house. They walked under a large porch and, if she remembered correctly, a makeshift trellis. If she could climb out onto the porch, she might make it to the trellis and then she could escape.
But where to?
“Here you are, Hannah. I hope this will fit.” Gwen entered the room, interrupting her thoughts.
“I’m sure it will be fine.” Hannah yawned for effect.
“Well, I’ll let you turn in. If you need anything, my room is two doors down.”
“Thank you, Gwen.”
“My pleasure,” Gwen said and then closed the door behind her.
Dragging her bag from her shoulder, Hannah opened it and pulled out her cell phone. She powered it up, relieved to see the logo flash on the screen. However, no bars. Not even part of one showed on the display.
Just how far out in the wop-wops am I? I should have switched carriers months ago.
With a scowl, she turned the phone off and slipped it into her back pocket. She sat down on the bed with a frustrated sigh. She intended to wait until the house quieted but didn’t know how long that would take.
Twenty minutes passed, and although she didn’t hear any movement in the house, Hannah wasn’t sure if that meant everyone was asleep. She made her way to the door, poked her head into the hallway, and noticed the sconces were still lit. She decided she probably shouldn’t risk it.
She quietly closed the door and began to pace. Her fire had finally died down, so she blew out the lamps and waited for complete darkness. It took almost an hour, and by then she was growing sleepy. If she didn’t go now, she would lose her nerve. With one last look around the room, she put her coat and gloves back on and wrapped the scarf around her neck. Securing her bag over her shoulder, she slowly pushed the window up, grateful it didn’t stick. Throwing her leg over the windowsill, she climbed out onto the roof and crawled to the edge.
Trellis! Yes! Okay, I can climb this and be off.
Her immediate plan was to travel north, certain she would find someone with a car or perhaps even flag down a cab. She went back and closed the bedroom window quietly and then made her way back to the trellis. The snow on the roof had frozen and it crunched under her feet as she crept over the roof.
Reaching the edge, she lay down on her stomach and wiggled, feet first, over the side. She felt her foot hit the first rung of the trellis. It seemed strong enough to hold her, so she kept going. She was deathly afraid of heights, and it seemed a long way down, but if she kept her eyes on the sky, she should be fine.
“Oh, God,” she whispered as her heart raced. Taking a deep breath, Hannah stepped down, then stepped again. Knowing she must be almost at the bottom, but not wanting to look, she closed her eyes tight and stepped again. All of a sudden, she felt large, strong hands grasp her hips. She squealed as she was pulled off the trellis, rather inelegantly, into the arms of the painting.
“What do you think you’re doing?” Christopher growled. “Y
ou could have been hurt.”
* * *
When he’d heard the scraping noise on the roof, Christopher knew Miss Nelson was going to try something stupid, but his heart lodged in his throat as he watched her back down the unsecured trellis. It took every ounce of patience for him to wait for her to reach the bottom rather than to climb the lattice and collect her.
“Put me down,” she ordered.
“Not until you tell me what you were doing.”
“I was going to try and find my way home!” She pushed at his chest with a groan. “What else would I be doing? Now put me down.”
Christopher stared at the beauty in his arms.
“Please. Let me go,” she whispered.
He gently set her on her feet but didn’t release her completely. He kept an arm around her waist as he watched her eyes dart everywhere, obviously looking for a place to escape to. “You could have been hurt, Miss Nelson.”
She dropped her head but didn’t comment.
“Ma’am?” He slowly lowered his hand from her waist and crossed his arms.
She bolted.
Christopher swore. “Come back here!” he yelled, and gave chase.
She got a good half-mile before he even started closing in on her.
“Miss Nelson!” he yelled again.
* * *
Looking frantically around, Hannah saw nothing other than snow and trees. She didn’t know which way to turn next. A white canvas surrounded her, and she had no idea in which direction she even headed. She reached for her cell phone, flipped it open, and held it up as she continued to run from the house. No signal.
Shit! Have they got cell phone blockers out here?
Realizing she was stuck, she stopped suddenly, kicked at the ground in frustration, and then sank down on the snow. Wrapping her arms tightly around her knees, she burst into tears. She was tired, she was cold, and she didn’t know where the hell she was.
CHRISTOPHER REACHED HER a few minutes later and knelt down in the snow beside her as he handed her his handkerchief.
“Ta,” she whispered and then blew her nose.
“Miss Nelson, you’re safe here. No one will harm you.”
“The problem is that I don’t know where ‘here’ is. I was in Chicago looking at a painting of you and that’s all I remember. How is it possible that I got to Maryland this quickly, and how is it that you’re all dressed in such odd clothing?”
He sat back on his heels and laid his hands on his thighs. “Odd clothing?”
“Yes! You’re dressed like someone out of a Dickens novel.”
Christopher chuckled quietly. “Ladies don’t generally dress as men, so perhaps it’s more accurate to say you are dressed oddly.”
“I’m not dressed as a man!” Hannah insisted. “These are the very latest in Lucky jeans.”
“Obviously not so lucky, since you ended up in my barn with a head injury.”
“Oh, you’re a comedian, I see,” she retorted. “And I don’t have a head injury.”
Christopher stood and held his hand out to her. “Miss Nelson, come back to the house, please. There is nothing that you can do in the middle of a winter night. I will assist you in the morning, I promise.”
“Call me Hannah.”
“Hannah,” he said, and smiled. “Will you come with me now?”
“Fine.” She stood and brushed her hands over her bottom. “Bloody hell!”
“What’s amiss?”
Hannah shivered, the cold sinking into her jeans, and let out a quiet groan. “My bum’s all wet.”
He took her hand and placed it in his arm. “I’m sorry?”
“I sat in the snow, and now my bottom’s wet.” His body stiffened, and she glanced up at him in confusion. He smiled, so she dismissed his reaction. “How did you know I would try to climb off the roof?”
“It’s my job to think ahead of my opponent,” he said evasively.
Her head whipped up. “I’m your opponent now?”
“Perhaps not.” Chuckling, he faced her. “Nevertheless, you’re not someone to be underestimated. Is that an accurate assessment?”
“Hmm... so, the whole ‘damsel in distress’ bit wouldn’t fly?”
He began to lead her toward the house. “I highly doubt anyone would look at you as a damsel in distress, despite your size.”
“My size?”
Christopher smiled. “You’re tiny.”
“I’m not that tiny!” She stood as tall as she could without going up on her toes. “Perhaps you view me that way because you’re a giant.”
“A giant, you say?”
“Yes, a ferocious one who preys on the tiny.” She made a clawing motion with her hands and he laughed.
“I would rather be seen as the giant who saves the tiny.”
She giggled. “Am I to be saved then?”
He stopped and turned her toward him. Laying his hands gently on her shoulders, he stared down at her. She could see the earnestness in his gaze. “If you are ever in trouble, I will save you.”
A shiver of awareness sidled up her spine, and it made her nervous. Not of him, necessarily, but of the attraction to him. Butterflies began to host a party in her stomach—no, not butterflies--elephants.
Great! Elephants are dancing on my intestines.
She pulled away and went for a sarcastic tone. “You’ll be my knight in shining armor? Truly?”
“You doubt my sincerity?” he asked in mock surprise.
She placed her palm on her chest. “Absolutely not. Of course, if you’re going to rescue me from foibles, real or make-believe, perhaps you should have a superhero name.”
He raised an eyebrow. “A new name?”
“Yes. One that will accurately describe your new role.”
“Hm.” He gave a slight nod. “I wasn’t aware I would receive a new name and a new role.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” She tapped her pursed lips with her finger and then grinned. “Why don’t I call you Sir Knight?”
He rubbed his chin in consideration. “Sir Knight.”
“As in the Round Table,” she clarified.
“It’s a little redundant, wouldn’t you say?”
“Ironic,” she clarified.
Christopher glanced at her. “That does have a nice ring to it. However, I wonder why not ‘King?’”
“Because kings are generally lazy and make their knights do all the rescuing.”
Nodding, apparently impressed with her observation, he smiled. A smile that melted Hannah’s soul. “Ah, you do have a point. So, if I am Sir Knight, are you my Guinevere?”
“No.”
“And why not?”
Hannah blushed. “Because she was already taken and wholly unavailable.”
He stared down at her, his eyes darker than before, and raised his hand to her cheek.
Good God, elephants, please stop!
He gently stroked his fingers down her face, and Hannah thought he might kiss her. Instead, he lowered his hand and clenched his fist at his side. “You’re freezing. Let’s get you inside.”
She was grateful he couldn’t see her blush in the darkness. Although she didn’t want the moment to end, the cold seeped in to prove his statement true. As he laid his hand over hers settled in the crook of his arm, she tried to work out her confusion. She had a difficult time reconciling his gentleness with his possible nefarious intentions.
Is he lulling me into a false sense of safety? Should I trust him?
He escorted her into the house, this time through the front door, and as they passed the parlor, she noticed a newspaper sitting on a side table in the large foyer. The date on the top read November 18, 1863.
Irritation warmed any frostbite threatening her body.
“Okay, seriously, Christopher. I can appreciate the lengths you all seem to be going through to keep up with this ‘living in better days gone by’ thing, but don’t you think this might be a little heavy handed?”
“P
ardon?”
She continued as though he hadn’t spoken, “Granted, I think it’s kind of creepy and twisted, but I have to applaud your level of detail, I suppose.”
Christopher removed his gloves and laid them next to the newspaper. “Hannah, what are you talking about?”
She slapped her hand on top of the paper. “Look, mate, leaving old newspapers lying around is a little over the top, don’t you think?”
Christopher raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t call it old. It’s certainly not out-of-date.”
She pointed to the header with a snort. “Not out-of-date?”
Christopher nodded. “Today is the twentieth, and that paper is from the eighteenth. I may have the one from today as well.” He puckered his brow in thought. “I believe it’s in my father’s office.”
Picking the newspaper up, she waved it at him. “Christopher, this paper is from 1863.”
“Yes.”
She slapped it back down. “Funny, ha, ha.”
Christopher stood in the middle of the foyer, staring at her as though she were slightly unstable. Hannah shook her head as bile rose in the back of her throat.
I’m trapped. Is he going to kill me? Brainwash me? Make me stay here?
The breath left her body. Literally. She couldn’t breathe.
He moved closer to her. “Hannah, are you all right?”
Her lungs seized as she began to hyperventilate. “I have to get out of here.”
Touching her shoulder gently, Christopher asked, “Why? What’s amiss?”
“I need to get out of here.” She bolted out the front door.
“Hannah!” he yelled and went after her.
Hannah made it all the way to the barn before she doubled over and vomited. Christopher caught up to her and laid his hand gently on her back. “Hannah?”
Things started to register with her then. His strange speech, the strange clothes. She must be in a dream or a nightmare. None of this could be real.
“What’s the date?” she whispered.
“November 20,” he answered slowly.
She squeezed her eyes shut. “And the year?”
He stared at her.
“The year, Christopher? What year do you think it is?” She was screaming now.
The Bride Spy (Civil War Brides Book 3) Page 3
