A Stolen Season

by Gill, Tamara

  Sarah sighed and cuddled into his heat. Her heart crumbled into her chest. If only that were true.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sarah awoke with a start when the carriage jerked forward. She sat up and pulled the blanket about her shoulders before glancing outside.

  The day appeared clear, save for a few darkish clouds spotting the sky. Sarah heard Eric’s voice and she froze, before sighing with relief when she realized he was the only one speaking to the horses.

  She looked down at her naked body, then set about finding her clothes. She squealed with surprise when the carriage door opened.

  “Good morning, beautiful.”

  Sarah rubbed her eyes, fairly sure she made the least beautiful person at that moment. “Good morning,” she said, cursing the blasted blush that stole over her cheeks.

  “Get dressed, my love, and I’ll return you home. The water has receded enough to safely do so.”

  Sarah nodded. “Just give me five minutes.”

  Eric leaned in to kiss her lips, and Sarah dropped the blanket as his hands clasped her waist and pulled her into him. Her nipples brushed against his damp shirt, sending delightful pain to her core.

  He growled. “Dress, and quickly, before I debauch you again in the carriage.”

  Sarah threw him a saucy grin. “I wouldn’t complain.”

  Eric patted her bottom and set her back on the seat. “My little minx. Dress. I have to try to limit the scandal my actions last night have caused. Although I’m not sure if we’ll escape unscathed if my mother has her way.”

  Sarah grabbed her dress as the door closed and shivered when the damp material touched her skin. At least she wouldn’t have to wear it for long once they arrived at the house.

  Once dressed, she stepped from the carriage and stretched. The damp gown and slight wind sent goose bumps across her skin and she reached inside to grab the blanket.

  Eric stood before the river, silently watching the abating waters. “I’m ready,” she said, coming up to him and sliding her hand down his back.

  He looked down at her, his face troubled. “Everyone will expect us to marry now that we’ve spent a night alone, Sarah.” Eric turned and clasped her hands. “Have you thought about my question at all?”

  Sarah nodded. “I know what you’re saying, but last night, with the storm and dangerous situation, was unavoidable. Surely they wouldn’t expect such a thing. Should you have been stuck here with Lady Patricia, would you be declaring your betrothal today?”

  Eric ran a hand through his hair. “The family and my honor would have demanded it, and so, yes, I would.”

  Sarah stepped back. “Even though you say you love me?”

  “I would have no choice, to save her reputation. And I will not have yours ruined, either. You will marry me, Miss Baxter.”

  Sarah narrowed her eyes. “I will not.”

  Eric stormed off toward the carriage and climbed up on the box. “Best be getting in the carriage, Miss Baxter. We’ll discuss this when we’re home.”

  Sarah glared but followed his order. Damn the man. And damn the blasted weather. She should have swam across that stupid river and left him here. Sarah flopped onto the squabs and crossed her arms. They would not make her marry a man just because she spent the night with him, or because he made her body burn with every look and touch. And if they thought they would force her into something against her will, they had another think coming.

  • • •

  Eric looked at the road ahead and waited for Sarah to climb into the carriage. What was wrong with the chit that she didn’t want to marry him?

  He was wealthy, titled, and in love with her. He was a much sought after bachelor in town. Yet Sarah continued to evade his offer of marriage.

  Why?

  The carriage door slammed and Eric took a calming breath. He picked up the reins, tapped them over the horses’ rumps, and started the short drive to his estate.

  The carriage entered the gates, and Eric spied Anita and Lord Stanley standing on the front steps. He steeled himself for the coming confrontation over the previous night, and Sarah’s ruined reputation. Well, he had no qualms in marrying the woman; it was the woman herself putting up a fight.

  He pulled the carriage to a halt.

  “Eric. Sarah. We were all so worried about you,” Anita said, rushing down the stairs and opening the carriage door. “Come inside, we have baths prepared for you in your rooms.” She paused and met Eric’s gaze. “The storm was so ferocious we’ve not slept a wink for worry.”

  Eric climbed down and helped Sarah alight. He ground his teeth when she pulled away from his hand and stepped out unassisted.

  “Ferocious but fast moving it seems,” he drawled, signaling for the groom to take the horse and carriage away.

  “Even so, what a frightening experience for you, Sarah,” Anita said, clasping her hand.

  Sarah smiled. “I’m fine, do not worry, Anita. Just a little tired. May we go in now so I can have that wonderful bath you mentioned?”

  Anita fussed and called out directions to the staff. Eric watched Sarah’s lithe form walk into the house and turned to meet her brother’s cold stare evenly.

  “Lord Earnston, your mother, Lady Earnston, and I request your company in the library when you’re refreshed,” Lord Stanley said.

  Eric nodded. “I’ll be down shortly.” And there it was. Society’s rules and strictures about to crash down onto his and Sarah’s shoulders. Eric ambled to his room and sent word to Sarah to meet him in the library before luncheon.

  He looked at himself in the mirror and fussed with his cravat. The image of Sarah’s naked form, her nimble hands pulling the cravat from his neck assailed him. His body roared with need and possession.

  He left the room and went downstairs. Walking through the foyer, he heard raised voices from the library and quickened his steps.

  His mother paced the floor, her face a picture of disgust. His grandmamma, on the other hand, remained seated, looking more relaxed than one ought in such a situation. Richard and Sarah merely sat on settees, their sober expressions giving little away.

  “What is going on here?” Eric asked.

  “What, indeed.” His mother came over and poked him in the chest. “How could you, Eric? How could you keep Miss Baxter out all night when you’re all but betrothed to Lady Patricia?”

  Eric fought to keep his temper in check. He met Sarah’s less than amused visage and silently sent her his strength. “There was never an understanding between myself and Lady Patricia, as you well know, Mother. And as for keeping Miss Baxter for an evening, it was either that or risk her life. She is home now and no harm done.” Eric didn’t miss Richard’s raised brow at his declaration.

  “You must marry, and that is all there is to it,” his grandmother declared almost cheerfully, picking up her needlework.

  “Out of the question,” Sarah spoke up. “I will not be forced into a marriage solely because I was caught in the rain with a gentleman.”

  “I heartily agree with Miss Baxter,” his mother said, nodding.

  Eric inwardly groaned. “Sarah, think of your reputation.” Her jaw set in a stubborn line and Eric looked to her brother for support. Why wasn’t the man saying anything?

  “I have spoken to our guests, Eric, and under the circumstances they have agreed to keep Sarah’s name safe from any scandal. There is no reason for you to marry, unless something happened last night.” His mother raised her eyebrows in question.

  Eric swallowed.

  “Nothing happened,” Sarah said. “We were soaked through and sat in the carriage the whole night freezing. First light, Lord Earnston hitched the horses and brought us home. End of story. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going for a walk.”

  His mother stood and grabbed Sarah�
��s arm. “Not so fast, Miss Baxter. I knew there was a reason I did not like you from the moment we met and I think it’s about time I explain my reasons why.”

  “Don’t you ever speak to Miss Baxter like that again, Mother.” Anger pumped through Eric’s veins at his parent’s rudeness. “I apologize on behalf of her ladyship, Sarah.”

  “Let her speak. She has obviously something to say,” Sarah said, her visage unreadable.

  “You see, Eric, I have come across some very interesting information back in London that I asked my lawyer look into. In fact,” she paused, “I wonder why any of us didn’t do this sooner. But then, people usually take what others say as truth.”

  Sarah lifted her chin yet her face paled. “And what truth is that, my lady?”

  His mother smirked and motioned toward a letter she held in her hand. “I’m just curious if you’ve ever heard of a book called Debrett’s, Miss Baxter?”

  Sarah nodded. “I have, my lady.”

  “I should have looked up your brother the moment I met you. Why, he’s not even a baron is he, and never will be. In fact, there is no record of your family in England at all, and I can prove it.”

  “What are you talking about, Mother? Sarah?” He looked to her but found her staring at Richard, both pale and, if he wasn’t mistaken, worried. “What is this all about, Sarah?”

  “Yes, Miss Baxter. Please do us all a favor and explain who you are?” his mother said.

  “I’m so sorry, Eric,” she said, before fleeing the room.

  “Excuse me.” Eric chased after Sarah to the terrace. He looked over the balustrade and spied her running toward the maze.

  He ran after her, calling out her name, but Sarah kept walking without a hint of acknowledgment.

  Eric ground his teeth and pulled her to a stop just inside the maze’s entrance. He turned her to face him, and at the sight of her tears, he would sooner have a knife thrust in his stomach. Not knowing quite what to do he pulled her into his arms.

  “Don’t, Eric. I don’t deserve your love.”

  He shushed her and kissed the top of her head. “Why would you say such a thing? You do deserve to be loved and loved by me. It is my choice, Sarah.”

  “You don’t understand.”

  Sarah tried to pull free from his grasp, but Eric tightened his hold and kept her against his heart. Where she belonged. “Then explain it to me. Because you are right, I’m at a loss as to why my suit is abhorrent to you. Or why my mother is making up such ridiculous lies.”

  Sarah gasped and pulled back. “Your suit is not abhorrent to me, Eric. It is in fact the opposite. But I cannot marry you.”

  Pain tore through his chest. “Ever?”

  Sarah paused and bit her lip. “I need to be honest with you.”

  “Well then, for God’s sake, hurry up and tell me what is going on.”

  • • •

  “You have something we want.” At his befuddled and increasingly frustrated expression, Sarah knew she could only rip off the truth like a bandage from a wound — quickly.

  “The peculiar your brother treasured is mine.”

  The murderous rage began to shake Eric as the ramifications of her statement broke over him. He pushed her away and ran a hand through his hair. Sarah noted his fingers shook and his face paled. The love she once read in his visage was replaced with a cold mask of hate. An emotion he should feel for her above any other.

  “And you were willing murder and sell yourself like a whore to get it back?”

  “If I told you, you wouldn’t believe me. You need to return it to me, my lord, and leave it at that.”

  “Answer the damn question,” his voice deadly and brooking no argument.

  “I cannot,” she said.

  Eric towered over her, his face close to hers as he gripped her arms only a slight squeeze away from painful. “You will if you want to live, Miss Baxter.”

  She cringed and the truth tumbled out, the words falling over each other. “I’m an archaeologist by trade. We were excavating the area, and I left the mapping device behind. It was a silly mistake. From what our reports told us, your brother had found it. I returned to take it back and made an even bigger mess of things. My father demanded I try again, and so you see, here I am.”

  “Yes, here you are,” he said, his voice devoid of warmth. “What sort of idiot do you think I am, Miss Baxter? Archaeologist? There are no women archaeologists. And certainly not ones digging about with strange peculiars like this.” He gestured to his pocket.

  “Not from your time, perhaps,” she said, looking anywhere but in his eyes.

  “What?”

  It was too late to save herself now. “Richard is not my brother. He is my father’s head archaeologist. My family owns a company called TimeArch, and we specialize in time travel.”

  Eric didn’t try to hide his disbelief at the fantastical tale.

  “We own a home just out of London, near Reading.”

  Eric frowned. “There are no Stanleys in Berkshire.”

  “Not in this time, my lord,” Sarah emphasized.

  Eric took a deep breath and pinned her with his gaze.

  “Did you never wonder at how I just appeared in society? Almost like magic and out of thin air.” Sarah gestured at him. “Your mother can find no mention of our births here in England or abroad. Why do you think that is?”

  Eric glared at her. “Because you, madam, are a very fine actress.”

  She shook her head. “No actress, just not from your time, Eric.” She turned again to head into the maze, praying to hide her shame, lose her entire self, in its twists and turns.

  She took only two steps before his commanding voice rolled over her. “What does the device do?”

  She held out her hand, signaling for the object. Shockingly, he drew it from his coat and slapped it in her palm. He watched amazed as she flicked a hidden latch and it opened, revealing a multitude of button-like objects. She swiped her finger across the screen and the device lit up like a candle. Eric snatched it back, only to toss it to the ground.

  “How does it work?” he asked.

  Sarah picked it up and typed in her passcode. She handed it back and grudgingly he took it. “If you read the screen it’s probably saying that no satellite signal can be found. Which of course is right, as in 1818 there are no satellites in space. But the device would normally locate you, where ever you were in the world and map any area you wish.”

  “You played me, used me to your own ends.” He threw the device and Sarah caught it. “Well, you got what you wanted now, and a good tumble while you were here. Take the damn thing. I never want to see it or you again.”

  No, she wasn’t going to leave the argument there.

  “I did intend to use you at the beginning to gain access to the device, but it certainly is not how it ended. I couldn’t care less about the device, Eric. I only care about you.”

  Eric scoffed and stepped away. “How many men have you fucked to get your way, Miss Baxter?” He laughed, the sound chilling Sarah’s blood. “You were never a virgin, were you? I should have known … you were very apt in your lovemaking.”

  She swiped at a tear. The look of disgust on Eric’s face left her hollow and ashamed. How he must hate her to say such things.

  “How many men have you slept with, madam?”

  She swallowed. “Eric … ”

  “Answer me now, God damn it,” he yelled.

  “No.”

  Eric fisted his hands and tried several times to speak before the words finally came out, hard as a slap across her soul. “The innkeeper. That’s why he recognized you. You were the one.” Eric clasped the sleeve of her dress and ripped it off. He stepped back, reeling at the scar that marked her arm. “The sight of you and what we did together sick
ens me, Miss Baxter. You have until tomorrow morn to get off my land, or I’ll throw the full force of the law at your pretty head. Now, go. I never want to see you again.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Sarah slumped down on the suede lounge in her father’s house and flicked on the TV. A re-run of Oprah discussing lost loves, of all things. She flicked the channel over to the news and stared unseeing at that instead.

  It had been forty-five days since she had left Eric, and she was keenly aware of every sixty-four-thousand-eight-hundred minutes of them as they ticked away. She flicked a switch on the phone beside the lounge and welcomed the dark as the blinds started to close.

  She shut her eyes and pictured Eric. In the quiet, she could almost feel and hear him again.

  The lounge door opened, severing her memories.

  “Sit up, Sarah.” Her father walked into the room and sat down across from her. He stared with an unreadable expression on his face, then sighed.

  “What’s the matter, Father? Has something happened? Is everything okay at TimeArch?” Her father’s continued silence was unnerving, and nerves formed in her stomach.

  “Get dressed and put on some shoes. I have to take you somewhere.” He paused, his face strained. “We need to talk.”

  Sarah watched him stroll outside and then quickly did as she was asked. On the way out the front door she caught a glimpse of her reflection and stopped.

  There were dark rings beneath her eyes and her hair needed washing. She’d lost weight, too, her clothes hanging off her frame.

  Self disgust at her self pity made her cringe. She shouldn’t do this to herself or her family. Sarah grabbed her bag and walked out to the company vehicle parked in the drive, buckling her place in the passenger seat.

  But her fragile composure started to fray as the southern roads became all too familiar. Towns she had passed through in a horse and carriage zoomed past her window. Through the passage of one hundred and ninety four years, their trades and storefronts had changed, and her stomach tightened into a ball of homesick knots.

  Why would her father be cruel enough to drive her to Westerham? Just as Sarah suspected, the car turned and continued toward another even more familiar location. Why in God’s name would her father be taking her to Eric’s ancestral home? How was she to summon the courage to walk through those doors? Her smiling, charismatic, caring, wonderful man would not come out to greet her this day. Her tears fell unchecked until her father, silently acknowledging her grief, passed her his hankie. She didn’t feel any better for it.