I’d be more than pleased to provide him tons of company for his lonely spirit, Jasmin mused in silence, saying aloud, “Well that sounds like a really nice story, Jessymyn; one that we will have to share with our customers. In the meantime, let me help you hang that portrait—maybe right over the fireplace, where everyone can see it? Me, especially?”
Soon, Jasmin found herself back at work on the floor at Chez Victoria, rushing from table to table as an endless line of customers made demands on her services.
“Could we have more tea over here?”
“Could we have more scones over here?”
“Could we have more raspberry jam over here?”
Could I have a life over here? Jasmin felt like barking in kind return—especially at the man who apparently considered it his mission in life to get just a little bit more of that blasted raspberry jam.
“Coming, Sir.” She smiled through gritted teeth at the balding old man who visited the tearoom at least once a week; and always on the days that she was on shift. Lucky her. And to make things worse, today, he seemed unwilling to await her apparently less than timely arrival at the side of his table.
“I’m a goin’ to that front counter myself and get my own raspberry jam,” he told his rather depressed looking wife, who looked as though she would rather be anywhere else, with anyone else, at this point in time.
Swinging his feet out from under his table, he stuck his leg out in front of Jasmin’s food cart, tripping up the cart’s motion and sending several pieces of priceless floral print china flying forward off the crystalline tray that lined its top.
The server’s eyes flew wide as she lunged forward in an impulsive attempt to catch the flying flatware; her feet leaving the floor as her body soared like a rocket across the surface of the cart.
The rocket crashed unceremonious seconds later, as Jasmin’s form flattened atop the cart; her head falling forward to hit the hard brass handle that lined its northern border.
“Fab-ulous,” she muttered, feeling her eyes cross in her head as her entire world went black.
Chapter Two
She was pretty passing sure that she was dead. Dead as a doornail, in point of fact.
And, for that matter, she was loving every minute of it.
Her body relaxed in the soft cushion provided on the surface of a plush luxurious carpet; her senses bathed in a veil of silence that soothed and coddled her addled psyche.
For once, she reasoned, she wasn’t straining her feet and stressing her knees in an endless effort to serve her customers at Chez Victoria. She wasn’t trying to fill an insistent and compelling need for more raspberry jam.
Now she could simply bask, full and free, in an air of peaceful tranquility; laying blissfully motionless as her tired limbs relaxed and luxuriated.
Things got even better, she mused, when she finally did open her eyes; witnessing firsthand what just had to be the vision of an angel.
Aside from being strikingly beautiful, the man before her seemed somehow familiar to her wide, dazed eyes. Immediately, she recognized the tall, muscular frame dressed in the long jacket of azure jacquard, a white satin shirt with a stately high collar, and oh so delightfully tight taupe pantaloons adorned with brass buttons. She also recalled the chiseled face framed by the glorious mane of long, thick ebony hair and featuring carved cheekbones, a cleft chin, and the biggest blue eyes she ever did see.
“It’s the dude in the portrait,” she mused aloud, adding as she reached a curious hand forward, “Only I wasn’t aware that the photo existed in a three dimensional version.”
Her eyes flew wider still, moments later, as her wandering fingers made startling contact with the dark silken locks of a head of hair that seemed all too real in texture.
“What the…” she squeaked out, her words echoed by a deep sonorous voice that resounded hard from the bronzed throat of the gentleman before her.
“For your information, milady, I’m a duke—not a dude,” the man informed her, folding his arms strong and firm before him. “And nobody touches the hair.”
Bolting upright on the floor, Jasmin inspected her surroundings, which seemed eerily familiar; recognizing, immediately, the splendorous interior of the Chez Victoria tea room. She nodded in recognition as she spotted the room’s shining wallpaper of scarlet brocade, and plush ivory carpeting; also noting the glow of brass chandeliers and the spectacle of a hand-painted mural that depicted angels in flight across a gem blue sky.
Yet, in place of the bank of tables that usually came filled with customers waiting to be served, was a long, lace-covered table; topped as it was by a lustrous setting of polished rose print china.
Finally, her confused gaze returned to the man who met her in turn with a quizzical look; one that seemed to question her presence in this space, if not her very sanity.
“Not to be unchivalrous, Miss,” he said finally, adding as he inclined his head in her direction, “but may I ask just what in the blazes you’re doing in my home?”
Standing to her feet, with no small degree of effort, Jasmin hoisted her chin upward as she stared her questioner straight in the eyes.
“May I ask what in the blazes you’re doing in this century?” she returned, making a broad gesture between them. “You’re supposed to be a Victorian lord, one who walked this earth centuries ago. Aren’t you supposed to be—I don’t know—dead or something?”
In lieu of making a verbal reply, the man before her shook his head in a show of blatant confusion, clearly unsure as to how to address the question posed by the evident lunatic who stood in his dining room.
For a full moment, the two just stood there staring at one another as both seemed to struggle to find the right words to address this unbelievable and generally preposterous situation.
“If Webster’s dictionary ever needs a historically preserved etching to accompany their definition of the word ‘awkward,’” she mused, “then a rendering of this here scene would pretty much suffice.”
Chapter Three
Moments later, Jasmin reclined in the lavender cushions of a chair bordering the mysterious long table that now adorned the center of the dining room; sipping hot cinnamon tea from a rose print tea cup.
For once, she reasoned, it was nice to enact the role of the served as opposed to the server. Especially when her server just happened to be so unforgivably hawt that he really should be illegal.
Immediately deciding that his unexpected guest had been most literally knocked silly by her jolting fall, the man who introduced himself as Lord Nathaniel Barrett encouraged the woman—who introduced herself as Jasmin Lawrence—to make herself comfortable in his dining room; pouring her a cup of tea as he encouraged her to share her story.
“How is it that you think you got here, Miss?” he asked her, eyebrows arched in a show of keen curiosity as he took a seat beside her at the table.
Jasmin shrugged.
“The last thing I knew I was just minding my own business, pouring tea and serving scones right here at Chez Victoria, the premiere—well okay, the only—tearoom in Clearview, Florida,” she informed him, adding as she rolled her eyes heavenward, “The grouchy old guy in the Hawaiian shirt, who is always asking for raspberry jam, was in fine form, demanding more of that ever precious, seemingly irreplaceable condiment. Then he decided he could wait no more and invaded my aisle; basically tripping up my food cart and myself in the process. I hit the cart hard and felt myself blacking out, slowly but surely.” She paused here, making a broad gesture around her. “And apparently, during the time that I was ‘out’, so to speak, management got rid of all the customers and elected to remodel.”
Nathaniel looked at her for a long moment, his azure eyes narrowing in a show of confusion as he considered her words.
“Yes, well, I have no earthly wish to contradict a lady,” he said finally, adding with a shrug, “I must point out, however, that this is my home—not a house that belongs to a lady named Victoria. Who is she, anyway?
And while your adorable accent and turn of phrase would indicate that you are indeed from the States, you and I happen to be having this conversation in London—not Florida.”
Jasmin had heard enough.
“I’m sorry, but this is ridiculous,” she insisted, setting aside her tea cup and jumping to her feet as she raced, headfirst, for the expansive bay window that fronted the dining room. “Be prepared to see a whole passel of palm trees, Dude, because your jig is up.”
With these words, she ripped open the gold jacquard curtains that lined and covered the expansive bay window, gasping outright as she revealed a vast emerald green meadow lined with towering stately oak trees that stood tall and proud above luxurious growths of scarlet red roses and lavender lilies; florals that both succored and confused her addled senses.
The greyish hue of the overhead sky cast the overall scene in something of a somber prism; one that did not seem indicative of the lush, glamorous Florida landscape to which Jasmin felt well accustomed. “Where is the parking lot and the oversized, overly ornate sign that reads ‘Chez Victoria?’” she gaped, more to herself than to her watching host. “And while we’re at it, where is the flippin’ sun?”
Nathaniel chuckled.
“Well sadly, Love, we see the sun in London about as often as you see the snow,” he informed her.
Jasmin nodded.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” she decided finally, declaring with a firm nod and in a matter of fact tone, “I just went off like the crazy gal I am and travelled through time.”
Lord Nathaniel Barrett stood as a man of great intellect and certainty. And on this day, he knew one fact to be absolutely true, without as much as a shadow of a doubt.
The woman before him was completely and totally insane. Madder than the proverbial mad hatter, as a matter of fact.
And never had he ever met anyone so out and out adorable.
Although not a classic beauty, the robust lady before him sported a winning smile and a fine flowing mane of dark curly hair; not to mention, sparkling blue eyes that peeked up at him through the prism of clear glass spectacles.
Far more important, in his mind, was the laughter and animation that she brought to his home; a house left quiet and sterile in the wake of what he feared would be an irreplaceable loss.
Two years ago, his dear wife Eugenia had been claimed by the fever; ripped from the arms of her grieving young husband, who, in the wake of her death, had closed himself off in the lonesome confines of the house he’d once called a home.
Deeming himself inconsolable, he had spent many days and nights here behind locked doors; trying to lose himself in the memories of a love that had filled and defined his earthly existence.
“My house felt more like a mausoleum—a beautiful place devoid of life,” he mused now, adding as he aimed a warm beam in the direction of the loveable madwoman, “And then along came Jasmin.”
Aloud he told her, “It seems, Ms. Lawrence, that you have come a very long way to see me today. So now that you have arrived, why not stay a while?”
Chapter Four
Okay, so maybe she wasn’t dead after all. Yet, Jasmin Lawrence was most definitely dreaming.
Riding astride a sleek ivory-coated charger through the vast expanse of an emerald leaved meadow, Jasmin threw her head back as her lovely mount trotted fast and free; making her feel as though she was flying, that somehow, and in some way, she could kiss the sky.
Riding by her side was a handsome companion who rode tall and proud in the polished English saddle of a glorious black stallion; moving as a single radiant constant with the distinguished gentleman who rode tall in the saddle.
“I haven’t been riding in ages,” she released on a bright laugh, letting loose with an uncharacteristic giggle as she bounced up and down in the depths of her smooth polish ebony saddle.
Nathaniel grinned. “I haven’t either. As a matter of fact, it’s been far too long since I did anything remotely enjoyable, and your spirit—it’s just infectious,” he admitted, gracing her with a dazzling smile. “I am so pleased that you’re feeling better. I wonder though, darling. Since we’ve been riding the estate for more than an hour now, would you care to stop for a bite to eat?”
Soon, the couple found themselves sitting at the side of a sparkling pond that sported the presence of pure ivory swans flowing free across its crystalline surface; one that formed the glittery centerpiece of his 100-acre estate.
“Nice place here,” she praised him, seated at the edge of a velvety red blanket as she feasted on the scones, pastries, biscuits and finger sandwiches that made up the menu of their picnic lunch. “I feel like a princess of the palace here.”
Her companion smiled, grabbing hold of a fresh buttered scone and slipping it teasingly between her parted lips.
“You well deserve to be treated like a princess,” he praised her, striking a low courtly bow before her on the blanket. “Consider me your loyal servant, Miss. I am at your disposal.”
Chomping down hearty on the well buttered treat, Jasmin grinned, giddy at this appealing prospect.
“I do believe that I could get used to this idea of being a princess with a way hawt man servant,” she admitted, adding as she raised an inquisitive eyebrow, “Do I get to do a royal wave and everything?”
Nathaniel guffawed outright.
“Go ahead and try love,” he encouraged her. “Give me your very best Victoria.”
Jasmin shrugged.
“Don’t get me wrong, Victoria was a tough chicksta—you gotta love her,” she acknowledged, adding with a grin, “Yet, in perfecting my own personal royal wave, I tend to aim more for the style of Elizabeth I, or—of course—Diana.”
Nathaniel nodded.
“Ah, Elizabeth was indeed a remarkable woman. I see a lot of her in you; her strength, her spirit,” he paused here, adding with a confused frown, “Yet, who, may I ask, is Diana?”
Jasmin chuckled.
“Sorry, I keep forgetting about the whole travelling through time thingy,” she apologized, adding with a warm smile, “Diana was a princess of England who lived, all too briefly, during my time. She was a truly amazing, accomplished woman—and if I can wave only half as gracefully as she did, well, then I’ll be a happy camper.”
Then, without further ado, she lifted her hand and wagged it back and forth in the most pretentious manner feasible.
“So how’s that?” she asked afterward, piercing her host with an adorable smirk.
In lieu of a verbal response, the man before her clutched his chest and rolled his blue eyes heavenward, collapsing on his back as he graced her with a dreamlike smile.
“You, Madame, are both regal and adorable,” he praised her, sitting upright and taking the hand that had delivered this downright disabling wave. “You completely and totally slay me.”
Jasmin grinned, feeling her cheeks flush bright red as she considered these words.
“How is it that a handsome sweetheart such as yourself lives here alone?” she asked him, eyebrows arched in a show of keen curiosity.
Nathaniel sighed.
“Well, at one point, Miss, I shared my estate with my wife, a wonderful woman named Eugenia who I nothing short of adored,” he admitted, his deeply accented voice softening and darkening as he added, “She fell ill two years ago, leaving me a lonesome widow here.”
Jasmin gaped.
“Oh no,” she gasped, grasping Nathaniel’s hand across the blanket as she considered these daunting words. “That’s awful. I’m so sorry, Nathaniel.”
She took in her breath as her handsome companion lifted her hand to his full soft lips and graced her skin with a tender kiss.
“It was indeed awful, Miss. Yet, while I always shall love and remember my dear wife, I feel that I must go on as well,” he revealed, adding as he inclined his head sharp in her direction, “So what about you, Miss? Why does such a bright, funny, totally charming woman remain unmarried?”
Jasmin shrugged.
“Women of my time don’t get married off the instant they clear puberty, and/or the moment that any willing and breathing gent pays their ransom, that is, dowry,” she informed him through gritted teeth. “For now, I want to focus on finding meaningful work in the profession I studied and prepared for in college.” She paused here, adding as she released a frustrated breath, “I love, more than anything, to read and write—so now I’d very much like to add my own classics to the literary canon. Or, at the very least, some stories that people will pay me to tell, so I can finally get down to the business of doing work that I have a passion for—that I know I could do so well, if someone would only give me the chance. I just want to write.”
She fell silent here as she saw his azure eyes come alight with a warm, inspired glow; squeezing his fingers between hers as that charming smile returned in full force.
“So you’re an authoress,” he affirmed, voice barely above a whisper. “A woman of letters. That is so fascinating.” He paused here, leaning forward to close all distance between them. “I will have you know, Miss, that I am a great fan of Miss Austen. And I am constantly seeking out fresh feminine voices at my own publishing house and printing press, Four Gables Press.”
Jasmin started.
“Wait, wut?” she inquired, thinking too late that her last words sounded highly awkward and decidedly less than literary. “You own a publishing company?”
Nathaniel nodded.
“Yes, among others,” he told her, adding with a ludicrous attempt at a casual shrug, “My family owns a number of companies of various sorts—with my favorite being the place that manufactures dreams and prints them on parchment. I love books, dear Jasmin, and I would love to read yours. What, in particular, do you like to write?”
HAMMER (Forsaken Riders MC Romance Book 16) Page 93
