by Gina Lamm
“Oh, do not be so modest, your lordship. You are a wonderful dancer.”
“That is not the issue. I simply—”
Jamie couldn’t take his namby-pamby avoidance of the issue anymore. If he wasn’t man enough to come out and say it, then she’d do it for him. “He doesn’t want to dance with me, Mrs. K. He doesn’t like me.”
You could have heard mice whisper in the walls if Mrs. Knightsbridge wasn’t such a great housekeeper. Mike and Mrs. K both stared at Jamie like she’d sprouted polka-dotted bat wings. She didn’t think it was possible to feel even more uncomfortable, but there Mike was once again, proving her wrong.
“Nonsense, Miss Jamie,” Mrs. K sputtered like an ancient engine. Mike continued staring at Jamie. “His lordship thinks very highly of you and will prove it by aiding in your dance lesson.” Mrs. K pinned him with a glare that dared him to deny it.
He shook his head slightly, composed his face, and drew himself up taller. “Of course, Miss Marten. I would be delighted to assist.” He offered Jamie his hand, and she stared at it, disbelieving.
He doesn’t want to do this. Every time they had ever touched, he’d disappeared immediately afterward like his ass was on fire. The only reason he hadn’t run this time was because Mrs. K had put his masculinity on the line, and as a “gentleman,” he couldn’t desert Jamie without looking like a total asshat. Jamie wished Mrs. K hadn’t put him on the spot like that. Forcing him to be with Jamie certainly wasn’t going to make him like her. But if Jamie ignored him, then she was the bitch, and she’d played that particular role more than enough lately.
Jamie steeled herself and took his offered hand. She wouldn’t pay attention to the strong warmth of his skin on hers. She would studiously ignore the fact that her heart fluttered being close to him again. She would not focus on the way her lips tingled, longing to touch his again. She would get through this damn dance lesson without embarrassing herself if it was the last thing she ever did.
“Excellent.” Mrs. Knightsbridge settled herself on the piano bench, a satisfied smile on her flushed face. As Mike led Jamie to the center of the room, she imagined creative ways to kill the housekeeper. Slowly. Thoroughly. Perhaps with the use of flesh-eating beetles.
“Now, Miss Marten, have you danced before?” Mike looked over at Jamie as they reached the open area of the room.
“Leah talked me into a belly dancing class one time.”
Mike arched a brow at her. “Belly dancing?”
Still holding his hand, Jamie executed a smooth hip circle. Mrs. Knightsbridge gasped with shock.
Mike’s other brow leapt to match the first in height, and his throat worked as he swallowed hard. He might have been fighting a grin. “Ah. Yes. Well, that is not exactly, well, hrm.”
Jamie couldn’t stop the smirk that climbed unbidden to her lips. “Guess that’s not what you were going for, huh?”
“Gentlefolk do not dance in that way, no.”
She rolled her eyes. “Why am I not surprised?”
Mike cleared his throat and began to instruct Jamie in the steps of the cotillion. It reminded her of a complicated grown-up version of Ring Around the Rosie. Lots of skippy little steps and do-si-do-ing and such. She didn’t have the most coordinated feet in the world, but she paid attention, and despite her reluctance, she began to have fun, skipping and hopping and grabbing Mike’s hands at appointed intervals.
Mike was a great teacher, once he stopped acting like she had a contagious fatal illness. They paraded through the music room together, Mrs. Knightsbridge accompanying them on the piano. Jamie laughed aloud when she almost tripped over Mike’s foot. This was fun, the most fun she’d had since being sucked two hundred years into the past.
As Jamie skipped around Mike, she let her eyes linger on him. The strong breadth of his shoulders, the way his tight pants defined his legs, the now-pleasant twinkle in his eyes—they all drew her toward him. When she skipped too close and tripped over him, it was only a little bit an accident.
“Careful, Miss Marten!” He caught her, his strong arms around her middle. The tinkling tune from the piano stopped abruptly.
“Sorry.” Jamie laughed as she looked up into his face. His eyes were still bright with what she hoped was pleasure. Was it her imagination, or did he let his hands linger at her waist?
When Jamie was steady, Mike stepped back, putting distance between them. “Well, you seem to have grasped the basics.” He straightened his waistcoat and cleared his throat.
“Yes,” Mrs. Knightsbridge called in a bright voice. “Miss Jamie has done very well with the cotillion. Now, I think a waltz.” Without missing a beat, she began to play a sweeping song in three-four time.
Jamie stood there and stared at Mike. His face had lost its cheerful expression, and something darker and worried had taken the place of the twinkle in his eyes. He took a faltering half step toward her and stopped.
“You don’t have to waltz with me,” Jamie whispered to him. She didn’t know if he’d hear her over the piano or not. She hoped the disappointment that gripped her chest wasn’t obvious on her face. Why wouldn’t he want to dance with her? Was she really so horrible?
Jamie looked down at her slippered feet, trying hard to swallow the knot of self-loathing that had taken root in her throat. Maybe if she were different, Mike would want her. Maybe Logan wouldn’t have gotten bored with her and left. The only common factor between them was Jamie—and the fact that neither wanted anything to do with her. God, what the hell is so bad about me?
A strong, warm hand suddenly took hers. She looked up through eyes that were curiously teary.
“Dance with me.”
It wasn’t a question; it was a demand from a man that was completely used to having his own way. It didn’t bother her. She let him pull her toward him, and suddenly she felt like Baby in Dirty Dancing. She was in her dance space, and he was in his, but the way that he looked into her eyes made her feel completely possessed by him.
Her heart sped at the way he guided her. His hand on the small of her back burned her. He led her through the swirling steps—one, two, three, one, two, three—spinning her in dizzying circles. Their eyes were locked, their hands clasped, and as she rested her other palm on his muscled shoulder, she didn’t know if she was Jamie Marten, songwriter and self-avowed geek girl from 2012, or Miss Jamie Marten, genteel and refined English miss from 1816.
If she was Miss Marten, and the music room was spinning around her while she was in the arms of a handsome earl, then she might be contemplating the idea of falling head-over-slippers in love with the dashing nobleman.
But if she was Jamie, and the music was winding down and the steps were coming slower, then she should not be imagining anything like that. No matter how delicate and beautiful he made her feel as they twirled like a couple on the top of a music box. No matter how strong his arm felt around her, no matter how her heart beat faster as he pulled her slightly closer to his warmth.
She pulled free from his arms as the last notes floated in the air.
“Thank you for the lesson, Mike.”
Without allowing him to respond, she turned and left the room.
***
“What the devil?” Micah whispered after she disappeared, watching the now-empty doorway as if expecting her to reappear at any moment.
“So sorry, my lord. I’ll go and see to her, shall I?” Mrs. Knightsbridge stood, smoothing her skirts as she crossed the floor.
Micah shook himself inwardly and stepped forward. “Wait, please.”
The housekeeper stopped at his commanding voice, looking at him expectantly.
With a sigh, he shoved his hair back from his forehead. “Did I behave poorly? To Miss Marten, I mean.”
Mrs. Knightsbridge gave a soft smile, her round, pink cheeks and eyes glowing. “No, my dear, I believe you behaved like a gentleman should. I’ll soon set her to rights. Do not worry.”
With no comment about her informal speech, Micah stepped asid
e and allowed Mrs. Knightsbridge to leave the room.
He’d forgotten.
While they were dancing that damned waltz, he’d forgotten all the reasons that he should stay far away from Miss Marten. It had felt good, to hold her thus. To guide her in the steps that were obviously unfamiliar to her, to steady her when she stumbled, to look into her smiling, laughing face and marvel at her clear skin, her thin nose, her full lips. To remember how it had felt to kiss her. And to anticipate doing it much more.
Micah slumped into the chair at the corner of the room. Nonsense. It was all a load of utter nonsense. Miss Lyons was his future, not some maid from the future with laughing eyes and no discernable manners.
He stood and strode from the room. Amberson should be there shortly, and he’d put the secretary to arranging the necessary details for his nuptials. It was time to put this bloody absurdity behind him.
***
Jamie paced through the little garden, Baron trotting at her heels. Her thoughts were swirling faster than she had been in Mike’s arms during the last dance. Why was she doing this to herself? She and Mike could never have anything together. He didn’t want her there. And she wanted to go home. She hadn’t felt clean in days. Her phone’s battery was nearly gone. She’d only turned it on for quick sessions of Fruit Ninja to stave off boredom anyway, but that tiny link to the future was almost extinct. She wanted her toothbrush, her shower, and her weekly stash of comics.
She wasn’t cut out for this world. She couldn’t survive here happily. The walls of the garden seemed to close in on her, and the hairs on the back of her neck prickled, almost like someone was watching her.
“Baron, what do I do?” She flopped down on the stone bench and let the greyhound lean against her as she scratched his ears.
“Miss Jamie, are you well?”
Jamie sighed. Mrs. Knightsbridge was rounding the bend in the path. Jamie should have known the housekeeper wouldn’t allow an escape from the nefarious dance lessons without a good explanation.
“Hey, Mrs. K. I’m fine. Just needed some air.”
Mrs. K motioned for Jamie to scoot over on the bench, and she did so reluctantly. She wasn’t in the mood for a heart-to-heart, but the little woman wasn’t going to take no for an answer apparently.
“He’s been hurt, you know.”
“Who? Mike?” A little thrill of fear shot through Jamie’s chest. “What happened? Did he fall or something when I left the room?”
“Oh no, not now, Miss Jamie. Before.”
“Oh.” Jamie felt stupid for the worried flutter in her heart. “What happened?”
Mrs. K sighed and smoothed her drab brown skirt. “It is a long tale.”
Jamie cut her eyes at the housekeeper. “What am I going to say, I don’t have time because I’m supposed to meet up for a guild run before my international teleconference? Tell me.”
Mrs. K shook her head slightly but complied.
“He had recently inherited the earldom. He took a mistress not long after, a woman named Louisa Maucier. He was young then, not much more than a boy, really, and fancied himself in love with her.”
Jamie crossed her arms and made a face. “Sorry, but I really don’t understand the whole mistress thing.”
Mrs. K looked at her quizzically. “Do men in your time not have needs? Do they all marry before sating their fleshly desires?”
Jamie laughed. “Of course not, it’s just that sex isn’t, well, you’re supposed to care about the person you do it with, unless it’s a one-night stand or something. But even then you’re not obligated to stay with the person; it’s just part of some people’s dating life.” As the words left her mouth, she realized how hypocritical that sounded. In 2012, casual sex wasn’t that big a deal, and she was looking down her nose at Mike for having just that? She sighed. “Sorry. Forget I said that. So, he loved her?”
Mrs. K shook her head and picked at a loose thread on her cuff. “No, not at all. She was very beautiful and very worldly, and she fascinated him. He escorted her to the theatre, to the park, anywhere polite society allowed a gentleman to bring his light o’ love. She was affectionate toward him, but any fool could see that it was a matter of business between them. He was infatuated with her charms, but nothing more lasting than that.”
The knot of jealousy in her stomach that had started when Mrs. K said that he loved Louisa eased a little at that statement. She nodded to the housekeeper, hoping she’d continue.
“After they had been together for nigh on a year, another courtesan began attempting to attract his lordship’s attention. Collette Dubois. She was young, a raven-haired doxy with a vaunted opinion of her own charms. She tried to woo his lordship away from Louisa but was never successful until The Incident.”
Baron whuffed, snuggling under Jamie’s hand like he’d heard the capital letters too and they worried him. Jamie pulled the greyhound closer. “What incident?”
“The Incident,” Mrs. K corrected her pronunciation, “occurred one evening when his lordship escorted Louisa to a dinner party for gentlemen and their paramours. It wasn’t a proper dinner party, not in the best sense, as it was given by Sir Arthur Williams for his mistress, Marilyn Munroe.”
“Oh, I met her.” Mrs. K’s jaw dropped as Jamie continued. “The other day, when I went out with Baron. She was in a carriage with a skinny, rude man. They called me over.”
The housekeeper looked as if she’d eaten a handful of lemons, but she nodded. “Yes, that was Sir Arthur and his mistress. We have discussed the improprieties of that exchange already, and I trust…”
Jamie stopped her with a wave of her hand. “Yes, I know, it was a bad idea. I’m sorry. What happened?”
“Louisa and his lordship arrived at the party, which was by all accounts a rather raucous event. After his lordship procured a glass of wine for Louisa, she suddenly became violently ill. Her limbs shook, she trembled all over. Within an hour, she was dead.
“Mr. Lionel Waites, Collette Dubois’ then protector, accused his lordship of poisoning Louisa’s wine. His lordship denied it, of course. No one should have believed such a wild and baseless accusation, but gossips will talk. Some of the household staff departed after that. None that were worth keeping, of course, but it was quite a surprise when his lordship’s valet disappeared with hardly a word. He’s not found a suitable replacement and so Thornton has been dressing him for quite a while now, poor man.”
Jamie shook her head. Mike was kind of stuck-up, but he wasn’t a murderer. There was no way he’d poisoned Louisa. She hoped the valet was stuck scrubbing chamber pots after that.
“His lordship wasn’t blamed, but there was an inquiry about the affair. For several months he received a scant handful of invitations. He refused to accept the few his true friends delivered. He kept to the house, not going out into company, unwilling to bring more shame onto the earldom. Soon after he finally began accepting invitations again, Collette broke off her association with Mr. Waites, and began to dally outrageously with his lordship. Eventually, he took her as his mistress.”
Mrs. Knightsbridge lost all traces of her normal cheerful expression. She leaned closer as she said, “That Collette was pure poison. Her actions were, at times, most unsettling. It is as if she cares more for coin than a normal creature of her stamp. His lordship became suspicious of her within a month, but he kept the lease on her house for six months after. He didn’t want to cause another scandal, you see. He gave her congé a fortnight ago, when he decided to begin courting Miss Lyons in earnest. His lordship is almost forty now, and must think of begetting an heir, so this courtship was just the thing to end that damaging association.”
Bile rose in Jamie’s throat at the thought of Mike sleeping with that crazy woman, and then marrying that pasty little blond thing she’d seen with him in the carriage. He was supposed to marry blondie and knock her up to get an heir? He didn’t love her. He couldn’t, not the way Jamie had seen him looking at her as they danced. He’d marry and sleep wi
th a woman only to get her pregnant? What a completely disgusting thought.
Jamie stared down at Baron’s back, hoping Mrs. K wouldn’t see the way her worries flitted across her face. “Why are you telling me all this?”
The warmth of Mrs. K’s voice penetrated the chill in Jamie’s heart.
“Because I know you love him.”
Eleven
Jamie jerked her head up, staring at Mrs. Knightsbridge. She was smiling softly, like a mother would. Jamie’s mouth worked silently for a second, as her brain scrambled to catch up with the rest of her.
“Wait, what? I don’t love him!”
The soft smile turned into a knowing grin. Mrs. K leaned over and patted her hand reassuringly. “Of course not, Miss Jamie.”
“I can’t stand him! He’s stuck-up and snobbish and obnoxious, and way too handsome for his own good, and smart and funny and…oh my God.” Jamie clapped a palm over her open mouth.
Mrs. K nodded and rose to her feet. “I’ll leave you to get some more air, dearie. I believe you have some thinking to do.”
The gravel crunched under her feet as she rounded the corner of the path and disappeared in the direction of the house. Baron pulled away from Jamie and trotted after the housekeeper, leaving Jamie completely alone in the spring air of the garden.
She stared at a brilliant yellow clump of buttercups nestled against the base of the budding tree. Love…Mike? Could she really be falling in love with Mike? The thought was, well, not as appalling as she’d imagined it would be.
He infuriated her, and she him. She did everything wrong, and she made him crazy. But then, his eyes when they’d danced, the way he’d stopped her tears with his high-handed demand for a waltz. Was it true? Could she love him?
She stood and paced the length of the path in front of the bench.
If she was falling for Mike, so what? He didn’t love her, and there was no future for them. He had an earldom to take care of, and she…she had to get back where she belonged. She wasn’t cut out for this time and place. She couldn’t spend the rest of her life here. Could I?
