Erato arched a brow. “So she’s in love with her former enemy?”
Clio smiled appreciatively.
“I love complications.”
“Oh, I do too, Erato.” Clio took a large inhalation, then gently shook Erva’s shoulder, while Erato pulled more blonde hair from the mortal’s face. “Waky, waky, little historian.”
Erva moaned, but didn’t open her eyes.
Erato leaned forward until she was a couple inches from Erva’s face, then screamed, “Oy! Wake up!”
Erva sat up with a start, fists swinging, her eyes hardly open enough to see.
“Oh, I like her. She’s a fighter,” Erato said.
“I know. She’s quite deserving of this.”
Erva looked from one muse to the other in blurry-eyed wonder. “I’m dreaming.”
Clio chuckled while she shook her head. “No, dear girl. I’m afraid you’re not.”
“Are you going to rob me then? In togas?”
Erato giggled. “The only thing I like that you own are all those thongs. You’re a bit of a randy girl underneath the nerdy historian exterior, aren’t you?”
“You know what kind of underwear I wear? Are you Homeland Security? Please don’t waterboard me.”
Erato turned to her sister. “She’s funny too. I really like her.”
Clio nodded and found Erva’s slender hands. After placing them in hers, she said, “Sweet girl, you’re still drunk and think you’re dreaming. But you’re not. You’re going to wake in a different century, in a different town too. I hope you like New York City in 1776.”
“What’s her boyfriend’s name?” Erato asked.
“General William Hill.”
Erva flinched. “What? Why are you talking about him?”
Erato snickered. “Look. She’s defensive. She’s so cute about him!”
Erva tried to retract from Clio, but Clio was much too strong. She held the human in place. “I’ve arranged for everything. You will be staying with him. You can ask him anything you want to know. You will have a glimpse of what life was like for him. You will then return here, back to Boston in your time, and write about it. You’re the only one who has done him justice. But I need you to write more and get it out to the world. He was a hero, but is only known as a villain. Or lazy, at best. He was neither, as you well know. You will become his champion.”
Erva swallowed and shook her head. “I don’t—”
But then Clio released one of her hands, and with a snap Erva instantly fell back asleep.
Both Clio and Erato stood and watched the human.
“When she wakes,” Erato said, “she’ll have one hades of a headache.”
Clio smiled. “She’ll have much more than that.”
* * *
Chapter One
* * *
In fact it is Brooklyn, 12th day of September in the year of the Lord 1776
A scream rent through the manor, much the way a musket shot could whiz by. It was beyond startling. It crawled into General Lord William Hill’s skin and settled there, forcing him to repress a grimace, while he raced to his chamber’s door. Unlatching it with a jerk, he rushed into the elaborately decorated yet stark white hallway, to be met by two maids and his own man of business racing toward him.
“Sir, I—” Paul, Will’s personal man, stammered.
Muffled sounds emerged from the closed door across from his own. Surely Paul hadn’t put the visiting lady so close to him? For some odd reason her letter of introduction and even her entrance into his rented house seemed beyond his recollection. He knew she was to stay with him, but much more than that he couldn’t remember.
Will stared at the door as he heard a husky woman’s voice repeat, “No, no, no...oh no.”
When had she arrived? At the dead of night?
It didn’t matter. His guest was obviously in need of something.
He looked down to the eldest of the maids. “Mrs. Jacobs, would you please see to our visitor. I will gladly assist in any way.” Formalities being what they were, he couldn’t barge into the strange woman’s chamber. Although he wanted to. The frantic way her silky voice kept repeating the word “no” made him want to run to her.
Mrs. Jacobs nodded, quietly knocked, then quickly entered the chamber, closing the door behind her.
Will heard a gasp, before Mrs. Jacobs’s hushed Irish brogue. “Lady Ferguson, is everything all right?”
Silence.
“Dear me, you look affright, ma’am. Where is your maid? I might seek her for your—”
“I don’t have a maid. At least—I don’t think I have a maid.”
That was odd. Why didn’t the lady bring her own maidservants? In fact, Will thought the younger of the maids, the one standing beside him still, belonged to the lady. He didn’t recognize the tall woman who seemed not at all perturbed by the lady’s distress.
Lady Ferguson’s lowered voice asked, “What—what’s the date?”
Silence again.
Will was about to yell through the door when he heard Mrs. Jacobs finally tell her. The lady gasped again.
He couldn’t stand idly by while the lady was obviously upset. But he couldn’t break down the door either. Or could he? Finally, he relented to just shouting through the damned thing.
“Does the lady need my assistance?”
“Does the lady need my lord’s assistance?” Mrs. Jacobs almost parroted.
Silence once more.
That was it! Although Will by nature was a taciturn man, he would never let a woman wait for help if he was close by. He didn’t think, but burst through the door, forgetting the latch and all.
Wood splintered around him, which made him momentarily distracted by his tactless efforts. But the goddess standing in the early morning’s sun, letting dandelion beams bounce off her long, loose, light blonde hair, took him aback. He didn’t see her bed, the floor, the windows, nothing, other than the vision before him. She had fashioned a bed sheet into an odd toga around her thin frame and was most decidedly uncovered. Will easily made out one of her ankles, a thoroughly feminine calf, one shoulder, and just the slightest wisp of a waist. The sight of her made him realize why the Greeks and Romans worshiped female deities. He’d bow low to her.
If he weren't thoroughly humiliated by his antics, that is.
She, for her part, didn’t seem affronted that he stared at her in her Greek garb but gazed upon him with the tiniest trace of a smile on her full pink lips, as if surprised, but happily so.
“It’s you,” she whispered.
He swallowed and looked at the floor. Ah, there was a floor in her room, and it was a dark oak. Staring at a notch in the wood, he forced his eyes to stay there. “I beg your pardon, my lady. I—I fear my anxiety at knowing what disturbed you got the better of me.”
Slowly he tried to walk backwards from the wholly lovely image, from her.
“Were you reading your correspondence? It’s the morning. Isn’t that what you do first thing?”
He halted, wondering about the odd question. Not being able to help himself, he stole another look at her. She bit her lower lip, as if confused or mayhap humiliated.
“Yes,” he said slowly. His voice rasped. He realized then that many people read their letters in the morning, and she was perhaps trying to make small talk. But of all the bloody times, when he’d like to step closer to her, only a foot away to behold her better. Nay, perhaps six inches. Two?
Will swallowed again.
“Heavens, just look what you’ve done to this door, my lord,” Mrs. Jacobs reproached.
He turned and saw the damage. The lady would never be able to close her door. He looked at Paul still in the hallway. “Please see to a carpenter immediately. The lady needs this fixed.”
Paul blinked, his dark brows cast down for a second, then he bowed. “Yes, my lord,” and left before Will could say anything further. That was why he preferred Paul. His man of business seemed to understand him better than most. But that look
Paul had given him a moment before he’d left...it was just on the cusp of incredulous.
Indeed, Will surmised, he was acting like an idiot, breaking through doors for a lady. Who did he think he was? Some knight in shining armor, come to rescue the damsel? No, he told himself, he’d never amount to something so virtuous, not after all he’d done. Or didn’t do, in his case.
Mrs. Jacobs moved beside him, offering her unflappable calm. “My lord, seeing as how the lady’s not...attired, perhaps you could visit later? I think her fine now.” Mrs. Jacobs’s spirited eyes danced as she leaned even closer, then whispered conspiratorially, “Just your presence appeased the lady. I will dress her and have her ready for you soon.”
Will blinked and nodded, unsure what to make of Mrs. Jacobs, of that comment, as if she were presenting their guest to him like a...like she was a...Lord, what was happening with his staff—and him!—this day?
He’d have to leave. After all, the lady was naked. Damnation.
He wouldn’t turn back to her, but said to the broken door, “I hope all is well with you, my lady. When...after...perhaps in a few...minutes...an hour, we may eat? Breakfast?” God, he hated how he stammered when nervous.
“Yes, I’d like—oh! But I don’t have anything to wear.”
He spun back toward her. It hadn’t been a good idea, for there she was, beautiful creature, bedecked with the sun, looking even more radiant than just moments before. Her cheeks took on the heat of spring’s cherry blossoms, and he wanted nothing more than to touch her visage.
Mrs. Jacobs opened a bureau. Silks of varying colors and woman’s linens were stacked or neatly hung.
Lady Ferguson blinked at the dresses. “Are those mine?”
Mrs. Jacobs nodded. “I would think so, my lady. My lord doesn’t wear this kind of finery.”
The lady giggled and drew delicate fingertips to her chest.
From the feminine chuckle to the toga, images floated behind Will’s eyes, making him feel too hot. His solar plexus exploded with aching pleasure. Lord, he was already infatuated. That was so like him to be attracted to a woman, a glorious one at that, who more than likely would never look at him as he did at her. She was divine. He was an old army hand, scarred in so many ways. At only thirty-four, he felt his age well beyond his years. Not necessarily from warring, but because love had never been kind to him.
It was this thought that gave him fortitude. He could finally turn from the vixen and trudge his way to the door. There, he said, “At your leisure, my lady. We will have breakfast whenever it suits you. Take your time.”
He didn’t wait for an answer, but found a nearby book and placed it on the inside of her door. With the weight of the novel wedged against the broken wood, the door hinged as shut as it ever would be. In the hallway he glanced at the maid before him, the one he didn’t recognize.
He tried to brush past but could have sworn he’d heard her say, “The lady is quite fetching, eh?”
“Pardon?” he asked incensed.
“The curdled cream, would you like me to fetch it for breakfast?”
He sighed and nodded. “Thank you.”
The maid left with a wide grin, and he could have sworn he’d smelled lavenders in her wake. Mediterranean lavenders.
Award-winning, Enemy of Mine is FREE! Simply click HERE!
Also by Red L. Jameson
The Glimpse Time Travel Series
Enemy of Mine, Book 1
Highlander of Mine, Book 2
Cowboy of Mine, Book 3
Duchess of Mine, Book 4
* * *
With These Wings Series
Wing These Wings, Book 1
* * *
Anthology
Finder of Lost Loves
* * *
Titles by Red L. Jameson written as L. B. Joramo
The Immortal American Series
The Immortal American
The Bones of War
Acknowledgments
Thank you to Obsidian Dawn and Deviant Art!
All things Apple®
Edgar Allan Poe
Shakespeare
Wuthering Heights
Great Expectations and Oliver Twist
The Big Bang Theory
Metallica
Game of Thrones
Dr.C. Adrian Heidenreich for all things anthropological
* * *
Thank you to Lana Williams, Jennifer Oliver, Elaine Bedigian, Mira Noire, Carol Eastman, Jennifer Brady, Jamie Reynolds, and my supportive friends and family!
About the Author
Red L. Jameson is an award-winning and multi-published author. She writes in many genres. Her pen name, L. B. Joramo, includes the odd combination of historical and paranormal for the Immortal American Series. However, it is under her “Red” name, her nickname too, where all her stories are strongly laced with love, including contemporary, historical, time-travel, paranormal, and erotic romance. Red lives in the wilds of Montana with her family and a few too many animals, and is currently working on her next novel that she hopes will make her readers laugh, cry, think, and fall in love.
Please feel free to sign up for her email list, where she shares her latest releases or rambles about other books HERE
You can also contact Red at…
@RedLJameson
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www.redljameson.com
[email protected]
For Lana…
Without your continual encouragement and support, I’d still be writing only for myself. And probably writing in a cave too.
Shine: Wild Love Series Page 23
