Swept Through Time - Time Travel Romance Box Set

by Tamara Gill

  While most of her menagerie napped off the remainder of their day, Buzzy the hamster ran a squeaky few laps on his exercise wheel. Eyebrows slanted into the fiercest scowl yet, Grumsworth said, “Clear the lot of this rubbish by the end of the week. This is a classroom, Miss Gordon—not a gallery, greenhouse, social services bureau or zoo.”

  ***

  “I hate him,” Lucy said on the drive home, tightening her already white-knuckled grip on the wheel. “I hate his dorky black-rimmed glasses and his always-perfect slicked-back hair. And lately, instead of liverwurst, he’s been smelling like Bengay. Oooooh...” for a split second she took her hands from the wheel, twinkling her fingers. “Bengay. Isn’t that a decidedly Yank product?”

  Like she didn’t already have enough on her plate in dealing with the prince and developing some sort of kick-ass presentation to wow her father and all of his associates.

  Correction, she thought, sitting straighter in the Mini’s seat. Her associates. For just as soon as she gave them a peek at her prince in frog’s clothing, they’d adore her.

  A dreamy smile playing across her lips, she imagined that glorious afternoon...

  “In conclusion,” she was saying to the crowd of well over five-hundred of her enraptured fellow scientists. “I believe all of you will find the new species of frog I’ve presented, Prince Wolfe, to be not only a magnificent specimen in and of itself, but an excellent opportunity to revisit places on our continents we’d previously thought thoroughly explored.”

  Thunder. Hail. A stampeding herd of elk. No mere earthly comparison came close to the booming reality of her long awaited cheers and applause. “Bravo! Bravo!”

  Blushing a delicate, charming shade of pink, Lucy bowed.

  “My fabulously clever girl!” Slate Gordon rushed the stage, wrapping her in a celebratory hug. Still gripping her shoulders, staring deeply into her eyes, he said, “I do so love you. Thank you for proving me wrong. Thank you for making me the proudest father on earth.”

  “Oh, Daddy,” she replied, swallowing back tears. “I love you, too.”

  “Darling!” He grasped her hands. “I know this may be premature, but listening to your brilliant speech, I’ve been struck with the most fabulous idea.”

  “Yes?” she responded with a breathy nod.

  Slipping his arm about her shoulders, guiding her offstage to a crush of clamoring reporters and newly made fans, he winked at her. “For now, I’ll let you get back to your adoring crowd, but over dinner, let’s talk about the two of us launching a joint exploration of Myanmar, and then—”

  Lucy slammed on her brakes.

  Hopping pretty as you please smack down the center of the castle lane was a frog.

  Tapping her fingers on the wheel, she watched it hop to the other side, and where at first she’d been annoyed to have had her lovely fantasy interrupted, now she just shook her head and grinned.

  Funny how life changed.

  One day earlier, she’d cursed her poor, beloved frogs and now her love affair had begun anew. Or was it just her love affair with her very own naked frog prince?

  As though conjured by her imagination, the man himself leapt over the castle wall which ran parallel to the road, confidently striding her way!

  Dear Lord.

  Mouth dry, pulse pounding, she licked her lips.

  How, in the course of the day, could she have forgotten the fiercely handsome angle of his stubble-shadowed cheeks or the determined glint in his dark eyes? The way his long black hair served as a utilitarian backdrop to make the breadth of his shoulders and chest that much more surreal?

  Then there was his, um, rather large lower package—which, out of respect for her dear William, she wasn’t about to appraise. Lucy took a nice deep breath.

  Forget anything else she might’ve had on her agenda. Clothing the naked prince jumped to the top of her to-do list!

  He helped himself to her passenger seat. “Good afternoon, Lucy Gordon. How was your day?”

  Much better after seeing your smile.

  Lucy swallowed hard.

  Did he have to sit so close? Close enough that his usual masculine scents combined with her very best gardenia bath beads ignited a slow-burning flame in her belly. Why couldn’t she forget how good his weight had felt crushing her body? Or how he’d rubbed his knee along her inner thigh, insinuating himself into her robe, parting her legs, making the nest between her legs hum.

  Dear Lord!

  “Lucy Gordon?” When he cupped his massive hand to her cheek, it took every ounce of her strength not to lean into his touch. “I find it customary for my subjects to answer direct questions. How was your day?”

  “S-since you asked, awful.”

  “Tell me everything.”

  Back at her cottage, over a hodgepodge meal of scrambled eggs, toast and segments of sweet juicy orange that Wolfe had gone wild for, Lucy taught him to tuck the pieces between his teeth to make goofy orange-skin smiles. She then shared far more than the happenings of her day, including her long-standing gripes with Grumsworth, and how seeing the loneliness and confusion in some of her students’ eyes over being virtually abandoned by their parents reminded her of her own childhood. And how, in making her students’ lives a little happier, she was, child by child, easing her own residual pain, teaching both them and herself that they had done nothing wrong.

  Leaning back in his chair, resting his legs on the seat beside him at the small dining room table, the prince said, “I know you believe otherwise but I was not one of those parents. While I never married the mothers of my babes, I spent much time with my wee ones. They needed for nothing. Not food, clothing, shelter or affection.”

  Placing her hand atop his, stupid, irrational tears welling in her eyes from his surprisingly passion-filled speech, she said, “I’m glad.”

  He bowed his head, then, snatching his hand out from under hers, squeezed it into a white-knuckled fist. “Back to this Grumsworth—would you like me to off him?”

  Lucy wrinkled her nose. “Off him? I don’t understa—oooh.” Yikes! Might she have been better off keeping her big mouth shut? “Um, I’ve heard of psycho cheerleader moms doing their enemies in, but not plain old biology teachers. We’ve never been known for possessing that kind of passion outside of our specific fields of study.”

  Expression lost, he asked, “So you do want me to remove this unpleasant man from your world?”

  “No. I definitely don’t. You might have handled disagreements that way in your time but, in mine, things are a little different.”

  “Meaning, you don’t mind letting people run all over you?”

  “Where did you hear that expression?”

  “From a woman on the picture box. How do you say her name? Ope-rah?”

  “Sure. Oprah. She looks amazing for being way over a hundred, don’t you think? If you’d had her daily therapy sessions back when you were sowing your oats, you might not be in this mess.”

  “What mess?” He took her hand. “From where I sit, life has never looked better.” After a roguish wink, he added, “I heard that turn of phrase during a particularly entertaining piece on the subject of bean dip.”

  Ka-thump. Ka-thump. Ka-thump.

  Could he hear her heart pounding? The prince at his egotistical best was easy enough to resist, but this guy—this prince charming, whoa! The man’s smile made her believe in fairy tales. Especially the kind sure to come true once he returned to his realm and she was declared by her father to be the most brilliant biologist in the world.

  Snatching her hand back to the safety of her lap, Lucy licked her lips. “Bean dip, huh? Wanna try some?”

  “That, and poo-sham.”

  “Poo sham?”

  “The white foaming substance used to freshen female hair.” Reaching across the table to finger strands of her hair, he added, “I saw a man using it in a bathing pool on his woman. Looked like a most agreeable product that I should very much like to try—on you.”

  Che
eks flaming, Lucy sharply looked away, then gulped.

  Reaching for his plate, then hers, she pushed her chair back from the table, aiming for the kitchen, but the prince cut her off at the pass, taking the plates from her hands. “Ope-rah says real men are not afraid to scrub all manner of household items.”

  “Oh, she does, does she?” Eyebrows raised, Lucy slipped the butter and eggs back into the fridge.

  “Aye.” At the sink, over the sounds of running water and the clink of their juice glasses hitting the frying pan she’d used for the eggs, he said, “In my time, twas considered beneath a man of my station to do such menial things.”

  “Oh?” She put the twisty-tie back on the bread.

  “According to this most wise Ope-rah, men must adapt and change. Since after you have declared your eternal love for me, I shall once again lead my people, I felt it wise to conform to this new way of thinking.”

  Rolling her eyes, Lucy reached around him for the red gingham dishcloth hanging from the faucet. He was too much! And speaking of too much—had any man ever had tighter buns?

  Scrubbing a plastic cereal bowl to within an inch of its life, he added, “I will soon be king, you know. I think it best villagers see me as not just their ruler but as a true man of the people.”

  Lucy’s gaze strayed back to his luscious buns. How wrong would it be to roll up her cloth and give ’em a swat?

  “Lucy Gordon?”

  “Mmm-hmm...” Sadly, she realized bun-swatting would be bad—not at all scientific.

  “What do you think of my plan?”

  “What I think is that I have to run a few errands.” She tossed the dishcloth back into the sink, then reached for her keys. “Keep up the good work.” Automatically, she reached to pat his back, then stopped when faced with all of that hot, hard, still gloriously naked muscle. “Um, yeah. Keep up the good work.”

  “You already said that.”

  “I did?” Before he could answer, she ran for the mudroom door.

  ***

  “Something like this, perhaps?” The waxy-complexioned clerk of Rumbold’s Men’s Clothing Emporium on the corner of Lake Street and Saville gestured toward her bosom, acting as if she were buying the sweater for herself. After having initially been offended, she now realized the man’s assumption worked in her favor. No way would Ruth Haweberry get wind of Lucy having been actually been shopping for the prince.

  Fingers to her lips, appraising the fourteenth sweater the clerk had held out for her inspection, she said, “I don’t think so.”

  The nutmeg color was good but the style bad. The V neck somehow screamed modem times yet, out of respect for Wolfe’s royal heritage, she saw him in more of a crewneck ribbed look. Something earthy but not too schlumpy. Something masculine but not too—hand to her forehead, Lucy sighed.

  Listen to her. Going on and on, acting like any of this even mattered.

  The whole point of this expedition was to hide the man’s gorgeous naked back. Period. It didn’t matter if he looked like he’d stepped off of the pages of Men’s Vogue.

  In fact, ew—MV. Way too effeminate for such a rough and ready guy. Wolfe was more of a sports magazine type. But then, no; in picturing that, she envisioned spandex. That didn’t really suit him, either. Maybe something along the lines of British Outdoorsman Quarterly. Not that she’d read it—ever—but he was definitely outdoorsy, and—”

  “Madam? We close in ten minutes.” The clerk held out another sweater, this time in a nubby, mossy green wool with a crewneck. “Will this do?”

  With the prince’s dark eyes, the sweater would be—”Perfect,” she said, already reaching into her purse for her lowest-balance credit card. “I’ll take one of those in every color. All of the boxers we already picked, the jeans, slacks, shoes, belts, and...”

  “The silk lounging pajamas?”

  Heart racing at the thought of Wolfe wearing the black silk bottoms and nothing else, Lucy managed to nod.

  “Very well, then,” the clerk took her card. “I’ll ring these straightaway.”

  “Thanks.”

  Lucy busied herself by sniffing colognes—none of which came close to smelling as good as the prince managed on his own.

  The discreet bell over the shop’s door jingled. Along with a blast of cool night air came a squawky female voice asking, “Lucy Gordon? Is that you?” Ruth Haweberry stepped inside, pulling the door shut. “I was taking my evening constitutional, looked through the window and thought, why, what on earth is our single girl, Lucy, doing in a men’s clothing store?”

  Lucy opened her mouth to answer but Ruth didn’t give her the chance.

  “Inspiration then struck and I knew you must be purchasing a trinket for the duke. But then I thought, no, it isn’t his birthday. Even from outside, I could tell the department you were in was for the big and tall sector of male society—neither of which, big nor tall,” she said with an exaggerated wink, “applies to our fair William. So? Lucy Gordon, tell me, what were you doing in that section of the store?”

  “Well, um, actually I was just looking. You know, with the holidays coming, it’s never too soon to get a head start on shopping.”

  “Madam?” the clerk called from the register. “This card was declined. Do you have another?”

  Cringing, Lucy pulled out the one that really had the lowest balance, handing it to him. The one he returned had a dolphin on it. That was the one with the highest balance. Couldn’t she get anything right—most of all, fabricating a believable fib for Ruth Haweberry?

  “Just looking, eh?” Ruth elbowed her ribs. “I haven’t stumbled upon a juicy secret, have I?”

  “No, no,” Lucy willed the clerk to hurry. “I, um, was, just picking up a few things for my dad. Guess I forgot.”

  Ruth’s eyebrows shot up. “I’ve seen your father on the telly. He’s not big and tall, either.”

  “My, ah, brother is.”

  “Your father mentioned in his last telly special that he only has one child—you.”

  “Yes, well...”

  The clerk said, “Madam, this card will only accept two hundred of the three hundred and forty-seven pounds.”

  “Here,” Lucy shoved two more cards at him. “Try these.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Ruth’s yapper hung wider than the mouth of a five-pound pickle jar.

  “It’s okay,” Lucy assured the beady-eyed woman. “My newly-adopted Ecuadorian brother will reimburse me for these just as soon as he receives them. He much prefers a good British tweed to anything sold in his neck of the woods.”

  Ruth raised her eyebrows a good inch. “Oh?”

  Once her discovery became public, Lucy wouldn’t even need reimbursing by her fictional brother. She’d be rich beyond her wildest dreams—not only financially, but emotionally. Her father and William would adore her, as would Mr. Visa and Mr. MasterCard.

  Granted, this temporary financial black hole wasn’t all that hot for her credit report, but instead of thinking of Wolfe’s new wardrobe as scary overspending, she preferred to view his dashing new duds as an investment in her future. Even having spent less than twenty-four hours sharing her home with the naked prince, she knew that unless she clothed him, her future might not involve fame as a biologist but becoming the prince’s only all-too-willing sex slave!

  “Your father was on the just telly last week.” Ruth drummed her flawlessly manicured red-tipped nails on a sweater table. “Which begs the question, why didn’t he mention your newest family member then? Seems to me you’re creating an awfully elaborate ruse to purchase men’s clothing.”

  “Why do you care?” While the clerk took forever sorting out Lucy’s bill, she raised her chin, meeting Ruth’s narrowed stare with one of her own.

  “I care because, as you well know, Miss Gordon, the duke and I are very old acquaintances. There’s nothing the two of us haven’t shared. How do you think he’d feel if I told him the current object of his affections purchased an obscene amount of cl
othing for an unidentified man?”

  Lucy sighed. “If you must know, all of this is for one of my students, okay? He’s on a scholarship and I’d hate to see the other boys poke fun of him because he hasn’t the proper clothes to wear in those social circles.”

  “Don’t you teach ten-and eleven-year-olds?” Ruth eyed the Big and Tall sign.

  The clerk handed Lucy four receipts. “Have a go at these and we’ll all be on our way.”

  Lucy signed.

  Ruth gaped.

  The clerk yawned.

  Upon finishing the transaction, Lucy snatched the five handled bags the clerk had set to the side of the register, then flashed Ruth a wide smile. “You have a really nice evening. It’s always a pleasure seeing you.”

  “Yes, but—”

  Leaving the woman still staring, Lucy hightailed it for her car, only to practically run down the Reverend Bart. “Slow down, young lady.”

  “Yes, sir. Sorry.”

  “You will be when you run right over the troops. See them?” He pointed to the sidewalk where the only things Lucy saw were a couple of crunched dead leaves and a cigarette butt. “You must be more careful. Without our fine troops, this country will go straight down the loo.”

  “Thank you, sir. I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “See that you do.”

  Tossing her purse and packages on the hood of her Mini, she looked after the tottering old man and his troops.

  Who was to say he wasn’t the sane one?

  After all, she’d just maxed out all of her credit cards clothing a naked medieval frog!

  CHAPTER TEN

  “Thank you, Ruth.” William slid his right hand into his trouser pocket while she rambled on. “Yes, well...I certainly appreciate your call, although I’m sure there’s a quite logical explanation. All right, then...Of course, I completely understand.”