by Lily Silver
“I am working to repair that difficulty, most feverishly. I’ve inquired about nearly every rental in Paris, and most of the hotels during the past two weeks. I’ve walked, nay, limped all over the city trying to find a better situation for us—for you. The hotels are all booked for the exposition. If you had brought us to the correct time period I would have had friends to call upon to assist us or at least offer us temporary shelter in the better neighborhoods.”
So, this whole thing was her fault? Tara ground her teeth to prevent a very nasty comeback from breaking past her lips. Screw you, Lord Dillon.
Thunder boomed above them like a cannon, drowning out everything as the clouds shifted above their roof. Lightening crackled outside the window, sharp and sizzling.
Tara felt a strange sense of release at the sound.
Why? It wasn’t as if she created the thunder or the lightening.
A discreet knock sounded on the thin wooden door.
She moved instinctually to answer it, and true to form, Adrian moved in front of her, putting his hand out, preventing her from seeing who was on the other side. She wanted to smack him, but at the same time, his protectiveness cracked the hastily applied armor she’d cast over her heart. As expected, it was the food. She moved closer to peer over his shoulder. A boy of ten stood there with a wooden crate in his arms. Adrian took the crate and placed it on the table. He removed the covered roasting pan and the wine from the crate and brought it back to the door.
“Give him a tip,” she suggested, and took to leaning against the doorjamb.
Adrian’s eyes narrowed. “I am not his father. Why should I give him a tidbit of wisdom?”
“No, a coin for his efforts. A tip is monetary compensation where I come from. It is four stories of stairs.” Not waiting for a reply, Tara held out her hand expectantly.
Adrian handed the crate to the boy and reached into his trouser pocket. He fished out a coin, a ha’penny, and then another and still a third. Really, three half pennies? she fumed, but held her tongue as he handed his tip to the boy and closed the door in the lad’s shining face.
The scent of roast beef with onions and herbs filled the room. Tara inhaled the delightful aroma and moved to stand at the table. Dinner, alone, in Paris, with her contentious spouse.
Adrian took a seat. He was frowning. Was he waiting for Tara to serve him?
“Excuse me?” Tara arched her brows at him as she opened the lid of the roasting pan and fragrant steam rose from the pot. “Grab the plates and forks behind you, unless you intend to eat with your hands straight from the pot, Lord Dillon.”
He rolled his eyes to the ceiling and then leaned back in the chair to snatch two tin plates and forks from the shelf. The clatter of the metal as the plates landed on the wood table echoed about the room. “Anythin’ else, m’lady?” His terse attempt at a cockney accent was unexpected.
Tara grinned, amused by his quick comeback. “Yes, cups for the wine please, and a knife to slice this wonderful roasted beef.”
Adrian stood and turned to the green open cupboard behind him. He rummaged about in a basket and rattled a sticky drawer until it opened in his search for a knife. With an oath, he moved swiftly to the bedroom and returned with his dagger unsheathed from its leather case.
The blade winked at her in the light of the lowering sun. The dagger was a potent reminder of the past. Of his past, as the dark clad vigilante, Captain Midnight, a rebel leader, and the reason they were forced to flee his country in the first place. His actions had brought them here, yet he would make this situation only about money, or the lack of it.
He came to stand beside her and began slicing chunks of meat for serving.
Tara sat and allowed him to serve her a slice of meat. She poked at the vegetables with her fork and added them one by one to her plate. Adrian moved to the corner were a large covered crock held water for their use. He snatched the towel from the hook, dipped it in the water, and then moved the cloth over his blade to clean it before joining her at the table.
The quiet between them was not peaceful.
Tara had much to say to him, and she didn’t relish his reaction to her words. Best if they just ate first, she thought, as they both studied their plates in silence.
Adrian prized the cork from the wine and poured them each a portion.
“I should warm the water,” Tara stood and moved to the stove. “It can heat while we eat.”
“Why?” Adrian was clearly confused. “Do you plan to take a bath after dinner?”
His question added fuel to her growing impatience. There was so much that Lord Dillon didn’t understand about domestic life. “No. Someone has to wash the dishes every time we eat. If we don’t, it will attract mice or insects. We don’t want that, do we?”
His fork scraped on the tin plate as he scooped up a roasted potato. “No, and yet, these dishes, if one could call them such, are reminiscent of a military issue for soldiers. You should have fine china to dine on. And crystal for your wine, not a scratched and scored tin cup. This wine is like sweetened vinegar. You deserve better, my sweet.”
It’s hard to stay mad at the man when he talks to you like that.
After ladling water into the large pot and setting it on the stove, she returned to the table.
Tara mashed her potato until it was flat on her plate, and took a bite. The flavors of the herbs complimented the starchy vegetable perfectly. She washed it down with a gulp of wine, and took to studying him as she nibbled on the chunk of meat dangling from her fork. Adrian’s attentions were on his plate. The dark wisp of hair cascading over his brow, his silvery grey eyes and those sculpted cheekbones made her sigh inwardly.
You do love him, in spite of his arrogance, in spite of his many faults.
His comment about the tin dishes gave her an opening. “You inherited everything you own, didn’t you? All the furnishings in your castle.”
“That is true.” He looked up from his empty plate, and forked himself another thick slice of roast beef. “Glengarra Castle has been in the Dillon family for many generations. Naturally, some furnishings have been added by successive generations. The tapestries were from the fifteenth and sixteenth centuries, the suits of armor come from the seventeenth, and many of the paintings in mother’s parlor were bought by my grandfather during the early 18th century. Mother bought some new furnishings when she became Lady Dillon, but yes, my dear. I inherited my home and all the furnishings within it.”
“You were born in that castle. And the servants, the furniture, the tapestries, and the bone china were already there, waiting for you to become the lord of it one day.”
“Is there a point to this?” he asked, glancing at her with annoyance.
“Yes.” Tara set down her fork. It clattered against the metal plate. “You’ve complained about everything since we arrived. The bed, the wine, the metal dishes! Did you expect this place to come with crystal, china, a cook and a serving maid? All for eight francs a month?”
“We can buy new dishes if you wish.” He pushed away from the table, glanced down at his old boots and then paced across the room to the window. “We just need to be careful with our funds. No extravagances until I figure out how to access my bank account.”
“I don’t want new dishes.” Tara pushed her plate away with exasperation and turned in her chair, following his agitated movements. “This isn’t about money or things.”
“What do you want? If I can manage it, I will procure it for you.”
Lord Dillon was clearly out of his depth. He expected to go from Dublin to Paris and live as he always had, in luxury, with servants to do all the mundane things for him, like shop for food or cook it. He kept worrying about the shabbiness of their environment. He judged himself on how well he could provide for her. To be fair, that was the expectation of men of his time.
He turned back to the window and leaned out to look down at something in the street below. After a long sigh, Adrian closed the window and stalked back
to the kitchen area. “My apologies. I was not prepared for this situation as I should have been. I should have brought more money with me instead of relying on being able to gain access to the bank after we arrived.”
Now he was blaming himself? Tara wanted a scream in frustration. This wasn’t about whose fault it was that they were in this situation, but rather how they were going to survive it.
“Stop this useless brooding.” Tara stood and started to collect the dishes. “Stop waiting for someone else to bring home dinner and serve it to you. Come, help me with the chores. That’s what people without wealth do. They wash their own damn dishes, empty their own chamber pots and light their own lamps when it gets dark. Come, Captain Midnight, I have need of your assistance in the kitchen.”
His lips curled up in a sardonic half-smile. He looked a little less downcast as he came to stand at the table. Tara directed him to carry the heavy cast iron pot filled halfway with heated water to the table. She turned to the crock in the corner and ladled a few cups of cool water into the pot, and tossed a towel at him. He caught it to his chest.
Adrian sighed. He stepped close and waited for her to hand him the first item to dry.
“Another thing,” Tara said as gently as she could. “Keep in mind that before I met you, I was very independent. I may have seemed like I needed tending when you first found me. But to be honest, I had just arrived from the future, to your era. I was …” How to explain it? “I was uncertain, yes, that’s it. I was uncertain and disoriented. Everything was so different than what I was accustomed to in my own time. I was a little dazed, and so, I let you take care of me.”
Adrian took the plate from her and began drying it. “It is my responsibility to provide for my wife and my family. It is a man’s world, and a man’s calling to protect his loved ones from the cares of the world outside their home.”
Tara fumbled in the water for the fork at the bottom of the pan. Her arm was red from the hot water. At last, she clutched it and brushed over it with her cloth. “I’m not a debutante from your era seeking a husband to take care of me. I come from a place when women work alongside men at the same jobs. Women are bankers, lawyers and doctors. We go to college in the future. I lived by myself, paid my own bills, and drove myself everywhere. I answered to no one but me.”
“It sounds very lonely to me. And difficult.” His hand touched her back, and his palm traced up and down her spine. Adrian stood so close, and his whisper soft voice did things to her that she didn’t like to acknowledge as it made her feel weak and completely under his sway.
Tara lifted her hand from the water and pushed a stray lock of hair from her brow. The brush of her hot hand left a trail of moisture over her left eye. “It was lonely. But if I were married, my husband and I would have both worked and come home, share dinner,”
“And wash dishes together?” His hand was no longer on her back. He was cupping her butt.
“Yes.” It was only a little lie. Some men in the future might do the dishes, but not all. He didn’t need to know that, and she was trying to make a point. “I’m not saying I wish to go back to that time, but I’m never going to become a docile little house-pet awaiting your permission to take a walk. If that is what you require in a wife, then you’ve made a mistake, Lord Dillon. You never should have convinced me to marry you.”
“I see.” His hand was removed from her backside. “Do you regret marrying me?”
“No!” God, he was exasperating. “I love you. I said yes, even though you pushed me to make the decision within days of meeting you. You were so charming I fell in love with you quickly after we said our vows.” Tara dried her hands and wrapped her arms about his waist, holding him to prevent his retreat. “I can’t imagine my life without you now.”
He was perplexed. Nevertheless, his arms wound about Tara’s hips and he drew her close. The soft caress of his lips brought a sweet rush of pleasure, telling her he loved her.
Tara leaned into him and savored their kiss. There had been too few kisses of late.
He sighed and drew his mouth away. Tara felt the loss as her lips tingled and called out for more of this sweetness between them. Adrian’s brow pressed against hers as he gazed into her eyes. “Tara, what is it you want from me?”
Tara let her hands move up to tangle in his hair, and then dropped them to rest on the back of his neck. “I need you to stop being so controlling. Don’t dictate orders to me and scold me for not behaving like an eighteenth century woman. It’s stifling. I feel like you’d prefer to keep me on a leash, like a dog, and you expect me to heel at your side.”
Adrian frowned. His hand snaked up and a forefinger traced the lips swollen from his kiss. “That is a harsh way to describe my wish to protect you. You are not a dog. You are infinitely more precious.”
She fought the urge to smile. She wasn’t finished. If they were to work out their differences, he had to understand what those differences were. “And instead of judging Gisele and damning her as an undesirable acquaintance out of hand, why not try to understand her situation? She’s alone. She has no one to help her better her life. She’s working at a dance hall just to eat, and to pay for the rent. Try to understand how people who are not born to inherit a castle and everything in it actually have to struggle to get by. If you don’t like the neighborhood, why not do something to help make it a better place. Not everyone can move away from here.”
“I will try. I would not have you leave me because you deem me harsh and arrogant. I will try, Tara. I will try to do what you ask. That is all I can promise.”
“Trying is good.” Tara pressed her cheek against his chest, hugging him with all of her strength. He was willing to change. That was more than most women could hope for, even in the twenty-first century. “Just don’t order everyone about and expect things to appear out of thin air. Buy paper and a pen if you want me to leave you notes about where I’ve gone. But don’t expect me to wait around to ask your permission to go out.”
“I could not bear to lose you.” His lips moved across the top of her head.
“Well, you can’t keep me in a box like a precious jewel. I will go out shopping or sight-seeing as I please, but I will always come back to you.”
Chapter Eight
He would not be satisfied with kisses and mere promises tonight.
Adrian needed her, desperately. He needed to possess Tara, hold on to her. She was his only anchor in this new time. His hand moved to loosen the dress lacings in the back. Her bodice dipped in front, giving him a perfect look at her snowy white breasts. His mouth longed to tease those pretty pink tips, to bring them to attention and make them as hard as he was at the moment.
He cupped a lovely orb in his hand and kissed her, deeply. His tongue probed her soft, moist mouth, making the heat flare and his cock harden until it pained him.
“Wait.” Tara was pushing him away. “Not tonight.”
“Yes, tonight. I need you, feel my strength if you dare.” He slid her dress down to reveal a white shoulder, and moved his lips there to worship the soft, creamy flesh.
“I want you, I do, but we can’t make love at the moment.”
Damn it, she was a persistent little minx. All this talk, as he’d patiently endured her lecturing for the past hour, and she would deny him the sweet succor of her flesh?
Adrian lifted her about the waist and carried her into their room. He slammed the door with his boot, making a statement. Let her complain all she wanted about equality and sharing responsibilities in their relationship. There was one area that he would not loosen his grip, in bed. A man could only endure so much managing from a woman, but the line was drawn sharply when it came to sexual pleasure. “You will not regret it, I promise, sweetling.”
He plopped her on the bed. She bounced a little, and actually giggled at the action. Taking her amused outburst for surrender to his masculine charms, he removed his shirt, and his boots, eager to join her there.
As soon as he was lying on his side,
facing her, with his hand inching up her skirt, Tara’s elegant hand pushed at his chest.
“No, we can’t.”
“Why not?” This was no longer amusing. Adrian felt the lust in his blood give way to anger at her refusal.
“I’m still bleeding a little. Think of it as being my time of month. Riley said it would last about two weeks, so give it a couple days.”
“I don’t care.” He didn’t. As long as he didn’t have to see the blood, he could manage quite well. “I won’t hurt you, I promise.” Adrian bent his head to kiss that soft spot where her neck and shoulder met. It was her weak spot—one of them.
“I do care. It will be a nasty mess in the bed, the sheets, my dress, me, and on you!” Tara sat up slightly, still pushing at his bare chest with one hand. “And someone will have to wash those sheets. Trust me, laundry day is a back breaking chore in this time.”
“I’ll help you,” he said, meaning every word. “We’ll do it together, as we did with the dishes.” His hand moved up her leg, across the stocking that should have been silk, but was not. He’d buy her silk. Tara deserved to wear only silk against her luscious skin.
“Sure you will,” Tara breathed. It sounded more like a hiss. “Here now, stop trying to distract me with empty promises. I didn’t say I wouldn’t take care of you.” Her hand moved across the fabric of his new trousers, along his thigh to cup his erection.
It was maddening and exhilarating at the same time. Tara’s hand clutched him through the soft material, making him ache for her all the more. She stroked him with confidence. His breath hitched, and his mind lost the will to argue the finer points of lovemaking or laundry with her.
“Lie back, my love, let me ease you and bring you the release you crave.”
