by Meara Platt
Or feel anything, for that matter?
Would Jeremiah ever feel anything for her?
Chapter 4
The din and bustle of London was exciting, Ginny admitted to herself as the Beresford carriage rolled into London around midday and slowly made its way toward Whitby Square and its rows of elegant townhouses in Mayfair. “So many people, it’s a wonder the carriage can move at all,” Ginny remarked, gawking out the window to marvel at the sights and sounds of hawkers selling their wares from rickety wooden carts, ladies and gentlemen from all walks of life hurrying along the street to attend to their chores or business, and dozens of carriages trying to wend their way through them all.
Her father laughed. “I much prefer the country, but town isn’t so bad now that I’ll have my favorite ladies close at hand.”
Her mother poked him in jest. “Oh, and who would those favorite ladies be?”
“Gracie, love, if you don’t know by now,” he said, still laughing, “then you’re dense as a post.”
Ginny studied her parents who were seated on the opposite bench of the carriage from her. They still resembled a young couple in love even though they’d been married for close to twenty five years. “Gracie, love,” is what her father always called her mother. Everyone else referred to her as Lady Gracie, though her actual name was Grace. She was warm and engaging so that everyone who knew her, no matter their social standing, thought of her as one of their dearest friends.
Ginny strove to emulate her mother, for her calm manner was much the same as her mother’s… usually. Not lately however and Jeremiah was squarely to blame for that. She turned into a demented goose whenever he appeared.
“Conor, look,” her mother said as they rounded the corner and entered Whitby Square. “Millie planted fresh flowers in the window boxes. Aren’t they lovely?”
“Lovely,” her father murmured, only he wasn’t looking at the window boxes but at her mother’s beaming smile.
They’d purchased the townhouse five years ago at her mother’s urging, for until she and Lettie became of age to be presented at court, there was little reason to reside in town even though her father was a respected earl of the realm and his presence was required here several times throughout the year. At times, he would stay at his club, but mostly he stayed with his aunt, Lady Frances Wolverton, whose impressive residence was just around the corner from Whitby Square.
Ginny couldn’t wait to see Aunt Frances again. She fervently hoped Lettie and Brynne would be in town as well, although Lettie had indicated in her last letter that they might be delayed. She’d learn more over the course of the week, for she and Lettie corresponded almost every day.
Please, no delays. I need you, Lettie.
She needed to confide in her sister, for both of them had always been able to see Jeremiah. Lettie would understand why Ginny had fallen in love with their guardian angel. Indeed, she was the only one who could understand. Everyone else would think she had lost her senses and ought to be dispatched to Bath for the latest mineral water cures… or locked away in some horrible place that she refused to consider.
Her father took her hand to regain her attention. “Come along, Ginny. We’re here.”
She hopped down the carriage steps and paused a moment to take everything in. She’d forgotten just how full of life this town could be, for everything came at you at once and revived your idle senses. The sense of smell was foremost, for the odors of London were intense. A hot, gusting breeze from the direction of the Thames was the first rather pungent assault.
The noises were the second, for the clatter and squeak of carriages could be heard even in this quiet square. All one ever heard in the countryside was the honk of geese, the low of cattle, and the gentle rustle of leaves as the breeze blew down from the northern mountains and swept across the lakes and valleys.
“Conor, look. We already have an invitation for this evening,” her mother said after they’d entered the elegant front hall and handed their gloves and capes to their butler. Wilmot had greeted them all with as much affection as a dignified butler would dare and then handed her mother a basket of cards. “Frances would like us to join her for supper. Shall I accept?”
“If you’re feeling up to it, my love. How about you, Ginny?”
“I’d love to see Aunt Frances.” She smiled with genuine warmth, not only because she truly was eager to see her, but also because of the way her parents behaved around each other. Her father was a big bear of a man and her mother was slight and slender, but he was soft as melted pudding when it came to his wife.
His daughters, too.
He tweaked her chin. “Then it’s settled. We’ll attend her dinner party. Ginny, your season has officially begun.”
Blech!
She hoped there would not be any eligible bachelors in attendance, she wasn’t quite ready to be witty or charming toward strangers who would pretend to be charmed by her in return. It was too late now to feign fatigue from the journey and decline the invitation.
In any event, she wasn’t a coward.
That wasn’t her problem.
She followed her parents upstairs and retired to her own quarters to wash her hands and face from the dusty journey. Her assigned maid, Millie, was already unpacking her belongings, so she joined in to assist.
A few minutes later, Wilmot sent up tea and apple cakes, and one of the other household maids knocked at her door to inform her that a tub would soon be brought up. “Thank you,” she said and blushed, for every mention on the word ‘tub’ was now a reminder of her humiliating encounter with Jeremiah.
The blush wasn’t so much because he’d seen her naked, but because she was now having the wildest, most unseemly thoughts, wishing that she could see him naked. She didn’t understand why she should feel that way when he appeared to her as a half naked warrior anyway.
Once her gowns were neatly stowed in her armoire, she ate and then took a quick bath. Since Millie and several other maids were still bustling about her bedchamber, she had no fear that Jeremiah would make an inconvenient appearance. No, he always waited for her to be alone before stopping by.
Talking to one’s guardian angel was no light matter. Indeed, it was quite dangerous, for even the loyal household help were superstitious and would believe her deranged or under a witch’s spell if she were ever caught talking to someone they couldn’t see or hear.
Lettie had never quite understood that and would have gotten herself into serious trouble if Brynne hadn’t been there to protect her.
Ginny didn’t have someone like Brynne, an actual living man, to come to her rescue if and when needed, so she’d learned to be cautious on her own.
She’d grown a little too comfortable being on her own, although she wasn’t certain whether having the handsomest angel in the celestial sphere by her side quite counted as being alone.
After scrubbing the dirt off her hair and body, she put on her robe, took brush in hand, and sat beside the fireplace to brush out her wet hair. The light scent of lavender on her skin was so much nicer than the odors of the road.
The maids finished their duties, so she dismissed them with a smile of appreciation and returned to the task of brushing her hair. The mindless chore relaxed her and cleared her mind of all concerns. She yawned and was about to take a nap to refresh herself before the dinner party, when she heard the soft tinkle of bells outside her open window. What could it be?
The tinkle grew louder and now seemed to emanate from inside her chamber.
Confused, she was about to look around when Jeremiah suddenly appeared. She realized what he’d just done and laughed aloud. “You rang the bells to warn me.”
He grinned at her, one of his wickedly seductive grins that left her breathless. “Thought I’d give it a try. Hated it. I’m an angel, not a damn tinkling pixie.”
“No, perish the thought. You’re not cute or pert in any way.” She was still laughing, but clutched her robe tightly to her bosom to seal any inadverten
t gaps, for he had a way of looking at her that completely melted her resistance. In truth, he had a hot way of looking at her that made her want to shed her clothes with unabashed glee and invite him to kiss every inch of her body. Had all women responded to him with such wanton ardor when he’d been in the prime of his life? “You might try a gong next time. That’s sufficiently war-like and alarming.”
She heard the soft brrrk, brrrk of his wings as he leaned close… but never close enough to touch her. Sigh.
“Lavender,” he said in a husky rasp. “I like that scent on your warm skin.”
She didn’t merely swallow, she gulped hard. “You do?”
He nodded. “Are you going to wrap yourself up tight like a mummy every time I see you now?”
“I’m doing no such thing.” She gripped the fabric tighter and struggled to keep her heart steady, an impossibility whenever he was near.
“Your knuckles are turning white.” His breath tickled the loose curls by her ear.
She leaped out of her seat in surprise, for she’d never felt the delicious warmth of his breath before… or almost felt the heat of his lips on her skin. “What just happened?”
He’d already backed away so there was no question of his accidentally touching her. “What are you talking about?”
“Jeremiah,” she said with a soft ache to her voice, “I felt you.”
Frowning, he took another step back because he obviously needed to put some distance between them. “No, you couldn’t have. You shouldn’t even be able to see or hear me.”
She’d never seen him look this worried, not even when summoned to battle. “I know, but we dispelled that notion over twenty-two years ago. Lettie and I have been able to see and hear you since the day we were born. Why is it so surprising that I can feel you now?”
He had yet to actually touch her, but the soft caress of his breath against her ear was quite significant. Monumental, in truth. He had become more than a mere reflection in a mirror or a talking portrait hanging upon a wall, assuming such a thing was possible other than in haunted houses. “What do you think will happen if I touch you?”
“Hell, I don’t know.” He took yet another step back. “I had better get some answers before you attempt anything so foolish.”
She was about to protest, but he was right.
She wasn’t supposed to know he existed. She wasn’t supposed to fall in love with him. His next words simply broke her heart. “Ginny,” he said gently, but with obvious pain behind his words, “I haven’t been touched nor have I touched anyone in three hundred and fifty years. I have no idea what might happen if we tried it now, but I’m not going to do anything that could harm you. You’re all that matters. I have to keep you safe, even if it is from me.”
Her fingers loosened on the ties of her robe that were still firmly clasped in her hand. “Do you want to touch me, Jeremiah?” The air was so charged between them, she was surprised lightning bolts hadn’t struck them as they stood staring at each other.
She waited.
“I’m still a man, Ginny,” he said with such casual dispassion that she wanted to grab him by his wings and shake him with all the force she could muster. “What do you think?”
She frowned at him. “You’re avoiding the real question. I’m not asking about your response to women in general. I want to know how you feel about me, Jeremiah. Do I make your heart flutter?” Hers was in a frenzied whirl of confusion. Decidedly aflutter. “And now that we seem to have crossed yet another plane of impossibility, won’t you tell me who you really are?”
She noted the steel glint in his eyes and knew he would refuse. Why did he have to so closely guard his earthly identity? A muscle twitched in his jaw. His feathers were at it again, brrrk, brrrk. Oh, dear. He was angry. Well, so was she. “Stop ruffling your feathers at me. You’d be curious and asking me the same questions if you didn’t know who I was.”
His eyes darkened to a deep, amber gold. Oh, his eyes! And they were seductively fixed on her. His jaw twitched again and then his mouth widened in a lazy grin. “I’ll think about it.”
“You will?” She wanted to twirl around the room in victorious glee, cheering and whooping hurrah, hurrah while dancing the silliest jig imaginable, for he hadn’t said no this time. He’d said the equivalent of a maybe and that was the next step before a yes.
To her, this was a miraculous victory.
But she merely nodded politely in return and clasped her hands together to keep them from cupping his handsome face and kissing him senseless. “Thank you, Jeremiah. Please do. It would mean a lot to me.”
Chapter 5
Jeremiah returned to the battle he’d left earlier, but he’d been so lost in thoughts of Ginny that he had landed behind enemy lines. Satan’s fire. The girl had him so addled, he couldn’t fly straight anymore. He stifled an oath as he drew his blade and began to swing it with lethal precision at the taloned beasts who were coming at him with sharp teeth bared and talons extended, intent on ripping him to bits.
He stormed his way through the horde of demons standing between him and his fellow angels, his attention fully on the threat before him. Angels weren’t supposed to enjoy battles, but he was a warrior by nature, bound to serve his Lancastrian king during his life and now bound to defend against these minions of evil.
He was never one to seek a fight, but always met the challenge when it was thrust upon him. Still, he felt an emptiness in heart, for he’d died before the battle of Towton had begun, stabbed by traitors, and hadn’t survived to fight the Yorkists.
For many reasons his life had felt unfinished.
He continued to slash and parry his way through the demonic rear guard at the same time his fellow angels pushed back their advance and forced them to flee in disorganized retreat or risk being trapped between him and his fellow angels. As soon as the battle ended, Jeremiah didn’t wait for permission to leave, for he knew where he had to go to think.
He arrived on the open field where the battle of Towton had taken place around three hundred and fifty years ago and walked across the hardened ground where so many soldiers had fallen. All trace of the carnage had long since been washed away. To this day, he didn’t know whether the battle would have ended differently had he survived to fight, but he wasn’t there and the Yorkists had won the day.
There was no changing history.
The grass beneath his feet did not crunch as he trod upon it, a reminder that he was here and yet not. The sun was shining across the field, but he felt nothing of its warmth. That was the problem, angels could not feel sensations or change anything, including the laws of existence.
And yet there was Ginny, quietly shattering every law with effortless grace and causing shock waves to ripple through the heavens, accomplishing all of it before she’d had her afternoon tea.
Nothing could explain her or the way his heart responded to her. But whoever heard of a love across time succeeding? It never happened.
Did it?
“I thought I might find you here,” Archangel Michael said, falling into stride beside him. “Your tactics were brilliant up there, but you left before I could commend you.”
Jeremiah grinned wryly. “It was nothing of the sort. My thoughts were distracted and I landed short.”
“Ah, so it had nothing to do with inspired military planning.”
“No.” He knew the next question would be about Ginny, but he didn’t wish to talk about her. In truth, their situation was perplexing the brightest minds in heaven and no one had any answers for him.
“What are you going to do about the girl?” He matched Jeremiah’s stride as they walked along the Lancastrian battleground. “Peter wants to remove you as her guardian.”
Jeremiah stopped short. “I won’t allow it.”
Michael arched an eyebrow. “You would refuse to obey his order?” His wings flicked in surprise. “Perhaps that’s why he hasn’t done it yet. He’s worried you’ll do just that and then he’ll have to punish yo
u, something he’s loathe to do. But why would you fight him on this? It’s obvious Ginny distresses you. The situation is perilous. A girl able to see her own guardian angel? It’s a dangerous rip in the fabric of time and must be mended.”
“Not if it means I can’t protect her.”
Michael paused to stare at him. “Don’t get too close to this one. She’s only an assignment. What would you gain by remaining as her guardian angel? Another fifty years by her side at most? She’ll live out her life span and then you’ll never see her again. You’d risk all for a mere fifty years, assuming she survives that long? What if she falls in love with someone else and forgets about you? That’s another risk you’d have to bear.”
Hell. Not see Ginny? He’d rather rip out his wings and crash to earth in a spectacular ball of flames. “I don’t care. She’s worth it.”
Michael pursed his lips and said nothing more, so Jeremiah prodded him. “You’ve been around far longer than I have, Michael. You must have seen this happen before. Ginny can’t be the first young woman able to see her guardian angel. And I can’t be the first angel who forms an attachment to his charge. How were these incidents resolved?”
Michael paused another long moment and then slowly nodded. “Most of the time, the guardian angels gave up responsibility for their charges and the problem went away. But not always. There was a time or two when… but it’s a very delicate matter and quite dangerous.”
“Tell me.” Jeremiah’s heart began to pound like a hammer against his chest. “I don’t care about the danger to me. What happened? If I were to attempt the same, would it put Ginny’s life at risk?”
“Perhaps.”
Now Jeremiah was angry. He was used to hearing the facts, forming his own opinion, and decisively acting upon it. Was Michael merely toying with him? “What kind of answer is that?”
“The best one I can give you. Yes, it is dangerous. Yes, it puts her life at risk. But it doesn’t necessarily mean that she will die.” He gazed across the vast, empty field that was still dappled with snow. “Saving her is up to you.”
