by Summer Devon
*
Wimble, looking weary and rumpled, came to the dining room to announce that the undertaker had arrived. “The coroner has a few questions for you, ma’am. I neglected to mention Mr. White’s presence here. I said that the friend of the family had helped and then departed earlier.”
Eliza nodded gratefully. “Yes. It’s best to end this ugly episode quickly. Thank you.”
She met the gentlemen in her sitting room where one held his exquisitely polished elaborate top hat. Even at this hour of the night the undertaker bothered with the black plumes.
After offering them refreshments that were politely declined, Eliza sat at the edge of a chair and managed to prevaricate and tell near lies, starting with denying knowledge of the man’s real name. “He called himself Iron or perhaps Steele, but I believe he was a madman who’d been stalking me. He came to me with strange stories and when I asked him to leave, he rushed out of the house into the night. A man passing by discovered him and I asked him and my late husband’s friend, Mr. White, for help.”
No one questioned her story and the body was quietly removed from her house.
After the house emptied and the servants at last retired to bed, Jas left the library where he’d waited. He fetched his waistcoat and jacket from the spare room.
Eliza met him at the front door. “Where are you going?”
“It’s foggy, but I should be able to find my way back to the inn.”
“No, stay. Please. It is rather too late for you to make protests about appearances. Come to my room and remind me why I would marry an imposter who dropped in from the future.” She tried to adopt a light tone, though she was in desperate need for the security she only felt in his arms.
Jas’ hands, which had been buttoning his waistcoat, stilled. “And have Molly find us in bed in a few hours? That’s not a good idea.”
“We shall bolt the door. Come, sir. Revert to your old ways for this one night. We’ll get a special license as soon as may be. I’m wealthy enough to purchase several.”
As they made their way up the stairs, Eliza remembered all the steep hills they’d climbed on the peninsula. Her heart filled with the urge to sing or laugh aloud or behave in some other absurdly exultant manner. She suddenly stopped and turned to him.
“Wait.” She leaned toward his ear and, unable to restrain the glee, whispered, “I believe it’s best if you’ve been Mr. Sandton all along, but had to take the name White. Perhaps you’ve been working secretly for Arthur Wellesley—Lord Wellington, now. Perhaps the real British agents might take exception to such a tale? Hmmm. It is a plausible fiction, but we could not brunt it about, could we? A shame since certainly Cousin John would adore it.
“Ah! If you don’t like that farradiddle, perhaps you took the name White because…oh, because a primitive tribe from the continent you were visiting have put a bounty on your head and you must lead your life in disguise… No? I daresay sometime before teatime tomorrow we shall find a story that will do the trick.” She couldn’t stop the perverse impulse that made her add, “You shall have to adopt that daughter of yours of course.”
Ignoring the awkward angle, he dragged her to him for a kiss. Oh it felt so perfect to touch Jas again.
Jas pulled away with a small sound of regret. He shook his head. “Damn. I was going to say something but you’ve made me forget what it was. The feel of you—just the sight of you, Eliza, wipes my mind clean. Good thing I’m about to be a new man altogether, eh?”
She returned his grin and then quickly climbed the stairs.
Epilogue
Jas sat in bed, his thigh pressed against his wife’s backside. The windows of the large bed chamber had been thrown open and a soft breeze laden with the scent of flowers filled the room. Jas sniffed happily as he listened to the distant hoot of an owl and the bark of some other animal. Even after several months, the country was still endlessly fascinating to him. Even in the dead of night.
“The first was an owl, I think,” he announced to his wife. “But was that the yip a fox?”
“Hmm. Maybe. Yes.” In the dim light of two candles, Eliza composed a letter to a girlhood friend. She sat on the bed with her feet tucked under her, leaning over a portable desk.
He sat up and looked over her shoulder. “You write so quickly,” he commented with a grin. “And how can you contrive to write so even?”
She pursed her lips and stared down at the paper, ignoring the reference to his favorite author. “Jas, do you suppose I could change events by changing my letter to her? Couldn’t you appear earlier in my life and woo me? I fear I am quite conventional despite your best efforts. I should have liked being wooed.” She swatted his hand away. “No, you must stop or the ink shall spill.”
She straightened up and stared down at the letter. “And my father. I would save him if I could.”
He stroked a forefinger across her cheek. “I warn you, ignore the whole squirrelly mess of time. Back and forth and back. I’ve only gone one way, as far as I can tell, but I know it’s worse than seasickness. As the old man said, ‘That way madness lies. Let me shun that!’”
She shifted to look at him, distracted at last. “Lear? You have the sonnets, I know. But your time knows—will know Shakespeare’s plays?”
“Certainly. And I’ve seen some of his plays since I’ve ended up stranded here. Those alone almost make the privations worth it.”
Her smile broadened. ”Wretch,” she muttered. “Privations indeed.” She lightly flicked the end of her quill across his ear, then looked down at the paper again.
“But my father. Do I dare try, Jas?”
“Oh love, do what you want. After all I’ve said and done, I don’t believe we can change a thing, no matter what we try. But don’t ask me. I broke all the rules and won the game. No, I don’t give a damn about following the Department rules anymore.”
They looked at one another.
She shook her head sadly. “Madame Blanro.”
“Yes, that’s true,” he said, understanding her meaning. He carefully reached over and ran his palm gently across the frown that creased her forehead. “Maybe you’re right. We should stick as closely to what we have lived as possible.”
But then he wore a frown as he slowly added, “No wait. I remember something important. You’ve got to hold on to the story of the stranger in Spain. Time agents are not supposed to make an impression on the natives. Eh, stop laughing, woman. I told you I was strictly amateur. One of my trainers mentioned that a ‘mysterious stranger’ mentioned in letters is some kind of tag for the Department’s searches.”
The way they seemed to read one another’s minds was proved when he then talked about her other main worry. Maggie. “But I don’t think we have to be so careful with little Magpie. I scanned all of the CR’s records and I’m fairly sure that in a couple of generations there will be an attic fire that wipes out all sorts of information. That and a flood at the church where we got married is how your maiden name got lost—although come to think of it, Peasnettle was the name that got lost…gets lost…no, will get lost.
“I’ve decided it all means that we don’t have to fret, er worry, about knowing too much and perhaps tell Maggie I’m her real father. I think we can live as messily and happily as we wish and let history tidy up after us.”
“After us.” Her voice trembled as she asked, “Will the CR tell us more? Do you know exactly when we die?”
“I did at one point but I’m happy to say I have forgotten. Any time I stumble across reference to this era or any later history, I delete it.” He kissed her shoulder. “Especially the tips that allow us to lead such a grand life. Seems more like robbery now that I am an official citizen of the time.”
“Do you remember nothing? I’m too curious not to ask. What else?”
“You are obscenely rich for the rest of our lives and you tend to give huge amounts of money away. And we have a long marriage. And more children. You are—”
She put her hand flat
over his mouth. “I’ve changed my mind. Do not speak another word. I believe I should not enjoy your too wholesome, well-ordered world you have described to me. All the devices run that world and I welcome some surprises.”
“Believe me, in that world there are… Eh, damn…will be plenty of surprises even with all of those devices for information and measuring. Ah well, at least I have the good old CR. I’m too fond of the thing to burn it until it’s crumbled to bits.”
Eliza sanded the second page of her letter, then gently waved it. Jas had insisted she take the time to write a long note to her dear school friend, without crossing the lines.
When she was done, she reached for his shoulders and pulled him to her for a tender, lingering kiss. She sighed and rested her forehead against his. “Use your brain or your CR to tell us how we bring you into good flavor with society. Aunt Carolyn’s last letter mentioned she overheard yet another tabby call you a fortune hunter.”
He stopped her mouth with another kiss. “Eh, as if I gave a damn,” he whispered, his lips still brushing hers.
His light touch distracted her but she persisted. “Yes, but I heartily dislike hearing you maligned.”
He brushed his lips along her neck, then worked his way over to her mouth again. After another long, delicious and lazy kiss, Jas pulled away and pensively remarked, “Simon.”
Liza burst into laughter. “My kiss reminds you of my uncle? Oh what a come down.”
He propped himself up on an elbow facing her. “We’ll feed the old, er, blowhard information again. Worked fairly well first time ’round with your James Sandton Gentleman Traveler and Warrior scheme.”
“Go on,” said Eliza, wondering if she trusted the innocent clear-blue-sky look of his eyes. Her husband tended to be trickiest when he looked most transparent.
“Tell your uncle all about how your late husband Peasnettle distrusted banks. He handed me sacks of money to give to Gardner. It’s true enough I shoveled stacks of coins and bills at Gardner. The point is, did the honest Mr. White keep the cash? No, he did not. Not a single farthing of my friend Peasnettle’s fortune found its way into my pockets. It all went to his widow, the woman I had grown to respect and admire on our journey together.”
“Of course!” She clapped her hands. “You might easily have disappeared with my fortune, instead you were honorable enough to make sure every last groat was accounted for.”
Jas nodded. “And after Simon has blabbered that story to everyone in London, the cats will change their tunes.” He smiled dreamily. “I can just hear the new story. I married the widow for her fortune, but I also lusted after her body.”
She sighed again. “Oh how I wish I could cultivate your indifference to society’s censure.”
He leered at her. “Shall I tell you my secret? Find something more interesting to concentrate on.”
Shifting close, he leaned over her for a kiss. After a minute or two, she ran her hand over his shoulder, down his arm to touch the tips of his fingers with her own. She smiled at him, then slipped out of the bed. Eliza stood, entirely naked.
“Where are you going?” he growled. “Didn’t I just make it clear I have plans for you?”
“I look forward to them. But now, ah! I have plans as well. At dinner you again expressed a desire that I teach you how to dance. No, come to think of it, you demanded that I teach you.”
She thought for a moment then added in an aggrieved tone, “I must say it is hardly fair for you to be so belligerent, since I have attempted time and time again to tutor you in the dance. And it is part of my plan to transform you into an acceptable gentleman.”
“Liza, I’m sorry I’ll never be a completely acceptable gentleman.”
She looked shocked. “Good heavens, no! That would never do. Naturally you shall not become too acceptable. A horrible thought. I shouldn’t recognize you if such a thing should come to pass.”
He rolled over to the edge of the bed and looked at her with a mischievous smile that curved the corners of his mouth. “As long as you promise not to start on one of those endless complicated figures in which I don’t even get to touch my partner. Let’s save that for another lesson. Okay?”
She tilted her head and examined him. “Very well. That will suit me too.”
He leapt out of the bed and stood next to her. She tried to stop herself from gawking at him, but she still loved the sight of his tall, muscular golden body. She looked up into his eyes instead, though the light in them was nearly as distracting.
Eliza cleared her throat. “Let us begin. Place your hand at my waist. No, no, sir. How many times must I remind you? Not that low, you lecherous madman.”
When she tried to twitch away, he groaned his displeasure and pulled her closer. She laughed when he whispered the recommendation that they put off the dance lessons.
“No. I am determined to finish this lesson even if it requires the rest of the night.” She lightly placed her hand in the correct position, absently stroked his warm, broad shoulder. “You should be an excellent dancer,” she scolded. “You are quite graceful. If only you would keep your mind on your work.”
Humming a tune and tapping her bare foot to the beat, she gave a quick adjustment to his hand, which had somehow slid from her shoulder to spread his fingers over one of her breasts.
“Recall that it is one-two-three, one-two-three motion.” She swayed her upper body from side to side. “Do you see?”
“Yes, I do indeed,” he answered fervently, his gaze on her breasts.
“Good.” She managed to squirm away from him again so their skin was only touching at certain points. She sighed as his hand slid over her side then collected her wits again. “No. I have already pointed out your hand goes on my waist, sir.”
“I beg pardon, madam. I shall try to be a better pupil,” he said gravely. “Eh, I think I can compromise. And after all, you do have a fine waist.” He gently ran the tips of his fingers over her curves as if verifying the fact for himself. Again.
After many attempts, adjustments and corrections, they stood facing one another. Straight-backed and formal, he lightly clasped her in the proper embrace for the dance.
“So, madam? Will this do?”
“Yes, good sir. Wonderful.” She rubbed her cheek against the bare, warm skin of his chest. But before either of them could be distracted again, she pulled back.
Using her best imitation of her old governess she briskly announced, “Very well then. I believe we shall begin with the waltz. One, two, three.”
And they glided across the floor.
About the Author
Summer Devon is the alter ego of Kate Rothwell. Kate invented Summer’s name in the middle of a nasty blizzard whilst talking to her sister, who longed to visit some friends in Devon, England, so the name Summer Devon is all about desire. Summer lives in Connecticut, and also writes books—usually gaslight historicals—as Kate.
As Kate, Summer has a blog, katerothwell.blogspot.com. She also a webpage, so be sure to catch up with her there.
Summer welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email addresses on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
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Also by Summer Devon
Futurelove
Invisible Touch
Irrational Arousal
Perfection
Print books by Summer Devon
Irrational Arousal
Out of This World Lover anthology
Shrink Wrap anthology
Taming Him anthology
Discover for yourself why readers can’t get enough of the multiple award-winning publisher Ellora’s Cave. Whether you prefer ebooks or paperbacks, be sure to visit EC on the web at www.ellorascave.com for an erotic reading experience that will leave you breathless.
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