Belmary House Book One

by Cassidy Cayman

  He shrugged, giving her a once over before taking off his jacket and swirling it around her shoulders, pulling it tightly closed across her chest.

  “Where did you learn to do such a thing? Do you think you really broke his bones?” He marveled down at her and she glowed with pride.

  “Might have. I can’t say I wasn’t trying.” She had to pause to take in the smile he gave her. It was as sunny as the first one. “I used to work for my town’s police department. We gave a free self defense class every month that I always went to. I even taught it sometimes.”

  “That’s astonishing. You really didn’t need me at all.”

  “Well, I’m glad you showed up. This way he knows not to mess with me again.” She paused, thinking back on his words to Nicholas. “Oh my God, he thought I was your mistress. And you all but confirmed it. Does everyone think that?”

  Oh, the indignity of it. It was bad enough his servants thought it due to her living in the house, but couldn’t he have thought of a different story to tell these society people? Now she’d never be able to get to know anyone while she was here. She slumped as much as her undergarments would allow and he put his arm around her, leading her through the garden. She hoped it was another way out to the street, because she couldn’t face anyone back in the house. His solid warmth was a comfort, and after a tiny hesitation, she leaned against him.

  “Probably,” he said. “Can’t be helped at this point. My good name will be as tarnished as yours once this story gets out.”

  She laughed ruefully, thinking of his outlandish reply to Nicholas. “Well, I’d smack you, but I think you might have been serious about enjoying that sort of thing.”

  He dropped his arm as if she’d become an active volcano and jumped away, looking first amused, then scandalized. They came out at the front of the house near a row of carriages, and regaining his composure, he looked down at her with a distinctly devilish glint in his eyes.

  “Wouldn’t you like to find out,” he said, striding toward his carriage.

  She stood there watching his lean form stalk away, tall and proud, his boots shining in the moonlight, those infernal breeches clinging to his hips. Since she still wore his coat, she had a full view of his backside.

  Damn it, she didn’t understand him at all, but yes. Yes, she would like to find out.

  Chapter 8

  Ashford sank into a chair in his library with a glass of whisky he didn’t want. Any moment now Duncan would begin berating him for what he’d done that night and he absolutely didn’t want to hear it. He already berated himself for using Miss Jacobs in the way that he had, and even though it got the desired effect, he hadn’t expected her to be accosted as she was.

  That damnable Nick, always trying to compete with him. The scoundrel really might have gone too far if… he marveled once again at the sight he’d seen when he heard that Nick had followed some unknown woman out onto the veranda.

  He’d prayed it hadn’t been Miss Jacobs— could he call her Tilly, even in his thoughts? No, he couldn’t, too ridiculous. Of course, it had been Miss Jacobs, but before he could swoop in and rescue her, she’d twisted a man nearly twice her size into a pretzel and smashed his face into the wall. He’d honestly pay to see such a thing again, it had so delighted him to watch that little pile get his comeuppance.

  He instantly swallowed his glee along with a gulp of whisky. She might have been hurt or traumatized. He could see that she was shaken, though she’d tried valiantly not to show it. He thought of the tears she refused to let fall when she first realized she was stuck, and the times when he was certain she wanted to punch him but refrained from even raising her voice much. Now that he knew what actual harm she could do to a person, he was even more grateful for her restraint.

  Good heavens, she’d been marvelous. He already found her dangerously pretty, and she’d been sinfully so in that trampy gown he’d tricked her into wearing. He couldn’t believe the attraction he’d felt while watching her so capably take down a foe, especially with her delicious bosom about to burst its way free of her dress. God, he was a monster. He deserved to be yelled at and hit. It was a testament to her fortitude that she hadn’t yet done either.

  Still, it couldn’t be easy on her, worried about her cousin back in her own time, and she probably didn’t trust him one whit to get her back. And why should she? He tried to wash down his guilt with another dose of alcohol, but it didn’t work at all.

  “Trying to get drunk so you don’t have to think about what you’ve done?” Duncan asked, entering the library without knocking.

  Ashford sighed and thought longingly of the servants in 1892, the ones who thought he could do no wrong. He scowled at Duncan, who merely raised his bushy eyebrows. Of course Duncan didn’t think he could do no wrong. He actually knew him.

  “I cannot get drunk, since I missed Jeremy by a day and now I’ll have to leave for Scotland first thing tomorrow.”

  Duncan paused, and Ashford thought he might take pity on him, seeing how upset he was about missing the much needed information about Camilla. God, Camilla. The thought of his sister wrenched through him, compounding his misery. Where was she, and what had she done? Could Jeremy really have information about her, and if so, why couldn’t he give it in a letter?

  “What about Miss Jacobs?” Duncan asked, not giving him a reprieve, pity or not.

  “She’ll go with me, of course.”

  Ashford didn’t like it, he knew she’d cause trouble, but he couldn’t leave her behind, especially not with the reputation he’d built for her. She wasn’t like the others who accidentally stumbled across the portal. He usually tried to help them as much as he could by having one of his contacts keep an eye on them until he could find a window back for them, but other than that he left them to fend for themselves, checking in whenever he could.

  But Miss Jacobs was different. He was solely responsible for her. He’d actually physically dragged her here, for God’s sake. If he hadn’t been through so many mishaps over the previous weeks, hadn’t had his schedule so thoroughly messed up, he might have taken a moment to assess the situation, might have given her a chance to speak at least. He’d been hasty, unprofessional, the way he might have acted when he was fifteen and first started traveling through the portals.

  He wondered with an inner shock if his subconscious attraction to Miss Jacobs hadn’t added to his thoughtlessness. He shook it off. No, certainly not. Memories of the soft skin of her hand and how her lovely eyes widened with curiosity circled his mind like crows, taunting him. He had to stop before he conjured an image of her spilling out of her gown again. He was worse than Nick.

  He took another drink and swore quietly, ignoring Duncan, who he was sure was gearing up for a lecture. He was no help at all. As much as Duncan liked to harangue him about that one other time, that time he’d been duped by a young and foolish girl who’d found out about the portal and wanted to go to the future. She’d tricked not only him, but the poor woman who had been waiting to get back to her own time for a year and a half. He put up with Duncan’s jesting, but it tormented him that he’d lost track of both girls, and didn’t have a clue what became of either of them.

  He was not about to let that happen to Miss Jacobs. He’d be damned straight to hell before he let her out of his sight long enough for her to disappear in this century. As soon as he got to his house in Scotland, she’d be safe, surrounded by his brother-in-law and his nosy, well-meaning neighbors.

  “You don’t think she’d be safer here?” Duncan asked, holding up the whisky bottle.

  Ashford noticed his glass was empty and shook his head. He’d take his verbal lashing and go to bed. He was exhausted.

  “Not after tonight, no,” he said, earning him another raised brow.

  “I’m pleased to see you at least feel a bit bad about what you’ve done.”

  Ashford wrapped himself in an invisible cloak of disdain, pretending he didn’t care at all, mostly because he knew it bothered the he
ll out of Duncan when he acted that way.

  “She doesn’t know what people are saying, and these people are nothing to her, anyway. Most of them won’t rate a mention in her history books.”

  “As long as you got your desired outcome, right?”

  Ashford stood up and slammed the empty glass down on his desk. “It did get the desired outcome. Miss Havershim and her mother had far too many expectations, all with no encouragement from me, as you well know. Cook told me she heard people saying an engagement was sure to be announced within weeks and I’ve barely spoken to the girl, maybe danced with her once. Certainly never called upon her or rode through the park with her, but all these things seem to have happened in her and her greedy mother’s minds. Now that they know I’m the sort of man to openly live with his mistress and take her to balls, they should set their mercenary sights somewhere else.”

  “But did the dress have to be quite so …?” Duncan picked up the glass he’d slammed down and wiped the desk.

  “Yes, the dress had to be the way it was, to drive home the point. What’s done is done, and like I said, Miss Jacobs will never know.” He stormed across the room and flung open the library doors, done with the recriminations.

  Miss Jacobs stood in the hallway, stunned and hurt looking. She was wrapped from her chin to her toes in one of his old dressing gowns, the sleeves falling well past her fingertips. Dear God, they couldn’t find her anything better to wear to bed? She looked nothing like the fierce warrior of the ball and the guilt he felt that she must have overheard them was worse than any punch.

  “Damn it,” he hissed.

  She nodded slowly and turned away, but he reached out and grabbed her hand, only getting a fistful of sleeve and nearly pulling the robe off her shoulder. He released his grip.

  “No, you don’t,” he said in his most imperious voice. She turned, the pain in her eyes replaced with cold fire. That was more like it. He could handle that. “Come now, Miss Jacobs, you came down here for a reason. What was it?”

  She narrowed her eyes at him, but her voice gave away her true feelings. “I-I couldn’t sleep and wanted to borrow a book.”

  Ashford stepped aside and held his hand out toward the rows of books. Setting her jaw, she edged past him, giving Duncan a wounded look. Duncan ducked a bow.

  “I shall retire now, Lord Ashford, if you won’t be needing anything else.”

  “Good night, Duncan,” he said, shaking his head in disbelief when he heard him mutter a quiet apology as he passed Miss Jacobs. Coward and traitor.

  As soon as he was out the door, she shut it forcefully behind him. He closed his eyes and silently counted.

  “Did you dress me up like that on purpose?” she asked before he got to three.

  “Miss Jacobs,” he started, but she thrust out her palm, effectively silencing him.

  “It was one thing to tell the servants I was your mistress, but all those people at the ball? Is that why I got so many side eyes and no one would talk to me?”

  “Those people and their opinions of you hardly matter,” he tried. The look she gave him told him otherwise.

  “Oh that’s right, because in my time they’re long since dust. And you’re not married, so it’s not like my sense of decency is even all that offended, but you know what makes me want to knock your teeth out?”

  He pressed his lips together and shook his head, not wanting to know at all. The look of hurt in her eyes made him want to run from the subsequent pain it caused him, but he knew he had to take his lumps or she’d never forgive him. He told himself it shouldn’t matter if she forgave him or not, but he wanted her to.

  Perhaps it was better if he kept her at a distance, if she hated him. In the grand scheme of things, he was used to being at least somewhat miserable. Three months of extreme misery with her despising him would eventually be just another thing to put behind him and forget.

  But he had enjoyed the few moments of camaraderie they’d shared after Nick had slithered away. He’d put his arm around her to keep her steady, but she hadn’t really needed him at all. When she still leaned against him, he’d experienced a pleasant protective feeling unlike anything he’d ever felt before. The urge to wrap his arms around her again was almost unbearable. She’d probably cripple him if he tried.

  “Please do tell,” he said, cringing inwardly at the indifference in his voice.

  She blinked, and with a long breath said, “It’s that you treated me like a puppet. Maybe if you’d let me in on your little plan, I might have gone along with it. I would have been prepared to get all those nasty looks. I actually thought the dress was pretty, and now I just feel stupid for liking it, when everyone was mocking me behind my back. It would have been bearable if I was a part of it. Why didn’t you just treat me like a person and ask for my help? Didn’t I offer to help? Do you not see women as people in this time?”

  Stunned at her words, he opened his mouth. Nothing came out but a stuttering sound. He tried again, wishing he could find the words to tell her how truly sorry he was, now that she’d explained her feelings. He hadn’t felt so ashamed in a long while, maybe never. He’d been selfish, obnoxious, only thinking to rid himself of the annoying Miss Havershim’s unwanted attention.

  He’d treated Miss Jacobs like a convenient tool he had lying around, a puppet, just like she’d accused. He’d done nothing but victimise her and use her since he shoved her through the portal. Was that just earlier that day? God, he was exhausted.

  He rubbed his face, then looked her straight in the eyes. She had the loveliest greenish brown eyes, and he wanted to erase the sadness he’d put there. Anger flared up at her for causing all this turmoil, then guilt for blaming her.

  “If you had done what I told you and stayed put, none of that nonsense with Nick would have happened.” The thought that things might have gone a different way was unbearable and he clenched his fists. “If it hadn’t been for your impressive strength and fighting skills, I truly wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

  She snorted. “Heaven forbid. And don’t try to butter me up. I’ll use those skills on you if you ever treat me that way again.”

  The relief he felt at her bantering tone was short lived, and quickly made him feel worse than ever. He didn’t deserve her easy forgiveness.

  “You would be right to do so,” he assured her. “In fact, I think you still must since I’ve gravely offended your honor. Take your best shot.” He thrust out his jaw and closed his eyes. “It’s what I would do if you were a man.”

  He heard a huff of disbelief and clenched his teeth, waiting for the blow, and hoping she wouldn’t leave a bruise. He hated to admit he was a tad vain about his face. But if it took a smack to get back in her good graces, he would gladly take one. More if necessary. After a moment, he opened his eyes, about to tell her to get on with it or he’d withdraw his generous offer. She stood before him, brows angrily furrowed, her arms crossed tightly in front of her chest.

  “Ugh, you have a lot to learn if you think treating me like a man is the way to go about things. As good looking as you are and with all your money… I thought the time travel nonsense was the reason you’re still single, but now I know it’s your personality. You should be grateful girls like Miss Havershim even give you a second glance.” She rubbed her knuckles as if she regretted not taking her chance at hitting him and turned to leave.

  “You’re quite right of course,” he said, her words hitting harder than he wanted to admit. He couldn’t let this girl get under his skin. He needed his wits about him to find Camilla. “I assume you heard we must leave for Scotland on the morrow? If you don’t want to go, I’ll understand. I’ll leave Duncan behind, and if you stay put, he’ll be able to ensure your safety.”

  She turned back, planting her hands on her hips. “If you even think about leaving without me, you’re dead.”

  The hurt and sadness was still written all over her face, even as she struggled to cover her feelings with a look of murderous rage.
He didn’t know what to do, and opened his mouth, but no words came out. He was too tired, still too scattered from the near disastrous portal mishaps.

  He’d barely got to the teacher in time to get him home and the poor man was so affected, Ashford feared he wouldn’t be able to continue on with his normal life. So many lives ruined, all thanks to his cursed house. It weighed on him, but none so much as Miss Jacobs. She hadn’t stumbled clumsily through after going somewhere she wasn’t supposed to. He’d dragged her here.

  “We leave at first light,” he said, looking up, but she’d already left the room, the door still ajar.

  He would have felt better if she’d slammed it. Something was definitely wrong with him. He’d never been so disappointed to not get hit. Even as exhausted as he was, with the way he felt, he knew sleep would elude him. Pouring himself another drink, he sat behind the desk and stared at the slightly open door, forcing himself to be still and not go after her.

  Chapter 9

  Kostya Povest sat on the hillside, shaded somewhat by the large alder that rustled in the breeze. Every now and then the air in Albus, Scotland felt like home to him. It wasn’t that he missed his home, not in the least, and he was grateful every day to be away from his family there, but he’d still get a wash of nostalgia, remembering running along the river bank or hiding from his cousins in the woods. Back when he was young enough to be blissfully unaware.

  He shook it off, as there was no use for it, and placed the small ribbon wrapped bouquet of daisies and thistle at the base of his Lucy’s tombstone. She’d loved the thorny weed, calling it the monster of the flowers. But she’d said it was a benevolent monster, who guarded the more delicate flowers that grew in the vast fields of her uncle’s land.

  He looked at the grassy space next to Lucy’s grave. “Is mummy with you now?” he asked, pushing down the old anger he felt toward his wife. It was quickly replaced with the nagging guilt that he was far more familiar with.