“What about the witches?” she asked. “You said they have a way to do it without the portal?”
He frowned at the suggestion, though it was a valid one. It was just the only witches he knew these days scared the bejesus out of him. Dangerous and hateful, and not too fond of him, either. Especially not after Camilla.
“We’ll save that as a last resort,” he said, seeing her nearly writhe with curiosity. “The connection was severed with my Scottish ancestors who originally created the portals, and my mother’s people are all passed on. Unfortunately it’s in our blood still, which is why I’m able to use the portal. My sister … she knows far more than I ever did, because she wasn’t able to use it. She studied and found out about our ancestry, and reacquainted herself with a more powerful family with whom she ended up aligned. She ended up knowing too much.”
He hadn’t meant to speak of Camilla at all to Matilda. She didn’t need that information, and the combination of her high curiosity and her eagerness to help made it dangerous for her. He didn’t want her getting mixed up with any of that.
“Is that why she’s missing? Did the witches steal her away?”
She was skating perilously close to things he didn’t want her to know. It was better and safer that she didn’t know, but for some reason he couldn’t shut up around her just now. Perhaps she was a witch herself? Anyone who could use the portal had to have at least a drop of it in them from somewhere. He frowned and almost against his will, kept talking.
“She became obsessed with— I guess you’d call them powers? What I do started out with the sheer bad luck of falling through the portal when I was a lad. I paid attention and eventually had a very good schedule, nothing more than that. There’s certainly nothing magical about me. She could actually do things.”
“What kind of things?” She scooted closer to the edge of the bed, dragging the blanket with her. “Oh, I wish you didn’t have to be so proper. I’d kill for a drink right now.”
“By all means then, Matilda, let’s drink.”
He jumped up, but kept his eyes glued to her face, to see if she had any sort of reaction to his uttering her name. Her eyes drifted shut and her cheeks pinkened.
Good heavens, but she was pretty, even all disheveled and wrapped in the bedclothes as she was. No, especially that way. It made him want to rumple them, and her, more. He hurried to the door before he did something truly improper. He needed a few minutes to get out from under her spell.
“I’ll be back straightaway with a bottle.”
“Really? Oh my gosh, you’re the best.”
He knew she had to be teasing him, but her shining smile coupled with her words made him feel as if he was about to do something heroic, rather than run downstairs for a bottle of whisky. He almost felt as if he could do magic, and it was a heady feeling indeed.
***
Tilly scrambled to get her robe on, really Ashford’s old dressing gown. She loved it, all oversized and velvety soft, and she fully planned to take it with her when she went back. If she got to go back. She was too excited about Ashford’s sudden chattiness to dwell on that frightening thought. Every ounce of worry over the change in her situation disappeared when he started talking so openly. Finally, the mysterious stranger she’d begun to think of as a friend was going to share more than a few grunts about his life. And now he was getting them a bottle of wine. It was almost like a date.
She snorted at herself and found the brush Nora left behind when Ashford crashed into her room, demanding to be alone with her. The room wasn’t cramped, but it couldn’t be described as spacious either, and he completely dominated it with his height and stern masculinity, seeming to make it even smaller.
It had taken everything she had to pretend to be unaffected by him sitting on the bed and then hiding how bereft she felt when he got up to sit on a chair. She had to be out of her mind from the absurdity of everything, getting goosebumps when he said her name. Could he have been attracted to her as well, and felt the need to put some distance between them? She was fairly certain he’d checked out her legs before she managed to cover them up.
It was farfetched, but she couldn’t help but hope he found her attractive. She’d been interested in him ever since she thought he was a costumed researcher, and she was done trying to deny it to herself. So what if he was a little emotionally stunted, a bit rude, and clearly wanted nothing more than to be rid of her? He also had a vulnerability that he couldn’t hide, no matter how hard he tried.
For whatever reason, she liked him, and she didn’t mind that he frequently annoyed her with his high handedness. It would keep her from getting too attached so she wouldn’t be broken hearted when she left. She would leave. She had complete faith that they’d find a way. That was another thing that didn’t make any sense. She trusted him.
As she ran the brush through her hair and tied it back into a ponytail, she berated herself for being a simpleton. It wasn’t like a date at all, she almost certainly had no hope of getting home, she really shouldn’t be so excited right now. Ashford very likely thought her a nuisance, a responsibility, and if she didn’t keep it together, he’d think her a right fool on top of it all, throwing herself at him like a modern hussy. She could not, under any circumstances, come onto him when he returned. Or ever. She peered at her reflection in the foggy mirror and nodded at her appearance, the best she could do with no makeup.
Arranging the two chairs so they were close together, she sat in one and demurely crossed her ankles. The chair was hard, with a loose leg, and tilted so far to the left she nearly tumbled off it. Stowing the chairs in the corner, she propped one pillow against the headboard and the other against the footboard, settling herself against one of them. This had to be fairly proper.
They could see each other to converse, but it discouraged hanky panky, unless he reached over and grabbed her foot. She imagined his big hand wrapping around her ankle, pulling her closer to him, his other hand sliding up her calf, making its way under her shift. She got dizzy and fanned herself.
“Pathetic,” she told herself, getting back under her blanket.
Dex would make fun of her so hard if he knew how silly she was being over the staid Lord Ashford.
A sharp knock on the door and he entered the room before she could find her voice to call out. He held up a nearly full bottle of whisky and she swallowed hard, having expected wine. Well, she’d just have to take it easy, be extra careful and responsible. She wanted to hear his story if nothing else, not pass out just as he got to some juicy detail of his life.
He poured out two cups, raising his eyebrow at her bed setup.
“It’s how we used to do it at summer camp,” she explained.
“You slept with men at summer camp?” He continued to hold the cups, staring at her as if she were a briny sea creature.
“No, dummy, of course not. It was all girls. We set the bunks up like this to play cards and gossip. And you’re not sleeping here, are you?” She crossed her arms in front of her and looked sideways at him. He choked and shook his head vigorously. “So, take your shoes off and get comfy, my lord.”
He cleared his throat and handed her a glass at last, and after a moment’s hesitation, wrestled off his boots and took his place at the end of the bed. She took a self-congratulatory gulp of whisky and choked.
He crawled to her and whacked her on the back. “You may want to sip that.”
“Thanks for the warning,” she said, eyes watering from the fiery liquid that burned a trail down her gullet.
Her plan to keep him safely on the other end of the bed had failed, and he made no move to get back in his spot. She felt a heat that had nothing to do with the Scottish fire water he’d given her. Was he trying to get her drunk? Ha, she could only wish. This stuff was probably like tea to him. She backed up as far as she could get and planted her foot on his chest, shoving him away from her.
“Back to your end. I’m fine now.”
She was pleased at how prim and
proper she sounded and even more pleased at the look on his face, that anyone would have described as disappointed, not just someone like herself who was full of wishful thinking.
“As you wish, madam.” He scooted backwards without taking his eyes off her. Even when he rested against the footboard and crossed his arms over his chest, his unwavering gaze never left her and her skin sizzled under his heavy robe. She resisted the urge to tug at it, not wanting him to see how he affected her with his steamy dark eyes. “Where did we leave off, before you decided to drown your sorrows in drink?”
She could barely gather her thoughts with those eyes intent on her and cleared her throat of the whisky burn. “I think it must have been my sorrows we were talking about, right?” she asked, taking another sip. This one went down much smoother. “We basically have no options except for your witchy acquaintances, and you seem to think they’re a last resort.”
“Most definitely a last resort,” he agreed, nodding vigorously.
She stood at a crossroads, wondering if she should ask why, or turn the subject back to his sister. She’d learned over the past days with him that he would clam up at the least provocation and she wanted to talk deep into the night, just sit and look at him and listen to his voice. She also wanted information, and badly. She decided to steer clear of both for now and asked instead what Solomon Wodge’s deal was.
“His deal?” Ashford wrinkled his forehead, not understanding her.
She had to stop being distracted by how adorable she found him, especially when she might need the information to stay alive. “Is he a witch, too? Or is he just one of us lucky ones who can go through the portals?”
Ashford sighed and folded and unfolded the ends of the blanket for a long time before answering. “I don’t know a great deal about him, unfortunately, such as where or when he’s from. To dismiss Wodge as your run of the mill madman would be to take him far too lightly. From what I’ve managed to learn, he’s extremely powerful. He’s killed countless people, some of them people I knew.”
“People who came through your house?” she asked, fearing the answer.
He shook his head once, firmly. “No. Thankfully, we’ve managed to keep them safe so far. Other people who could travel with a spell, or by the portal. Not friends, exactly, but those of us with this power tend to know of each other— it’s always good to have a lifeline to contact if things should go awry in a strange time.
“I’m not completely sure what Wodge ultimately wants, but I think he believes… you’ve read fairy tales?” Ashford stopped abruptly and frowned. “Where the witch’s spell was undone when she was killed and everything was set right again?”
She cast back to her childhood and shrugged. Her mother hadn’t been big on reading aloud and her father worked most nights far past her bedtime, so she couldn’t think of a story like he spoke of, but the ones she remembered were pretty gruesome. The idea that anything in real life could stem from those stories made her shudder. How could killing someone set anything right? Then again, what did she know about the magical world?
“Does it really work like that?”
“Certainly not. But that’s what he believes. He doesn’t believe he’s doing anything wrong by killing witches. And to him a witch is not just someone like my sister or me, but anyone who comes through the portal, whether they meant to or not.”
“That’s why he’d kill me if he got the chance?”
“He won’t get the chance.”
The steady hardness to his tone comforted her. She took a sip and cast around for a change of subject, sure she’d never get to sleep that night if they continued talking about Wodge.
“You said your sister knew how to do, um, magic?” It felt weird saying the word magic out loud so casually, but he just nodded some more, taking a drink before answering.
“Camilla could do anything. Can do anything,” he quickly modified.
The sadness in his voice tweaked at her heartstrings. “If we find her, she could get me back, even if the house is torn down?”
“God, the house,” he said, either sidestepping the question on purpose, or truly upset about the house, she couldn’t tell. “How did that happen, do you know? How did we lose it?”
She assumed he meant his relatives, all the members of the Ashford line that came after him. “Ashford isn’t your surname, is it?” she asked. Dexter had said his name when she thought he was a ghost, but she couldn’t remember it. “That’s just your property or something, right?”
“Julian Alexander,” he said, finishing off his glass and pouring another. “Is my given name.”
She mouthed the name, wishing she could say it aloud, but thinking it might set off one of his snits. Startling her, he leaned over and placed his hand on her foot, he actually had his hand on her bare foot. Her scandalous foot fantasy was coming true! She pulled it away and tucked it under the blanket, and instantly regretted it.
“You may call me Julian,” he said, leaning back and taking another drink. He licked a drop of whisky off his bottom lip and she lost all feeling in her arms. “Matilda.”
Her legs followed suit and she sat there limply staring at him as he stared back at her, cool grey eyes unblinking. How had they got so far off track, right when she was about to learn the secrets of time travel. Did she care about the secrets of anything when he looked at her that way? And what about her vow to be a proper lady tonight? Everything was so difficult.
She was one hundred percent positive it wasn’t her brain that was telling her to get out from under the blanket and crawl onto his lap. But her brain was taking a thorough beating by every other part of her that longed to touch him, and was about to roll over and cry uncle. She clenched both hands around her glass and forced herself to look away from his mesmerizing gaze.
“Um, okay, thanks.” She couldn’t make herself say his name, she would have dissolved into the sheets. It was time to ignore her reckless urges and get back on track. “I don’t know why your people don’t own the house in my time. For a while it was empty, then it was going to be completely restored and turned into a museum.”
“A museum?” he asked, eyes narrowed. “People would pay to tour it?”
“Yeah, I think so. My cousin Dex worked on the restoration, and he’s actually helping box it up before it gets the wrecking ball.”
“Wrecking ball. That’s a charming image. But why not keep it as a museum?”
“They lost the funding when an actress went missing from the house.” She looked away, hesitant to tell him all of it. “People think it’s haunted. By, er, you.”
He clapped his hand over his mouth, then pressed his palm to his eyes. “I’m a ghost in my own house.” He laughed, stopping abruptly. “An actress, you say? Bloody hell.” He swore some more, looking like he wanted to throw his glass.
“Was that one of yours?” she asked sympathetically. But, didn’t he make a point of returning everyone? “It’s been more than a year. You haven’t been able to get her back yet, because it’s so far in the future?”
“I lost her,” he said. “A complete mess, that.”
He got the look that he was about to close himself off and she raced to change the subject. Her mind went blank and she grabbed the hem of his trousers, making his brows shoot to his hairline. “Julian,” she breathed, breaking out in goosebumps. “I’ll help you find your sister. She can get me back. Maybe we can save the house, but if not, at least you’ll be free from chasing people all over the ages.”
His shoulders went slack at that and he closed his eyes. She couldn’t imagine how hard it must have been on him, how hard it still was, feeling responsible for everyone who stumbled across the portal. How he must long to be free of it all, all the people like her.
He finished off his second glass in one smooth swallow as if it really was sweet tea. “That’s a nice thought.”
He didn’t sound as if it was at all feasible, a faraway look in his eyes told her he didn’t dare to hope. He swung his legs ov
er the side of the bed and she was so frustrated she wanted to scream, no closer to understanding anything.
“As far as I know, Miss Saito is a capable woman, with a strong desire to make it back to her own time. I’m certain she must understand the seriousness of the house being torn down and its effect on her chances of that happening.”
Tilly put her glass down on the bedside table. He was already at the door, and turned to tell her he’d send Nora back up, and that they’d leave directly after breakfast. “Let’s hope your cousin and Miss Saito are working to figure things out on their end.” With a nod, he was gone.
Chapter 13
Dexter placed a cup in the microwave for tea, worrying once again about Tilly, as he did every time he’d used a modern convenience during the last week. He felt as if he should try to live in solidarity to what she must be going through, but he was so busy. Cataloging the contents of the house during the day and helping try to find answers after hours, coupled with his fears for Tilly, and he barely ate or slept, let alone had the time to go to the kitchen to properly boil water.
As hard as he was working, he knew Emma was working even harder. He looked over at her sleek, dark hair as it fell across her cheek, her nose inches from an old manuscript. Her computer screen swathed her in a sickly glow and he edged a desk lamp closer to the page, so she wouldn’t get eye strain. She barely glanced up at him, her pretty brown eyes bloodshot with fatigue, deep dark circles underneath. Her mouth turned up in the slightest of exhausted smiles before she returned to her reading.
Dexter was around forty percent terrified of Emma Saito, and one hundred percent in love with her. He was torn between wanting her to get what she wanted, and wanting her to stay. A part of him insistently couldn’t believe what had happened and still thought he should call the police.
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