by Nichole Van
Had she slept with a stuffed bunny until she was eight-years-old? What was her favorite childhood pet? The name of the first boy who had dared kiss her soft lips? Did she laugh or cry when reading overly emotional novels?
The depth of his want terrified him. He longed to drag her into his soul and never, ever let her go.
They drove on for a few minutes, Marc absorbing the unexpected emotions hammering through him.
Birds chirped through the trees, loud and excited for spring to come. The fields spread in every direction, green grass pushing through the debris of winter.
Should he tell her the truth?
It was the first time he had seriously considered it. Up until now, it had felt impossible for her to understand. He had no proof of his twenty-first century origins. No cell phone or other bit of technology. It would just be his word.
Though after the events of the previous night, it seemed Kit had a right to know. Before he had merely surmised Daniel was the man who had attacked him in Duir Cottage.
But seeing the same button in Linwood’s hand had taken away any doubt. Daniel was either the blackmailer or in league with them. All of which meant Daniel—somehow, someway—knew about the portal and had, at the very least, visited 2014.
The thoughts wouldn’t stop running around his head. Daniel had known ties to some kind of French spy network, stealing something critical from Linwood . . .
Europe was at a crossroads, Napoleon on the run. But what if something happened to disrupt that balance? Would the portal allow someone through who would change the course of history? What would it mean for Britain—and the history of the world in general—if Napoleon won this war?
It was almost too terrifying to contemplate.
“Let’s make a deal,” Marc said. “You tell me your secrets. All of them. And I will tell you mine.”
Kit stared impassively out at the countryside. Contemplating.
And then she sighed. “I just . . . can’t, Marc. I am so sorry. But it’s just too much to explain . . .”
He felt her rejection like a sharp blow to the head. Why would she deny him? He had offered to tell her everything. What kind of life before coming to Haldon Manor warranted this level of secrecy?
And then something twisted in his gut.
What if she knew about the portal too? What if that was the secret she was protecting? What if she were in on the blackmail?
The thought chilled his blood.
He suddenly could see it all too clearly. Kit worming her way into the household at Haldon Manor, sneaking messages to her brother. Blackmailing the Knights for money, plotting who knows what.
Kit was capable of it. It was all those traits he loved best about her: confidence, internal strength, intelligence, resourcefulness.
Marc swallowed.
Wow.
The whole situation had suddenly delved into a murky place.
But even as he thought it, he rejected the idea. Yes, she had the personality to do all those things. But it wouldn’t be in her character to blackmail for personal gain. No, Kit would only do it for some greater good. But what noble cause was she focused on?
Marc let out a long stream of air. Straightened his shoulders. He needed to know everything about Kit and Daniel. Now.
“Kit, enough. I need to know what’s going on. I know you are a good person. Again, please trust me. I am on your side.”
She shook her head. “I can’t, Marc. As I said, it’s difficult—”
“You’ve never struck me as the type who shies away from difficulty. Or perhaps it’s my intelligence you question?”
She turned in her seat and fixed him with such a . . . look. And then turned back to face the road, crossing her arms.
“You just need to leave it alone.”
Uh . . . no. He wasn’t going to leave it alone. She had been the one to bring it up, and there was no way she was backing out because the conversation had veered off track. He was going to bait and badger her until she gave him answers.
The whole history of the next two hundred years might be riding on it. Not to mention his own future.
“So you just see me as a pretty face to kiss, but not someone you would trust with the basic facts of your life?”
She sighed. A weary, resigned sound. “Please don’t be ugly.”
“Or do you find my rank and position in society aren’t up to your standards?”
“Just stop this. I can’t tell you—”
“Why? How can the truth be any worse?”
“Let it go, Marc.”
“I can’t. I need to know.”
“You want my secrets? Why don’t you start by telling me one of yours?”
“Fine. Ask away.”
She blinked, obviously surprised he would acquiesce.
“Your sister,” she said without hesitation. “What is the precise nature of the spying activities you do with her?”
Ah, that was an easy one.
“We’re not spies.”
She regarded him for a moment, eyes narrowed. “Why do I not believe you?”
Marc shrugged. “It’s the truth. I am decidedly not a spy. My darling sister invented that entire story for Linwood’s benefit.”
“Really?” Her head went back. A smile tugged at her lips, warring with her stern expression. “She sounds as bad as you.”
“Definitely. Which is why I have kept my connection with Emme secret. It’s a huge misunderstanding which Linwood has blown out of proportion and no amount of telling him otherwise has changed his belief. I admit it’s been fun to play red cape to his bull because—let’s face it—I’m immature like that. But there is absolutely no truth to his claims.”
Kit pursed her lips.
“Now it’s my turn,” Marc continued before she could ask any follow-up questions. “Where were you before coming to Haldon Manor? What is your family background?”
She paused. “Fine. I will tell you what I can.” She took in a slow breath. “My father was Lord Whitmoor, which title Daniel inherited when my father passed away last year. My mother left when I was about nine-years-old. I took care of my father and Daniel after that point. I am as much a mother to Daniel as a sister.
“Of course, Daniel being Daniel, is up to no good and refuses to return home. But without him, I have no home to return to. There are no other male heirs beyond Daniel. So if he is declared dead, the title and property revert to the crown. I will be left without a roof over my head. Not to mention losing the last person in my family.”
A long breath hissed from Marc.
Kit continued. “The house and property are only a secondary concern, I suppose. I need my brother, Marc. Without him, I have no one.”
What about me? The thought whispered treacherously through Marc’s mind. You would still have me.
But he knew that wasn’t what she meant. And she wouldn’t have him. Not here.
So did she know about the portal and blackmail?
Marc’s heart hammered in his chest. What should he do?
It was on the tip of his tongue to tell her. But . . .
Should he?
“Your turn again,” Kit said. “Where were you exactly before coming here? What is your family background?”
She threw the question back at him, her tone nearly taunting.
Was this the moment? Would he actually tell her?
He formed the words in his head. Well, Kit, I was actually a martial arts actor working in 2014. Yes, I know, 2014 is two hundred years from now, which explains a lot of my current problem . . .
He chuckled, a mirthless little sound. “Are you sure you want to know?”
“I just want the truth, Marc.”
He snorted. “You can’t handle the truth.”
Quoting from A Few Good Men never hurt.
Now it was Kit’s turn to snort, shaking her head. “Please, just stop. You mock my pain.”
Marc smiled. If she thought unwittingly quoting The Princess Bride in return would h
elp this situation, she was sorely mistaken.
“Life is pain, my lady. Anyone who says differently is selling something.”
He couldn’t resist, heaven help him. He stared intently at the road ahead of him, guiding the horse, debating what to say next. Should he tell her about the portal?
And then he realized Kit was staring at him with stunned eyes.
Extremely wide, wide, wide, I’m-trying-not-to-freak-out eyes.
“As you wish,” she whispered.
Marc would forever remember the sizzling shock of that moment. The jolt that pulsed his spine. The startled ringing in his ears.
What?!
What had she just said?!
Impossible!
It was utterly impossible.
But, when he thought about it, it suddenly seemed very, very possible indeed.
He stared at her, his eyes surely as wide as hers.
“Life is like a box of chocolates . . .” He swallowed, his throat tight.
Sheer surprise reverting him to his American accent.
“. . . you never know what you're gonna get.” Kit finished, a shaking hand flying to cover her mouth. Tears filled her enormous brown eyes.
“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “No way.”
Marc shook his head too. Blinked. Looked ahead at the road, trying to process what had just happened.
And then turned back to Kit, who was still gaping at him.
“Inconceivable.” A small wondrous smile touched her lips.
Marc matched her look, a slap-silly grin sliding across his face.
He felt . . . punch-drunk. Staggered by an unexpected blow to the head.
But . . . how?!
Though, really, he should actually voice that question.
“How?!”
Kit shook her head, her face still stunned.
“Daniel,” she said, her voice breaking. “It was all Daniel.”
“But . . . but how could you not know? About me, I mean?” His native accent still on full display.
“Wait! You’re American?”
“Yeah, baby. You better believe it.”
Kit laughed. “That was ridiculous.”
Marc winked. “Red, white and blue—through and through.”
“Are you done?”
“Maybe.” And then another thought struck him. “I took Lord Vader as my alias. Lord Vader! How could that not have, at least, made you curious?!”
“I was already living with a Jed I. Knight!” Kit gestured wildly. “I just assumed the universe had a super sick sense of humor.” And then she paused, eyes stricken. “Wait, Jedediah isn’t from—”
“Uh, no.” Marc shuddered. “Wow! That’s a ghastly thought.”
“But surely someone else—”
“Arthur knows.”
“Okay.” Kit absorbed that for a moment. “And Arthur is genuinely from this era?”
“Yes.”
She thought more, a frown creasing her forehead.
“I can barely process this.”
“That makes two of us.” Marc shook his head.
“Why are you—” she said.
“So, how—” he said, at the same time. Their voices tangling with each other.
Kit laughed, that rich laugh of hers.
Marc stared at her, his heart thumping wildly.
She was still the same Kit: tall, saucy, clever, funny.
But now, he could clearly see the modern woman in her. In her confidence, her assured sense of self.
“So, what year were you born?”
She swallowed. “I was born in 1984 in Gloucester. And you?”
“Denver in 1982.”
“Denver? I’ve never been to Denver. I’m more of a coastal American visitor: New York, Miami, San Francisco.”
“Well, I suppose I should fess up. I’m not entirely American. My dad is British, and I lived with my ridiculously proper British grandmother most summers growing up. She insisted on elocution lessons as well. Couldn’t stand my broad, drawling accent.”
They stared again, Marc’s eyes wide with wonder. Two hundred years worth of barriers crumbling before him.
What had seemed impossible just minutes before was now suddenly very possible—
He wasn’t sure if he were massively relieved or incredibly terrified.
Probably a little of both.
Kit tucked her hand through his arm and scooted close to his side, delightfully possessive.
“I’ve always wanted an American boyfriend.” She slid him a flirty look.
It was Marc’s turn to chuckle.
“Hey you,” he said.
“Hey.” She nudged his shoulder.
His eyes flitted down to her mouth.
So that was why she was such a good kisser.
And then, for the second time in as many weeks, a shot rang out, the bullet zinging over the head of their horse.
Startling the poor thing into a panicked run.
Chapter 16
What the—?!”
The sudden bolt of the horse tore the reins from Marc’s hands. He grabbed for them, catching the leathers just in time.
Marc pulled backward, trying to calm the runaway horse without much luck. Poor thing. It lead a simple humdrum life, never looking for excitement . . . only to be shot at twice in just as many weeks. The road ran straight for a while, thank goodness, so Marc wasn’t too concerned. But the gig jolted alarmingly down the rutted road.
At his side, Kit clutched the carriage frame as they bounced along.
Abruptly, the loud jingle of horse tack announced they weren’t alone.
“Take the reins.” Marc shoved the leather straps into Kit’s hands. She hesitated for a fraction of a second and then, with a determined lift of her chin, took the reins.
That was his spunky girl.
Carefully, Marc poked his head around the side of the gig hood. A larger carriage with the top down pulled by a pair of matched bays thundered behind them. The carriage was full of three . . . no, four burley men, some brandishing rifles.
Linwood rode beside the carriage on a sleek, black horse. A pistol in his hand.
Of course. So predictable, it was nearly comical. What had Daniel taken that had the viscount in such a snit?
“It’s Linwood,” Marc said turning back to Kit. “He’s got a carriage full of thugs. Some with guns.”
Kit swore, causing Marc to laugh.
“This is hardly a laughing matter.” She gritted her teeth, allowing the horse its head.
“True. But hearing a polite nineteenth century lady swear like a sailor just sorta made my day.”
Kit rolled her eyes without taking them off the road ahead. “Are you always so dorky?”
“Naturally. It’s part of my never-ending charm.”
Moving the reins to one hand, Kit dug into her cloak and pulled out a small, silver tube. “I have a rape alarm.” She dropped it in his hand. “It’s really loud.”
Marc blinked at her. And then laughed. Not politely.
“I’ll keep that in mind . . . Linwood is known for improper propositions.”
“Really? Do tell—”
“Stand!” Linwood shouted.
Kit swiveled to look behind.
“Eyes on the road.” Marc tugged her cloak.
“You know I hate backseat drivers, right?” Kit said as she turned back around.
“Don’t care.”
Kit nodded toward her left side. “I also have a taser in my cloak pocket.”
“Anything else?”
“Nope.”
“A taser? You know, a handgun would be much more useful in this situation.”
Kit tilted her head, giving him a deadpan look, and then moved her eyes back to the road. “Gah. You are such an American. Handguns are illegal in modern Britain. Even you should know that.”
Marc dug through her cloak, finding the pocket, and pulled out a large taser, hefting its weight in his hand.
“Great. Now w
hat?” Marc asked. “I can’t very well taser the carriage horses. Animals and people would end up dead.”
Kit blinked, her mouth moving, perplexed. “That is true.”
“Halt, Lord Vader!” Linwood’s voice rang over the sounds of the carriages’ jostling.
Even over the clang of the carriage wheels, Marc heard Kit giggle. “He called you Lord Vader.”
Marc grinned. Man, and he thought he liked nineteenth century Kit . . .
“You have the wrong people, Linwood,” Marc yelled back, tucking the useless taser into the waistband of his pants.
Linwood responded by firing another shot.
Which naturally frightened their horse again. Kit kept a firm hand on the reins, but the poor animal whinnied and continued to run.
Angrily, Marc shouted, “Stop spooking my horse!”
The carriage gained on them. But the road was too narrow for it to draw alongside their own gig. And Linwood didn’t shoot again.
Thank goodness.
Their horse still ran, but Kit seemed to have him back under control.
Which was fortunate, as the road curved to the left. Kit feathered the galloping horse around the turn.
“Nice driving.”
“Thank you.”
Marc glanced behind them.
“Linwood made the turn, though their carriage skid a bit.”
“Drat them.”
“Drat? No more expansive use of the English language?”
“I decided to spare your tender ears.” She handed him the reins. “Here, my arms are getting tired.”
Marc took the reins with an unsure look. “You do realize I’m not a pro at gig driving, right?”
Kit shrugged. “That makes two of us.”
He tightened his grip on the reins, steadying the horse. “I do believe we are involved in a carriage chase scene.”
Kit chuckled. “It’s like incredibly cute and horridly dangerous at the same time.”
“I feel like there should be some theme music going on.”
Kit nodded and then began humming the theme song from Mission: Impossible.
Still humming, she poked her head around the side, looking behind them.
“They’re gaining on us.” She turned back.
“Of course they are. They have two horses pulling their carriage.”
“Yes, but those horses are pulling four people instead of two, so it should be more even. Laws of physics and all.”
