Clandestine (House of Oak Book 3)

by Nichole Van

  Marc reached out, snagging her hand and tugging her to him. Sliding a hand into the silky mass of her hair and bringing her head snug against his check. She sagged against him, arms wrapping around his shoulders, sniffling into his neck.

  “Hush, beautiful. Hush,” he murmured, stroking her back. Soothing.

  Every slide of his hands communicating his concern. His care.

  You are cherished.

  You are wanted.

  You are needed.

  He kissed the of side her head. Tightened his arms around her.

  “You can do anything you set your mind to, Kit. If you decide to carve a life for yourself here, you will. It’s that simple. You will adapt. It seems you always have.”

  She threaded her hands into his hair, hugging him in return.

  “And Daniel?” she whispered.

  “Let’s return these schematics to Linwood. Daniel will keep his appointment with the spies and turn over the fakes. He promised he would send word after his encounter, telling you of his location, if you care to join him. In the meantime, you need to decide where you want your own future to be.”

  Marc swallowed back a lump in his throat as he said those words.

  Would he give up Emme and James and his mother and his entire life in 2014 to stay here with Kit?

  What an unthinkable decision.

  He cared for Kit . . . but did he care enough to abandon everything else? That journal Daniel had found about Garvis. Was Marc the one who had leaked the information about the portal? And did that mean he decided to stay in the past after all?

  Fate had brought him to this point, but Marc refused to allow his future to be pre-destined. He still had choice. He desperately wanted to be with Kit, but to lose everything else . . .

  Would love be enough? Or would he come to regret his decision, resenting her in the process . . .

  He swallowed again, mentally shaking his head.

  But leaving Kit here with Daniel . . . returning to 2014 alone . . . that thought nearly tore him apart.

  Both impossible scenarios.

  But how could he ask her to do something he himself wasn’t willing to do? Namely, leave an important piece of your heart in another time and place.

  How could Fate bring them together, only to cruelly separate them again?

  Despite a brief reprieve, the impasse between them loomed as large as ever.

  Chapter 21

  Haldon Manor

  Late evening on March 2, 1814

  Kit angsted and fumed over her situation all the way back to Haldon Manor.

  Angry at Daniel.

  Angry at a mother who had left.

  Angry at a father who had retreated and ignored her.

  Angry at Marc who had let Daniel walk away.

  And then angry because Marc had been all understanding and helpful about it.

  Which just made her furious at herself.

  Because only a truly awful person would be angry with someone for being helpful and kind.

  Which pulled her back to being angry with Daniel for making her angry with Marc.

  Starting the cycle all over again.

  It was a vicious circle.

  Daniel just needed to grow up and come home to the life and century into which he had been born.

  That was it. Problem solved. End of discussion.

  Except, apparently, Daniel wasn’t going to do that.

  You need to find peace, Virtuous Angel whispered. This has possessed you for too long.

  Wicked Angel was more obnoxious. She hummed ‘Let It Go’ from Frozen for hours on end.

  Neither of which improved Kit’s mood.

  They arrived back at Haldon Manor well after sunset, cold and battered from the long carriage ride. The house blazoned with light. A welcoming sight. Though really Kit just wanted her bed.

  Well, that wasn’t true. What she really wanted was a long hot shower, followed by some Indian takeaway and time in front of a television with a heated blanket, soft cotton pajamas and two sleeves of double-stuff oreos.

  But that obviously wasn’t going to happen.

  And if she decided to stay in the past with Daniel, it would never happen. So . . .

  As Marc steered the gig around the medieval walled garden and toward the stables, Kit sighed. The thought of getting up the next morning and chasing errands for Lady Ruby made her physically ill.

  “Dash it, Marc! Where have you been?” A voice called out from the doorway of the walled garden.

  Marc pulled up on the reins as Arthur stepped out of the shadows, walking quickly over to them.

  “I heard you pull up the lane and slipped out before anyone else notices your return. Miss Ashton.” Arthur coolly inclined his head in her direction. Condemnation evident in every line of his body. “You both owe me a detailed explanation as to why you stole my gig and absconded together. Such behavior hardly reflects well on either of you and is obviously grounds for Miss Ashton’s dismissal.”

  Arthur rested a hand on the gig, glaring up expectantly at them both.

  Kit suppressed a weary groan. When faced with serving Lady Ruby or being turned out into the cold night, she would obviously side with having a roof over her head. She doubted Marc or Daniel would let her starve, but the fact that neither man was from this century did limit how much they could help.

  Mostly, she was just tired of playing all these nineteenth century societal games.

  Marc tensed at her side, clearly having heard her soft sound of distress.

  “Good evening to you too, Arthur. We are happy to be returned to your loving care in one piece. Thank you so much for your kind concern in asking after our welfare.” Marc’s tone was a masterpiece of sarcasm.

  Arthur stiffened. “This is no time to be difficult. I have housed and cared for you as if you were my own brother. And this is how you repay me? Have you no thought for propriety?” Arthur stole a look at Kit, obviously trying to scold them without revealing too much. “It’s well known you ran off together. Miss Ashton’s reputation is in tatters, and I can hardly keep such a woman under my roof—”

  “Stop, Arthur,” Marc interrupted quietly, frustration evident in his tense voice. “Miss Ashton isn’t going anywhere. Turns out, she’s from 2014 too. Her brother, Daniel Ashton, is the blackmailer I’ve been seeking—the one who attacked me in Duir Cottage—

  “What?!” Arthur’s eyes went wide with shock.

  “—Fortunately, Miss Ashton’s brother was not actually attempting to blackmail me,” Marc finished.

  Arthur stared at her in stunned silence for a moment, trying to piece everything together.

  “Is anyone the person they seem to be?” he finally asked faintly.

  Marc chuckled. A grim, dark sound echoing in the night.

  “That’s a philosophical question for the ages, but not one I care to debate right now. Daniel helped us recover the items stolen from Kinningsley, and we are working to uncover the spy plot.”

  “Thank heavens! Linwood was terribly upset and rushed off right after it was found you two had left. Of course, Marianne and I and our house guests returned immediately home. I understand Linwood returned to Kinningsley yesterday evening a little worse for wear. I am not sure what transpired, but I know he will be pleased to hear what you have uncovered.”

  “Yes, I suppose he will. But, for now, we need a way to smooth this all over. Miss Ashton is actually the daughter of Lord Whitmoor in 2014 and is a respected, well-known woman. I refuse to watch someone of her stature reduced to serving Lady Ruby. She needs to be upgraded.”

  Kit’s breath hitched at Marc’s unwavering defense of her. He really was just the sweetest—

  “Upgraded?” Arthur questioned, clearly unfamiliar with the term.

  “Yes. She needs to have a more proper position within your household. Something more like a guest of honor than a servant. I’m sure it’s what James would want.”

  Arthur’s eyes narrowed, obviously not liking his older brother
being used as a bargaining chip. Marc’s bland expression clearly said he would not back down.

  Silence hung.

  “Arthur, we are tired and have had a long day. We have done much to help you and Linwood—”

  “I do not see how it is possible to explain your behavior, Marc.” Arthur’s shoulders sank, conceding the argument. “It is well-known that you left together. Miss Ashton has no reputation—”

  “I say, Arthur, is that you out here in the moonlight?” A voice called across the back terrace. A high-pitched, nasal voice.

  All three of them instantly quieted. But it took Jedediah less than a minute to find them.

  He strolled through the same door in the garden wall, taking in Kit and Marc still sitting in the gig. A footman followed closely at his heels, moving quickly to hold their horse.

  Placing them all in a nice bind.

  Biting back a few bitter words, Marc climbed out of the gig, reaching up a hand to assist Kit down. All under the censorious eyes of Arthur and Jedediah. Jedediah, in particular, watched Kit with almost predatory glee.

  It was not a particularly good moment.

  “Well, cousin,” Jedediah said, turning to Arthur. “I cannot imagine you would allow people of such deplorable character to remain under your roof. I am sure they can find their way from here.” He gestured into the frigid, dark night, his eyes gleaming in delight.

  Ugh. He was such a jerk.

  Arthur stood frozen, obviously torn between propriety and the sense of obligation he felt to both Kit and Marc.

  Marc straightened his spine beside her, obviously not willing to go down without a fight.

  “I would ask you to speak more carefully around my cousin, Mr. Knight.” Marc fixed his gaze on Jedediah. “She has had a long day. While staying at Kinningsley, Miss Ashton and I realized she was the long lost daughter of my mother’s sister. Our family has been looking for her for years. I cannot express our great joy in having her brought back to us.” He raised Kit’s gloved hand in his, bestowing a light kiss on her knuckles. “I must apologize for our abrupt departure from Kinningsley. We had urgent family business to attend to.”

  Arthur raised his eyebrows, impressed with Marc’s story. It was almost plausible.

  Jedediah, however, looked decidedly skeptical.

  “Hogwash, Lord Vader!” Jedediah scoffed. “As if anyone would believe such a Banbury tale. Everyone has seen how you have been panting after Miss Ashton, and now we are to accept that you are cousins—”

  “Lord Vader! I am so delighted to discover you and Miss Ashton have returned without harm.” Marianne rushed past Jedediah, stopping beside Kit to place a concerned hand on her arm.

  Was everyone outside tonight?

  “Did I just overhear Lord Vader saying that you are, in actuality, cousins?” Marianne asked.

  “Yes, Mrs. Knight,” Kit managed to reply. “It has been a most unexpected pair of days—”

  “How marvelous! Why that just explains everything does it not?” Marianne exclaimed, looping her arm through Kit’s. “Come inside, all of you. ‘Tis far too cold to stand around outside chatting. Let us sit in front of a warm fire, and you can recount your tale.”

  “But . . .” Jedediah spluttered, “surely the propriety of this situation—”

  “Enough, Jedediah.” Marianne turned to him, steel in her voice. “Miss Ashton has been a model of virtue and kindness to all of us. I will not stand here and listen to you impugn her reputation. If Lord Vader says she is his cousin, then she is. And as his cousin, there is no dishonor in their traveling together. I will hear no more disagreement on the subject. Is that understood?”

  For the first time, Kit clearly saw the resemblance to the viscount in petite Marianne Linwood Knight. Head held high. Eyes snapping. When needed, Marianne could be as haughty and intractable as her brother.

  Arthur nodded, an appreciative smile tugging his lips. “Well said, my dear. Now, let us get out of this cold.”

  He clapped Marc’s shoulder and led the way indoors.

  And that was that.

  Haldon Manor

  March 3 thru March 9, 1814

  Kit welcomed the ‘upgrade’ from paid companion to honored guest. Even better, the change came with Fanny as her maid, more of Georgiana’s altered clothing and hot baths.

  Ah. Hot baths. Such a luxury.

  The next morning, she and Marc returned the papers to Linwood, who through a swollen lip and black eye, grudgingly thanked them for their efforts. Marc promised to let him know if they received any more information from Daniel . . . er . . . their ‘source.’

  And then, suddenly, there wasn’t much else to do. Except wait for word from Daniel.

  No more fetching shawls and plating food for Ruby, thank goodness. Though the old lady had not been pleased to lose her paid companion. Fortunately, a young woman from Marfield had been found on short notice to help.

  Kit’s days were her own, so she spent them with Marc. All the while, falling deeper and deeper.

  A week passed and still no word from Daniel.

  All of her angst morphed into anxiousness. Kit hated just sitting and waiting. She wanted to be out and doing. Searching for Daniel.

  His promise to Marc lingered in her head. He was going to send word of his location. She could remain permanently in the nineteenth century with Daniel. All she had to do was join him.

  The big question lingered. If Kit decided to stay, would Marc stay with her?

  For his part, Marc refused to discuss that. Every time she brought it up, he skillfully changed the topic. He obviously didn’t want to confront the issue one way or another.

  When she finally pressed him, he insisted he was Switzerland. Neutral territory. He wasn’t going to make a decision that might sway her one way or another.

  His face unreadable. Intractable.

  A look she had seen too many times on the faces of men she loved.

  Her father whenever she dared speak of her mother. Daniel as she pleaded with him, again, to find a path for himself.

  But Daniel has found a path, Virtuous Angel muttered. You just don’t like the path he chose.

  True that, Wicked Angel agreed.

  Stupid, dumb shoulder angels. She shrugged them off. Who needed them anyway?

  So instead of pressing the issue, she and Marc spent the week discussing their twenty-first century lives.

  Her ideas for expanding FauxPause. His plans for future movie projects.

  The places they had traveled to, the places they still wanted to go. Common likes (beaches, fast cars and bacon), common dislikes (crowded cities, slow drivers and cilantro) and things they agreed to disagree on (pop versus rap, soccer versus football).

  They met early one morning in the walled garden in the clothing they had been wearing when they arrived. Up to this point, Kit had enjoyed the sight of Marc in a full nineteenth century gentleman’s getup.

  But Marc in designer jeans, tight t-shirt and a leather jacket . . . positively swoon-inducing. It had taken her almost a full minute to start breathing again. Talk about broad shoulders . . .

  Granted, he had been equally appreciative of her skinny jeans, green silk shirt, black puffer jacket and knee-high black leather boots. If staring for an awkwardly long time with heated eyes qualified as appreciative.

  His exact words had been, “Your figure is utterly wasted on those stupid Empire-waist dresses.”

  And then he had languidly tugged her to him, kissing her long and hard just to emphasize his point.

  Each day wedged another chink into her do-not-abandon-Daniel armor.

  She felt so utterly trapped between the two men. Waiting for word from her brother. Wondering what Marc planned to do. Trying to decide where she wanted to be. The tension of simple waiting wore on both of them.

  So much so, that Kit insisted Marc go hunting with Arthur and Jedediah one afternoon. Giving Kit a break and a chance to spend time with Marianne and tiny Isabel in the drawing room.


  Baby Isabel was darling, small and petite with her mother’s dark hair. Obviously smitten with her daughter, Marianne loved nothing more than watching others fawn over the baby too. Though barely three months old, Isabel could already hold up her head and reached for Kit’s fingers. She smiled and cooed at everyone, eager to talk.

  Kit had very little experience with infants, having only held friends’ babies a handful of times over the years, but cradling Isabel in her arms caused a curious pang deep in her chest.

  Probably just her biological clock ticking—a not-so-subtle reminder she had recently turned thirty.

  Though Kit knew it was more than that. She couldn’t stop herself from imagining holding a similar baby—a boy possibly—with dark curling hair, green eyes and a mischievous smile. Because why not? It was her fantasy.

  The image lanced through her heart. The longing welled painfully, blurring her vision.

  She could almost smell that baby. Could feel Marc’s arms around her, loving her and their child. She could see them all together, riding in a car, playing at the beach, laughing at a playground. The dream ached.

  But . . . in the middle of her daydream, the child shifted, becoming a different little boy. One whose hair wasn’t quite as dark, whose eyes were more blue than green.

  She saw that same boy sitting in a hallway, watching their mother walk out the door. Never to look back.

  That’s when the tears actually fell.

  She couldn’t have a twenty-first century future with Marc without leaving Daniel behind.

  And how could she ever abandon Daniel the way their mother had?

  Swallowing hard, Kit calmly passed Isabel back to Marianne, who quietly handed her a handkerchief in return.

  Marianne Knight truly had a kind heart.

  Kit expected to remain a “watering pot,” as Marianne fondly called her, but Linwood’s arrival soon after stemmed that.

  His black eye had settled into an eye-catching shade of yellow-green. Watching the stiff viscount tentatively hold his cooing niece as if the baby offended him by being, well . . . a baby, made up for the rest of the day’s woes.

  It was anyone’s guess as to why Linwood visited so often. He probably just wanted to keep a closer eye on Marc. He usually sat silently, casting judgmental looks and stiffly interacting with tiny Isabel. Making everything awkwardly uncomfortable.