Peter’s kiss deepened and Emma felt a familiar whirling in her heart, the deep longing that pulled her on with an intensity she’d never felt before, toward this man—toward the man he was and the woman she was, and who they had been together.
“Emma,” he said breathlessly, “I feel like I’ve found something again that I so desperately missed and needed. You…” He skimmed his mouth over her lips and neck, tightening his arms and stroking her back, thumbs brushing the sides of her breasts, until he skimmed those beautiful, strong hands down to cup her bottom and pull her up against his already rock-hard erection.
If he hadn’t been holding her up, his passion for her would have knocked her flat, and she felt it again, the familiar longing, pulling her toward him, toward the past, and toward the future.
Emma’s breathing went ragged, her legs wobbly. His mouth was gentle and tender while he kissed her lips and framed her face with his hands, and kissed her again. With a quick move, he scooped her up and carried her to the couch, setting her down and tumbling on top of her, still kissing her, his erection pressing against her thigh.
Emma kissed him back and sighed into his mouth, flicking his tongue with her own. His hands shook while he fumbled to find her shirt buttons, and he kissed her bare skin as he undid each one, taking his time, worshipping every bit of skin with hands and lips and breath. Another button, and another.
She could feel him hard and solid against her, heat shimmering off his body. His hands slid under the shirt, pushing it off her shoulders, then lifting her so his hands trailed down her back, removing the shirt completely. When Peter’s hand stopped exploring her, Emma’s eyes fluttered open.
“I want nothing more than to make love to you,” he murmured in a voice steeped with passion and longing, “but…” With obvious reluctance, he lifted his torso up and away from her.
“Peter, it’s okay. I want this, too.”
“This has nothing to do with my so-called engagement…” he trailed off, shaking his head. “I suspect there is nothing we will be able to do about this future that seems to have designed itself to keep us apart. I can’t be selfish, much as I wish I could.”
Peter sat up, breaking the spell.
Emma reached up and touched his arm. “I don’t know if anything can be done, but I will try.”
“Do you think Alexandra knows?”
Emma blinked. “You mean who she was and what she’s here to do? I doubt it, but it’s possible. Most people don’t remember. They usually feel compelled to pursue a goal, repeat a behavior, without really knowing why.”
“Like I was drawn to you when I first saw you.”
She nodded. “Yes, just like that.”
Peter leaned back on the couch, his shirt still unbuttoned at the top, and Emma fought the urge to touch him. If she did, they’d make love, and maybe Peter was right. What would it serve but to prolong the inevitable? Another chip of her heart broke off at the thought of never being with him again.
“I resigned myself to this,” she said softly, “A life without you, and then…I mean, I don’t presume to know the answers, but I feel like I’ve been shown this for a reason. Maybe it’s to help right a wrong from the past, or maybe…”
“It’s meant to finally bring us together for a lifetime,” he finished, and she nodded.
“She’s coming here, you know, day after tomorrow, and we start our ‘tour.’” He rubbed his forehead. “I can’t imagine how this would ever work out, I mean this marriage to her. At first I thought, you know, I’ll do it for my father, my country. But now…” He shifted until he was facing Emma.
“I feel like I’ll be marrying the devil.”
Emma suspected he wasn’t altogether wrong.
chapter 9
Alexandra paced her bedroom. She didn’t like Peter’s early departure, not one bit. In fact, she hated it.
She had a feeling he’d gone to see his little whore, that Emma bitch. Alexandra’s arms were stiff at her side, her fists clenching and unclenching. Her father was off at a meeting, and the palace was quiet, leaving her alone with her dark thoughts. Images of Peter and his whore in bed, having sex, taunted her to near madness. Alexandra squeezed her eyes shut, trying to banish the disgusting fantasies from her mind.
Peter was hers and hers alone, and that bitch needed to learn her place. Alexandra was not about to tolerate Peter’s plan of never having sex with her. She tossed her dark hair and caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror next to the closet. She was fucking gorgeous, perfect, in fact. What man would not want her? Peter was an extraordinary man, blindingly handsome. They’d make beautiful babies together.
Of course Alexandra didn’t have the mothering instinct, but the thought of creating humans who looked exactly like her was intoxicating. Also, she’d be involved in the affairs of the royal family for as long as she lived if she bore him a child. She turned to the side to admire her slender body. She’d hate to wreck her figure in order to carry a child, but there were bigger issues at stake here. Her royal future would be secured if she could give him a child.
First, though, she needed to get him into bed, which wouldn’t happen as long as the bitch Emma was still in the picture. If the whore was gone, he’d have no choice but to sleep with his fiancée, his wife. A man had needs, after all.
She gasped and stood, stock-still, in the middle of her luxurious suite.
Yeeesssss. If Emma was gone, he’d have no choice.
She had the perfect solution.
. . .
Peter and Emma talked for a few hours while she told him, in greater detail, what their lives had been like as King and Queen of Belgium. And their children, Noah and Fleur, and their wonderful life together.
Emma traced the edge of her skirt while she allowed herself to think of them again. The children, their children.
“They were magnificent children, Peter.” A sob escaped her, and she couldn’t hold back the tears. Peter put an arm around her and pulled her close.
“They were all so ha-happy,” her voice shook, “and then they weren’t. The children’s heartbreak and terror, Anna-Maria’s grief and loneliness…Overwhelming.”
“It must have been overwhelming to be back at the palace,” he said, trying to soothe her.
“The night I slept in their bedroom I was in the middle of another trip back, so to speak, and it was…”
“I heard you screaming, and I couldn’t imagine what could have happened. But I then remembered hearing a woman crying from that room when I was a boy. When I was a child, some of the staff insisted the room was haunted.”
“She can’t leave the room even now,” Emma said, overwhelmed again by Anna-Maria’s pain. “It’s as though she believes if she doesn’t wait there for Fitz to return, it won’t happen. Or he’ll give up if she’s not there when he finds his way home.”
Her comment left them silent for good long while, and then Emma finally said, “I don’t know whether a changed past will fix the future, Peter. This is new territory for me,” she began quietly, and then added, “But I will try. Even if it doesn’t help us, I feel so much grief for the family, I can’t even begin to describe it. Maybe it’s all I was meant to do, to help them find each other again.”
Peter sighed, “I’d like to think if it helps them, it would help us, too.”
Emma sighed and nodded, looking at her hands.
“I would like to think that, but again, I’m just not sure how it works. The butterfly effect isn’t always a ‘thing.’ I mean, whole worlds don’t always change because history is different. At least I don’t think so.”
“I still have trouble wrapping my mind around what’s happening to us, Em. I mean, if you had told me a year ago I’d be sitting here with you having a reasonably rational conversation about past lives and how we were married hundreds of years ago, I would have sworn you were daft.”
“I know, believe me, I know. It’s one thing to see someone else’s past, but when it’s your own, and there’s so much left undone, it’s…”
“Overwhelming,” he said softly, taking her hand. “Promise me something, Emma.”
“Of course,” she said, without hesitation. “Anything.”
“Promise me you’ll tell me what’s happening. I mean, when you figure it out.”
Emma fetched up a deep sigh. She had no idea if she would be able to do anything or what would happen to any of them if she did figure it out.
“I will,” she promised. Then she added in a hoarse whisper, “I should go.”
chapter 10
I have an idea.
The text came from Peyton. Emma checked the time. It came in while she was with Peter. As she walked up Park Avenue, it was already getting dark. She’d stayed too long, but it also hadn’t been long enough.
Emma scrolled through Peyton’s messages.
Then, fifteen minutes later: Are you with Peter? If you are, I don’t even want to know how it could be possible.
Emma sent a text back, Yes, I was. Now I’m not. I’m headed home. What’s your idea?
Just get here. Emma read as she descended to the subway.
. . .
“What’s your idea?” Emma demanded as she swung her apartment door open.
“First tell me about Peter. How did you see him?” Peyton gestured impatiently for her to have a seat on the couch. She had already poured wine, knowing her cousin would probably need it.
“Astrid told him about my gift and about Fitz and Anna-Maria, and he came here, flew here, to find out more.”
“So he believes you?”
“Without question.”
Both she and Peyton knew how rare total acceptance was. Most people blew them off as eccentric or nutty.
“Where did you leave it?”
Emma shrugged and sipped her wine, “I promised to tell him if I discover anything else—”
“Or a way to change the past?” Peyton interrupted.
Emma narrowed her eyes, “Is that your idea? You figured out a way to do it?”
“No,” Peyton grinned triumphantly, “but I know someone who can. She lives in Connecticut, and she’ll know how to fix it.”
“Fix what? The past? I’m not sure anyone can.”
“She can,” Peyton said confidently. “She helped me once, though I need to tell you she’s, um, a little bit odd and reclusive.”
Emma sipped her wine again, “Then what you’re telling me is she lives in a shack and hasn’t seen another human in forty years.”
Peyton giggled, “Replace shack with cottage, and you’re about right. She used to run a mystical bookstore until she retired and her daughter took it over.”
She took Emma’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Trust me, she’ll be able to help.”
chapter 11
Maude Wexford Elliott Cummingham Grant lived in a modest cottage on the outskirts of one of the small villages dotting the Candlewood Lake area around New Fairfield, Connecticut. The cottage was charming and tucked away deep in the woods at the end of a long road that deteriorated from pavement to gravel, and then to dirt.
Peyton rented a car and they drove almost two hours to get there, but now Emma wasn’t sure they should do it.
What if this woman was a crackpot? Few people who were actually, truly psychic ever touted it the way Maude had, apparently. She’d done readings in her shop for years and then abruptly stopped and turned the entire shop over to her daughter, sold the mansion her fourth husband left her, and retreated to isolation in a cottage that was so hard to find it didn’t even have cell service.
“No bars,” Emma announced while they parked. “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” she asked for the tenth time.
Peyton glanced at her while she put the car in park, “You need to trust me more, and, yes, I am sure it’ll be fine.”
“It’s been my experience that only people who are hiding from something or someone live this far out in the boonies.”
Peyton got out of the car and slammed the door. “Come on.”
Emma obeyed, albeit very hesitantly.
“Look, Em, do you want to help Anna-Maria or not?”
Emma inhaled a deep breath and then blew it out. “Right. Let’s go.”
They walked up a narrow path to the door, and before they could knock, it opened.
A tall woman, who appeared to be about seventy-five, with frizzy grey hair pulled back into a messy bun, beamed at them, clearly not the least bit worried about adding to her considerable collection of venerable wrinkles.
“Peyton, my darling, it’s so good to see you again.” The two embraced while Emma stood back and observed.
Then Maude smiled at Emma. “And this must be your cousin with the past life problem.”
Well, that’s one way of putting it.
“Yes, this is Emma.”
Maude shook Emma’s hand, and when she did, a power, the likes of which Emma had never experienced in her life, vibrated through her.
Maybe this woman is for real.
Peyton and Emma followed Maude inside and saw the older woman had already set the table with tea freshly poured and a stack of cookies.
“Let’s have a seat and get right down to it. I feel there’s a great urgency here,” Maude said and pointed to the chairs around the table.
The cottage, though small, was cozy but cluttered, with books everywhere and some sort of scent Emma couldn’t quite place. Maybe sage? One entire wall was filled with shelves of hardcover books, and though Emma couldn’t see the titles on the spines, she assumed they were all devoted to mystical subjects.
“I enjoy a good Grisham, too, every so often.” Maude winked at Emma.
Once they were seated and she poured them each a cup of tea, she said, “Now, it’s my understanding from Peyton that you want to go back and change the past.”
Emma was taking a sip of her tea and nearly spit it up. “Not really. Um, I mean, I don’t know.” She threw up her hands.
Maude seemed impatient. “Honey, you either do or you don’t. The answer to your question of whether the past can change the future is yes, it can.”
Emma shouldn’t be surprised. She’d grown up with her own ability, and Peyton’s, who often knew what she was going to say before she did, but still this woman surprised her.
“But how much,” Maude continued, “is anyone’s guess. Unless you’re trying to affect major historical events, like whether or not Hitler was born, it’s hard to know how much will change.”
Maude paused to sip her tea. “Peyton didn’t share everything with me, only enough so I could mediate on it. Here’s what I learned. The only country this incident affected was Belgium, so it likely won’t impact world events. Though it may have some economic influence on the country, it won’t alter world history. You always have to be careful with altering world history.”
Maude took a bite of her cookie and sighed, “I certainly learned that the hard way.”
Emma was afraid to ask.
“In the end, I think whether Hitler was born might not have affected anything. That war was bound to happen regardless.”
Emma frowned. What the hell were they talking about?
“Um, Maude,” Peyton said, sensing Emma’s confusion, “Would you tell us more about what you learned?”
Maude selected another cookie, and by Emma’s count she’d already eaten three. How the woman managed to stay so slim was anyone’s guess. She certainly had a sweet tooth.
“Sugar helps me focus,” Maude said, again reading Emma’s mind. “And yes, I know how odd it sounds. Emma, listen. You either welcome your gift, or you don’t. What I learned is this: You have hidden from it your entire life, and now you want to s
tart taking it seriously. You feel like the answers should just present themselves. Psychic ability doesn’t work that way.”
Maude pinned her with a penetrating look. “You have to respect it first.”
“I-I do respect it.”
“You do no such thing. You think it’s something to be ashamed of, and you wonder if I’m some old coot with marbles rattling around instead of a brain.”
“Maude, hon, I’m sure Emma doesn’t—”
“It’s okay, Peyton,” Maude smiled, holding up a hand with a half-eaten cookie. “I’m used to it.”
She turned back to Emma, “Do you want to know why I got out of it?”
Emma wasn’t sure, but she nodded anyway.
“Because once someone knows you have this power, the only thing they want from you is what they want. People would come to me wanting lottery numbers, or pathetic women wanted to know if the man they’ve been chasing after loved them. Guess what? If you have to ask, he probably doesn’t. I’m sure you know this already, but Peter loves you very much.”
Emma could feel the heat of a blush creep up her neck and across cheeks.
“I started doing readings because I thought I could genuinely help people. But only a fraction of them wanted help. The rest wanted validation of their poor choices. So I got out. But you, Emma, you have a rare gift. Not every psychic has the same specialty. Some of us can see into the future, but most of us can’t see that far into the past. If you wanted to, you could also see the deceased.”
Emma was speechless, because Maude was right. She’d seen spirits of those who hadn’t crossed over, lost souls who hadn’t known they were dead, or those seeking answers. It hadn’t happened a lot, but it had happened, and it terrified her. Now that she thought about it, she also had seen Fitz, Anna-Maria, and their children walking through the palace entryway when she arrived.
“You could simply ask Fitz where he was held prisoner,” Maude said matter-of-factly.
A Royal Affair Series: Book 1, 2, and 3: A paranormal, time travel, royal romance Page 20
