Once Upon a Time Travel

by Sariah Wilson

  “That’s a rather refreshing change of pace,” he said in a gruff tone.

  Emma ran one gloved hand along the side of his billiard table, and for one insane moment he found himself envious of an inanimate object. “I shouldn’t judge you. You’re a product of your environment.” Just as he had earlier, she rolled one billiard ball toward another. “So why are you hiding out in here?”

  “Perhaps I’m upset about not being able to dance, either.”

  “You’re hilarious. You should go on tour.” She turned to look at the portraits on the wall closest to her. “And you wouldn’t mock me if you knew how much easier dancing was where I’m from.”

  “In what way?”

  “Um, in every way. I can’t really explain it. I’d have to show you. But I think you’d probably consider it to be inappropriate.”

  His curiosity was thoroughly piqued. That mischievous smile returned, and he knew she was about to say or do something she shouldn’t.

  And he wanted her to.

  “By all means. You must show me how you dance in America.” His ribs felt taut, as if bracing for a blow.

  She walked over to the door and closed it, and his heart pounded when she turned the lock. Emma looked at him over her shoulder with a provocative expression no woman should ever give a man unless she was prepared to deal with the consequences of his reaction. His grip on the pool cue tightened.

  Walking toward him, she removed her gloves slowly, dropping them on top of the table. “My hands are getting sweaty.” Then she shook her hands and rolled her head from one side to the other.

  Hartley hated that his mind went to a dark place. Did she mean for them to be discovered alone, while she disrobed? An earl was a much better catch than his heir presumptive.

  Then she waited directly in front of him, and she was so near that he could have pulled her to him in half a heartbeat. Her intoxicating scent flooded his senses. “What is that perfume you wear?” he asked in a strangled voice.

  “Charles took me to Floris to buy it. Have you been there? It’s such a cute shop. Anyway, he made me my own signature scent.” Her eyes went wide at those words, as if it was beyond belief for such a thing to happen to her. “It’s mainly orange blossom and vanilla. And it’s not just perfume. I have bath oils, too. It smelled so good and made my skin so smooth.” She put her arm out. “Here, feel.”

  “Beg your pardon?” Surely he had misunderstood.

  Emma rolled her eyes. “Feel how soft it made my skin.”

  His fingers itched to obey her command, and his hand edged upward.

  “It’s not going to work if you’re still wearing gloves.”

  Hartley then did something he hadn’t done since he was a small boy. Putting his hand up to his mouth, he grabbed the tip of his glove just above his middle finger and impatiently yanked it off with his teeth. Without his consent, his fingertips did as she bade and ran themselves up the length of her arm. It was like pure silk, and he forgot how to breathe.

  The need to feel with his lips what he’d just felt with his fingers struck, until she said, “See? I told you.”

  Her words were like a cold splash of water, snapping his reverie, preventing him from behaving even more foolishly. He withdrew his hand with a shudder, hoping she did not notice. He tried to regroup, regain control of himself. He could not lay the blame on port this time. He was utterly bewitched by the feel of her, the smell of her, the sight of her.

  “There’s also something called toilet water that he gave me, which turned out to be something completely different from what I was expecting.”

  “I like it.” He hoped she couldn’t hear the hoarseness in his voice.

  “Me too. I’ve decided I smell like a Creamsicle.”

  “A what?”

  She glanced up, as if trying to settle on a translation. “Oh. Like ice cream. Or a cold dessert.”

  “I know what ice cream is. We have ice cream.”

  Her lips parted, and she whispered, “Shut up. You have ice cream? Here? And you haven’t shared? That’s like, neglect. Or a crime against humanity.”

  Why would she command him to be quiet and then ask questions? “We would have to go to Gunter’s for it. We can go, if you’d like.” He found himself eager to please her; the blinding smile that colored all her features was his reward, and he took her squeal of delight as acquiescence. He was very close to crossing over that line again. “You were going to show me how you dance?”

  “Right. So we have different kinds of dancing for different kinds of music. Like you guys do. For fast music, it’s kind of like this.”

  Then Emma began a series of movements, like some sort of full-body convulsion, jerking and shaking. For a moment he worried she was suffering from an apoplectic fit. Part of him was tempted to laugh. Until he saw her rapturous expression. And her movements changed from ridiculous and silly to seductive and enticing. He found himself wanting to join in with her monkey dancing. He had to clear his painfully constricted throat. “And if the tempo is slower?”

  She came to a halt, still grinning but out of breath. “Then we do this.”

  He had thought to provide himself with some relief, only to find that he had worsened his circumstances. She came even closer, nearly touching him, but not.

  Until she did.

  His gut clenched painfully when she reached for his wrists and placed his hands on the sides of her waist. “Your hands go here, and mine go there.” She reached up and put her hands around the back of his neck, reminding him of last night when his blood had been set on fire. A pounding sensation spread through his entire body. “And then what?” His voice was husky, even to his own ears.

  “Then we sway in a circle like this.”

  Whatever slight distance had existed a moment ago evaporated as she pressed herself against him, again echoing the previous night. Her smile when she raised her face to his was genuine. He didn’t know how he could have imagined her capable of trickery or beguilement. He saw only honesty.

  And a beauty that he spent too much time trying to deny but in this moment could not.

  They moved from one foot to the other, back and forth, while slightly turning. When the lump in his throat cleared, he asked, “This is how American women dance with their husbands? In the privacy of their own homes?”

  “This is how everyone dances with everyone. In public. Girls dance this way with boys they just met.” He felt her sweet but unbelievable words against his jaw since they were cheek to cheek, and it tightened in response.

  Even if she was not bothered by their proximity, he could not stay in this stance without making a grave mistake. It felt different dancing, or whatever Emma claimed this was, with a corsetless woman. His fingers curved reflexively against her, wanting to draw her even closer.

  Americans certainly did do things differently from the British.

  Before he could do something else he would inevitably regret later, there was a whine and the sound of claws against the billiards room door. Most likely Aunt Charles’s corgi. It was enough to make him remember himself.

  He removed his hands and stepped back, encountering no resistance from her. He bowed deeply. “I thank you for the dance, Miss Blythe.”

  She curtsied to him as if he were the king himself.

  “Perhaps we should rejoin the others before Aunt Charles sends anyone else?” he suggested, his demeanor much more at ease than his pulse.

  “Definitely,” she nodded. “I’ll go out first.” She picked up her gloves, tugging them back into place, giving Hartley the idea to do the same. His had fallen to the floor. She opened the door, sticking her head out. Princess trotted inside and went under the billiards table. “The coast is clear,” Emma said, just before she sneaked back into the main hallway.

  He stayed behind, taking a moment to collect his thoughts and calm his reaction to Emma.

  Emma.

  To her face and among others, he always called her Miss Blythe. But at some point in his private
thoughts she had become Emma.

  That realization thoroughly alarmed him.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  THINGS I’M GOING TO INVENT IF I GET STUCK IN 1816

  Milk chocolate, particularly for ice cream

  When I woke up the next morning, all I could think about was Hartley. The get-together after dinner had actually been fun. A lot more fun than I was expecting. Turned out piquet looked easy, but it was hard. Like, lose all my money hard.

  Not my money. Some money Hartley had lent me. Which he wasn’t getting back, as I had no way to earn income here. That he was already super-rich helped ease some of my guilt.

  What I thought about most was how he had acted. I watched him play a few hands of something, possibly poker, with a bunch of other men. He had that sardonic, twisted smile on and had most of the other players laughing. I loved that he was witty and elegant without resorting to jokes about bodily functions. It was such a nice change after boys who thought the height of cultural sophistication were YouTube videos of men injuring themselves.

  And he was a much better card player than I was. I figured it was due to him being so smart. One of his cousins lost every hand and a fortune during their game. His wife had been distraught (and distraught for these women was like biting the corner of their lips. They were very into not showing emotions for some reason), and I watched Hartley deliberately drop an ace to the floor so that the cousin could win the game and earn back the money he’d lost without any damage to his pride.

  There really was this streak of kindness and generosity in him that sometimes seemed at odds with how he presented himself. He loved his family. The arranged marriage thing he was trying to force on me and his brother seemed a little uncaring, but that was my own morality and expectations trying to incompatibly mesh with the mores and customs of a much different time.

  Speaking of different times, I had kind of taken advantage of him last night. I had found that I liked touching him and being close to him. There was an undeniable physical attraction there. At least, there was on my end. Showing him modern dancing had had an ulterior motive, one that I exploited. I tried to feel bad about it but couldn’t.

  Although I knew about his plans, I wasn’t going to stick around. Which meant I probably shouldn’t be trying to snuggle up to him or smooch on him. But I wanted to think of being with him like a fun holiday romance where you met someone and spent all your time with them knowing that it would come to an end. Couldn’t I have something like that?

  You could, except he still wants you to marry his brother, an internal voice whispered. Oh yeah. There was that.

  First thing in the morning after I was dressed, I found out that Hartley was gone and Charles was still sleeping. I asked Rosemary to summon Mrs. Farnsworth. It felt a little like sending a squire to go wake up a dragon. So far I’d managed to not have much interaction with the housekeeper, although occasionally I would see her in the halls, where she would give me the evil eye. I remembered from her letters how she seemed to have a small crush on Hartley. Which I couldn’t blame her for, but she seemed to perceive me as some kind of threat and was never happy to see me.

  Like now. It took a long time for her to show up. When she finally did, she looked just like she had the first day I’d met her. Frosty blonde hair pulled back into a perfect, tight bun. Black dress with a massive keychain filled with keys hanging from her waist. “May I help you, Miss Blythe?”

  Her words were polite, but there was always this tone. Like she resented having to do anything for me. I explained that Sir Reginald had somehow gotten locked in the library. On cue, the cat let out a pitiful cry.

  The housekeeper hesitated for a moment before reaching for her keys. It was then that I noticed how different the keys were to the ones I was used to. These were heavy, thick. I had hoped to steal the library key, which was kind of like hoping to steal some cheese from a rabid ferret. Unfortunately, she never removed the key from the ring, and they all looked the same to me. There was no way I’d be able to grab the right one and get it off the ring, all without her noticing.

  Then I thought I could break the key off in the lock, rendering it useless for a while, but it wasn’t flimsy. I would have to do something to the lock itself. Break it somehow. She opened the door, and Sir Reginald was waiting expectantly on the other side. I swear he gave me a dirty look before he slunk out of the room.

  Mrs. Farnsworth closed the door quickly and relocked it. The key clinked against the others when she took it from the lock and returned it to her belt. I saw my chance slip past.

  “Is there anything else I can do for you, miss?”

  Again polite with a rude tone. “Is there something you want to say to me?”

  “I’m not sure I take your meaning.”

  Right. “I think you take my meaning just fine. You obviously don’t like me.”

  She held her hands in front of her, folded against her skirt. She glared at me, as if trying to decide whether or not she should speak. I wasn’t her boss, but I was her boss’s guest. “I think you have a secret.”

  Fevered panic roared to life inside me, sending waves of ice into my stomach. “I don’t have a secret.” I could hear the desperation in my voice even though I’d tried to hide it.

  She gave me a little half smile. “You skulk around His Lordship’s home, looking for something. He and Mrs. Meriweather may be blind to your behavior, but I am not. I will discover what you are doing.”

  “You’re dismissed,” I said through clenched teeth. I didn’t really have the right to tell her what to do, and I felt rude and condescending. But I wanted this conversation to end.

  Mrs. Farnsworth knew she’d gotten under my skin. With that mocking smile still in place, she curtsied and left. Here I’d thought I was being sly and careful. But if a woman I hardly ever saw knew what I was up to, it wouldn’t be long until Hartley himself figured it out.

  I couldn’t let that happen.

  * * *

  Hartley returned a couple of hours later. By then I’d had lunch, and I wanted to go out. The sun had been shining the entire morning and was still shining. It was a complete miracle.

  I let myself into the library without saying anything and started throwing open shades.

  “Shouldn’t you knock?” he asked.

  “Shouldn’t you stand up when I come in a room?” I glanced over at him, but he was still looking down at his books, writing with one of those infernal quills. Once I’d filled the room with light, I walked over to his desk. “It’s finally a nice day, and I really want to go out. And I can’t go out unless you or Charles come with me. Maybe we could go to that ice cream place you mentioned.”

  He sighed and lay down his quill. “Miss Blythe, I am very—”

  “Busy,” I finished. “I get it. Always busy. You know what they say about all work and no play.”

  “Yes, it makes Jack a very wealthy boy.”

  It also made him a stick-in-the-mud, but I wasn’t going to ruin whatever chance I had at getting him to agree. “You’re already wealthy and I’m bored and I love the sun and I have to have an escort, so can we go? Please?”

  “Where is Aunt Charles?”

  “Still in bed.” Not wanting him to have an excuse to put me off, I added, “Last night she said she wanted to make some calls this afternoon and wanted to go alone.” Part of me suspected that she planned on issuing some mafialike threats to those people who wouldn’t accept me.

  Because last night, when I’d thought the evening had gone well, Charles had been grim. “Things did not go over as I’d hoped,” she said.

  As I thought about it, there had been some people who I didn’t talk to. They pretty much avoided me the entire evening. I didn’t realize it had been meant to be offensive. “So what do we do now?”

  “There is one person who could guarantee you entry into every home in London,” Charles said.

  “I thought you were that person.”

  “I am feared. She is beloved. There is
a difference. Let me think on it.”

  Realizing that Hartley still hadn’t responded, I decided to just beg. “Please, can we go for a drive? Please, please, please? Look at how nicely I’m asking!” I even batted my eyelashes at him. “I am chomping at the bit for some ice cream!”

  “Champing at the bit,” he corrected absentmindedly. “You really aren’t familiar with horses, are you?”

  Duh. I hadn’t been lying. Well, at least not about that. “Please?”

  Another world-weary sigh, as if I made his life infinitely difficult. “It’s obvious you will not let me get any work done until I do. Very well, let’s go for a drive.”

  I might have jumped up and down a couple of times, clapping my hands. Might have. I would neither confirm nor deny such immature behavior. But inside my head I was screaming yay, yay, yay, beyond thrilled at the prospect of some delicious, soul-soothing junk food. It had been way too long. Hartley told me to get my things, whatever that meant, and he rang for Stephens, asking him to have somebody get the gig ready.

  Running upstairs, I nearly crashed face-first into Charles. “Oh! Sorry. Or, I beg your pardon.”

  Me out of breath was apparently funny, judging by the smile on her face. “And where are you rushing off to in such a hurry?”

  “We’re going to a place or a person called Gunter’s to get ice cream.” I didn’t know which. Hartley hadn’t clarified, and I hadn’t cared, as long I was getting a frozen dessert out of it.

  “The tea shop?” A strange expression crept into Charles’s eyes. With her being an actual witch, that cunning look scared me a little. “I shall have to accompany you. This is a rather fortuitous coincidence. I’ve recently discovered that the person I wish to speak to will be there today.”

  A little bit of me went flat. I loved Charles, but I had been looking forward to spending some alone time with Hartley. She said she would inform Hartley of her decision to tag along, and I found out that “things” I was supposed to gather included a totally unnecessary shawl and an even more unnecessary bonnet. And gloves and a parasol. Which in my opinion just ruined the whole “I want to be out in the sun” thing. But I let Rosemary put whatever she wanted on me as long as it meant that I got to go out.