Once Upon a Time Travel

by Sariah Wilson

He didn’t answer. His jaw remained tight, like he was clamping his teeth together. For some reason it gave me courage.

  Because why couldn’t we just say how we felt? That we were attracted to each other? That we liked each other? That kissing each other was the most amazing thing ever? I was so tired of being afraid.

  And it wasn’t like I hadn’t already broken like ten thousand of their rules. I was in my nightgown, we were alone together, and it was the middle of the night.

  I just didn’t care. Our time together was coming to an end one way or another, and I wasn’t ready for it.

  Not without this.

  Gathering up what little bravery I had left, I shrugged the blankets off my shoulders and moved my arms away from his chest and up to his neck. Part of me was afraid he’d push me off. But he didn’t. His entire body had tensed up, though.

  He’d kissed me when we were both drunk, and it had been the most glorious thing I’d ever experienced.

  Now I needed to know what it would be like if he actually meant it.

  “Hartley?”

  “Yes?” He sounded like somebody was strangling him.

  “Do you want to kiss me?”

  If I thought he’d been tense before, that had been nothing compared to how rigid he went. “You are to marry my brother.”

  Some feminine part of me sensed victory. “That wasn’t an answer to my question. Do you want to kiss me?” I emphasized each word in my last sentence carefully.

  He swallowed again. “It is not that I don’t desire to kiss you. I cannot be dishonorable in that way.”

  My cloudy, lust-driven brain jumped on the one word that mattered most. “So you do ‘desire’ to kiss me?”

  Several agonizing moments passed before he finally said, lowly, “Very much.”

  That was all the encouragement I needed.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

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

  Chapstick. Because . . . dang.

  I pressed my lips against his, and he instantly responded. The kiss felt gentle and caring, tender and sweet. Like he was afraid I would break after all my earlier drama. I sighed against his mouth. This was better than I’d remembered. Better than I’d daydreamed. It was awesome. No wonder they wrote so many songs about this stuff. Because the blood rushing through me gave me this dizzy weightlessness where I needed to hang on to him to ground me.

  His hands moved up to my neck, to my hair, pulling me deeper into the kiss. I pressed myself against him, holding on even tighter. I wanted to melt into him. I wanted this kiss to last forever and ever. And now that I knew time travel existed, we probably really could kiss for all time.

  I forgot to be afraid. Forgot about the storm and about how dumb I acted. I could concentrate only on his lips nibbling at mine, soothing, exciting. That safe, secure, delicious feeling was back. It felt like I’d broken open a glow stick inside me, and the luminescent warmth was spreading throughout my body. Like the fun part of being drunk again. Only I was getting drunk on Hartley, and I was hoping there would be no hangover.

  He cupped my face in his hands, and I wanted to sigh with pleasure again. Whoever taught guys to do that should get a freaking medal. It did the most amazing things to my insides. His fingers felt so strong and warm against my neck, my cheeks, along my hairline. My skin burned everywhere he caressed.

  I also loved that I could touch him back. I loved the roughness of the stubble on his jaw, the masculine cut of it. I tugged at that stupid cravat thing around his neck, wanting to taste the skin on his throat, but I couldn’t get it undone. The knot was too complicated for my fumbling fingers. So I settled for playing with his silky, short hair, which he seemed to really like.

  Our breath and lips tangled together, the same way he tangled his fingers in my hair over and over again. Sparkling tingles ran between my lips, my heart, and my belly.

  Even though he handled me like I was precious and special, even though his kiss was technically chaste and sweet, it felt like we were standing at the top of a really high cliff. And if we both let go, there would be nothing but hunger. Desire. Desperation. Passion. I could feel how tightly he kept himself in check, and all those emotions and wants simmering just beneath the surface. The electric heat of those repressed actions hung heavy in the air between us.

  I sensed how easy it would be to push just a little. To make us both let go and freefall to a more fun and exciting place. To make him show me how much he wanted this, wanted me, even though he acted like he didn’t.

  Decision made, I was about to rock his world when a big, nonthunder crashing sound made both of us jump. I heard Charles scolding her corgi. I moved away from Hartley, and he stood in front of me, protecting me from view, letting me have the chance to wrap a blanket around me and cover up. My skin was hot and flushed, and I couldn’t help but press my fingers against my lips. Even his restrained, demure kisses made my lips feel delectably sensitized.

  I didn’t know why he made the effort, because anybody who saw us would know exactly what we’d just been doing. I did love that his first thought was to protect me.

  That kiss had been what I’d wanted for the longest time, but it wasn’t enough. The frustration made me crazy.

  Charles came through the open door. I probably should have realized that the door wasn’t shut before I tried to take us to Make-Out City. “I came to see after Emma. It is rather late.”

  “Of course.” How did he do that? How did he sound so calm and collected, while I’d been standing on the precipice of Hurricane Hartley? Ready to be caught up in all the things he made me feel?

  “Y-yes.” Just one syllable, but I somehow still managed to stutter. And it wasn’t even a logical response to what they’d both said. I got up, being careful to not touch Hartley as I moved past him. I just knew that if I so much as brushed against his sleeve, I’d fall to my knees and beg him to love me, to not make me marry his brother.

  Part of me wanted him to stop me. To tell me that he’d felt that, too. That there was more between us than an in-law relationship.

  That he couldn’t bear the thought of me marrying James.

  But he didn’t say it. And even though I’d kissed him, again, and he’d liked it, I knew deep down that it didn’t change anything. So I said the only thing I could. “Good night.”

  I was already on the stairs when I heard him repeat, “Good night.” And he didn’t sound quite as calm as he had when he’d spoken to Charles.

  Charles remained surprisingly and suspiciously quiet until we got to my room. “You know, it just occurred to me that I told you this morning I was deathly afraid of thunder. Did you do this?”

  “My dear, do you think me capable of controlling the very weather?” she asked, all sweetness and light. But I saw the self-satisfied smirk behind the protestation of innocence.

  Witches.

  I had been suspecting that even though Charles knew my situation, she still wanted me to get together with Hartley. Was she not aware of his no-love/no-marriage policy? Or did she just not care?

  “Were there any developments that I should be made aware of?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Were you compromised?” she asked, her tone slightly embarrassed.

  Ah. Her favorite question. I really was going to have to find out what that meant, especially since I kept denying it. “Not to the best of my knowledge.” I had to know this one thing, though. “What would happen if I were compromised?”

  A grin as big as the Cheshire Cat’s took up most of her face. “Then Hartley would have to marry you, of course. He is a gentleman, after all.”

  I had the distinct feeling that she’d been counting on that. And that compromising was a lot worse than a spy being found out or two parties settling a dispute. It meant something bigger here.

  Escaping to my room, I had to wake up Rosemary, who had fallen asleep sitting up in my chair. “Miss Blythe! I was so worried about you!” And even though people didn’t
like hugging here, I kind of felt like she needed one. Rosemary let me hug her for a moment before she shook me off and pulled back the covers. “You should get some rest.”

  The exhaustion crept up on me, slamming into me like waves against a rock. I got into bed without protest, wanting to just sleep. But I still had to find out whether or not I’d been compromised. “Rosemary, what does it mean if a man compromises you?” I had my suspicions, but I didn’t know if it would match the British nineteenth-century version.

  My lady’s maid looked super embarrassed.

  “Look, somebody has to tell me so I know whether or not it’s happening. I will just bug you until you explain it to me.”

  As if afraid to say it out loud, she leaned over and whispered it into my ear.

  I let out a yelp of shock. “That’s what it means? Seriously? That’s what Charles keeps hoping will happen? I thought you guys were all supposed to be a bunch of prudes!”

  * * *

  I expected another embarrassed apology from Hartley, but it was like that night in his library had never happened. Like he hadn’t shattered my soul with his searing kisses. Instead he acted like everything was cool between us.

  Which I guess technically it was, because as far as I could tell, we hadn’t crossed any uncrossable lines. Since he seemed to be avoiding me, it at least meant I was back to looking through books with minor help from Charles.

  The days passed by quicker than I’d hoped, and it was the night before James was to arrive, and we were going to that Almack’s party. Charles lent me all kinds of jewelry, and I got to wear a very pretty, pastel-striped pink dress. I was excited to go, and it struck me as funny just how much I’d adjusted. I was comfortable in my skin. In my insane number of petticoats. Even the corset didn’t seem so bad anymore.

  My breath solidified in my throat when Hartley came downstairs. It was like he drank some handsome potion that made him get hotter by the day. I forced myself to look away, playing with the buttons on one of my gloves.

  “Do you require assistance?”

  The very last thing I needed was Hartley’s fingers all over the exposed skin at the top of my glove.

  “I’m good.” I totally wasn’t. He was too close, making my stomach hollow out. I didn’t know how long we’d be standing there, waiting for Charles. So I attempted small talk. “Are you excited for James to arrive tomorrow?” It was our one last hurrah before Hartley expected me to convince James to love me.

  The smile that had been on his face faded, a bit at a time. “Obviously. He is my brother.” But he didn’t sound happy. “Am I to assume that you are excited to attend another ball?”

  “Yes.” I didn’t tell him that part of the reason was that I hoped we could dance together. Charles had told me I wasn’t allowed to dance with any man more than twice, because to do so was essentially an engagement announcement. But I wanted those two dances with him.

  “You’ve obviously never been to Almack’s before.” He let out a combination sigh/groan. “Would it be too presumptuous if I asked why you still want to attend balls? Especially given our history thus far?”

  I hadn’t been expecting that. “I don’t know. Maybe I have a Cinderella complex.”

  “You wish to become a princess? I promise you that there isn’t a royal in England I’d wish on my worst enemy.”

  I couldn’t tell him that if I didn’t figure out how to get home, I wouldn’t mind becoming a countess. “It’s not really about the whole palace and tiara thing. It’s about a man loving you that much. Enough that he’d be willing to give up everything for you. Enough that he would scour his kingdom looking for you. That he would make you his wife—and yes, a princess—and that he would demand the rest of the world love you despite your background. That’s what I love about it. Silly, I know.”

  “No.” There was a strange quality to his voice. “It sounds . . . rather wonderful. Too bad it exists only in fairy tales.”

  “Too bad,” I echoed. Had he moved closer while I was talking? And was I ever going to get used to the little shocks of delight that I got from his proximity?

  “Shall we be off?” Charles asked from the stairs, and Hartley stepped back quickly. Like maybe he wasn’t as immune to me as he pretended to be. She had Princess in her arms.

  “Are you bringing your dogs?” Maybe it wasn’t too weird here? Some women in my time carried dogs around like fashion accessories.

  “Do you actually believe those old harpies will let you bring an animal into their hallowed hall?” Hartley piled on, just as incredulous as me.

  “I believe she hasn’t been feeling well, and I have decided to bring her along with me. She can stay in the carriage while we dance. I will feel better knowing she is nearby.” Charles said it in a voice that let me know she usually did what she wanted and nobody questioned her.

  Stephens arrived with a tray and three shot glasses. “I thought we should fortify our nerves before we go,” Charles said, taking one of the glasses.

  Hartley quickly downed his.

  “I am super done with alcohol. No thanks,” I said.

  “It’s not alcoholic. Just something to help you feel more relaxed tonight.” I almost laughed at the disgusted look Hartley had when he discovered he hadn’t just taken a shot.

  It wasn’t alcohol, but there was something off about this drink. Some herbs I couldn’t identify. Maybe Charles was just into the holistic thing. Shrugging, I copied Hartley and downed it all at once.

  We were handed our shawls and umbrellas and got into the carriage. Hartley asked about vouchers, and Charles showed him some papers in her reticule. Charles had been right. I was feeling more mellow.

  Princess settled onto the seat next to Charles, as if she rode in carriages every day. Once her dog was settled, Charles turned to address us. “I hope you will both make an effort tonight to practice attracting members of the opposite sex. You, Emma dear, should particularly flirt. I’ve yet to see you do it, and I should observe you at least once in the wild before James arrives.”

  Hartley made a sound that seemed to indicate he’d had firsthand experience with my particular brand of flirting, and I hoped my cheeks weren’t too red.

  “I can’t flirt with random men,” I told her. I couldn’t even flirt with men I knew. “When I try, I just make some weird vowel sounds, and then I have to hide. I think men prefer a woman who can speak.”

  “You don’t really know much about men, do you?” Hartley teased, and the lightness in his voice touched my heart in ways I did not approve of.

  “And you are in no position to judge anyone else. You are incapable of flirtation as well. I have paraded girl after girl in front of you, one diamond of the first water after another, and you refuse to give any of them a second look,” Charles said, wagging her finger at him.

  “That is not true. I looked twice at that Harper girl last year.”

  Charles leaned over to swat Hartley in the leg with her fan. “That was because her bodice had started to slip off. That doesn’t count!”

  For some reason, that was like the funniest thing I’d ever heard, and I started to giggle. Was there really not any alcohol in that drink? Maybe I shouldn’t have taken a scheming witch’s word for it.

  We got to Almack’s and had to meet a bunch of stuffy, snobby, uptight “patronesses.” Fortunately, they all adored the Duchess of Warfield, so they were nice and polite to me. After we were announced and made our way to the dance floor, I grabbed Charles’s arm. “Time to ’fess up. What was in that drink?”

  “Just an old family recipe. A little bit of something that is going to make men briefly desire you. Nothing permanent. It won’t affect any man related to me, because as I said, thick, impenetrable dragon hides, but tonight every other unattached man will find you irresistible.”

  I stole a look around, and no lie, most of the men in the room were watching me. I was not used to that. “Why?”

  “Because you’d be surprised what jealousy can drive a man to d
o. Particularly Hartley.”

  I couldn’t help but let out a sound that was half guffaw, half disgust. “Jealousy, me, and Hartley do not belong in the same sentence.”

  “Leave that to me and my magic. You enjoy yourself, and remember what you’ve learned.”

  “Aren’t you supposed to be trying to get me engaged to James?” She ignored me. Well, at least now she wasn’t trying to hide it. She was finally being up-front about her plans to play matchmaker for Hartley and me. Someone approached, and Charles made the introductions, but I watched Hartley, who had drifted off from us. I wondered if his drink was going to make all the women here fall in love with him. Not that he needed it. All he had to do was flash that smile and put on that charm, and they’d all be eating out of his hand.

  I wanted to eat out of his hand.

  Which was both a weird and disturbing visual.

  “Miss Blythe!”

  I turned to see Miss Littlefield, from the family party. She was surrounded by a gaggle of girls, and she introduced me to all of them, but there was no way I was going to remember them all. So I smiled and nodded and mentally nicknamed them Miss A, B, C and D.

  Miss D asked me, “I simply adore your accent. Where are you from?”

  Unfortunately for me, I had been watching Hartley work the room and reflexively answered, “I’m from Cali . . .” I stopped. There was no California yet. “Caliston. I’m from Caliston.”

  Miss Littlefield looked confused. “I thought you were from Boston.”

  “I am!” I assured her. “Caliston’s just kind of a nickname for Boston.”

  Miss B turned to Miss Littlefield. “Did you tell her your news?” Without waiting for her to respond, Miss B blurted out, “Miss Littlefield is betrothed!”

  “Things finally worked out with your Mr. Right?” I asked.

  “No. If you’ll remember, I told you his name was Lord White. Not Wright.”

  It was too hard to explain the phrase. “Congratulations!” The other misses all congratulated her again, and my gaze wandered back to where it most wanted to go. Back to Hartley. “Hey, who’s the hottie talking to Lord Hartley?”