“Not as desperately as you,” his brother laughingly countered, and their ribbing eased Hartley’s wariness at what he was feeling. James relaxed back into his chair. “Miss Blythe has your seal of approval, then? You believe she will make a suitable wife and mother?”
Hartley meant to say that he had no doubt Emma would make both an excellent wife and mother, but the thought that she would actually marry James and give him children felt like a physical blow. His insides knotted, and he took in a long breath to calm himself.
This was the end goal. To keep James away from that gold-digging shrew and her horrific family. But the reality of it was pressing down on him as if he were Atlas, tasked with holding the heavens on his shoulders.
It was too much to bear.
He didn’t want Emma to leave.
James and Emma could live with him. Either here or at their country estate. There was plenty of room. The idea flared up quickly, like kindling set aflame, but he tried to quickly extinguish it. No. It would undoubtedly be worse to have Emma so near but permanently and irrevocably untouchable.
And as he imagined her belly swollen with James’s son, his fists balled up, and he wanted to slam them against his desk. He somehow managed to refrain. He clamped his teeth together, eyeing his brother. He inexplicably desired to punch James. Hartley forced his breaths to become deeper and more even. He never would have been able to explain to his younger brother why he had hit him.
Because he couldn’t have admitted the truth to James.
Just as he couldn’t admit the truth to himself.
There was some sort of commotion in the foyer, and Hartley and James were situated so that they could plainly witness Emma tripping over his sister’s cat. She landed hard. Hartley shot to his feet, ready to assist her. But instead of feigning helplessness or fainting, she got up and gave the feline a stern rebuke. Her words were unintelligible, but her tone was apparent.
“I’d have kicked that cat,” James murmured.
“As would I.”
The two men silently watched as Emma finished her lecture and left.
“Was she having a conversation with him?” His brother sounded both worried and amused.
“I believe so, yes.”
“And you’re certain she’s not cork brained?”
“Quite,” Hartley responded. Emma Blythe, er, Damon might have been many things, but she was not a stupid woman. He thought of all the evenings they’d shared together—either at some social event meant to bolster her reputation or the quiet nights they stayed home, playing draughts and talking while Aunt Charles napped by the fireplace.
He never could have enjoyed their time together if she had been a dullard.
It was then that Hartley noticed James staring at him. “What is it?”
James sounded incredulous. “You’re smiling.”
Realizing that he was right, Hartley forced the corners of his mouth to droop down. As if he could deny that recalling his memories had evoked that reaction.
“I apologize for looking so surprised,” James continued, “But it’s been so long since I’ve seen you do it that I didn’t realize you still knew how. And Miss Blythe is responsible for this?”
Swallowing down a large knot, Hartley managed to gruffly say, “She is responsible only for mayhem and confusion.”
But his tone and words did not fool the younger man. “And the smile. She is responsible for the smile.”
There was nothing Hartley could say to that. He knew that he would not be able to dissuade James from his conclusion.
Even more surprising, he found that he did not wish to.
Then James uttered three of the worst words Hartley had ever heard.
“I’ll take her.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
THINGS I’M GOING TO INVENT IF I GET STUCK IN 1816
Escape hatches
If this was Charles’s idea of a small affair, I didn’t want to be involved with what she’d consider a big party. There were so many people crammed into one room. The servants had opened the windows, but it didn’t seem to lessen the people-generated heat.
Or the body odor.
Hartley had a deep hatred for what he called “crushes” like this one, and I totally got it. I was feeling a bit like a sardine. It was cruel and unusual punishment.
And to make matters worse, all these teenage girls were playing musical instruments and singing. Badly. Every time I thought the torture had finally come to an end, some girl would present a new way to make my eardrums bleed. Not that I could sing, but I at least had the decency to confine it solely to my baths and not inflict it on other people.
I couldn’t help but compare the music party to my earlier shopping trip. One was terrible, the other had been wonderful.
Ever since I’d found the spell to take me back home, I’d been considering what it would be like to stay.
Asking Hartley to come with me would be impossible. Not only because I didn’t know how it worked—it might very well take me back and leave him here—but because I’d decided a long time ago I wouldn’t be like his dead girlfriend. I wouldn’t ask him to give up everything.
I was the one who could adjust. Even to excruciating parties like this one. As I thought about how Charles and I laughed and talked, it struck me how comfortable I felt, how normal everything was. I wasn’t a fish out of water anymore. I felt like I belonged. I was happy. And I realized that for the first time, I didn’t really want to go back to the twenty-first century.
The feeling was cemented when I glanced across the room and Hartley raised a glass to me in silent, sarcastic amusement at the wannabe singer who apparently had never met a flat note she didn’t like.
His raised eyebrow and smirk made me giggle, causing several people to toss me dirty looks. The Duchess of Warfield, seated right next to me, glared back at them, and it made everyone mind their own business again.
The business of having their ears assaulted.
Sitting next to the duchess had been Charles’s idea. She wanted James to see us together, to witness for himself just how popular I was. And much as I loved hanging out with her, I really wanted to be talking to Hartley.
I started applauding when everyone else did and excused myself to head outside. It had rained earlier, surrounding me with that damp, earthy smell that I had come to love. There were several couples out on the terrace, and I smiled and nodded as I sat on a stone bench.
There was a rush of heat behind me, and I closed my eyes as my heart fluttered, almost giddy at the thought that Hartley was sitting so close to me.
“Are you enjoying the evening?” he asked in a teasing tone, letting me know that he already knew the answer. His breath was warm against the exposed part of my shoulder, sending shivers across my skin.
“On a scale of one to ten? It sucks.”
I both felt and heard his laughter, and I turned slowly to face him. It was like he suddenly realized just how close we were, and he backed up as much as the bench would allow. I briefly wondered whether I could lure him back into the maze so that we could finish what we’d started that afternoon.
Those memories forced me to clear my throat and talk about something else. “Is being tone-deaf a British thing or a nineteenth-century thing?”
A smile flitted across his features. “They’re not all that bad.”
“Yes, they are. I’m slowly losing my will to live.”
“With the ability to listen to whatever type of music you wished at any given moment, I can imagine this might be . . . different for you.”
I shrugged a shoulder. “This is kind of boring, but I get that you want to entertain yourselves. Because you have a lot of downtime here. Time to think. No phones, no TVs, no computers, no cars. Just . . . quiet.”
“Is that a problem for you?”
“Actually . . . I’m finding I kind of like it. The quiet and the dumb parties.” His hand was on the bench between us, and I wondered what he would do if I reached out and t
ouched him. I didn’t. I settled for saying, “But tonight I’d much rather be playing checkers with you.”
His murmured response was so soft that I hoped I hadn’t imagined it. “As would I.”
The flutters in my heart turned into full-on bass drums.
Another one of those tense moments passed between us, where he had that look in his eye like he wanted to throw me over his shoulder and have his way with me.
Which I was totally good with. “Earlier—”
He didn’t let me finish what I wanted to say. “Earlier you mentioned that you didn’t know anything about your parents. Now that I’ve had time to consider the matter, I realize that I do know something about them.”
What?
He gave me a small smile before continuing. “They must have been intelligent, quick-witted, kind, and loving people. Your mother in particular must have been exceptionally beautiful.”
My thudding heart froze, dropped into my stomach, and raced up to my throat, where it lodged itself, making it difficult to speak.
“And tall,” he added. “Very, very tall.”
I couldn’t get over the “exceptionally beautiful” part. Was he saying that he thought I was exceptionally beautiful? I wanted to go and grab one of the vases full of flowers and throw their petals all over the house while saying, “Exceptionally beautiful! Exceptionally beautiful!”
“Are you happy here?”
Finally, I could speak. “I am.” I wanted to say, I’m happy with you, but I wasn’t ready to tell him yet. Just like I wasn’t ready to tell him that I knew how to get home. I didn’t want to force his hand or give him an ultimatum. I wanted to find out how he felt about me, and if he didn’t feel anything for me beyond attraction, then I would go.
And I could be patient and wait for the right moment. I literally had all the time in the world.
“Excellent. That pleases me.” He lifted his hand as if he wanted to touch me, but instead put it on his lap. “Because I’ve spoken to James, and you’ve no further need to try and entice my brother. He has agreed to my proposition and to make you his wife.”
Whoa! So not where I hoped this conversation was going. “What? Don’t I get a say in it?”
He straightened his back. “I thought we had already decided this was in your best interests.”
“No, you decided and didn’t give me a choice,” I growled back at him. He had the audacity to look surprised. “And just so you know, even though men haven’t changed much in the last two hundred years, in my time they do generally let women decide who they want to marry.”
“I hope I am not interrupting.” James wore a big old grin that I had the urge to smack off his face. Which was unfair, because none of this was his fault. “I find that I am too eager to speak with Miss Blythe.”
There was this fraction of a second where Hartley looked upset, but he stood. “Of course. Good evening, Miss Blythe.”
He walked away, and my skin felt raw and painful. Like he’d torn a piece of me off and taken it with him. But the worst part? He didn’t even look back at me once.
“I’ve heard that quite a bit of manipulation has taken place to make this moment possible.”
It took me a second to realize what he was saying. He knew. About the plan. “So you found out,” I said to James as he sat down. I thought of all that scheming and planning, being under Charles’s wing, getting in good with the duchess, trying to win over society so that James would want me. All of it had been for nothing.
“You seem upset,” he said gently, like he was worried he might set me off.
“I worked really hard so that you would like me, and you said yes to his idiotic plan without even spending five minutes with me. Without finding out how popular and awesome I’ve become.” Saying it out loud made it sound dumb.
“Would you rather I’d said no?”
“Yes. I really would rather you’d said no.”
I had half expected him to be insulted, but instead he laughed. “May I confess something to you? I have no intention of marrying you.”
And even though I’d just said I wanted him to say no, my pride was injured. I didn’t want to marry him, either, but he should totally want to marry me. Before I could demand an explanation, he provided one.
“While you are a lovely girl, and I think we would suit quite well, it has become clear to me in the time I’ve spent with my brother and from the myriad of letters I’ve received from every one of my feminine relations that you and Hartley are perfect for each other.”
“What? I mean, beg your pardon?” Why were his words freaking me out? Why was my pulse beating so hard?
“My brother is rather stubborn, and it will take some convincing, but I have a plan of my own.”
I couldn’t stop myself. “Fantastic. Another Portwood family plan.” I was getting a little tired of those. Magical or otherwise.
“Do you love him?”
If I’d had a mouth full of liquid, I would have spewed it everywhere. “What? Are you even allowed to ask me something like that? Because that is so none of your business!”
There was a mischievous glint in his eye. “It is my belief that my brother cares a great deal for you. And given your reaction, I suspect the feeling to be mutual. Which would mean we are about to become family. Which makes it my concern.”
I could actually feel my cheeks getting hotter, and that made his grin even bigger.
“Given his disposition, I will have to help him realize his feelings for you. Hence, the plan. But only if you are game, Miss Blythe.”
Something in his voice gave me pause. “What exactly would that entail?”
“Hartley and I have always been very competitive, given that we are only a year apart in age. It is my theory that if he were to believe you carried a tendre for me . . .”
“A what?”
“Feelings. Of the affectionate variety.”
That just happened to be what I already had for Hartley. Feelings. Of the love variety.
“So you want me to pretend to like you, and you think that he’ll get jealous and confess his true feelings? That kind of seems like a douchey thing to do.”
James blinked at me several times. “Hartley mentioned that you are sometimes perplexing with your word choice. However, if I take your meaning, you’re concerned about tricking him. I am simply proposing that we force him into recognizing those feelings.”
“How?”
“Among other strategies, I thought he should find us in a compromising position.”
Alarm bells started ringing inside my head. Because now I knew what that word meant. “How compromising?”
“Come.” James got up, offering me his hand.
“Aren’t you worried about ruining my reputation or whatever?”
“If we move quickly, it will be only Hartley who see us.”
I let him help me up and followed after him, not at all sure about this plan. I probably shouldn’t have gone along with it, but I thought of Charles’s words. Maybe this was the nudge I’d been looking for.
It took me a second to get my bearings, but then I realized we were in front of Hartley’s study. I pulled back on James’s hand, digging in my heels and forcing him to stop This wasn’t a nudge. It would be a bludgeoning. “Whatever you’ve got planned, we should stop. Your brother is going to be mad, and then I’ll get yelled at.”
That made James turn, his expression both serious and inquisitive. “Hartley does not lose his temper. He is known for his restraint.”
“Seriously? Because he yells at me all the time. And he once punched a dude, I mean, man, for . . .” He wouldn’t understand “hitting on me.” He would probably think that Godwin had actually hit me. “Saying some inappropriate things to me.”
“Interesting. That would suggest a degree of emotional investment.”
Before I could ask what he meant by that, James suddenly yanked me into his arms.
Where he kissed me. While simultaneously kicking over an ur
n. Probably to make sure we were caught.
It was weird. Like, he knew what he was doing on a technical level, but it didn’t do anything for me. Not to mention that his breath was awful. Like tar and smoke. It was nothing like kissing Hartley.
As hoped, doors flew open near us, and both Charles and Hartley walked out. So much for only Hartley seeing us.
Charles looked delighted. Hartley looked furious.
I quickly disentangled myself from James.
“Come along, Emma. I wanted you to have a chance at the pianoforte. And then I thought perhaps some dancing?” Charles sounded so calm and reasonable as she gently linked our arms together.
I had only a moment to glance over my shoulder at the two brothers who were, as I’d predicted, yelling at each other while they entered the study. “Are you really not going to say anything about what you just saw? Aren’t you supposed to be the chastity police?”
“I saw nothing, heard nothing, couldn’t have stopped it even if I wanted to,” she said with a breezy wave of her hand. “Do you play, my dear?”
“Just ‘Chopsticks,’” I replied, hearing the study doors shut. What were they saying? What would happen now?
“Is that an American tune?”
“I don’t actually know. But I probably shouldn’t play it for your guests.” I didn’t want to add to the heap of sound manure that had already been piled on that evening.
“Then you must help me organize the dancing. I was just telling Hartley that my hired musicians arrived and the ballroom is being prepared.”
Charles chattered on, and my mind drifted as we walked through the house. I kept thinking about how James had said Hartley didn’t yell or lose his temper. He’d done nothing but lose his temper since I’d shown up. Did that mean something? That I was the one who had that effect on him?
Billy walked by us, carrying a tray of some kind of dessert. It looked strangely familiar. “Wait!”
The footman nearly tripped over his own feet, skidding to a halt. “Yes, Miss Blythe?”
“What are those?” I asked, reaching out to take one. I took a bite, and it was a sponge cake with cream inside. While the flavor was a little off, it was definitely a nineteenth-century version of a Twinkie.
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