by Gina Lamm
He could not abandon her. If her story was true, she’d come into contact with a force that he remembered all too well. She needed comfort, more than likely, and it was his responsibility.
So, for that reason, he laced his fingers through hers and kept her close to his side as they rounded the back of the large stable where the carriages were kept.
“Damn,” Patrick swore in a low whisper as he ducked back behind the corner, praying he hadn’t been seen.
“What is it?” Ella’s whisper was much too close to his ear.
“There’s a man watching the coach. One of Brownstone’s. We won’t be able to use it.”
“Then how are we going to get out of here?” Her eyes were wide, worried. For some reason, he longed to reach out, touch her cheek, comfort her.
He didn’t.
“Come on. We’ll hire horses. It will be much faster, in any case.”
“Hor-ses?”
He left her alone on the side of the stables as he conducted a hushed conversation with the stable lad. He had to pay quite a bit to ensure the man’s silence on the matter, and a good bit more to hasten his movements. But the man was as good as his word, and within minutes he had two horses saddled and waiting.
Patrick went around the corner to fetch Miss Briley, but before he could leave the safety of the stables, raucous voices met his ear. Flattening himself against the stable wall, Patrick listened.
“Remember, Miss Brownstone may be in the company of a man, possibly a peer. The baron doesn’t want him harmed—”
Thanks be to God.
“—he wishes to punish the man himself. Is that clear?”
The rousing shouts did nothing to raise Patrick’s spirits. He edged closer to the stable door, hoping against hope that Ella would stay out of sight. She seemed of clear enough thought not to walk straight into danger, but he didn’t really know her well, after all. Their best course of action would be to leave, and quickly. As the men’s voices mingled together, planning the routes they would take and their rendezvous points, Patrick took advantage of their distraction and led the horses around the corner.
Ella was crouched behind a bale of hay, her hair loose around her shoulders, looking like a silky black waterfall. She really should do something about it. The way it cascaded around her made his fingers itch to tangle in its silky, dark length. And those purple streaks peeking between the strands were quite extraordinary. He wondered how she’d done them.
“Come,” Patrick hissed, tossing the reins over the hitching ring on the wall. “We must leave now.”
“What is that?” Ella shoved herself to her feet and pointed to the smaller horse’s saddle.
“It’s a sidesaddle. Don’t tell me you’ve never…”
A crook of her brow was her only reply.
“I do not have time for this,” Patrick muttered as he stalked over to her. She squeaked as he carried her to the mounting block and deposited her straight onto the horse, but he paid no attention. With a quick lesson on how to hitch her knee over the pommel and grip the reins, he then turned and mounted his own stallion.
He turned to Ella, about to speak, but a sudden male voice behind them cut him short.
“Wait a moment. Who are you?”
“Gee-up!”
With a slap of the reins, Patrick kicked his horse into motion. Fortunately, he had the presence of mind to reach over and yank the reins from Ella, pulling her mount alongside his.
He glanced over at her as they thundered from the stable yard. Poor girl. Her eyes were wide with panic, her gown streaming out behind her as she held on for dear life.
Had she never even ridden a horse before? This was indeed a problem. Of all the girls in London, why had he taken her?
* * *
Ella’s fingers tangled wildly in the horse’s dark mane, and her ass bounced hard against the unforgiving saddle as she and Patrick hurtled down the road. She kept her teeth clamped tight together, both from nerves and from the fear they’d be shaken right out of her head. Patrick, bent low over his horse’s neck, looked like a jockey as he guided both his and Ella’s mounts away from the inn.
“Yah!” Patrick’s yell spurred the horses faster as he turned them down the left fork of the road.
The quick turn had Ella sliding in the saddle. Her heart leapt into her throat as the mane slipped through her fingers. She was going to fall.
“Help!”
Her squeak of alarm was interrupted when Patrick’s arm shot out, steadying her before she could tumble from the saddle.
“Grip the horn with your knee and lock your left foot into the slipper stirrup!”
Ella did as he said, wincing with pain as her bandaged, booted foot pressed down against the stirrup. Ugh, that splinter! She was going to be paying for that one for a while. But with any luck, Patrick’s first aid would save her from any serious infection.
The horses were still running fast, but Ella was a little more secure in her seat. She glanced back over her shoulder. The inn was now a much smaller version of itself, distance shrinking it dramatically. But even with the pounding hooves, angry shouts still echoed off in the distance.
“I think they’re following us,” Ella called over to Patrick.
His mouth was set in a grim line. “I know.”
Ella looked forward, wishing she could take the time to enjoy this. Her heart was thumping hard with excitement, and her hair flew out behind her, whipping with their speed. The English countryside sped by, thick greenery and ancient trees spread across sun-dappled meadows and rolling hills. A handsome man held the reins to her horse, and they were riding hell-for-leather from their pursuers.
Ella grinned. She’d always wanted to do something “hell-for-leather.” Somehow video games didn’t quite echo this kind of excitement.
“There’s a small stream over here, through the woods. We can ride through the water until we are closer to the east road.” Patrick’s voice was serious as he slowed their horses enough to turn them off the road and onto a narrow, barely defined trail.
“Won’t they see us?”
“They’re on the other side of that rise. It took them a while to saddle their mounts. We will be out of sight as soon as we enter this stand of trees, in any case.”
Ella ducked to avoid a low-hanging branch. The horses had slowed to a walk, their necks damp with sweat as they picked their way through scrubby brush. Patrick tossed Ella the reins, and she jumped, startled.
“What am I supposed to do with these? I don’t think I’m qualified to drive this thing.”
Patrick cleared his throat in annoyance. “Keep your horse close to mine. She should follow.”
The low gurgle of water met Ella’s ears, and she peered through the trees ahead. A narrow shaft of sunlight reflected off the surface of the water, throwing sparkling drops of light onto the opposite bank. She closed her eyes for a second.
The air smelled clean here. Not that it smelled bad at home, but here things smelled damp and green and fresh, somehow. New. Ella opened her eyes and gently pulled the reins left to make her horse follow Patrick’s through a gap in the trees. To her shock, it worked. Her horse obediently turned, following the earl.
“Yes,” Ella hissed in victory. “Score one for Briley!”
“What?” Patrick’s bemused question made her cheeks fire. She was really glad he was in front of her and missed her blush.
“Nothing,” she mumbled. Fortunately for her, it was easy to forget her momentary lapse of pride. “Hey, what are you doing? Are you supposed to ride horses in water? How deep is this stream, anyway?”
Patrick’s horse had splashed into the water and was plodding deeper into the current.
“Not to worry. It remains fairly shallow until closer to Edmonton. Ride close to the left bank and all will be well.”
Ella eyed the w
ater splashing against Patrick’s boot. “Doesn’t look that shallow to me.”
As her own mount fell in behind Patrick’s, Ella couldn’t help but notice how straight the earl’s back was, how his broad shoulders filled out his tailored jacket, how the saddle so nicely framed his…assets.
Ella coughed. She had to keep her brain in the game. Focus. Treat this like a problem to be solved. Strategize, like Admiral Action facing a supervillain, someone like the Diamond Dame. Ella bit her lip. Well, maybe not her. The infamous Double D and the admiral had an on-and-off physical relationship, so that idea wasn’t really that helpfu—
“Miss Briley, watch out!”
Patrick’s shout came a split second before Ella’s horse stumbled into the deeper water of the right side of the stream. Panic flooded Ella, and she grabbed the pommel as hard as she could, but the damage was done. Water splashed in her face and against her gown, running down into her boots, soaking her through. She gasped in shock, water dripping from the end of her nose.
The water was freezing.
Patrick turned his horse to draw alongside her, and somehow without laughing, he offered her his handkerchief.
Without a single scrap of grace or gratitude, Ella yanked the embroidered white fabric from his hand and dried her face.
“You did not keep your mount to the left side of the stream,” Patrick observed in a mild tone, the corners of his mouth curling upward in barely restrained mirth.
“Nope.” Ella bit out the answer, wringing out his handkerchief. “Guess not.”
His gaze lowered slightly, and his eyes darkened. What? Ella followed his glance down.
“Jesus Christ!”
Her nipples were so hard they were practically poking holes in the thin fabric of her dress. Of all the nights to not wear a bra, why had she picked yesterday? She dropped the reins like they were smoking and crossed her arms tightly over her chest.
“Do you mind?” she snapped.
“Not at all,” he said quite boldly, a devilish smile curling his lips, but he looked away politely.
“Jerk,” she muttered, grabbing the reins one-handed and keeping the other arm across her chest. “Let’s go.”
“The left side of the stream,” he said as he turned his horse.
He didn’t see her make a face at his back as Ella urged her horse after him. She didn’t let herself think about how hot he was this time. She did, however, use the time to plot his oh-so-painful demise.
Eight
It was easy to feel Ella’s eyes burning holes into his back.
Good Lord, he’d never blessed thin muslin so much in his life as when he looked down and saw the transparency of her gown’s wet bodice. She had lovely breasts, that was for sure.
The horse beneath him—which was called Bacon according to the sign above his stall door—gave a snort as he turned his head to nip at Patrick’s boots.
“Easy there, boy,” Patrick said with a laugh. He pitched his voice low so as to keep Miss Briley from hearing him. “I’ll stop cataloging her finer points. You are right; it’s not well done of me.”
As he guided Bacon toward the flat part of the opposite bank, he looked back over his shoulder. There was no sign of their pursuers, and—
He started when he caught a glimpse of Miss Briley’s face. If looks could kill, he’d be skewered on the end of a very large pike, he was certain.
“We are leaving the water now,” he observed in a cheerful manner. “Out of the shade of these trees, you’ll soon dry.”
“I am freezing. I’ve almost fallen off this stupid horse—”
“Kipper.”
“What?”
“This pair of noble steeds has been christened for breakfast foods, madam. I am on Bacon, and you are riding Kipper.”
She tossed her sinful black hair over her shoulder, the wet ropes tangling as they flew. “I don’t give a crap what his name is.”
“Her.”
“Whatever. I’m really normally a very easygoing kinda girl, but this is a little much. I didn’t plan on running for my life when I got here.”
Patrick pulled up Bacon in the small clearing on the bank and waited for Ella to catch up with him. He crooked a brow at her as she came alongside him, awkwardly pulling on the reins to make Kipper stop. “What did you plan, then?”
She shot him a dark look. “Nothing. I didn’t plan to be here at all. All I want is to be able to get home and back to my job safely. I’m missing a huge opportunity while I’m here, and I don’t know if I’ll get back in time for it. This whole time-travel thing is so confusing—I might get back ten minutes after I left, or ten months. If the job is still mine when I get back, I might have to do a lot of fast talking to keep it.” Her voice faltered as she continued. “It’s all I ever wanted, and now I’m not sure if I’m going to get it.”
Worry lining his brow, Patrick reached over and took Kipper’s reins from Ella’s hands. “Allow me to lead you.”
She sniffed, rubbing at her nose with the back of her ungloved hand. “Thanks.” She shivered a bit, and Patrick cursed himself for a cad.
“We must get you into the sun to warm. And while we go, you can tell me about this occupation that you have, the one that means everything to you.” He directed Bacon into a brisk walk, keeping Ella and her mount close. He didn’t want to miss a word.
“You wouldn’t be interested in this.”
“On the contrary, I would love to hear your tale.” She might be as mad as King George, but he could not bear the thought of her sadness. And if indulging her fancies would please her, then by God, he’d indulge. He prayed they were only fancies. If not, he’d be forced to face his own mystical encounter.
The trees thinned, and the path broadened, and soon they were on the road. Patrick breathed an inner sigh of relief as the sun’s rays fell on Ella and her wet clothing. He should hate for her to catch cold.
“Here.” He should have thought of this before, but he was a cad and a simpleton. “Take my coat.”
She didn’t murmur a polite refusal; instead, she grabbed the expensive coat and shrugged into it instantly. “Thanks.”
Cursing himself for being ten kinds of fool, Patrick clicked the horses faster. The more distance he put between them and Brownstone’s men, the sooner he could get Ella out of those wet things.
Well, that was a mental picture he hadn’t planned. He cleared his throat. Perhaps he could distract her with her own stories.
“Tell me about your world, Ella. Your job. What is so important that you are missing by being here?”
Her shoulders hunched forward as she clutched the coat tighter around her. Her mouth was pulled down at the corners, the rosiness in her cheeks somewhat brighter for her sad expression.
She was lovely; there was no denying that.
“Well, I told you I’m from the future.”
He painted an interested smile on his face. “Please continue.” He was a scoundrel and a rogue, lusting after her while she was so downtrodden. He’d keep a tight hold on himself from now on.
“In the future, everyone works. I know that around here, only the lower classes have jobs, right?”
He nodded, pulling on Kipper’s reins to keep her from nibbling on a gorse bush at the edge of the lane. It really was too bad they had to rush; this was such a lovely part of the countryside, far enough from London that the air smelled sweet and clean, but close enough to ensure that the roads were well kept and well traveled.
“Yes, the lower classes are employed. Granted, there are those that have made their fortunes through trade, but they are considered by most of society to be less than.” Patrick shrugged. “I do not see such a problem with it myself, but since I am not the arbiter of society, what can I do?”
Ella rolled her beautiful eyes. “You could speak up for them.”
“I could, an
d then I would see myself painted as a radical and cast out. Truly, you do not understand the ton.”
“I understand that you’re a good guy, but the jerks win when the good guys don’t do anything.”
He was torn between being flattered by the compliment, stung by the rebuke, and confused by her manner of speaking. He settled for moving on.
“So, in your world, most are employed.”
“Right. In my time, most people earn their own way in the world. And that includes women.”
Patrick was proud of himself. His eyebrows stayed quite where they belonged at her outrageous statement.
“I’m an artist. I draw for a living.”
“Quite a respectable talent for a lady.”
Ella laughed, looking over at him with a smirk. “Not the way I draw. I draw in a man’s world. It’s not exactly pastoral scenes and portraits of nobility. I draw comic books. Cartoons,” she added, probably noting the blank look on his face.
“Please continue,” he said simply.
She pursed her lips and looked straight between Kipper’s ears. The road split ahead, one fork heading northward and the other east. She seemed extraordinarily interested in that fork.
“I draw stories about justice, about people doing the right thing. Heroes with special powers who go around the world and do incredible stuff. I draw my favorite hero, actually, the one who’s inspired me since I was a kid. Well.” She glanced over at him, and for a moment Patrick thought she would cry. “That’s what I did do. Before I got here. And now? I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to do that again.” She set her jaw and flashed him a falsely bright smile. “But it doesn’t matter right now. We’ve got to find your fiancée, right?”
Patrick felt himself nod, but what he really wanted to do was dash away the single tear he’d seen track down her cheek. He doubted, however, that she’d appreciate his solicitude.
“I’ll ride ahead for a moment and ascertain which road we should take.”
He knew precisely where they were, but letting her regain her composure seemed to be the best course of action. He kicked Bacon lightly in the sides, leaving Ella to follow. He hoped it was the right thing to do. Lately, however, his judgment had been very suspect.
