ROMANCE: Time of the Werebears (Scottish Historical Time Travel Shifter Romance) (Paranormal Shapeshifter Romance)

by Sky Winters

  “It was not the fact that you cheated that showed me we were wrong for each other,” she replied, not sure how it was possible that he still did not understand her.

  “What on earth was it then?” he demanded.

  “It was the fact that it did not hurt me when you did. If I really loved you, I would have wanted to fight for you. You cheating just showed me that I deserve more. I want someone I cannot live without. You and I were together because we were comfortable with each other. It was easy,” she said, truly sad for him that he thought what they had could be enough for anyone.

  “You will not find anyone more perfect for you than me,” he snapped, looking more hurt than angry.

  “I do not want perfect. I want passion and fury. I want fireworks,” she answered, trying to explain to him what it was that she needed. “If I cannot have that, I would rather be alone.”

  “We had fireworks,” he said, grabbing her by the shoulders and pulling her in to his arms.

  “We barely had matches,” she scoffed as she pulled away from him.

  “That is not fair,” he said, his hand on his forehead in frustration.

  “Love is not fair,” she stated simply.

  “You will come around,” he said, more to himself than to her.

  “I did not let you come here to talk about our past. You are here for professional reasons. Are you going to leave the canvas with me or not?” she asked, tired of fighting with him about the same thing again and again.

  “Of course I am. You are the best,” he conceded.

  “Then leave me to my work. I will call you when it is done,” she said, opening the door for him as he walked out and left her there alone to work.

  She turned and looked at the smiling woman on the canvas, and was too eager to begin her restoration to wait. It wasn’t until she touched the frame in an attempt to carry it up to the studio, that the room around her began to spin and everything went dark.

  Chapter 2

  The next sensation that Violet felt was her body hitting the ground. Her first thought was that she had fainted in her studio, but as her senses began to return, she realized that she was lying on grass outdoors. Slowly, she opened her eyes and received the shock of her life. Instead of the yard around her home, she saw what was clearly a well-manicured park. She racked her brains, trying to think of any similar place near her home but she could think of nothing. She was so lost in her thought that she did not realize just how far from home she really was.

  It was not until she heard someone clearing their throat behind her that she realized she was not alone. Her head snapped around and her eyes met those of one of the most handsome men she had ever seen. His hair was dark and unkempt as it hung over his dark eyes, reminding her of the heroes in the gothic romances that were her guilty pleasure to read. He looked just as shocked to see her as she was to see him, and it was clear that he was not pleased with the surprise.

  “What are you doing here,” he demanded, standing up from behind what she realized was a painting easel. He used his hands when he spoke to punctuate his words and she could not help but notice that his hands were smudged with paint as hers often were.

  “That depends. Where is here,” she said, sitting up and rubbing her head in confusion. Based on his accent, she was quite sure she was not in America any more.

  “You are in Coventry Park,” he said, raising an eyebrow skeptically as he answered her.

  “In London?” she asked in shock. She had been to the park before, many years before. She had spent a semester of college living in London and she had painted in the park often, though it was clearly a much different place than the one she remembered. His clothing and mannerisms in addition to the appearance of the park told her that she was very far from the time and places she knew. It was plain to her that she had somehow landed herself in Regency England.

  “Yes,” he said curtly. “Are you from the continent?” he asked, looking as though he suspected her to be a criminal of some kind or another. She half expected him to call out to the authorities.

  “Yes, I am an American,” she answered as she stood up, still a little unsteady on her feet.

  “An American girl alone in Coventry park in the middle of the day?” he asked, sounding horrified by the lack of social propriety.

  “I suppose so,” she said dismissively. She was hundreds of years and thousands of miles from her home. Her head was throbbing and she could feel her arm beginning to swell from where she had landed on it when she fell. The appearance of her impropriety was the last thing she cared to worry about.

  “That makes no sense,” he continued, unwilling to let the subject drop.

  “I am aware,” she snapped, annoyed at his continued presence. He clearly did not approve of her, and she had no desire to speak further with him. She kept waiting for him to walk away and leave her alone so that she could formulate a plan, but he seemed in no hurry to move along.

  “Are you meeting someone for a liaison, perhaps while your husband waits at home,” he asked, his eyes darkening with anger as he spoke.

  “My my, are you not quite the cynical man,” she scoffed as she used her hands to brush the grass from her dress as best she could. It was only then that she looked closely at herself. Her modern clothing had been replaced with a light green day dress typical of the period, adding yet another level of mystery to her current situation.

  “Who are you?” he demanded, glaring at her as though she had personally offended him.

  “My name is Violet,” she answered truthfully.

  “But what are you doing here if you are not meeting a lover?” he asked, continuing to push her for answers.

  “Well I could ask you the same thing,” she said, holding her head high. The year made no difference to her. She was not about to let any man bully her.

  “I have no secrets. I came here to paint,” he said defensively, looking incredulous that she would dare to question him.

  “These walled gardens would make lovely subject matter,” she said, thinking back fondly to her own time painting at the park. The walled garden, though, had been removed by the time she had found her way to the park as an art student.

  “You paint?” he asked, looking shocked. She realized that it was probably odd in his time for a woman to be a painted but she loved it too much to deny her passion.

  “Yes, once upon a time I suppose,” she said with a wistful expression on her face. After years of working to restore the work of others, she still missed her own art work at times.

  “Interesting. Can I escort you back to your home or wherever it is you came from?” he offered, though she was sure that he offered more out of curiosity than a genuine desire to aid her.

  “I wish it was that simple,” she said with a sad smile. It was then that she heard the gentle buzz of conversation and footsteps as an unseen pair of people moved towards them from the other side of the garden wall. Once they reached the entrance to their section of the garden, Violet saw a lovely woman whose dark eyes and hair echoed those of the stranger she had been conversing with. She was escorted by a tall man with sandy hair who was clearly very much in love with her as he never took his eyes from her.

  The woman’s eyes lit up when she saw them and her mouth curled in to a mischievous grin. Her companion cursed under his breath and rolled his eyes as the woman and her escort approached them.

  “Dalton, who is this?” the dark hair woman purred as her eyes locked with his.

  “Sister, Martin, this is Violet,” he answered, looking as though he was bracing himself for a storm.

  “Hello,” Violet said, confused by his reaction.

  “An American?” she asked as she gave her a dazzling smile.

  “So it would seem,” Dalton said before Violet even had the chance to reply.

  “And you are here alone with her?” his sister asked, clearly enjoying herself as she teased her brother.

  “So it would seem,” he repeated. “I was just asking her
where I could escort her back home,” he added, realizing belatedly what the scene must look like to his sister, especially given the grass on Violet’s skirt.

  “And I was just declining his kind offer,” Violet added as she began to turn to walk away from the group. She was not sure what she was going to do with herself, but she was fairly sure that being the center of attention in such a group was not going to help her to blend in.

  “But how did you come to be here?” his sister asked, as intrigued as he clearly was to know what brought an American girl to Coventry Park unescorted.

  “I have no clue,” she finally blurted out, unable to think of any lie that might sound remotely convincing to them. She could feel tears welling in her eyes and she did her best to keep them at bay, unwilling to cry in front of these strangers.

  “Are you alright,” the woman asked as she rushed towards her and wrapped her arms around Violet. Violet did not usually like to rely on anyone else, but the physical gesture of comfort made her feel safe for the first time since she had opened her eyes in this strange time and place.

  “You were on the ground when I first noticed you. Perhaps you fainted,” Dalton offered, though he did not look convinced that it was a realistic explanation.

  “Or were attacked,” his sister said, looking horrified.

  “Gwendolyn, that is not helping,” scolded Martin, her escort.

  “Well she might have been attacked,” she said defensively. “Besides, you are not supposed to question your wife in front of strangers,” she said with a wink and a quick smile.

  “Is that for the duration of our marriage or just the first year?” he asked with a doting smile.

  “Now is not the time for this,” Dalton said, looking annoyed by their unchecked displays of love.

  “Brother, you are right. We should be focused on this poor girl,” Gwendolyn said, taking Violet’s hand and squeezing it in support.

  “I really do not know how I came to be here,” Violet whispered, not sure what on earth her next step would be in such a strange time and place.

  “Do not fret. You will come back to our townhouse until we figure it out,” Gwendolyn said as though it was the most obvious of solutions.

  “Yes, of course,” her husband said without any hesitation.

  “Wait a moment,” Dalton said as he began to object.

  “I could not do that,” Violet said. She was not sure what she should do, but she could not bring herself to rely on these strangers.

  “And what exactly will you do then?” Gwendolyn asked, her hand on her hips.

  Violet froze for a moment, unable to answer. Finally, she said only, “I have no idea.”

  “Then you will come home with us and allow us to look over you until we solve the mystery. Martin, tell her,” Gwendolyn continued, looking to her husband for support.

  “My girl, I know that you have just met us so I will give you a bit of inside information. Gwendolyn always gets what she wants. It is best just to give her way, especially since we seem to be your only option,” he said with a grin that put her at ease.

  “It is not that I do not appreciate your generous offer. It is more than kind, really it is. I just cannot take advantage of your generosity,” Violet said, resolved to make her own way in this time just as she always had in her own world.

  “That is sweet of you dear,” Gwendolyn said with a knowing smile, “but you do not need to worry. We are quite wealthy. We will not even notice the expense of a houseguest. I assure you.”

  “Gwendolyn,” her brother said, looking horrified that she spoke so casually about their financial position.

  “It is true brother and Martin does not mind that I am forward. It is one of the things he loves best about me, is it not my love?” she asked as she turned to her husband.

  “Of course darling, but perhaps you should not say it so loud. I would like to make it out of the park without being murdered for my billfold,” he said with a chuckle.

  “Men, you are both too suspicious of the world,” she said as she shook her head. “Violet, please tell me you will come with us and distract me from these overbearing fools?” she asked with a mischievous grin.

  “You are a hard woman to refuse,” Violet answered.

  “You have no idea,” Martin said, his eyes locked on Gwendolyn as he spoke.

  “I think we are going to be great friends,” Gwendolyn said with an encouraging smile.

  “You are already doing more for me than any friend could be expected to do,” Violet said as she realized that, for better or for worse, her fate in this time was tied to Gwendolyn, Martin, and Dalton. Still, though, she felt comforted by Gwendolyn’s presence and she hoped it would bring her peace until she could find a way home.

  Violet had been with Gwendolyn and Martin for over a week before she saw Dalton again. His sister talked about his so often though that she felt as though she knew him well. He was the Lord Winthrop and his holdings and wealth were unmatched in all of England, according to his very biased sister. She also spoke often of his sense of humor and his sweet soul, though Violet had seen evidence of neither in their first meeting. His sister hosted a dinner party and musical evening which he was obligated to attend. In that time, she had split her time between trying to find any sort of way back to her own time and keeping Gwendolyn from spending a small fortune to buy her the wardrobe that she deemed appropriate for a lady of her household.

  She was sitting in the solarium, when Dalton came upon her. He had sworn to himself that he would get her alone and find out once and for all what this strange woman was up to. Throughout dinner, they were not able to exchange more than polite conversation. It was not until the guests all began to leave that he was able to find his opportunity. When he finally did find a moment to be alone with her, Violet was engrossed in a book she had found in the library about the history of Coventry Park. She knew it was a long shot, but she had hope that she could find some reason in the book that might explain how and why she had been transported there. It had taken all of her willpower to leave the book and attend Gwendolyn’s party, but Violet was too grateful to her to refuse.

  “My lady,” he said when he entered, making a perfunctory bow.

  “I am American. You know I do not have a title,” she said without looking up from her book. Being ignored by the fairer sex was a new experience for Dalton, whose large inheritance made him the prize of many matrimonially minded ladies.

  “My sister seems very fond of you,” he said, walking towards here as though he was on a mission. He was, undeniably, suspicious of her. He had resolved to say his piece to her before his sister joined them, and he was not going to allow her disinterest in his presence to deter him.

  “And I am very fond of her,” Violet said with a smile as she finally looked up from her book. If it was not for Gwen, she might have gone mad through the entire insane ordeal she had been through. Sweet Gwen, though, had been nothing but supportive of her. She never pushed her for information about her past. All she ever did was offer his support and friendship, and it meant the world to Violet.

  “She said that you sent a letter to your family in America,” he said, recounting the details of the conversation that he and Martin had had the day before at their club. It was true. Violet had known, of course, that she could not appear to be making no effort to connect with her home and family and she absolutely could not tell them that the only way she could reconnect with her home was though magic or fate. She needed a cover and a letter to her far away family seemed to be the best story to tell. She had hated to lie to Gwendolyn after her kindness, but it needed to be done.

  “Yes, it should arrive there soon enough. Perhaps they can shed some light on how I came to be here, and they can send me funds for the passage home,” she said, holding tight to her story. Still, she was beginning to lose faith that she could find her way back to her own time and she was not at all sure what she would do when she wore out her welcome with Gwen and Martin.

&nb
sp; “Yes, of course,” Dalton said, pausing to watch her for some sort of reaction. When she gave him none, he continued his questioning, asking “Where in America do you call home?”

  “Pennsylvania,” she said without hesitation. It was, after all, a state that she knew existed in this time as well and it was the truth. Lying, she found, was easier if it was as close to the truth as possible.

  “Interesting,” he muttered as he began to pace back and forth.

  “You do not believe me,” she said, unable to even pretend that she was surprised or offended. He had every reason to be suspicious of her and she could believe that Martin and Gwen were not equally suspicious.

  “Does it matter?” he asked, pausing to stare at her again as though her countenance might give away the truth behind her presence in their lives.