by Lisa Kumar
“I didn’t—”
“Please, he lost all interest in me as soon as he saw you. And I should thank you.”
Maryanne stared at her in surprise. What did she mean?
“Contrary to popular opinion, I don’t make a habit of cuckolding my husband. You stopped me from making a grave mistake.”
Maryanne noticed while Lady Sutton didn’t deny all wrongdoing on the cheating front, it seemed rumors had blown her exploits out of proportion. And the lady had a point about the social death she’d experience if she stayed behind. Then it hit Maryanne like a ton of falling bricks. It’d be a social death Lady Sutton shouldn’t have experienced if Maryanne hadn’t messed up the timeline. If all had progressed as before, should the other woman merely have escaped into hiding, or had her husband killed her and taken the secret to his grave?
The dizzying thoughts swirled around Maryanne’s mind until she feared her head would explode. She had to make a choice—and fast.
The screen of her transmitter lit up and showed a countdown from thirty. She bit her bottom lip before sucking it in between her teeth. Oh, why not live on the wild side? She was taking one native with her, so why not two? If she lived to regret it, which was very likely, she’d have plenty of time to worry about it later.
As she clasped Avingdale’s arm securely, she nodded to Lady Sutton. “Grab onto my arm and don’t let go.”
The woman hurried to her side and crouched down beside her. Maryanne cringed at the contact, though her reaction didn’t grip her as strongly as it used to. Maybe because more important matters pressed on her, and not her normal everyday inconveniences.
The familiar pull of retrieval pummeled her. Each atom of her body seemed to stretch and rearrange itself. Lady Sutton’s fingers dug into her forearm like talons, and Maryanne winced. She hoped she’d have some skin left after arriving back in her time because Intellitravel would probably want their pound of it, too.
A black void consumed her vision, and she willed herself to relax. There was nothing she could do during this time other than hold tight to Avingdale, which was conversely an easy and hard endeavor. She frowned. Her grip was solid, yet it wasn’t—one of the paradoxes of time-travel. Sure, some theoretical physicist could probably explain it, but some things didn’t need to be understood in her little corner of the world.
Faint lights shone ahead, growing brighter by the second, and signaled their approach. Anticipation and dread tap-danced through her mind. If all went well, they’d have a soft landing in the launch room. From there, she could get Avingdale help.
Help. The word ricocheted around in her consciousness. Would all her efforts be useless in the end?
He had to survive. She wouldn’t countenance any other outcome. But would Intellitravel?
And even if they cleared the hurdle that was Intellitravel, would Avingdale ever forgive her for what she’d done?
Chapter 7
Jonathan’s first sensation was of murkiness. He swam through it tirelessly but never seemed to reach the elusive lights that beckoned to him. How long this went on he didn’t know. Darkness always came to claim him…until it didn’t.
A strange beeping greeted his rise to consciousness. What was that confounded noise? When he tried to open his eyes, his lids stayed stubbornly down. In fact, no part of his body wanted to obey his command. And his lips were terribly dry.
Though it took great effort, he managed to swipe his tongue across his lips. Why were they so dry and cracked? He couldn’t have slept that long. However, no recollection of retiring for bed came to him. But more worrisome was that he couldn’t recall the last few days. He remembered his kiss with Miss Terrance in the library, but after that, nothing….
His mind felt…befuddled, and the more he tried to straighten things out, the more they became tangled. Sorting out all the areas of discomfort within his body wasn’t much different. Everything seemed achy. The lethargy in his muscles spoke of a short period of disuse, but the worst pain was concentrated in his chest. Had he been ill, or had something more sinister occurred? He was too weak to lift his head to assess any injuries he may have.
His eyelids finally peeled open. Unfamiliar white walls surrounded him. A few pieces of furniture—also white—were scattered around the area. He’d never seen a room like it. Light leaked through the half-closed curtains, but he didn’t see a candle in sight for when night drew near. The ceiling seemed to be made of large white squares, with some kind of shiny reflective surface punctuating the tiles every so often.
Where was he? Some small part of him whispered he should know the answer—and it’d be one he didn’t like.
Before panic could engulf him, an unknown weight pressed against his hand, grabbing his attention. It must’ve been there before he woke up, and he’d only become cognizant of it now. Turning his head on the pillow, he caught sight of a feminine hand resting on his.
He followed the line of the woman’s arm up to her face. His heart crashed to a halt and then thudded alive again. Maryanne was asleep in a chair beside him. A small smile escaped him at the beautiful sight. He examined her closer. As quick as it came, his grin slipped.
She wore the most peculiar clothes—some kind of loose blue pantaloons paired with a short-sleeved white-and-blue flowered shirt. Another mystery. And why was she at his bedside? Not that he was complaining. No, never that, but… Though he knew he should enjoy the moment because it might never happen again, he couldn’t ignore the feeling of wrongness niggling at him.
He was in an unfamiliar bed, with Miss Terrance paying vigil over him. There could only be one reason for it—he’d been injured somehow. And the person who could offer some answers sat before him, sweet and tempting. How unfortunate he couldn’t muster any energy to move.
He cleared his throat, hoping that would rouse her. It didn’t, so he softly called her name. After a few attempts on his part, her lids fluttered open, and she yawned.
“What is it?” she mumbled, her eyes clearly blurry and not focusing on anything yet. “Come to take his vitals and check on his wound?”
Ah, that proved his theory about being injured. “No, Miss Terrance, I have not.”
The feminine figure in the chair stilled, and her mouth gaped open. “You…you’re awake!”
He gave a brief grin at her statement of the obvious. “Yes, I am. Are you happy to see me thus?”
She blinked. “Of course.”
Warmth spread in his chest, but he ignored it as his humor died. “Well, now that we’ve clarified that, maybe you could answer one question for me.”
She nodded wordlessly.
“Would you mind telling me where we are, and what happened to put me in this state?”
Panic flared across her face. “You…you don’t remember?”
A few snippets of memory swirled around him, but he couldn’t piece the fragments together yet. He had a disturbing inkling of what may have happened but wanted to hear it from her lips. “No, that’s the problem. I find myself missing memories of important events for the last few days. And I’m not sure how many days have actually passed.”
She wrung her hands. “Oh, dear. This makes the situation even harder. I was hoping….” Her words faded away.
“Hoping what?”
“That you’d remember the events that led up to you being…here.”
“Where is here?”
She looked everywhere but at him. “Umm, well, that’s the thing. I don’t know if I should tell you until you get all your memory back.”
“Why is that?”
“I’m afraid you might find the news shocking.”
“Why don’t you let me decide that? I’m not inclined to surprise.”
A rueful, slightly hysterical laugh burst from her lips. “I’m afraid you would be in this instance.”
“I’ll take the risk.”
“You just woke up. I’d hate to see you experience a setback, and—”
“I absolve you of all responsibility.�
��
She blanched. “Don’t say that—not until you remember everything.”
So she felt responsible somehow? Now, more than ever, he was sure the images that had flashed in his mind were real. They’d shown him in a fight with someone—a shorter male—he couldn’t quite place. Even now the sound of a pistol echoed in his head, and his chest tinged in sympathy.
But how did Maryanne fit into it all? “Did I become injured in defending your honor?
“What?” She shook her head. “No, don’t be silly.”
“It’s not a ridiculous notion.” But it was one he felt hadn’t happened.
An engaging flush spread over her cheeks. “It is.”
Though his body didn’t want to comply, he managed one shrug. Gritting his teeth, he ignored how the movement pulled on the left side of his chest and sent pain radiating out through his arm.
Once the pain mellowed, he said, “It’s not a silly notion to me.” And what was more astonishing was he meant it. His words weren’t empty and meaningless, as they’d been with so many other women.
She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “Yes, well, let’s concentrate on what to do about you.”
“Maybe if you tell me of our location, all will fall into place?”
“The location isn’t one you know about, so….”
“What are you so afraid of telling me?” He couldn’t be imagining the expression of dread that covered her face whenever he questioned her.
“Everything.” She fisted her hands in her hair. “I’ve already explained once and look where we are now.”
“In this white room?”
“Yes!” The word exploded from her and opened a dam. “And who knows where you’d be if I hadn’t interfered. But I couldn’t let you die, even if it was your destiny. Who knows how—”
“My destiny?” To die?
“—History will—” As his question apparently sunk in, her mouth clicked shut, cutting off the rest of her words, and she groaned.
“To die?” His mind was locked on that foreign concept. He couldn’t quite grasp it.
“What a blabbermouth I am,” she said, misery clear in her tone. “Guess I’ll have to explain everything now. Do you remember anything?”
“Just a vague recollection of a fight involving a pistol. Were you there?”
She released a ragged sigh. “I was. So you don’t know who you were fighting?”
A seedling idea took root in his head. The possible realization made sense, but he wanted to hear what she had to say first. “I feel like I should know. But I remember very little after the Correlton’s dinner party and our little encounter in the library.”
Pink highlighted her cheeks. “Oh.”
He smiled charmingly, hoping he didn’t look as tired as he felt. “It’s a lovely memory, but I’d still like to know what came after it.”
“You were shot by Lord Sutton.” Her face darkened. “It appeared you were to run off with his wife. He didn’t much like that.”
So his faulty memory—and intuition—hadn’t erred. “It’s not what you think.” Well, since he couldn’t remember, he didn’t think it was. The last he knew, he had no plans to run off with anyone. Though, he’d daydreamed of carting Miss Terrance off somewhere.
“That’s what Lady Sutton said, but she refused to say more until you awakened.”
More of the altercation flooded back to him. Relief trickled through him. Though he didn’t have any special feelings for Lady Sutton, he viewed her as a sort of friend. “She is well?”
She nodded with a brusque jerk of her head. “Just a flesh wound to her arm. It’s healing nicely.”
“Good. He wasn’t a nice man under the best of circumstances. She begged me to help her escape him and his rages.”
“If he really were so horrible, I’m surprised…she was as popular with gentlemen as she was.”
“I’m not saying she’s innocent of all wrongdoing, but I believe her exploits are greatly exaggerated. Also, Lord Sutton was often in his cups and away carousing with his friends when her more…notorious moments occurred.”
“So you’re saying she partied when he was gone?”
Though her choice of expression was somewhat unorthodox, he understood it well enough to guess at the meaning. “That’s precisely what I’m saying.”
“Still, one would think she’d be more careful of causing rumors.”
He cocked his head on the pillow a bit so he could gaze more easily at Maryanne. “She’s in an unhappy marriage and is head-strong, which probably didn’t influence her to the wisest of decisions.” Why was Maryanne so concerned about Lady Sutton’s actions? Could it be due to jealousy over his previous near-relationship with the lady, or was something more arousing it? The thought of Maryanne being jealous tickled his masculine pride.
Maryanne frowned. “Hmm…guess you could be right.”
She didn’t sound very happy about that. “So I’m right about something?”
“This time,” she said, a most serious expression on her face. “But don’t expect me to get in the habit of telling you that.”
He chuckled weakly, not wanting to jar the wound in his chest. “You’re more liable to call me a simpleton than anything.”
“Sometimes.”
She didn’t mince words and even came off as unintentionally insulting. He loved it, as he loved nearly everything about her. The breath stilled in his lungs. Love? He didn’t love her, not in the truest sense. How could he? They barely knew each other, and Miss Terrance seemed apt to keep it that way.
Anyway, thinking about love while he lay in a strange bed with the object of his possible affection right next to him wasn’t the thing to do. He forced himself to smile. “Your honesty fills me with confidence. But then, I have confidence in most everything you do.”
As the truth of his words sunk in, he started slightly. To have such trust in a woman—no, make that anyone—was astonishing. He may not understand all her actions or behaviors, but neither did he fear anything nefarious or even manipulative on her part.
She picked at the hem of her shirt, not glancing up. “I fear that confidence might be misplaced soon.”
Her voice was mumbled, but he still made her sentence out clearly enough. Whatever she was keeping from him seemed to worry her to a great degree. What could be that horrible, though? Surely, the place she had brought him to couldn’t be that bad? Though he would have to find out what this strange place was, it was probably some kind of hospital, but why not see to his care at Cranston?
Again, something nibbled at the edges of his mind, but it meandered out of his reach. He shook his head, trying to dislodge the feeling. “Why would I do that?”
“Soon, you might be upset about something, and may not like the choice I made.”
His stomach lurched. “If it’s something that serious, why not inform me of it?”
She still refused to look up, and a few tendrils of hair had escaped their confines and conspired to hide her face. “I…I can’t tell you right now.”
Catapulting herself from the chair, she raced over to the door. Though he called after her, she didn’t stop. He attempted to rise up higher on the pillows. Agony shot through his chest, and he collapsed back. Confusion pulled his weary mind in all directions, but two questions threatened to consume him. Why had she run out, and where was he?
He glanced around the room, taking in his surroundings. The foreignness of it struck him anew. Nowhere in Britain had he seen such a place. In fact, nowhere on the Continent had there been such sights. So what did that mean?
If only he could get out of bed and demand some answers. Though too weak to do as he desired, he tentatively moved his hand over the sheets. It snagged against something cold and long. With shaking fingers, he lifted up the soft-coated wire. What was it? It seemed to be connected to his chest. But where was the other end of the wire connected?
Craning his head, he followed the trail past his left shoulder to a machine that glowe
d with flashing numbers. As he stared at the odd contrivance, memory came tumbling back like a falling wall—his plans with Lady Sutton, his discussion with Maryanne the night of the ball and where she claimed she was from, and then the confrontation with Lord Sutton.
The knowledge chocked all air from his lungs, and all he could do was lie gasping on the bed. How could this all be true? But he knew it was. Maryanne—he could no longer think of her as Miss Terrance—had brought him to the future to save him. She’d said she changed his destiny, and it seemed she had. So how and where would he live now?
***
Maryanne groaned and slumped against the nearest wall in the deserted hallway. How could she be such a coward? Just to run out of there like that? He must think her the biggest wimp alive, and he’d be right. She didn’t even have the dignity to tell him what she’d done and how she’d changed his life.
How did she tell the man she’d fallen for that she brought him to the future? On one hand, he should be grateful she’d saved his life—but on the other, she’d messed up his timeline. Who knew what would happen now? His life was as unchartered as hers since she’d dragged him forward. She may have ruined two lives—Avingdale’s and her own. No, make that three. Lady Sutton was as much a wildcard as Avingdale.
Wiping her sweaty palms on her jeans, Maryanne squared her shoulders. It was her duty to tell Avingdale what had happened. Though he didn’t have all his memories back yet, he could regain them at any time. Plus, even without them, he’d soon be able to piece together that he was stuck somewhere in the future.
She grasped the door handle, and with a deep breath, she depressed the lever. Before she could chicken out, she forced herself into the room. Opening her mouth to start her explanation, she snapped it back shut.
Avingdale still lay on the bed, where she’d left him, but unlike before, he seemed to be having trouble breathing. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and a strangled sound came from his white-rimmed mouth.
She rushed over to him, her heart thudding in her throat. “What’s wrong? Do you need help?” Panic made her voice squeak.
His gaze flew to her, and the stark truth in his eyes was so blinding even she couldn’t miss it. The realization hit her like a fist to the gut. He remembered. Her legs gave out, but she managed to land in the chair by his bed.
