by Nichole Van
Basically, aside from her repeated odd dreams featuring the dara knot, her search was at a standstill.
The portal remained stubbornly closed to Timothy. Which was bad . . . right? She was afraid to examine that particular little emotion too much . . .
Basically, they needed a fun holiday. And after seeing Timothy smile the other day . . .
Gah! Her stomach still did this gymnastic twirling tumbling thingy every time she thought about it.
He had just looked so . . . relaxed. So carefree. So . . . un-Linwood-ish.
And now she was greedy. She wanted more, more, more of that smile. More of his happiness. More of his contentment.
And if her luck held, she would get him to laugh too.
Timothy Linwood . . . laughing.
She had been awake half the night contemplating what his laugh would look like, sound like.
Was he a Crinkle-Eye Laugher? The type whose eyes disappeared?
Or was he a Throw-Back Laugher, chin lifted, teeth bared toward the sky?
Or a Shy-Duck Laugher, with his head tilted forward, fist raised to his mouth?
Was the sound of his laugh quiet? Or more rumbly? Guffaw-ish?
She bounced in her seat. She wanted to know now!
But she could wait until the end of the day. It was going to happen, one way or another.
She had a very good plan.
“Just follow the GPS. It will get us there.”
And then she succumbed to another fit of giggles.
Forty-five minutes later, Timothy stood outside the car park gate, staring upwards. Mouth unfashionably agape.
“Bloody hell. That is not what I think it is, right?”
Dumbfounded felt like too weak a word to describe the depths of his astonishment.
He shook his head. “How is such a thing possible? That cannot possibly be safe. I’m quite sure it defies every one of Newton’s laws.”
Jasmine clung to his arm, still giggling like an escaped patient from Bedlam.
He smiled at the sound. He couldn’t help it. She was utterly contagious.
“I know. I know.” She jumped up and down. “It’s going to be sooooooo awesome. It’s one of the biggest roller coasters in all of Europe—”
“You are impossibly incorrigible—”
“You would be too if you were about to initiate the inexperienced into the mind-blowing g-forces of a world-class roller coaster. No more kiddie coasters for you, buster.”
“Are those people hanging upside-down?”
“Yes.”
“And going in circles?”
“It’s called a loop-de-loop. And the tighter one over there is called a corkscrew.”
“Good heavens! The cars just plummeted! Like going over the edge of a cliff—”
“I know, right? Your stomach practically comes out your nose—”
“You can hear their screams all the way over here.”
Her face lit, eyes shining, she slid her hand down his arm and threaded her small fingers through his. And then danced forward, turning to pull him along.
She gave another crazed giggle. More jumping. “Let’s go! Letsgoletsgoletsgo—”
So impossibly adorable. Infectious delight.
Timothy laughed.
Soft and low, but a laugh nonetheless.
A giddy breath of pure joy.
Though quiet, the sound didn’t escape Jasmine. She whirled on him, eyes wide with surprise.
“You laughed!” she crowed in triumph, jumping into his arms, wrapping herself around him.
Naturally, he reciprocated by gathering her close. Burying his nose in her hair, giving another chuckle.
Ahhhh. The joy of holding her, of being near her. The sheer dizzying brilliance that was her soul. How could a man not laugh when hugging her?
She pulled back, taking his head in her hands, running her thumbs over his dimples.
“And you’re a Buttery Laugher, no less,” she said. “The kind who chuckles under his breath, and it’s all low, rumbly, sexy, smooth like butteh.”
If she said so.
“You made that too easy for me.” She planted a solid kiss on his cheek. “I thought it would take at least a hundred foot drop to get a laugh out of you.”
But before he could follow-up and, hopefully, get her to move that kiss about three inches to the right, she had her feet on the ground and was tugging him toward the roller coaster.
“Wait! That isn’t the last of my extreme sour zombie gummies, is it?” Jasmine studied the plastic package Timothy held and then pushed her loop-de-loop-mussed hair out of her face to get a better look.
Wild hair was totally an acceptable price to pay for the most awesome, uh-mazing, ridonculous roller coaster ride EVER. All said in a sing-song voice while doing sparkly jazz fingers. That had earned her an extra-deep dimpled smile and soft Buttery Laugh.
The walk around the paddle boat pond and sugar rush from the zombie gummies was helping settle her stomach.
“Your extreme sour zombies?” Timothy fixed her with those silver eyes of his. Lifted his eyebrows.
Jasmine narrowed her gaze, staring at the bag, brushed her hair back again.
Yep. There was only one left. And it was a pink one, no less. Her favorite.
“I’m pretty sure it’s one of the rules. A gentleman will always give the last extreme sour zombie gummy to his lady.”
Timothy shook his head, all mock-mournfulness. “No. I cannot say I recall such a rule. And even if it did exist, someone made me give up all my rules. Sooooooo . . .”
With a wicked glint in his eye, he reached into the bag and drew out the last gummy zombie with a flourish. It sparkled in the sunlight, all glittery with extra-sour, pucker-inducing sweetness.
Without breaking eye contact with her, he lifted it to his mouth, preparing to drop it in.
Oh!
The man was an utter cad.
“Don’t you dare.” She shook her head, eyes menacing. “You need to share. Sharing is definitely one of your rules.”
He paused, cocking his head in thought. “Actually, I cannot say that it is. Viscounts, as a general principle, are not taught to share.”
“Well they should be! Sharing is good for the soul.”
“Only someone who has spent her life being compelled to share things would say that. Those of us who have never had to apportion our possessions—”
“Share!”
“Make me!” He held the candy above his head, well out of her reach.
She glared.
And then he smiled. That slow-spreading one that started somewhat lop-sided on the right side and then traveled left until bam, at the very last second his dimples popped and his eyes crinkled.
Be still her poor little heart.
Now she had to start it beating again.
It was lethal, that smile.
How could this teasing, darling man be the same dour, pompous lord who stomped through the portal over a month ago?
A man she was coming to thoroughly adore.
After she killed him for eating her last extreme sour zombie gummy.
He dangled the candy from his raised fingers. Taunting.
Stupid tall man.
She grabbed on to his shirt and jumped for it. But in the process, her hand touched his ribs. He twitched.
She paused.
No. Way.
She danced her fingers across his ribs again. He jerked back.
“Jasmine . . .” he said warningly.
“You’re ticklish!” She darted in, getting a few fingers into his ribs.
He chuckled, batting away her hands with his free arm.
With little success.
“I would advise you—”
“You didn’t realize I’m, like, a champion tickler, did you?”
She did a little testing. Ribs. Ticklish. Side. Ticklish. Knees. Ticklish.
With each touch, he squirmed and twisted, chuckling helplessly. Soft, warm, buttery goodness.
It was totally awesome.
He danced away from her fingers, held out a staying hand, gasping. “I am a peer of the realm and, as such, have a certain dignity to maintain—”
“Dignity shmignity. If you wanted to remain proper, you shouldn’t have taken my favorite pink gummie!”
She feinted for his ribs again, and he made the fatal mistake of trying to block her with both hands.
Practically offering her the candy in the process.
She claimed the gummy zombie with a gleeful chuckle.
“Wow! I’m remembering why I don’t like these things.” Jasmine buried her face in Timothy’s coat sleeve as they rose into the sky. Refusing to look down.
“The view is exquisite. This is the perfect place to watch the sunset.”
“Yes. But I always forget how high ferris wheels are. So carelessly open to the elements. So easy to rock and tip me out—”
An errant gust of wind tugged at her coat, causing the car to sway. She clutched Timothy’s arm tighter.
Fought the panic rising in her throat.
She and heights had never gotten along. Maybe it was because the ground was so very far away and so ruthlessly hard. Or, more likely, the fact that she was so very breakable and wingless.
Timothy tucked an arm around her, pulling her tight against his side. She turned her face into his chest.
“You are shaking. Are you cold?”
“If you mean cold with terror, then yes.” Her voice was muffled. Talking to someone’s right pectoral had a way of doing that. Though it was a wonderfully solid pectoral.
Scrunching his brow, Timothy pulled away and leaned waaaaaay too far forward, causing the chair to tip. Giving Jasmine a clear view of exactly how far away that hard, hard ground really was—
“Timothy!” She clutched his jacket lapels, shrieking in terror.
He sat back, nodding his head thoughtfully.
“Indeed, I am not entirely sure I trust this apparatus either.” He looked at her, tightened his grip around her shoulders. Face totally deadpan. “It is most definitely up to something.”
It was up to something? Oh no!
Panicking, she sneaked a peek over the edge, trying to understand—
Annnnnnnd then it sank in.
With a choked laugh, she whirled back to him just in time to watch the naughtiest little-boy smile dimple his cheeks.
“There is no need for embarrassment, Miss Fleury.” Still grinning, he gestured toward the edge with his chin. “Personally, I suffered from a fear of hurdles as a child, but I got over it. I have faith you will rise to the occasion.”
Oh. My. Word.
She gasped. And then collapsed into a ball of laughter against his chest. He rubbed her back, brushed one of those kisses against her hair.
“That’s better,” he murmured. “I much prefer your laugh.”
Jasmine wiped her eyes, still chuckling, nestling back against his chest. Impossible, punny, punny man! Just when she thought she couldn’t like him any more . . .
But how sweet to distract her fears. Who knew once all that Lord Linwood ice melted, there would be this warm, funny, excessively nerdy but totally goofy guy inside?
Though what he was going to do when he returned home and had to obey that stupid pun rule again—
“Home?” He stiffened.
Drat. Was she still doing that non-filtered talking thing?
“Yes, you are,” was his soft reply.
Dang. She needed to stop—
“Please, do not stop on my account. I quite enjoy always knowing your thoughts.”
Shaking her head, Jasmine sat up.
“So, what about home? About 1815? I’m not sure you even checked the portal this morning. You’re slipping, Lord Linwood.” Her tone all teasing affection.
The question won her another dimple-touched smile. Though she could feel his urgency to return home had abated. He was less frantic about it.
Would he be allowed to return to his own time? She knew that, for others, the portal had acted a bit like a matchmaker, uniting them to their soul mate.
And here she and Timothy were. Forced together by the portal’s machinations.
Up until two weeks ago, she would have said, ‘Thanks, but no thanks,’ to the idea of there ever being anything more than air between them.
But now . . . given how much her feelings had changed. The idea didn’t seem so . . . impossible.
He relaxed, though he kept a warm hand pressed against the small of her back, his thumb running in lazy circles, effectively sending her heart into pumping overdrive.
He had made so many changes, but he still remained in her century. Would he ever be allowed to return home? And was it terrible that she kinda sorta didn’t mind him being stuck with her?
He hadn’t answered her question.
“Hoping your villages will become self-pillaging?” She gave her most gentle, hey-I’m-just-teasing smile.
A beat.
“It is actually a possibility. If I do not return soon, my tenants might find themselves without a home or livelihood.”
Her eyebrows flew up in alarm. “What? Timothy, what’s wrong?”
He looked away. And then drew in a deep breath. Shifted his shoulders, as if . . . embarrassed?
“My former man of affairs embezzled from my estate, paupering me. Daniel Ashton found the problem—”
“No! So all this time, you haven’t just worried about Kinningsley becoming merchant holdings in the future. You have been stressed about solving this crisis in the past. Are you bankrupt?”
“Not yet. Though it is a decided possibility. If my land is sold off to pay creditors, it is likely my people will be tossed out of their homes. Homes they have had for centuries.”
“Oh no!” Her heart fell with a sickening thud.
“So you can understand why I have been so desperate to return home.”
“Yes! Why didn’t you tell me?” Could she have been any meaner about it? “And here I have been cruelly teasing you about pillaging. I am so sorry—”
“There is nothing you could do about it. And until I return, there is nothing I can do about it either.”
“True, but I’d like to think I’m a friend. And friends tell each other things like this. You haven’t been able to help me find my family in the U.S., but it’s still nice to have a listening ear. What will you do?”
Another huge gust of air left him. He looked away, eyes pensive.
And she knew.
Knew what the solution was. C’mon, she wasn’t an idiot. She had watched enough BBC costume dramas to understand how his world worked.
“You have to marry an heiress, don’t you?”
He sighed. Shrugged. “That is one solution—”
“Are you betrothed?”
Just asking the question made her stomach sink.
Of course, he would be betrothed. How could she not have seen that one coming?
“No! I am decidedly not betrothed.” Very emphatic. “I learned of my financial situation mere days before coming to this century.”
The relief which swept through her was astonishingly powerful.
“But surely marrying a wealthy heiress would solve—”
“Jasmine, I refuse to talk about other women when I am with you. It feels . . . wrong.”
He emphasized his words with a spine-tingling pass of his thumb across her lower back.
Right. Her cue to just let it go.
Move on. Drop the topic.
A brief war raged within her. Her mothering impulse determined to solve his problems fighting an intense battle with her decidedly non-motherly attraction to him.
Mothering won out. Stupid maternal instinct.
“I wish there were some way I could help.” Jasmine leaned forward, resting her hand on his chest, but arching her neck so she could still look at him. Sneaky attraction trying to get a hold. “I have some money. Marmi left me an inheritance of sorts.”
A pause.
“I would never ask that of you.”
“I’m not much of an heiress, anyway. Maybe enough for two high-perch phaetons and four horses. But it’s yours if you need it.”
“Thank you for the offer. My financial needs extend far beyond a coach and four, unfortunately. But I shall never forget your kindness.” He raised a hand, brushing hair from her cheek. Fingertips lingering oh-so-softly. Scalding.
Jasmine swallowed.
“You will find a solution. I know you will. You are too intelligent and capable to not rise above this set-back—”
“Have I told you yet what a remarkable woman you are?”
“Me?”
“Yes. You.” His eyes glowed. “I have just confessed the deepest shame of my life. Told you I might need to marry for money. And instead of judgment, I receive immediate offers of help. I cannot remember ever feeling this free with anyone. So accepted for who I am.”
Oh!
“Thank you. What a lovely thing to say.”
She felt her throat tighten. She blinked hard. Now was so not the time to cry.
Talk about sending a guy running for the hills.
“I cannot be scared off that easily.” He shook his head, eyes still fixed intently on her.
At that moment, the wheel lurched to a stop, sending them swaying. Jasmine grabbed on to his shirt, fisting it in her hands, gasping, trying not to look down, down, down—
Why did stupid ferris wheels always have to stop when she was at the very top? It was a total conspiracy.
Timothy flexed the arm wrapped around her, pressing her closer to him. Totally working the situation to his advantage.
Well, two could play at that game.
She snuggled fully into him, leaning her head against one pectoral and sliding a hand inside his jacket to rest on his other.
Strictly for comfort purposes, of course.
His heart thumped under her ear, fast and swooshing. Surely it wasn’t beating this fast just because of the rocking ferris wheel.
Was he still thinking that kissing was a bad idea? Because she had sooooooo changed her mind on that one.
