by Nichole Van
“Shatner,” she said, moving around Sebastian and out the door.
The man instantly wrapped her into a tight embrace.
An embrace that Georgiana returned.
So this was the mysterious Shatner D’Avery.
This was who she preferred over him. This scrawny, belligerent, impolite man?
Sebastian was quite sure D’Avery did not deserve the label gentleman.
“Georgie, where have you been? I’ve been crazy waiting to hear from you, luv,” Shatner murmured to her.
Sebastian was going to be ill, toss his accounts right here in the front garden. After coming so near to kissing her less than an hour ago, his heart slammed back to the ground with a thud.
It hurt like hell—hitting reality this hard.
Shatner pulled Georgiana away from him, surveying her muslin dress with its teal-blue velvet spencer and the jaunty bonnet on her head.
“Is this one of your Bosom Companion meetings?” he asked. “I’ve been banging on your door for the last ten minutes at least. Why haven’t you returned my texts? I nearly called you, I was so desperate!”
Uncomfortable, Sebastian looked past them and, for the first time, really took stock of his surroundings.
The house was the same and yet completely not. The front door seemed unchanged with its sinuous carving of an oak tree. But the yard had altered. The stone fence was worn and covered in moss and a huge oak tree arched over the house. Ivy chased across the cottage’s golden stone and the front garden was a riot of roses, lavender and wildflowers.
Even more oddly, two carriages sat along the gravel drive, all shiny metal and gleaming glass, with small wheels which left the vehicles perilously close to the ground. Where were the horses to pull them? Sebastian glanced around, but he could see no stables nor any sign of a groom or coachman.
It was surreally odd.
“So who’s your friend?” D’Avery’s question brought Sebastian back to them.
Shatner stood with one arm wrapped possessively around Georgiana’s waist, snugging her tightly against his body. For her part, Georgiana had her arm wrapped around him and a smile planted firmly on her face.
Sebastian couldn’t tell if she was relieved or panicked.
She did not, however, seem to mind that Shatner’s hand was now making small, caressing circles on her hip.
Jealousy tasted metallic and bitter, choking in its potency.
Sebastian wanted to punch D’Avery, if only to wipe the smirky smile off his face.
“How silly of me!” Georgiana said, stepping out of D’Avery’s embrace and moving to hold his hand instead. “Shatner, this is an old childhood friend, Sebastian Carew. Sebastian, this is Shatner D’Avery.”
They eyed each other. Sebastian knew he should say something polite in greeting.
He knew he should. But he didn’t.
The pause lingered a little too long.
“Nice one, saying you were an earl,” D’Avery said into the silence. Turning to Georgiana, he continued, “He said he was an earl. Is he part of your reenactment group?”
Georgiana’s eyes widened, and she gave an uneasy laugh edged with consternation.
“Something like that,” she replied and then glanced at Sebastian with a pleading look. “Would you mind giving me a moment, Sebastian?”
Yes, he did mind and he most certainly didn’t want to leave her alone with D’Avery.
But being a gentleman to the core, he gave them both a stiff little bow and turned back into the house.
As he did so, he heard Shatner say, “That guy is awesome, with the bowing and everything—”
Sebastian shut the front door. If only to muffle Shatner’s incomprehensible comments.
He rubbed a hand over his face and, closing his eyes, massaged the bridge of his nose.
What was going on here?
He still felt dizzy and disoriented. Like a nightmare where everything was familiar and yet not.
Opening his eyes, he surveyed the hallway. It seemed the same. Soft, worn oak covered almost every inch of the walls. The entryway was paneled in the honey-colored wood, as was the parlor to the left of the central hallway.
But it was different. The floors were worn and not level. Odd fixtures hung from the ceiling. He walked down the hallway and glanced at the still open closet, trying to understand.
What had happened? He had gone down into the cellar, felt dizzy and then come back up.
That was all.
And yet somehow everything had changed.
He moved farther down the hall and into the back where the kitchen and scullery had been.
The room was altogether transformed. He blinked and glanced back into the hallway, just to convince himself he was in the same house.
He was.
Turning, he surveyed the room.
The enormous fireplace still dominated the left side of the space, but that was the only recognizable feature. Instead of work baskets and cook pots, high wingback chairs now flanked the fireplace, facing an overstuffed sofa. A large, rough-hewn table with chairs stood in front of him. The entire back half of the house sported large windows that opened onto an overgrown back garden, flooding the room in light.
But, beyond that, he was at a loss.
The right of the room gleamed in marble and steel. A large pale marble-topped cabinet sat in the center of the space, and there seemed to be some sort of spigot over a sunken basin, but everything else was unknown and baffling. Large metal cabinets dotted the room, and strange objects cluttered the marble.
Bewildered, he walked around the table and took a seat at the opposite end so he could see down the hallway. Loosened his cravat and settled his head in his hands.
Waited for Georgiana to return and explain what in blazes was going on.
The front door opened and shut. He heard Georgiana’s footsteps along the hallway and looked up as she entered the room.
They stared at each other for a tense moment. She took in a deep, shuddering breath—eyes shuttered and unreadable.
Georgiana broke first, shaking her head and walking to the table, stopping opposite him.
Lifting her left wrist, she undid the buttons of her kid glove, but her hands trembled, slowing her progress. Buttons undone, she tugged on each shaking finger. The leather whispered as she drew it off her hand and tossed it onto the table. She turned to her right hand and repeated the process, drawing the glove over her fine-boned fingers.
Then, she slowly untied her bonnet and set it on the table next to the gloves. Her blond hair shook loose a little, a few curls tumbling to frame her face.
Next, she unbuttoned her teal-blue spencer and, shrugging out of it, laid it next to her bonnet. Agitation evident in her rigid shoulders, in her tight breathing.
She sat down—slumped, actually, in a decidedly unladylike manner—into the chair at the opposite end of the table, lit in a pool of sunlight from the windows behind Sebastian.
She looked impossibly lovely in her flowing muslin dress, golden hair teasing around her face, blue eyes bright.
Like the woman he loved.
But he was not sure he knew her.
Not anymore.
Silence.
A sudden series of chirps and whistles shattered the quiet.
Bing. Chirp. Whip-woo.
What the—?!
With a grimace, Georgiana reached into her stays and pulled out a thin, rectangular object about size of her hand. Shaking her head again, she touched its surface. The noises instantly stopped. She laid the object down on the table.
Sebastian swallowed and lounged back in his chair, legs wide. Slouched, just like her. Drumming his fingers, giving her his most earl-ish stare.
He could wait her out.
She regarded him and then exhaled. Leaned forward to place her elbows on the table and sent her fingers into her hair, as if trying to hold some emotion inside.
“Heavens, what a horrid mess,” she murmured, rubbing her neck, as if i
t ached.
She reached up and pulled out a hair pin, dropping it with a ping onto the table.
Two more followed. Ping, ping.
Still running her hands through her hair, she sighed. “Oh Seb, I am so incredibly sorry. What a horrid situation.” She shot him a glance through her eyelashes.
Ping, ping, ping.
He continued to drum his fingers, not trusting himself to speak.
“Sebastian, I don’t know—” she stopped and pulled a final pin out of her hair.
Ping.
Her glorious mass of golden hair tumbled loose, cascading across her shoulders and down her chest. With a weary sigh, she continued to massage her head.
Was the woman trying to drive him mad?
Vividly, he saw her walking into D’Avery’s arms, resting with a hand casually around his waist.
Who was this woman? The one who let down her hair and slumped in chairs?
Where were they? And where was the Georgiana he knew?
She swallowed and fixed him with her blue, blue gaze.
“So remember what you said about the moon? How you wanted to know the truth?”
He nodded. A painful, stunned motion.
“Well, for the record, this is not the moon. But it is not far off.”
She let out a long breath. Spread her arms wide, eyes soulful and intent.
“Let me be the first to welcome you to the future. Welcome to the twenty-first century.”
Chapter 15
The great room
Duir Cottage
September 15, 2013
Birthday in minus 23 days plus two hundred years
Sebastian’s eyes widened at her statement.
Or, more aptly, bulged out of his head.
Whatever he had been expecting, Georgiana knew time travel was most definitely not it.
“Par—Pardon me?” he stuttered, shifting in his chair. “Is this yet another of your flights of fantasy, Georgiana?”
His dark eyes were shuttered. All traces of good humor and cheer gone.
In their place was the Earl of Stratton.
Intense, brooding.
Jaw clenched, side whiskers cutting across his cheeks, giving his face an almost devilish look.
He vibrated with leashed power.
Unbidden, she saw him again at the front door, staring at her and Shatner with hooded eyes. Bristling with aristocratic hauteur and confidence.
Seeing the two men together had been . . . surprising.
Shatner had seemed so small in comparison. And not just in stature.
She swallowed, forcing such thoughts away.
It had been nice to see Shatner. He was a good man.
Sebastian stared at her for another moment and then, shaking his head, he stood up and began to pace, his tense energy reverberating through the room. His large body filled the space, looking somehow completely at home in his tight green coat and elegant ivory waistcoat, boots clicking against the wood floor.
“I’m so sorry, Sebastian. I most certainly never expected you to get caught up in this mess. If it helps, I meant to tell you today. It was why I led you to the cottage . . .”
He looked around the room, taking in the kitchen with its stainless steel fridge and industrial gas range. The microwave blinking the time.
Then stopping, he turned to stare at her, resting a hand on the kitchen island, tapping fingers again.
“Do I know you?” The deep bass of his voice rumbled through her.
Georgiana gasped, her heart snagging in her throat.
Of all the questions—!
“Of course, you know me. We have both changed, Sebastian, but I am still the same intrinsic person.”
His dark gaze snared her, emotions skittering across his face. Confusion, hurt . . . and something else deeper and more fathomless.
A beat.
“Are you? Or is the girl I knew just a facade?”
She blinked. “I am still Georgiana, Seb. I am sure your experiences as a soldier have changed you but—”
He snorted. “What an understatement—”
“Exactly. We were practically children the last time we knew each other. Both of us have experienced . . . life over the last decade. And the last year, in particular, has most definitely changed me. It’s one of many reasons why I have resisted your persistent offers of marriage—”
He laughed at that.
A harsh quick sound. Devoid of any humor.
He turned his head, took a step toward the window. His jaw tensing, quivering.
Silence.
“Have I been a complete damn fool?” he asked after a minute. Voice hoarse. He leaned forward, hands braced on the counter under the window. Back to her.
She paused.
“No—not a fool—”
But she had hesitated a fraction too long before responding.
He made that sound again.
The laugh that was not a laugh.
His head hung forward, shaking back and forth.
Georgiana was not entirely sure if he was laughing or crying.
Perhaps a bit of both.
“You are not a fool.” Georgiana stood and walked over, leaning on the opposite side of the kitchen island. “How could you have anticipated this reality? I have lived through it and can still scarcely believe it.”
He seemed so . . . bereft. She ached to reach for him. To offer some sort of comfort. To feel his arms around her.
To have him understand.
“Sebastian, I was dying . . . No nineteenth century medicine could save me. It was my only option . . . coming here. The only way left to save my life.”
“How—How did it happen?” His voice a choked whisper.
He lifted his head and turned around, facing her and planting his hands on the island. The expanse of cold, glittery marble between them.
Symbolic that.
He fixed his gaze on a point beyond her. Away. Refusing to look at her.
She stared at his hands resting on the hard white stone, fingers in agitated motion.
Long elegant fingers, broad palm. A hand that promised strength and kindness.
“There was an ancient oak tree on this spot that had guarded the portal since Roman times. But oak trees don’t live forever and—and the portal was uncovered. James had this house built to protect the portal. I never intended to come here. That was not part of my plan. But I was so ill . . .”
She shifted her gaze to the windows behind his shoulders, remembering those awful and yet miraculous weeks over a year ago.
“I was barely conscious through the entire process. I have fleeting memories of the vertigo of the portal and then people everywhere, shouting orders. Sticking me with pins, whispering soothing words. I woke up in a white room with machines beeping all around, tubes poking in and out of me. It was not pleasant, but at least I felt no pain. I lay in that bed for a couple weeks while twenty-first century medicine worked a miracle.”
She gave a small, little laugh. He still looked away, but his hand had stilled on the counter.
“I had been so ill, you see? No one expected me to live. Especially not myself. I had reconciled to the idea I would never marry, never have a family, never . . . never experience . . . romantic love. Never have a life full of hope and choice and options—”
“Oh, Georgie.” He abruptly shifted his gaze, dark eyes drilling into hers. “I was prepared to offer you all of that. I fully expected to find you ill and dying when I came in search of you. I wanted to make the time you had remaining magical, to give you whatever bit of happiness I could . . .” He choked again and looked down at the counter, at the stone that separated them.
Unable to resist, Georgiana reached across and captured his hand in hers. He wrapped fingers around hers, engulfing her hand.
Warm and strong. True.
“Thank you.” Her voice barely a whisper.
They both stared at their twined hands.
“I would have, you know. Married you. If
you had found me ill and dying, if I had lived long enough. If I hadn’t come here.” A stuttering breath escaped her. “You were always the best of friends. So kind and thoughtful—”
He let out a short burst of air. His shoulders shrugged. Swallowed.
He traced the back of her hand with a single finger.
“But, being here has changed everything. I am whole and healthy and anything is possible again. James is here with Emme and—”
“Wait—James?!” His head snapped to attention. “Your brother James is here? He is not dead?”
“Oh, yes, did I not say that first? He deliberately left 1812, deciding instead to spend his life here. The future suits him better, and his wife, Emme, is from this century. Duir Cottage is actually his home now. Arthur placed the gravestone in order to provide closure and ensure he inherited the Knight estate as James’ heir. James will never return to the past.”
The news seemed to unsettle Sebastian. He stared again at their hands still entwined on the countertop, rubbed his thumb between her knuckles.
“So your brother is here, too.” He did not look up from their hands. “James—the person you always claimed to be closest to in the whole world . . .”
She nodded. “Yes, he is here. Happy and whole. And with him choosing to stay here . . .” Sebastian raised his head, locked his eyes with hers. She licked her lips. “I cannot imagine leaving him and returning to live permanently in the nineteenth century . . .”
Her voice drifted into a whisper. His gaze snared her.
His eyes, in that moment . . .
Georgiana was quite sure she would always remember that look.
Haunted. Gutted.
As if she had died. Was dead to him.
Unbidden, it echoed through her too. Felt it all too keenly, as if he had wrapped her in the pain of his soul.
The tightness in her throat suffocated.
“I am so sorry, Sebastian. I know you need to marry and soon . . . that you considered me your simplest option. I tried so hard to help you understand. I should have told you everything sooner. I just didn’t know how to make you believe me . . .”
He dropped her hand and turned sideways, looking away, swallowing every now and again. Taut.
She couldn’t bear it.
