His eyes widened in disbelief. “What in the hell are you speaking of, woman?” he said with a hefty amount of exasperation. He scrubbed his hands over his face and then dropped them to his sides. “I don’t understand what you want from me.” He glared at her. “No, do not say a word. Let me speak,” he warned. “First: you try to have your way with my person…stop looking at me like that,” he said as she narrowed her eyes at him in disbelief. He raked a hand through his hair. “I have been more than accommodating to you in that endeavor and might I add you can’t seem to keep your hands from me. But when I attempt to give you what you so obviously want, you draw blood from me… again.” He shook his head, thoroughly confused. He threw his hands up in the air and started to walk away. This was not something he needed, today or any other.
Marguerite gaped at him. She felt heat rush to her face. With her hands balled up into fists she stomped after him. “What did you say to me?” she yelled, chasing behind him, stomping her feet the entire way, acting just like a spoiled child. She was apparently itching for a fight, but at what cost?
Darias picked up his pace and casually looked over his shoulder. He made it halfway across the clearing before he gave up and turned back around. “What?” he asked in exasperation. He lifted his face to the sky. Good Lord, what had he gotten himself into? He blew out a lengthy breath and shook his head in wonder. One moment she was trying to feel his most intimate parts, and when he responded in kind, she acted as though he were trying to steal her innocence. He snorted in derision. If she had any innocence…he didn’t think so. Apparently she was muddled in the head. He wondered where his rope was; maybe he should tie her up. What a pity though. He had a beguiling enchantress not ten feet from his person, one that made him forget all his woes in the depths of her violet eyes. And even now, his body still wanted to have a go at her, but his mind was more wary. He had a feeling if he tried, he may find a bloody dagger in his gullet… shame, that. Shuddering from the thought, he shook his head. What was he thinking? He must be going daft with all this flowery prose entering his mind. “Beguiling enchantress,” where in the bloody hell did that come from? He ran his hand over his face and turned towards her fully. “Please forgive my forward behavior, milady… ah… I thought you wanted me in the most intimate of ways… but, ah… I suppose I was wrong,” he said awkwardly, hoping she would now run along and leave him be.
Her eyes rounded. “What I wanted?” she asked appalled, her reason fleeing. She knew she was being unfair, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. “If you, sir, had anything other than a load of rocks in that thick skull of yours, you would have known what I wanted to hear. But nooo, you stand there looking at me like I am nothing more than a common wench. And then to top it all off, you have said nary a word about how much you missed me these past months and not one declaration of love either….” She stomped her foot. “Well, what do you have to say for yourself?” she asked finishing off her tirade in a breathless huff.
“I do not know what you are speaking of.”
“What? Argh!” She gave up and stomped away before she started to cry.
Darias felt a pressure building behind his eyes; he lifted his hand and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was having a terrible time trying to make any sense out of what she was screaming about. Her voice had taken on a shrillness that sent chills racing over his skin. She was already hard to understand, but what he did understand chilled him to his core, making his blood run cold. Declarations of love? He never made any mention of love, especially not to a woman who was obviously a bit off in the head. The entire situation was so unbelievable; it was actually turning out to be quite laughable, really. What were the odds his day would have turned out like this? A soft laugh escaped his mouth. He could not help himself. He understood now. Surely this was a trick. Jayce was quite the jokester and owed Darias for the drenching he had given him with the chamber pot last month. He must have been thinking this one up for quite some time. Still, where would he have come across her? The village? A passing merchant? And where would he have hidden her all this time? He tried not to think that his far-reaching conclusion did not add up, not one bit. Not finding the answers he sought her dropped his hand back to his side and walked back over to the fire.
The gentle breeze blew the dampened strands of her hair, making them twist and turn. Her arms were wrapped around her knees as she stared into the flames. The firelight flickered over her profile. He sighed. She really was quite beautiful.
He fidgeted with his sword hilt for a moment before clearing his throat. She looked up at him and for a moment her eyes captivated him making him immediately forget what he had been planning to say. After a few moments, he remembered and tried again. “Milady…” he paused, looking for the right words. “ I will admit your company these past hours has been… interesting… ah, for the most part… let’s stop this ruse, shall we? Tell me, when did my brother put you up to this?” He watched her pretty face twist from shock into disbelief. She was good. He had to give her that. He gave her a rakish smile. “Do not fret, fair lady, I will take you back to your home… eventually,” he said and winked at her for good measure, to toy with her as she had him.
Marguerite’s mouth fell open, blinking rapidly. Finally, she found her voice. “Are you kidding me?” What an odious clod.
He tilted his head to the side, trying to read her expression. “No. I promise, I am not kidding you.”
He wasn’t kidding. “Seriously, this is all you have to say?”
He shook his head. “Yes, this is all I have to say. Are you daft, woman?” he asked pointedly.
“Daft?” she repeated. “No, I am not daft!” she yelled out. “Fool!” she added, not knowing what else to say.
An incredulous look came over his face as he walked over in front of her and leaned down. His face was a stern mask, just inches from hers. His eyes bore into hers and she began to fear she had gone too far.
“I am no fool woman, and it would do you well to remember that,” he said in a cutting voice before he straightened and gave her one last look of derision and then walked off into the darkness of the night.
Some things never change
PRESENT DAY * RAVENHURST
AFTER HD made his hasty exit, Raven kicked off her flats, launching them across the room. Men were so irritating. She wiggled her toes in the lush floral carpet until she got the feeling back in them and then padded barefoot across the room to a lovely, gilded dressing table. Casually she looked at some of the items on top. There was a gorgeous blue, jewel-encrusted, enameled dresser box… probably Tiffany. She lifted the lid, taking a peek into the velvet confines and let out a sigh of disappointment. It was empty. Darn. She had imagined it filled with jewels. There were several jars in various sizes on the top of the vanity, she lifted each one up to look at the contents and set them back on top of a mirrored tray. There was a fine porcelain Limoges hair receiver with a lovely floral depiction painted on it and was signed by a French artist. She wished the Internet worked so she could do a search for the name to find out if it was a listed artist. Very few people knew the true value of such pieces. She did. Thank goodness.
Some incredibly famous French artists painted on various pieces of fine porcelain, such as vases, cocoa sets, even brooches. Their artwork on canvas was normally unattainable, too costly, but sometimes they would paint on smaller pieces of fine porcelain, making it more affordable to the commoner. Of course, that backfired a bit. Since so few pieces stood the test of time and were actually left in pristine condition, they were now invaluable. Imagine having a tea set painted by Renoir… priceless. And to a true collector, there would be no limit to what they would spend to have it for their own collection.
It was a slippery slope though; one had to be careful when discerning whether or not a piece of porcelain was real or fake. A true Limoges was transparent when held up to a light and made a nice ringing sound when you tapped it. If it were a fake, it would clunk, not clink, which is a dead gi
veaway. Also instead of a real painting, it was only a transfer under glaze, smooth to the touch. There were many American fakes as well; those were painted however and became very collectible in their own right. Of course, they did not receive the hammer price of the French artists’ Limoges at auction, but they would still bring a nice chunk of change.
She lifted up the matching brush, noting a few, long dark hairs in it, and set it back on the vanity. There was a comb and a lovely hand mirror. There were no chips, cracks or crazing, which was remarkable for a set this old. Next to the set was a gilt lipstick holder with a fat-bellied cherub perched on top. A delicate porcelain hatpin holder sat beside it, filled with jeweled-top pins that would have sent the Mad Hatter to salivating. She would have been, too, if she weren’t so irritated. She couldn’t believe she still had no idea what HD’s name was. She removed her jewelry while trying out names… “Vincent? Stephan? No… eh… Tony?” she said, bobbing her head in the mirror with her fake Italian accent. She laughed, definitely not!
She pushed on her stomach; it was killing her. Her cut-offs were cutting her in half. She needed to change and went on a mission to find her comfy clothes while waiting for her dinner. As she searched for them, she realized she barely even had a chance to look around the room she was staying in. It was a pretty room, done in what she called Marie Antoinette blue—French blue. It was filled with furniture in a French provincial style. The bed was a canopy covered in yards of blue damask with gilded accents. A large, carved marble fireplace was on the far wall with an ancient oil painting over the top. It had blackened with age, though, so the scene was hard to make out in the dim light.
Once the sun was up, she planned to open the draperies and examine it better. Flanking either side were a pair of enameled, cased lusters, the deep green glass peeking out of circular cuts in the white enamel, decorated with gilded paint and hand-painted flowers. They were totally Moser, no doubt about that. These people were loaded. She wondered why she had to catalogue the contents. She hoped it was only for insurance purposes, if not, the double Bs were going to be making a nice chunk of change off the sale of this stuff. Hopefully, she would get a raise or a commission. Now that would be sweet.
Her suitcase was lying open on a footstool off to the side. She quickly undressed, ditching her cut-offs, and pulled on a pair of yoga pants and a rumpled cotton t-shirt that was lying beside it.
She walked past two large armchairs, over to the large bank of windows, and pulled the heavy silk curtains aside. The sun had long since gone down. It was black outside; she could only see her own reflection in the window. Lifting her hands she grabbed her hair and pulled it up into a messy bun. An elaborately carved gilded mirror was on the far wall that went all the way to the floor. The way it was trimmed gave the illusion of a door to some mystical land. There was something definitely odd about the carved images in it, were those… keys? She was about to examine it closer when a brief knock sounded at the door. “Yes?” she called.
The door creaked open loudly. “Miss, I have your dinner. Is there any place you would prefer to have it set up?”
“Oh no, set it anywhere you like.” Raven watched the skinny, plain-faced maid adeptly ready a table in front of the fireplace. Raven’s stomach rumbled. The food smelled awesome. “Is there a TV in here?” she asked, thinking that maybe she could watch a good movie. There had to be something on; it was Saturday night, after all.
The maid looked confused at first. “Oh, the telly… yes, there is one in here. It is hidden in the cabinet at the bottom of your bed.” She pulled a remote out of a drawer and pushed a button.
Raven watched as a sleek, flat screen lifted silently out of a cabinet at the base of the bed. The maid walked over and spun it around, angling it towards where Raven would be sitting. “Wow. That is sweet.”
The maid smiled and handed the remote to Raven and briefly explained how to use it. “If there is anything else you need, miss, you can call the kitchen. Just push the button on the phone like so.”
“Thank you,” Raven responded simply, too stunned to say anything more. Then she remembered her computer and the emails she would need to read. The maid was almost to the door. “Hey, wait,” she called out over her shoulder. “Do you have a land line for my computer?”
The maid look perplexed a moment and then said, “Oh, yes, we do, but the service is down right now. We had a terrible storm a week or so ago, and it has yet to be fixed.”
“Oh,” she said frowning, wondering how she would get her emails. Oh well, she guessed she would just store everything on a flash drive and mail it to them.
The maid paused in the doorway. “If you really need to access the Internet, you could drive to town. I believe the little bed and breakfast has access still. I am sure the innkeeper wouldn’t mind if you used it,” she supplied helpfully.
Raven sighed. She didn’t want to go to the stupid B&B, she wanted to stay here and look around. “Okay. Thanks.”
The maid smiled. “Good night then, miss. Oh, and just leave the dishes. The morning maid will clear them away when she straightens your room.”
Raven turned a nice shade of red as she looked around the room, following the maid’s gaze. Good Lord, it was a disaster zone. The maid probably thought she was a pig. Well, she would just need to do some cleaning up of her own before the other maid showed.
The maid was waiting by the door when she turned back around. What the heck was she waiting for… a tip?
“Thank you,” she said, not knowing what else to say. The maid smiled, bobbing her head. Raven thought she heard her mumble something, but couldn’t make it out. She shook her head and grabbed her tray of food and sat in one of the large, wingback chairs and then turned on the television. She hit the buttons over and over, but nothing was on that she recognized, which was just weird. She finally settled on a movie with hot knights fighting and a girl traipsing through a forest, complaining about something. Raven didn’t even pay attention, really, since she was so hungry. She dug into her delicious dinner, which consisted of lean roast beef, boiled potatoes, two delicious biscuits, and carrots with a glass of sweetened tea.
Hasty Decisions
AGE OF CHIVALRY * THE GLEN
HE stood above her sleeping form, holding the water flask he just filled. She looked so peaceful in slumber. Sweet… not afflicted. He didn’t know what provoked him to do what he did, but he did it just the same. Lifting the flask he was holding into the air he poured water directly on top of her.
Marguerite jolted awake, suddenly drenched. At first, she thought she was in a downpour and was ready to make a run for it, but then she saw it was not raining at all. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she sputtered in outrage, wiping the wetness from her face. His dark gaze bore into her with a look of distaste. She shivered, she couldn’t help it.
Daring her to say more, he raised his brow at her. Who was a fool now?
Moving her dripping hair from her face, she pushed it aside. “What did I do this time?” she asked, defeated.
Darias frowned at her deadpan response. He had no idea why he dumped the water on her head, with the exception that it bothered him to see she was sleeping, still. After the incident in the middle of the night with her screaming like a banshee, making him almost slit her throat, he was unable to find restful sleep again. To top it off, he was sleeping well before the incident, so well in fact he forgot where he was. He never slept that soundly, ever, and that unsettled him more than he liked to admit. He had a sinking suspicion it had to do with the girl who was staring at him right now. He knew he was acting like an oaf, but he could not seem to help himself. He was still angry. And as he stared down at her, he realized the truth…he was not upset with her at all, but with himself. Not knowing how to digest his feelings, he did the only thing he could do… he shrugged indifferently at her and walked off.
What in the hell was wrong with men? Her mouth dropped open, gawking after his departing form. She finally shut it. Taking a shaky
breath she leaned over and began to gather her things. Once she finished she tried to steal glances over at him, but once again, he was out of sight, with only his horse’s big behind visible to gaze upon. Laying her things into a neat pile she walked over to the water’s edge; not that she needed freshening up, but she was trying to see where he went while acting nonchalant.
Darias mounted his horse with familiar ease. He looked once more over at the girl who was wreaking havoc with his emotions. Should he just leave her? Or should he hand her directly over to his brother, sealing her away from him forever? That particular thought made him suddenly not feel well. Perhaps the rabbit he ate last night was bad. That must be it. It couldn’t be that he did not want anyone else to have her. Before he could second-guess his decision, he reined his horse around and headed out of the hidden glen… never once looking back.
Marguerite lifted up her cloak and turned when she heard the soft clomping of horse’s hooves. Her dark knight was making a hasty exit out of the glen without a single wave or a backward glance.
Unable to move, she stood there. Was she that forgettable? A hysterical laugh erupted from her throat as she envisioned chasing after him, waving her arms, calling out, “What about me?”
She dropped her things onto the ground and then followed suit. Pulling her legs into her chest she wrapped her arms around them. “What about me?” she whispered weakly, rocking back and forth. On some level she knew she should feel something: despair, anger…, but she was too stunned, too shocked, and numb to feel anything. She sat there listening to the water flow from above, splashing into the pool at the base, the one she saw him emerging from in all his naked glory. Visions of the kisses they shared with one another whispered through her mind, as a lone tear slid silently down her face.
TIME TO REMEMBER: A NEW ADULT TIME TRAVELING ROMANCE (RAVENHURST SERIES) Page 7
