Poor thing, Amy thought. She is going to have her cheerfulness crushed if this keeps up. And then Amy realized that she had no idea where the conservatory was. Or what floor they were on. Or how big the house was.
There was a man standing by the stairs, wearing what looked like a costume in satin. Pants that stopped at the knee and a wig. Surely that was old-fashioned in 1805. Aha, she thought, a footman in livery.
She went up to him, thought about bobbing a curtsey but stopped herself. As her ladyship’s companion, she was senior to him and no such courtesy was necessary. What book had that tidbit come from?
“Would you please direct me to the conservatory?”
He bowed and announced he would take her there. It must have taken them three minutes of walking twisting and turning hallways and at least two flights of stairs, one up and one down. Amy tried to memorize the route and gave up when she realized there were footmen stationed everywhere, surely to serve the same purpose as her current guide.
She was out of breath when she reached the conservatory, not only because of the distance covered. Amy Stevens was about to meet the third Earl of Weston.
The footman knocked on the door and when a voice called “Enter,” he opened it for Amy. She stepped into the room.
The conservatory was lovely. What she would call a greenhouse, but in the giant proportions that matched the scale of Westmoreland. There were several trees, palms and some fruit trees—orange or lemon she thought—and orchids blooming near a small pool. She saw no sign of the music sheets Lady Anne wanted her to collect. Following the sound of the water, she turned a corner and stopped with a gasp. There, seated beside a desk, was a man who could only be the Earl of Weston. Or Simon West.
Though the furniture and pose were familiar to her from the earl’s portrait, they were so totally out of place in this garden of green and light that Amy thought she was hallucinating.
With one more step it made complete sense. An artist was busily at work. The portrait. She was looking at the man who had painted the portrait of the earl. I’m still sane, she thought, with real relief.
She looked back toward the desk. If this was not Simon, how would he explain that he looked so much like the earl himself?
Amy curtseyed again, more deeply this time. “I beg your pardon, my lord.”
The earl turned his head when he heard her voice. His eyes betrayed interest though the rest of his expression remained impassive.
“My lord, do not move!” the artist insisted.
“I will take a break now. Come back in an hour.”
“No, remain seated. The light will be gone in an hour.”
The earl stood up. “Then we will resume tomorrow.” He left the conservatory without looking at her. Amy followed him anyway, after grabbing the sheet music she noticed on the stand near the entrance.
“Excuse me,” she said, annoyed that she sounded so intimidated.
“We will not stand here talking in the hall where every footman can hear us. I do not even know your name,” the earl said, giving her no more than a glance.
“I am Miss Stevens, my lord. Lady Anne’s new companion.” She was talking to his back and he stopped to confront her.
“I assumed so. You will not do at all. You are too young, too pretty, and too free with your words. We will talk in the library, Miss Stevens.”
She followed him in silence, around and up and down again, terrified that she had lost her position, so full of worry that she paid no attention to the route they were taking until they reached a door that another footman promptly swung open. It was not the library. It was a bedroom. Obvious, as the bed was the biggest one she had ever seen. It was unmade, adding an intimacy that made her Regency self uncomfortable.
“I beg your pardon, miss.” The earl took a step back with an arrogance that belied the apology. “This is not the library.”
That was stating the obvious. How could he get lost in his own house?
“I have a book I want you to take to Lady Anne,” he said, picking one up from the table near the bed. “The footman will take you to the library and I will join you in a moment.”
“Do you require assistance, my lord?” A man had come through a door at the far end of the room.
“No, Miss Stevens has been asked to retrieve this book.”
What? Lady A had not asked for a book. That had been his idea.
The valet came toward them, took the book from the earl, and handed it to her. “I am Fancett, my lord’s valet.”
Ooooh, power struggle, Amy thought. One of those issues that persisted over time, from the Bible through Jane Austen to Days of Our Lives: Which one of us is more important?
There was no doubt in her mind any more than there was in Fancett’s—the earl’s valet certainly outranked his sister’s companion. In length of service if nothing else.
“Fancett, did you know that Miss Stevens is related by birth to Lord Allbryce Stevens? Surely you remember him.”
How did he know that? He hadn’t even known her name. She bit her lip to keep from asking.
For his part, the valet wilted just a little. Her pedigree outranked his and that outranked length of service. What a silly game.
“Leave us, Fancett.”
A woman in any century would be uncomfortable in a bedroom alone with a man she did not know. She edged toward the door. “Thank you, my lord,” Amy said, curtseying. “I will take this to Lady Anne and come to you in the library.”
“In a moment.” His imperious tone stopped her in her tracks. Amazing how a voice of command could conquer self-interest. Before she could move away, he came to her, leaned down as though he was going to kiss her neck.
How did she recognize him? Without even looking at him she knew it was Simon. The energy he radiated? The smell of him? The feel of his breath on her neck? Relief flooded her, with a sexual charge not far behind.
Even as she recognized him, he whispered, “Amy, it’s me, Simon West. Is everything all right?”
She turned her head. He was so close that half a step would mean she could kiss him. “No, everything is not all right. I don’t have the coin. Do you?”
He shook his head.
She could hear Fancett rummaging about and could only imagine what they looked like. She pushed Simon away with a cautionary “We both have a role to play.”
She clapped her hands together in what she hoped would sound like a slap and spoke loud enough to be heard by listeners. “I do not want my reputation ruined, my lord. You can fire me or we can speak of what you wish in the library as you first suggested.”
Amy flounced out of the room, shooting daggers at the footman, who remained impassive. “Show me the way to Lady Anne’s wing.” It felt good to be the one giving orders. Who did the footman give orders to?
Lady Anne’s room was empty and she walked through to toss the book on her cot. No way was a tome on farming in Sussex truly intended for the earl’s sister. She gave the music to Martha, explaining that she was to meet with the earl in the library.
Martha agreed cheerfully, dropping the music on the table near the fireplace. Her “It’s about time he took an interest in her ladyship’s Season” didn’t indicate that a private appointment with the earl was asking for trouble.
As she followed the footman to the library, some of the hallways looked familiar. The painting and statuary at least. Before he opened the door, the footman turned to her. “I will be out here, Miss.”
“Thank you,” Amy said, touched by his gallantry though not sure exactly how he could help if this situation were real. Fascinating, she thought. Westmoreland was its own small kingdom and the earl its ruler, having won the right by nothing more than the fate of his birth. How times had changed.
The footman opened the door and closed it gently after her. Simon turned from his consideration of a group of paintings. “I’m sorry, Amy.”
“Why in the world did you take me to your bedroom?” She wasn’t quite ready to forgive him t
hough she could feel his genuine regret eroding her anger.
“I didn’t do it on purpose,” he said. “In 2006 that room is the library, or one of them. Then, after I realized my mistake, I thought that if we were pretending to have a liaison it would give us an excuse to be together.”
“Simon, the earl doesn’t need a reason to see a servant. All you have to do is command her presence.”
“Yes, yes. That’s true.” He ran a hand through his hair. “How could this happen? How could we have actually traveled through time?”
“I have no idea. You’re the one who said, ‘Let’s do it,’ before we knew all the details.”
“Right. Admit it: You thought it was all a bit dodgy, too.”
She had to give him that. “If we were skeptical, then how did it happen? Didn’t the docent say we had to believe?”
“He believed enough for both of us.”
Simon said it with such certainty that Amy didn’t argue. “So we’re here, without the coin, and with no idea how to travel back.”
“Thank God we have each other.”
She couldn’t think of any other time in her life that a man had sunk his pride enough to admit that a situation was beyond his control.
Amy practically ran into the arms he held out for her. They stayed in the embrace a long time, as if one or the other of them would disappear. It was such a comfort that she thought she might stay in his arms forever. And then, suddenly, it was more than comfort. She could feel his heart, his breath, her body awakening to the feel of him.
She leaned back and stepped out of his arms. “What happened? What are you doing pretending to be the earl?”
“Believe me, it wasn’t my idea.” He let her go. “I woke up in a carriage as the coachman was opening the door. I was alone, dressed in period clothes, and he said, ‘My lord, we are at Westmoreland.’”
“So if they think you’re the earl, what do we do when the real earl arrives?”
Six
Simon shook his head slightly. “The whole thing is a mess. Who do they think you are?”
She explained about being Lady Anne’s companion. He nodded.
“At least you know the era. I started shaving myself this morning. It almost gave Fancett a heart attack and then I let him tie my cravat. Apparently, the earl always ‘works his own linen.’ I told him that I had hurt my fist in a boxing match.” He paused and exercised his hand as though it were hurting him. “They did have boxing then, didn’t they?”
“Yes, and it would be exactly the sort of thing the earl would try. Good guess.”
“What do I do when the real earl arrives?”
“I think he must have been with you last night, Simon. It’s true that Regency folks didn’t travel at night, but the moon was near full and this time of year it’s almost as bright as daylight. With outriders, it would have been safe enough.”
“I tell you, Amy, I was alone in the coach.”
“It’s like you switched places.” As she said it, she saw his expression switch from uncertainty to shock just as the same thought had occurred to her.
“Is it possible,” she said, “that the real earl is waking up in the London town house? Do you think that could be it? That he is there with the real lady’s companion?”
Simon was quiet for longer than she wanted him to be. Think faster. She bit her lip to keep from saying it. Finally, he nodded.
“It could be the explanation. Doesn’t it make sense that matter would have to displace other matter? That only so much can exist in the same time and place?”
“Is that from Star Trek?” Narrowing her eyes, she tried to read his.
“No, I made it up.”
“I’m not sure if that makes me feel better or not.” Amy considered his idea for a second. “But it does make sense.”
“Thank you,” he said gravely, as though he had just won the Nobel Prize for physics.
“What do you think the two of them are doing in the twenty-first century?” It could be disastrous. And she was not going to say that word out loud. No need to send a hint of it into the cosmos.
“Hopefully, Arbuckle will keep them from doing anything disastrous.”
Amy hid her dismay at his choice of words and watched as he raked a hand through his hair again, pushing a blond wave off his face. Why, he’s as confounded as I am. He just hides it better. “At first, I thought maybe this was some kind of reality show.”
“No. We are at Westmoreland in 1805,” he added in case she had any doubts. With an arm around her shoulders he turned so they faced the paintings. “Look at this. The Guardi painting. Right where it’s supposed to be.”
“Wow.” Amy moved closer to the painting and stared at it for a minute. “I totally believe we are here, but my heart is still hammering and my head whirling. How must those poor people feel? The ones who took our place? They had no idea they would be time traveling. At least we were warned.”
“Amy, listen. We have to concentrate on what is happening here. What is happening in my study is beyond our control.”
The idea of “control” brought back her conversation with Lady Anne. What made sense then seemed like drivel now. Her eyes filled. She turned away, pretending to examine the paintings, hoping he would not see her tears. “I am so glad that I’m not facing it alone.”
Simon put his hands on her shoulders and it was like a cue for tears to start. She did her best not to sniff, but even without a sound he knew and turned her so they were facing each other.
“Why the tears, Amy? Where’s your sense of adventure?”
“We’re so far from home.” Amy leaned into him. “No one knows where we are. We can’t give the coin to the earl. He’s not here and we seem to have lost it. Simon, how will we get back?”
“Hey, come on, you’re the one who told me to ‘believe.’ I think that applies all the way. I have no idea how or when we’ll get back. What I do know is that we have a job to do. And we don’t know how much time we have to do it.”
“It feels like a Mission Impossible. And while you are every bit as fabulous as Tom Cruise, I am not cut out for this kind of adventure.”
“Why not? If I’m Tom Cruise then it’s obvious you are the remarkable and talented Amy Stevens from Topeka, Kansas.”
He kissed her on the forehead. She shook her head, pretending that she believed him, and in about ten seconds she actually began to.
All right, she thought, this is strange and no one will ever believe it. But we have each other. It will be as much fun as we make it. She straightened, stepping away from Simon.
“You know, you’ve done a complete turnaround. I had you pegged as a first-class cynic, a younger, hip Professor Higgins.”
“Fair enough. I thought you were on the dodgy side of honest. That you and Mr. Wentworth Arbuckle had some scheme to cheat me of something. God knew what it could be. Then I was sorting through wishes and half wished I had as much faith as you did. The coin didn’t give me a chance to pick. That was it.
“But let me tell you—even without the coin’s magic, it’s hard not to believe in time travel when I see Westmoreland looking the same, but not. Or when I have linen wrapped around my neck. It makes a tie seem civilized.”
“Is it that bad? The stays are not nearly as uncomfortable as I thought they would be.”
“What are stays?”
“The Regency version of a corset.”
He smiled and she could imagine what he was visualizing. Corset and stockings with some kind of sexy garters. Which, in fact, was what she was wearing. No way was she telling him that.
“Amy, how did you learn all this?”
“In the romance novels I read. Don’t make a face,” she said before her words could even register. “Most of them are written by intelligent, educated women who value research. God bless writers like Mary Balogh and Sophia Nash.”
“I’ll send them a personal letter of thanks once we’re home. Come to that, from now on I am not going to be so cavalier
about alien sightings either.”
“I’m not sure if it’s the kiss on my forehead or your confidence, but I’m feeling much better.”
“Right-o—let’s see what this will do.” With his hands framing her face, he kissed her lips.
If his shoulder had been comfort, his mouth was persuasion. His lips held her as surely as his hands. She welcomed it and opened to him, the sweetness of the kiss exploding into a tumult of delight that echoed through her body, tempting, taunting, teasing her until she needed him as surely as she needed breath. The feel of starched linen, the smell of spice, the clean, cool taste of him—she wanted all of it.
Her breath of disappointment as they drew apart had him pressing his forehead to hers. “Wow.”
“Right-o,” she said back. They stood still, conversation more than either of them could manage for a minute. Her arousal matched his. Wisdom dictated that they step away from each other, that they try for some measure of decorum.
Imprudence won out and she raised her face to his once again.
He showered kisses on her eyes, her cheeks, her lips as she whispered, “The first time you touched me. It was nothing more than a tap on my hand. That touch was as intimate an invasion as a kiss.”
“It was the look of you that cornered me. All this wonderful hair, your incredible eyes, the way life radiates from you. And then there was your accent.”
“See, you are Professor Higgins.” As they traced back the attraction, they moved apart. Amy felt her hair escaping from the tight knot at her nape, and did her best to twist it back into shape.
The sight of her with her hands raised to fix her hair was so arousing that Simon turned away and walked to the window. What was it about that pose that made him ache? Concentrate on something else. There wasn’t much activity outside. Spring sunlight spilled through the trees along the drive. The trees stood as they had for hundreds of years and still did in his time. Later he would take Amy for a walk, show her his favorite spots, spend an hour at the folly.
Dead of Night Page 14
