LuckySilver

Clare
Murray

Blush sensuality level: This is a sensual romance (may
have explicit love scenes, but not erotic in frequency or type).

Marissa Blythe has never felt she belonged in modern times.
During a college Victorian Party, she wanders into a temporary hedge maze and
wishes upon an old silver spoon. When she tries to leave, she realizes the
hedge maze has changed. Fortunately she finds a handsome Englishman to escort
her to the exit—after he claims a kiss from her. But England in the 1850s is
going to take some adjusting to, despite the magic that’s helping her.

Rhys, fifth Baron Montford, is fascinated by the woman who
appears in his maze. She’s different from the fainting, London-bred chits from
whose ranks he’s expected to choose a wife. He’s impressed that she wants to
make her own way in life—until he finds her walking away from him. Rhys
pursues—and catches—Marissa, but he must reconcile his desire for her with his
obligations in life.

A
Blush®
historical time-travel romance
from Ellora’s Cave

Marissa Blythe grasped her reticule firmly despite the
whispers and snickers coming from the people around her. She stood
straight-backed in her ivy-green dress, hair brushed to perfection, ignoring
everyone and everything.

The bus lurched to a stop in front of the university gates
and Marissa disembarked with a sense of relief. Soon she would be at her club’s
Victorian Party, mingling with others in costume. She had been looking forward
to this for ages.

As she hurried to the gates, pedestrians stared at her. One,
probably another student, wolf-whistled, causing Marissa’s hand to flutter
nervously to her dark-brown hair. Picking up her pace, Marissa turned down a
lesser-used side path in order to avoid more unwanted attention.

She hoped that the Victorian Party would be a success. Even
if only a handful turned up in appropriate costume, she would be happy. Everyone
knew that Marissa was the type of person who truly belonged in another
era…preferably somewhere in the middle of the 19
^th
century. In fact,
the party was probably going to be the highlight of her year.

She strode indoors, feeling surprisingly comfortable in the
dress she had chosen. The History Club’s multipurpose room was empty save for
one person—Harriet West, the middle-aged leader of the club. An assistant
professor, Harriet had been Marissa’s rock throughout the last four years.

“You’re early!” Harriet called. “Come help me light some
candles. I’m brewing some tea, and one of the music professors has lent us a
harpsichord. We’ll have dancing!”

“It sounds heavenly already,” Marissa said, reaching for a
candle. “And wonderfully authentic.”

“Speaking of authentic, look what I found buried in one of
the back rooms.” Harriet held up a tarnished silver spoon. “Since this place
was built so long ago, I think there’s every possibility it’s quite old…say
from the 1860s or so. Here, you take it. Might bring you some fame, fortune, maybe
even true love.”

Marissa laughed and caught the spoon as Harriet tossed it. “In
my dreams. But if it’s a lucky spoon you deserve something too!”

The assistant professor smiled and shrugged. Both she and
Marissa had experienced a bad year, so any good luck would be welcome. “We’ll
see. Can you go outdoors and check on the maze the janitor helped set up?”

There was a real maze? Marissa tucked the spoon into her
reticule, heading toward the building’s courtyard. Just as she was about to
step outside, she heard raucous voices behind her. She winced as she caught
sight of the group entering the multipurpose room. None of them had made any
sort of effort to dress up—their costumes consisted solely of modern dresses
with shawls and scarves. One or two of them even carried their cell phones,
texting as they walked.

Biting her lip, Marissa retreated. As the door closed she
took a deep, steadying breath of crisp winter air. Her spirits lifted; the
courtyard was looking decidedly Victorian. A large, temporary hedge maze
dominated the outside space. Although it was relatively simple, it delighted
Marissa. She entered it, walking slowly so as to savor the experience.

“…seen that girl Marissa Blythe yet?” The voice was dripping
with disdain. Marissa paused warily, looking around, but the voice was coming
from outside the maze.

“Isn’t she the one who organized this thing?”

“Yeah, her and that prude Harriet West. Can you believe it? This
is soooo stupid. I’m only here because of the extra credit.”

“Me too. I mean, look at that pathetic maze. That would take
me two seconds to get through. Come on, let’s go inside. It’s getting cold out
here.”

Marissa found she was clutching the tarnished silver spoon. She
consciously relaxed her grip, staring down at the little Victorian relic. Her
eyes blurred with tears. She took a deep, shaky breath.

“I wish I was anywhere but here. I—I wish Harriet could come
with me. I wish… I wish I could be where I
belonged
.”

Feeling oddly drained, she slid the spoon back into her
reticule and made her way into the center of the maze, blinking away tears. Perching
on the tiny bench there, she sighed. Never mind. She would get through the
evening. Somehow.

Marissa pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes as
a sudden wave of dizziness overcame her. Closing her eyes, she reached out to
steady herself. Her hand brushed stone.

With a frown, she opened her eyes. Surely Harriet and the
janitor hadn’t carried an entire
fountain
into the courtyard? But there
it was before her eyes, burbling merrily away, water spilling down its sides
and into a large basin, where several fish swam. She blinked. Well, perhaps the
club had allowed more money for the party than expected.

“Good evening.” The voice came from behind her. Clipped and
cultured, it was an amazingly well-done approximation of an upper-class British
accent. She turned, ready to see blue jeans.

Instead, she saw a costume even more elaborate than her own.
Dressed in a silk cravat, fine waistcoat, expensive-looking dinner jacket, top
hat and gloves, the newcomer regarded her curiously. His piercing cobalt eyes
seemed to burn right through her dress to the skin underneath, regarding her
almost possessively.

He looked on the older side for a student; perhaps he was an
already graduated companion of another student. Marissa straightened, suddenly
realizing she had not replied to him. She wondered how long he would stay in
character.

“Good evening,” she said cautiously.

“I hardly expected to find someone in the middle of my hedge
maze. Did you not find it difficult to get to the center?” Again that
penetrating gaze.

“Of course not, I simply walked through.” Was he
role-playing? He had to be. She was beginning to warm to him.

Dark eyebrows rose fractionally. “You must be skilled indeed
to have solved the maze without help, my lady. Was the party not to your taste?”

“I wanted to escape all the gossip,” Marissa said
truthfully.

The man’s eyes gleamed in appreciation. “A worthy reason for
wandering. Are you warm enough with just that shawl on?”

Her dark-brown eyes met his gaze. “I’m afraid I could not
find a suitable overcoat for the evening. I do feel the cold, I must admit.”

“Then you must come inside at once. The evening is growing darker,
and we are without chaperone.”

Marissa stood up. It
was
cold, far colder than it had
been earlier. There was even a hint of snow in the air. Strange…when she’d left
home, it had been a mild evening.

Well, it was no matter. She would be inside within a matter
of moments. Although she did very much appreciate the stranger’s apparent
knowledge of Victorian mores. She was willing to bet half the students present
at the party wouldn’t have a clue as to what a chaperone was.

Smoothing her dress absently, Marissa turned left down the
hedge path—and stopped immediately. “Oh!” she cried. “It’s a dead end!”

“Indeed.” The man behind her seemed amused.

She spun around, fixing him with a stern glare. “Someone
must have come in and changed the maze while I wasn’t looking.” Marissa turned
and hurried past him, ignoring his infuriating chuckle.

Silently she berated herself. She should have known he was
too good to be true with his in-character attitude and period-accurate costume.
He must have shifted the hedges, closing them in. He was probably dating one of
the girls inside, colluding with her to humiliate Marissa.

Was he waiting for her to beg him to move the heavy plants
aside? Marissa refused to give him the victory.

Yet how had the maze gotten so big? She stopped uncertainly
at a crossroads, peering left and right. The footsteps behind her paused as
well. Marissa whirled on him. “Did you change the maze somehow?”

The man shrugged one elegant shoulder. “As far as I know,
this maze hasn’t been altered in years. I find it impressive that you were able
to find the hidden fountain.”

Marissa swallowed hard as she realized the hedges now seemed
to be rooted in the frosty ground. There was no way anyone could have altered their
route.

“I already told you—I simply walked through to the center.”
Her voice wavered a little as she surreptitiously pulled at one of the hedges.
It bent, but its roots held firm.

The stranger moved closer, staring intently. “We have not
been introduced, Miss…?”

Was this more role-playing? If so, it had gone entirely too
far. “Who are you?” Marissa shot back.

“Rhys Montford,” he said, almost expectantly.

“I’m Marissa Blythe,” she replied, mollified by his
continued politeness. “Ah, it must be this way. Surely the exit cannot be far.”

Lord Rhys, fifth Baron Montford, followed the girl, trying
not to appreciate her curvy body too much. So she had wandered into the maze to
avoid gossip? He was here for the same reason. The last thing he had expected
to find was a genuinely beautiful young woman sitting in his own personal
refuge. How
had
she gotten through the maze so easily? And how had
he
missed her arrival at his own party?

Upon finding her, Rhys had been immediately suspicious that
someone had conspired to spirit the girl through the maze, creating a
compromising situation designed to embarrass him. Yet the girl truly seemed not
to recognize Rhys, focusing solely on exiting the maze. Rhys found himself
fascinated.

He trailed her silently as she uncertainly navigated her way
forward. Marissa. Unusual name, easy on the tongue. Her accent marked her as
American—what the devil was she doing in rural Shropshire?

Any minute now she would give up trying to get through the
maze. It was a miracle she hadn’t gotten lost on the way in. What had she been
thinking, setting off without a chaperone or, at the very least, a warm coat?
Had she been involved in an argument?

It was difficult to be silent when he was consumed by such
intense curiosity. Somehow he managed to keep his mouth shut, waiting patiently
at a junction as Marissa explored a double dead end. As she came back, he
resisted the urge to grab her around the waist and direct her toward the right
way. He wanted to see just how determined she really was.

There was a steely glint in her eye that made him think she
wasn’t going to give up easily. Oddly enough, she clung to her belief that the
maze was easy, that someone had magically changed the paths to confound her.

A quarter of an hour later, the girl had made some progress,
doggedly continuing on despite the many setbacks of the complicated hedge
paths. But she was getting cold, and Rhys was too much of a gentleman to let
her struggle on in silence. His conscience bit at him as he caught sight of
goose bumps on her arms. She really needed to be inside by a roaring fire with
a hot drink.

That meant escorting her inside and into what would most
certainly be a storm of controversy over his entrance with a single woman.

“Can I not assist you?” Rhys moved to her side, resisting
the urge to rub warmth into her bare skin.

“It shouldn’t be this complicated,” Marissa replied. “The
maze looked quite simple at the entrance.”

“Appearances can be deceiving.”

She glanced over her shoulder, catching his gaze with her
deep brown eyes. “Yes, they can. I learned that very early on in life.”

Was that why she had deliberately not recognized him? He had
to admit her lack of fawning was incredibly refreshing. The ladies his mother
had invited to today’s party—every one painfully eligible—were all too aware of
who he was. None of
them
would have dared venture into this maze.

Society would be scandalized if it knew he was out here with
an unchaperoned lady. His mother, on the other hand, would seize any chance to
finally see him wed and producing grandchildren. She had been flinging girl
after girl at him, all of them decent baroness material, on paper at least. In
person, most were flighty, shallow and far too demanding. None of them had
remotely interested him.

Until now.

Rhys narrowed his eyes, recalling the elderly Welsh
fortune-teller he had visited several weeks ago. She had told him he would meet
someone marriageable on the night of one of his winter parties. Furthermore,
the old bat had insisted that if he didn’t seize the opportunity to claim the
girl, he would be unhappy for the rest of his life.

Load of old tosh.

A flake of snow landed upon his sleeve, breaking his
reverie. Ahead of him, the girl was shivering in earnest now.

“Are you quite certain you know the way?” Rhys couldn’t help
but needle her. At the same time, he wouldn’t allow her to continue unaided for
long. He wanted to get her inside and warm. A little voice whispered that he
might not mind
being
inside her and warm. He tried to dismiss that
thought. The girl needed chivalry, not debauching, at this particular moment.

“I am quite capable of standing on my own two feet, thank
you. I am sure the exit is just around this corner here.”

Again that dogged determination. All his would-be brides
would have fainted dead away by now. Actually, Rhys amended, none of them would
have dared enter the maze in the first place.

He followed her as she continued, pausing to scowl down a
long path. “I think we just came from there,” she muttered. Unexpectedly, she
turned and nearly ran into him. He caught her arm, steadying her, unprepared
for the shock that ran through him when he made contact with her skin.

Rhys was struck by sudden, wicked inspiration. “Perhaps you
did not know, but it is customary that any unmarried woman grants a kiss to the
nearest man after making it successfully to the center of my maze.” Rhys hadn’t
used that line for years, but Marissa’s lips were beyond tantalizing.