He bent to retrieve her nightgown and helped her to slip into it again. After that, he put his hand gently to her throat, caressing her skin and the necklace with his thumb.
“You are the most perfect of women, the keeper of my soul and the jailor of my heart. To look at you is to want you, and to be without you is to... To be without you is to be...” A puzzled look came over his face, and she knew he’d remembered Celina was dead.
Suddenly he didn’t seem to see her anymore. A glazed look descended over his eyes and he released her. “A drunken fantasy,” he whispered. “No more than a damned drunken fantasy...” He turned to fling himself into the chair by the desk, leaned his head back, and closed his eyes.
She went to him, putting out a hand to touch his hair. He didn’t know she was there, nor did he react when she bent to put her lips to his. Tears stung her own eyes as with trembling hands she unfastened the necklace and put it into its case. She couldn’t carry out Miles Lowestoft’s plan, even now, when the opportunity was so perfect. Tonight she’d transgressed enough by knowingly usurping Celina’s place in Blair’s arms, luring him into sexual intimacies he’d never have permitted if sober, and she’d known full well what she was doing. She had no excuse for the shamelessness of her actions, nothing to say in her own defense, except that she loved him. Yes, she loved him. Completely and unconditionally.
Catching up her skirts, she left the library. Her courage failed then. She couldn’t face him again, not after this. So instead of returning to her room on the floor above, she went down the grand stairs, because it was the way back to the future. As she reached the bottom, suddenly everything changed, and she was in the hotel dining room again. It was the middle of the night, and there was no one to see as she ran to the seclusion of her room and flung herself weeping on the bed.
Chapter Ten
Laura felt ragged the next morning. She’d cried herself to sleep, and was all too soon disturbed by the sound of hooves and voices outside. At first she thought it was 1818 again, but then she realized it was a meet of the local fox hunt.
Glimpses of the night darted starkly through her as she lay there, and tears began to sting her eyes again. She wished she hadn’t succumbed to temptation, but shame couldn’t take away the exquisite pleasure she’d felt in Blair’s arms. The intensity and fervor of his lovemaking lingered strongly even now, and her body felt warm and sated. No, not sated, for she could never have enough of him. He was a man no woman could ever tire of, and whose kisses left the recipient yearning for more.
But he was bound to remember what had happened, and for her to return to 1818 again would be to face his contempt. She’d known last night that she couldn’t endure that, and her decision remained firm today. Or did it...? Deep in her heart she wanted to see him again no matter what.
The hounds yelped excitedly outside, and she got up to look. It was sunny but frosty, and the lawns were white. The horses’ breath stood out in clouds, and the riders’ hunting-pink coats were vivid against the winter background. Mrs. Fitzgerald and several maids had been handing around trays of stirrup cup, and withdrew as a horn sounded and the hunt moved up the drive. Pursuing actual foxes was no longer legal, so trails were laid for the hounds to find, but the traditional spectacle remained the same.
After taking a light breakfast in her room, Laura dressed in jeans, an Aran sweater, and a warm jacket, and then slipped out to the stables where her horse was quickly brought. To avoid the gate, so clearly a portal to the past, she decided to explore the woodland beyond the Bargee’s Arms, and see if she could find the spot depicted in the watercolor.
After stopping at the pub to say hello to Ron Sawyer, she rode along the valley, following a frosty track between the trees. From time to time she heard the hunt in full cry in the distance, and the unsteady note of the horn, but it didn’t come any nearer. Suddenly the track entered the clearing in the painting, the blasted oak was right in front of her, and on the hilltop beyond she saw the church against the cold, clear sky. The bluebells weren’t in flower, and there were no leaves on the trees, but she was in the right place.
Without warning, it seemed the grayness of the winter undergrowth intensified to bright green, and a haze of blue flowers began to spread over the ground. The sun was suddenly much warmer through the leaves above her head, and she could hear the joyous song of a skylark. It was May 1818, and she was glad, notwithstanding her halfhearted resolve not to face Blair again.
She was alone in the clearing. Her hired roan horse had changed to a dark bay, and the conventional modern saddle to a sidesaddle. She wore a gray riding habit, and her hair was swept up beneath a black beaver top hat, with a net veil that covered her eyes. At the house the music teacher had come to give Marianna her weekly harpsichord lesson, and then a note from Miles had been delivered, ordering his hapless accomplices to be at the blasted oak at this particular time. Stephen ought to have been with her, but had left at dawn, before the note arrived, to visit a friend in Cheltenham. She hadn’t seen him since the night before. Nor, as yet, had she encountered Blair, so had no idea of his reaction after what had happened between them in the library.
She was still determined not to go ahead with Miles’ plan, and intended to tell her blackmailer not only that she and Stephen had been unable to find the necklace, but that they suspected it was no longer at Deveril House, perhaps not even in Blair’s possession. As to the rest of what Miles demanded of her—that she break Blair’s heart—she was going to insist her resemblance to Celina had proved a deterrent, not a lure. Unless Miles had been a fly on the wall in the library, he wouldn’t know better. He certainly wouldn’t care if
hers
was the heart to be broken.
Now she waited nervously, praying she’d be able to persuade him his plan wasn’t going to work, and that she and Stephen should be relieved of the burden he’d placed on them. Only then could she rest easy with her conscience. If that were possible after last night’s abandon.
She heard cantering hooves, and her heart sank as Miles rode slowly toward her from further along the valley. He wore a beautifully tailored green coat with brass buttons, and looked as if he were part of the Hyde Park parade. She hid her loathing behind a bland expression as he reined in beside her.
“Where’s Woodville?” he demanded without preamble.
“He left for Cheltenham before your note arrived.” She met his gaze. “Before you say anything, I have to tell you we haven’t been able to find the necklace; in fact, we don’t even know if it’s still at Deveril House. We suspect it isn’t.”
He dismounted slowly, and removed his top hat to rest it casually over the pommel of his saddle. Her gaze was drawn to his ring. The black unicorn! Of course. Why hadn’t she remembered before? But who could the mysterious woman be? Her mind raced. Who would have a signet ring that matched his? Who else but his wife! Was Lady Lowestoft following her? Why, though? Why on earth would Miles’ wife wish to...?
Her errant thoughts were snatched back because her horse tossed its head agitatedly when Miles suddenly seized its bridle. “Don’t think to gull me, madam, for I promise you’ll regret it!”
His cold anger frightened Laura, but she kept her nerve. “I’m not trying to gull you. Stephen and I have searched all over, but the only trace of the necklace is in Lady Deveril’s portrait. We think it may have been sold.”
“Sold?” He shook his head slowly. “Oh, no, Deveril wouldn’t do that, the necklace means too much to him. I’m sure you’d like me to think you and Woodville have been diligently combing Deveril House from attic to cellar, but I don’t believe a word of it.”
“I swear it’s the truth.”
“No, you’re lying!” he breathed, reaching up suddenly to jerk her from the saddle.
She fell among the bluebells, and her thick chestnut curls spilled over the crushed flowers as her hat rolled onto the track. In a moment, Miles was upon her, pinning her bodily to the ground with his face only inches from hers.
“Tell the truth!” he demanded angrily.
“You’re hurting me!” she cried.
“I’ll hurt you a great deal more unless you’re honest with me!” He thrust his hips warningly against her.
She knew what he was threatening to do, and her mouth ran dry, but she didn’t change her story. “I
am
being honest! We can’t find the necklace!”
“It’s there somewhere, and I expect you and Woodville to find it. Is that clear?”
Her eyes were huge as she nodded. “Yes,” she whispered.
He moved a hand to her waist, pulling her body sensuously to his. “And what of your personal progress with Deveril?”
She felt his breath on her face, and tried not to shudder. “I—I’m not making any. He isn’t interested in me.”
His vulpine gaze flew to her eyes. “More lies, my sweet?”
“No. To him I’m his sister’s chaperone, a superior servant, and that’s all. I think he only engaged me because of the letter from Lady Tangwood.”
It was plausible, and he knew it, but he didn’t release her. “Try harder with him from now on. I want him desolate all over again!” His tone dripped with venom.
She summoned tears. “I can’t
force
him to want me!”
“Oh, I think you can, Laura.” His glance moved down to her breasts. “Any red-blooded man would want you, and Deveril’s certainly that.”
“You’d have done better to select someone totally unlike his late wife. He looks at me and sees a past he’s trying to forget.”
For a long moment he didn’t say anything, but then to her relief he loosened his hold a little. “Then it’s up to you to make it a past he wishes to revive,” he breathed. “You’re an actress, my dear, so use your imagination.”
Her eyes still shimmered with tears. “But—
“But nothing! I’ll allow you a few days more, but next time we meet, I expect progress with Deveril and the necklace, do you understand?”
“Yes,” she whispered.
He got up and then tossed a letter down. “In the meantime, I suggest you read this. It’s a little reminder of your obligations.”
Slowly she sat up, her hair tumbling around her shoulders. The letter was from her family home in Norwich and, although addressed to her, had already been opened and read by Miles.
Norwich, May 20th, 1818.
My dearest Laura,
Please forgive me for writing to you like this, but things are very bad. Your father’s debts and ownership of the house have passed to Sir Miles Lowestoft, who is threatening the very worst unless you do as he wishes. We don’t know what all this is about, but if it’s in your power to appease him, then I beg you to do it for our sake. Your poor father’s health has been broken by the strain, and I don’t know where to turn, except to you. If you love us, please do as Sir Miles demands, no matter how much you may abhor it. We depend upon you, my dear. Please don’t fail us.
Your loving Mother.
The words cut into Laura like a knife, for although in the future her parents had died in a plane crash, here in 1818 the woman who wrote the letter really was her much-loved mother. She could see the tired, anxious figure at the escritoire in the ancient manor house immediately south of Norwich, where Regency Laura had been born and brought up in such happiness. The desperate letter pleaded to a cherished daughter’s conscience.
She met Miles’ gaze. “Please believe I’ll do everything possible. I love my family. Sir Miles, and will save them if I can. Trust me, please.” Her voice quivered, and she didn’t have to try to squeeze tears into her eyes, they came anyway.
He was taken in, but still had no compunction about threatening her. “Very well, my dear, but be warned that I’m still more than prepared to throw your kith and kin into the street. And you’d better remind Woodville about his IOUs, for I wouldn’t want him to become too complacent in Miss Deveril’s sweetly wanton embrace.”
He pulled his gloves on again, and remounted after donning his top hat. “I’ll ride here at ten every morning from now on, so if you have anything to tell me, you’ll know I’ll be here then. Do you understand? “
“Yes.”
“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll bear all my warnings in mind.” He gave a thin smile.
“À bientôt, ma chère.”
Doffing his top hat mockingly, he turned his horse and rode back along the track the way he’d come.
She pushed the letter into her pocket and then rose shakily to her feet, brushing moss and bluebells from her riding habit. She was trapped between two loyalties, one to her family, the other to Blair. Could she be true to both? She could if the necklace’s hiding place remained unknown, and she convinced Miles that Blair really couldn’t be seduced. She gazed after her tormentor. He’d taunted her about being an actress, well, she’d show him! She’d be superior to Mrs. Siddons herself!
He disappeared from view, and after doing what she could with her hair, she picked up her hat and pinned it back into place. She knew she didn’t look as immaculate as she had when she’d set out, but if anyone asked, she’d just say she had a slight fall. Her thoughts returned to Miles, and she gazed in the direction he’d gone. She’d leave things as they were for a few days, then wait here one morning at ten to tell him she really couldn’t make any progress at all with the necklace or Blair, and she’d bring Stephen with her to back her story. She didn’t doubt the latter would help. Because of Marianna, it was in his interest too to get out of Miles’ clutches if he could.
She drew herself up sharply. She mightn’t be here in the past in a few days’ time! She might be somewhere in the future, unable to do anything about anything! There was no way of knowing what would happen from one hour to the next, for she certainly didn’t have full control over her time travels. Sometimes she could precipitate a journey, like happened the first time she’d returned to the field gate, but other times it just occurred, like last night in the hotel dining room, and here in the woods today. And so far she’d mostly been able to choose when she returned to the future, but intuition warned her not to rely on it.