TemptressofTime (26 page)

Beyond that Diane remembered little more.

She supposed she’d remained because she’d had more to learn.
Or maybe she’d stayed in order to recognize these people—lovers and
friends—when she met them again. So she could begin to care for them again.
Begin to love them again.

“Not to mention all his mistresses,” Jason inserted, his
expression gleeful. “You must remember Monday through Saturday.”

Adrian snorted dismissively.

Walker took up the tale. “The second lesson was compromise.”
Diane’s blank stare had him explaining. “When you agreed to let Adrian share
your body with me.”

Meg looked too curious for words, but held her tongue.
Lessons learned from the nobility she’d once served, no doubt. Which didn’t
mean Jason was off the hook for explanations. Just later and in private. She
wanted to know why she’d traveled to the Tudor and Regency eras. Despite Meg’s
familiarity with Diane’s past, she believed Jason knew more. Especially why she
kept meeting Walker and Adrian.

“Is anyone else still alive?” Diane asked, catching herself
before she studied each of the young men clearing the table of lunch plates.

“Nope,” Meg replied. “All Arnaud’s children lived long, full
lives. All of them sired a passel of boys—also dead—who cocked up their toes in
their own beds. Boring down to their slops and hose.”

“Loosely translated,” Walker said with a wink, “not a
mistress amongst or betwixt them.”

“You taught us all Lesson Three,” Jason told her. “Control
and how to use it or lose it.”

Stifling a snort, Diane said, “I don’t recall ever being in
control. In any life or on any occasion.”

“Then your memory is faulty.” From somewhere Walker conjured
a familiar crystal box. Removing the lid, he offered her a cheroot. Adrian held
up the crystal match holder, allowing Jason to take a match.

Walker went on. “Take, for example, that night in your
billiard room.”

“And the nights in your boudoir,” Adrian added.

“That memorable night in your folly.” Jason’s contribution
sent Meg’s eyebrows winging upward.

Clearing her throat, Meg said, “You need to quit smoking. If
not now, then soon.”

Diane took the young woman seriously and calculated when her
next period would arrive. Being on the Pill, she almost forgot that medicines
like that didn’t necessarily prevent pregnancy, although the Pill was greatly
more reliable than
French letters
. Since the advice seemed directed at
all of them, she dismissed it as nonspecific and not an announcement of her
impending motherhood. Hadn’t Meg claimed she couldn’t see into the future? Or
was that Jason? She couldn’t remember, her mind was so muddled.

“One last one,” Diane promised, holding her cheroot to the
match Adrian had struck. Her eyebrows quirked to her hairline when Meg lit one
as well, then blew a perfect smoke ring over Jason’s head.

Diane quirked a brow, but said nothing. For a few moments
they sat in companionable silence. Their waiters or housemen or whatever young
men in domestic service were called nowadays, served coffee before disappearing
again.

“The folly,” Diane said, sounding as hurt as she’d felt the
night she’d gone home again. “Is it still there?”

All the men nodded, Walker saying, “Would you like to see
it?”

“No!” With an apologetic smile she explained. “It sent me
back to the States, didn’t it? If I’d truly lost control why didn’t I stay
here?”

Adrian and Walker exchanged glances, but Jason answered.
“You surrendered control, but
they
,” he jerked his chin toward the other
men, “did not. They were still trying to control you.”

Huffing, Diane said, “
They
were the problem, but
I
got sent to my room? That doesn’t seem right. In fact—”

“The last four months have been hell.” Adrian took her hand
and gazed at her with pleading eyes.

Walker captured her other hand, holding it in both of his.
“Every time we tried to telephone you, the lines went dead. No matter where we
were when we called. Whether using landline or cellular.”

“Every letter came back, your address unreadable, our return
addresses clear as a sunny day.”

Diane glanced at Jason for confirmation. Not that she
believed Walker and Adrian had lied. But she did suspect they’d withheld
something critical.

“We,” Jason said, pointing to all the men, “thought about
visiting you on your own turf. Walker’s afraid to fly and Adrian’s scared of
drowning.” He sneered, then laughed.

Meg challenged Jason. “And you? What excuse did you invent
for yourself?”

He flinched, but held her gaze. “The U.S. is enormous,
leaving me little to no chance of finding
you
. Not without your name or
knowing what you look like.”

The young woman harrumphed, then lapsed into silence. She continued
to cling to Jason’s hand. After a brief hesitation, she asked him, “What was
your role in their lives?”

“Mediator. Trying to keep them from making the same mistakes
they’d made with other women.” As if realizing his gaffe, he added, “In other
lifetimes.”

“With
other women
?” Diane countered, uncertain how
she felt about that.

“Do you really want to go there?” Meg said.

“Whose idea was it for the coffee table book and the book
tour?” Diane asked, letting go of her momentary jealousy.

“A joint effort,” they said, more or less together.

“Since it seemed we couldn’t come to you, we had to get you
to come to us,” Adrian said in a quiet voice.

He and Walker stared at her. Jason looked at Meg who was
studying Diane and her men.

Stunned that she hadn’t lived another woman’s life but her
own, Diane stumbled to her feet. How could she reconcile being such a terrible
person—a woman considered capable of committing adultery, one who’d twice been
suspected of murder—with whom she was now? Did her going back in time fix the
past? Make things better for those who’d lived and died in those other times?
How could either of her men have loved her then? How could they love her now?

“I need to think,” she said to no one in particular, then
strode away.

Meg made a strangled sound, but followed Diane into the
house and up the wide marble stairs to her former mistress’s rooms.

Chapter Eighteen

Looking around her former sitting room, Diane decided
nothing much had changed in almost two hundred years. The wall sconces no longer
held beeswax candles. Instead they had candle-like globes that probably
flickered if guests wanted to recapture the past without risk of fire. The
pale-cream paint looked fresh and the landscapes and still lifes still hung by
heavy braided cords. The furniture upholstery looked new, but was the same
damask fabric she remembered. And the fireplace looked the same, as well, with
a smattering of ash lurking in the grate.

Meg’s sigh had Diane smiling as she strode into the bedroom.
The same wide bed, the same luxurious chaise. Too many memories of Walker and
Adrian here. A few, still poignant ones of Jason too.

“Never here,” she assured her young companion.

“I know,” Meg replied as if reassuring Diane. “These rooms
haven’t been used since—”

“For two hundred years?” Diane scoffed.

“For four months. That’s the squirrelly thing about time
travel. You’d swear you were living in the past—like when I was Marget and you
were Diane de Vesay. But we were and we weren’t really in the past. You know?
More like the string theory where time entwines like yarn overlapping in a
ball.”

“No, I don’t know. I don’t understand any of this.” She
picked up a silver-backed hairbrush from the dressing table. Turning it over,
she saw her own initials engraved on the back. It hurt, seeing a remnant of
herself, knowing she had no right to use it now.

“If you stay focused on your past lives, m’lady, you’ll all
lose.”

Meg’s using the lower-class pronunciation reminded Diane of
their former stations—an unpleasant memory of more intolerant times.
Nonetheless, Diane gave a brief smile. Putting the hairbrush where she’d found
it, she sank onto the padded chaise. Her shoulders sagging, she said, “It seems
men still hold all the cards.”

“Do they?” Meg settled on the foot of the chaise and, resting
her elbows on her knees, leaned toward Diane. “I think they’re pretty damn
desperate.” Diane snorted. “They’ve pursued you for more than eight hundred
years. And think how much trouble they went to getting you here—to the here and
now.”

“Another lie. Another attempt to control me.”
Damnation
,
she sounded bitter. Maybe she was. Maybe Meg was right and she’d never have a
future with her men if she couldn’t—
wouldn’t
—forget their pasts. It
seemed they had forgiven her for being such a conniving bitch.

Unwilling to capitulate just yet, Diane headed for the
bathroom. Sure enough, it had been modernized and turned into a sybarite’s
dream of luxury. A deep soaking tub. An enormous, glass-enclosed shower. A
vanity with double sinks. Small crystal chandeliers hung over each piece. A
nook provided private space for the separate toilet and bidet. Windows along
one wall provided an unobstructed view of the lush gardens beyond the stone
terrace.

“Not very private,” Diane said, en route to what she hoped
was a closet.

“This entire wing is private,” Meg told her, following her
into a huge dressing room. “If you’re looking for medieval or Tudor clothing,
you’ll have to go to the other houses.”

“You know this…how?”

Meg shrugged. “I read the brochures. This house is dedicated
to the Regency era. The other two—”

“Got it.” Diane held up a pair of black satin breeches, then
pawed through a railing loaded with shirts and waistcoats in a variety of
colors and styles. Gowns hung along another wall while dressers occupied a
third. Mirrors covered the wall with the door to the bathroom. “These walls
used to be all mirrors. Vain, wasn’t I?” she asked, then laughed.

“Since there were no hangers at the time and pegs made lumps
when garments hung too long… Why not use the walls for something useful?”

“Like checking for cellulite? Ugh.” She studied Meg for a
long moment. “We’re about the same size. Pick out something for tonight, then
go catch up with Jason.”

“If I catch him, you may not see us until the ball on
Saturday night.” With an impish grin, Meg added, “Which just happens to be a
masquerade ball.”

“
Déjà vu
all over again,” Diane quipped, seizing a
black satin and lace teddy from a dresser drawer. Holding it over her chest,
she gazed at her reflection. “Perfect.”

Meg’s lower teeth raked her upper lip. “We need to talk.”

“About?” Diane said before turning to see Meg set her jaw
and narrow her eyes. Sinking onto a convenient padded bench, Diane laced her
fingers and lowered her hands onto her lap. Resigned to answering questions she
blurted out one of her own. “Why did any of this happen? I mean, I kind of
understand going back to medieval times but…” Giving a helpless shrug, she met
Meg’s gaze.

“You want to know about your visit to Tudor times.” A smile
quirked Meg’s lips and brightened her eyes. “You tell me.”

“I don’t—” Feeling foolish, Diane confessed, “Curiosity I
guess. Everybody sees Henry the Eighth as lusty and licentious—demanding and
getting what he wanted when he wanted it. I read somewhere that he was also
deeply religious. I suppose I wanted to find out for myself which was true.”

“Couldn’t both be true?” Meg said, sitting tailor-fashion on
the floor, leaning against a wall of drawers lacking handles. “Haven’t you
known faithful
and lusty
men?”

Her face heating, Diane shrugged both shoulders. “Do I?
Did
I? I believe Adrian remained faithful to his wife. But I also think he lusted
for other women.”

“Me and the other Days you mean.”

Diane nodded. “And I can’t picture Walker without a woman in
his…life. Even if neither man took steps to betray Adrian’s wife—”

“You,” Meg corrected with a grin.

Ignoring the jibe, Diane continued. “She—
I
was a
vindictive, vicious bitch.”

“They loved you nonetheless and love you still.”

“I don’t know how they could!”

A soft smile curved Meg’s lips. “The heart wants what it
wants.”

Diane blinked back tears, realizing but suppressing her
heart’s yearnings. “Why—why don’t he and Walker remember what happened? While
it was happening or after we…I went elsewhere?”

Meg’s gaze darted to the floor, to the wall behind Diane
then to the door leading to the bedroom. Diane braced for yet another lie,
another betrayal. At last Meg met and held her gaze.

“Because you didn’t want them to remember.”

Gasping as if her friend had punched her in the belly, Diane
couldn’t move. Eons later—at least that’s how it felt to her—she shook her
head.

Meg raised her hand, cutting off any protests Diane might
voice. “Think about it. You were ashamed of wanting the Days and our children
dead. Ashamed to admit you wanted—lusted for—both Walker and Adrian to make
love with you.” Her lips twisting in a wry grimace, she added, “You even lusted
for Jason.” A laugh bubbling from her, Meg went on. “Despite considering him
too young, too—”

“How old is he?”

Meg’s smile turned sly. “Older and more experienced than you
think.”

“As are—” Biting her tongue, painfully cutting off her
suspicion that Meg was older than anyone, even Jason. “Why can’t I remember
more of my past lives with or without them?”

Sighing, Meg shrugged. “I suppose you learned what you
needed to learn and forgot the rest. Which could be a blessing.”

“A blessing?” Diane squeaked.

“You may have suffered miscarriages, lost loved ones.”
Another shrug seemed to close the discussion as far as Meg was concerned.

Humming, Meg stood. “It’s going to feel really strange to
see this house as a visitor.”

“A guest,” Diane corrected. “A very welcome guest.” Despite
Meg’s forcing her to face unpleasant truths about herself, Diane knew she’d
found a lives-long friend.

* * * * *

The next morning

Adrian gaped like a fish on a hook. “There are no female
time masters,” he protested, sounding as uncertain as he was beginning to feel.
Now that he could remember some of it, this assignment had seemed so simple.
Teach Diane to allow her emotions to reign on occasion. Teach her to trust her
heart as well as her mind. Teach her the pleasures of the flesh. Teach her…
Fuck!
He’d forgotten the rest of it.

“Nonsense.” Walker went on, “Women mastered time long before
we men did.”

Adrian snorted in disbelief.

Walker chuckled and leaned back in his chair. “Think about
it, my young friend. As an infant you awaited your mother’s breast to feed you.
A little older, you waited for her to clothe you. Later still, you waited for
the girl of your dreams—for that moment, at any rate—to grant you the use of
her body.

“It seems to me we men are still dancing attendance upon our
women. Waiting untold hours for her to find the perfect gown, then waiting yet
again while she decides whether or not she’ll take it off to please us. In short,
men are time slaves to women.”

Flummoxed and feeling sick to his stomach, Adrian had no
ready response. He watched as his mentor finished his breakfast, quaffed the
last of his coffee then stood as if he hadn’t a care in the world.

“Where are you going?” Adrian finally managed to ask.

“To see Diane.” Walker heaved a heavy sigh, then met
Adrian’s gaze. “Finish your breakfast, then join me in her rooms where—unless
I’ve gone totally mindless—I shall be
awaiting
the lady’s pleasure.”

* * * * *

Later that day

The billiards room held the lingering fragrances of fine
cigar smoke and potent brandy. As Diane entered, Meg at her side, she could
also smell a hint of aroused male musk. That increased as she strode deeper
into the room and neared Walker and Adrian.

Meg stepped around Diane, heading to Jason like a messenger
pigeon going home. With no apparent hesitation, Jason tucked the young woman to
his side, then pressed a kiss to her temple.

The men wore contemporary trousers, topped by
billowy-sleeved shirts with lace-trimmed cuffs and leather ties. All of them
could pass for eighteenth-century pirates. Well, Jason looked more like a
panting puppy as he watched Meg slide off her thigh-length vest, exposing her
cobalt-blue slip-dress. Her bare legs looked even longer due to platform patent
leather heels.

Her gaze caressing first Adrian then Walker, Diane said, “We
never did play poker.”

For a moment neither man seemed capable of speech. Adrian
recovered first. “Are the stakes the same? We’re playing for clothes?”

Jason shifted Meg even closer to his side. “That’s our cue
to leave. I’m not letting you get naked with anybody but me.”

Meg pushed free. “Spoilsport,” she teased. “Besides, I
happen to know where to find the cards and poker chips. You won’t locate them
without me.”

“What’s the hitch?” Walker demanded, his dark eyes filled
with suspicion.

Diane answered, her gaze on his face. “Whoever wins the hand
gets to ask a question. The rest must answer truthfully. And completely.
Nothing left out—even if it hurts someone’s feelings or puts somebody in a bad
light.”

Meg grinned. “I’m game.”

Jason scowled, but nodded. “With one caveat. No questions
about past sexual encounters. We’ve all lived other lives. Been with other
people.”

They all agreed. Meg found the poker chips and cards. Diane
made sure the men had ashtrays, then pulled a drink cart to the card table.

“Who’s the house?” Diane asked.

“Rotate it,” Walker suggested and they all agreed.

“Beginning with the property owner?” Meg said.

“Walker and I own it,” Adrian told them. “Since Walker’s
older, he should deal first.”

Without a retort about age, Walker shuffled. Meg cut. Walker
dealt, saying, “So nobody has to waste a question, Adrian and I pooled our
resources and bought this property from the last owner—an Irishman who wanted
to free his family from death taxes.”

“When was that?” Meg wanted to know, beating Diane to the
question.

“About ten years ago?” Adrian replied, looking to Walker for
confirmation.

“To give him credit, the owner had maintained the place pretty
well. But as it aged, it needed more and more in the way of upgrades and
maintenance. He lost clientele to more modern B&Bs. Finally sold out.”

“To you,” Diane confirmed.

“To us.” Moving the next card to the bottom of the deck,
dealing three cards facedown in the middle of the table, Walker nodded at Diane
as he turned all the cards over. “Bet?”

Diane checked her hole cards, glanced at the community cards
and folded. The hand already was too close to the heart flush she’d had the
last time they played. That night Jason had provoked a fight and Adrian had
revealed all the men were time travelers.

Meg won the hand and asked, “How did Diane and I get to the
U.S.?”

Walker replied. “Restless souls travel.”

“Yours didn’t.” A hint of asperity tainted Diane’s voice.

“Fear of flying and boats,” Jason muttered, tossing in his
cards.

“What’s your excuse?” Meg taunted.

Adrian told her, “You’ll have to win another hand before you
can ask another question.”

Diane folded on the next four hands. With the deck back to Walker,
he shuffled, but didn’t deal. “If you don’t play, Diane, you don’t get to ask
questions. What are you afraid of?”

She glared at him before lowering her gaze to the table.
“Not that you won the right to ask… I’m afraid I’ll learn something even more
horrible about myself. Something that makes me more ashamed of myself than I
already am.”

Walker and Adrian covered her hands, Adrian saying, “We’ve
all done things we’re ashamed of.”

“Name one,” Diane demanded.

“I let Walker have you.”

“I demanded he allow it,” Walker said. “Something I was
ashamed of in other times, but not when I first did it.” He shrugged, but she
could almost feel the regret that stiffened his shoulders.