TemptressofTime (7 page)

“Have a nice day,” Diane said, closing the door before the
woman demanded to see some identification. As she wandered toward her office
she examined the envelope and wondered why the sender hadn’t just emailed her.
Still, she couldn’t help admiring the quality of the paper and the bold hand
that had written her name. Looking for a return address, she flipped the
envelope over.

Belleange Castle
all but leaped off the flap, the
sight of the wax seal making her heart renew its erratic beat. She braced her
hand on the wall as she stumbled into her office then collapsed into her chair.

Another hallucination? Couldn’t be—unless she’d also hallucinated
a mail carrier and all her accessories.

“Well,” she told herself, “open it.”

She wanted to but something prevented her. Maybe that same
don’t
go into the basement
feeling gothic heroines always ignored. Or maybe the
fear of somebody suing her over things she’d written about Diane de Vesay.
Impossible, since the book hadn’t been released to the public yet.

Her hands shaking, she used her opener, then took the letter
from its envelope. Skipping the salutation, she focused on the body.

A friend at your publishing house sent me an advance copy
of your book. I enjoyed it and want to meet the author. Please call so I can
arrange your transportation. Would come for you myself, but business keeps me
here a while longer.

Adrian de Vesay

Flummoxed, she dropped the letter on her desk and stared at
it. A joke. Somebody was playing a joke on her. Maybe her agent, but more
likely her editor—hoping to kick-start Diane into writing the next book. Which
she couldn’t write because she hadn’t a clue
what
to write.

But wasn’t meeting Adrian in the here and now what she
wanted?

What about Walker?

Having cast him in an unflattering light, did she want to
risk him confronting her for her choices?

Borrowing trouble, Diane.
Unless he remembered the
past…
Ridiculous.
Just because
she’d
gone back in time didn’t
mean the men had.

She wanted to see Belleange again. See how Adrian’s
ancestors had rebuilt it, added to it, remodeled it. Her hardening nipples and
heating pussy had nothing to do with her excitement.

Arousal
, a niggling voice murmured in her brain.

She ignored it and went to get her passport.

* * * * *

Leaving from the West Coast, the flight over the polar route
to Heathrow took eight long hours.

Now standing in front of the official who kept looking from
her passport to her face, she wanted to get in
his
face. Tell him to
stamp the bloody page and let her through the bloody gate. His attitude
reminded her of the mail carrier, which tempted her to tell him she had no
other identification. Which, having left her driver’s license at home, was
true.

Adding to her sense of never being allowed into England, she
had the unfortunate habit of falling into speech patterns of those she talked
with. So she was sounding more and more like a Yorkshire native than an
American. That’s when another official whispered something in her examiner’s
ear. The man eyed her with even greater suspicion, but stamped her passport and
waved her through the narrow opening that led to baggage claim and the outside
world.

And there they were—both Adrian and Walker. Adrian waving a
sign with her name on it—as if she wouldn’t recognize two of the most handsome
men she’d ever met. Walker, looking disgruntled, had a bouquet of flowers
filling his arms.

Sweet heaven, they’re even more handsome than I remembered!
Adrian’s hair seemed a little darker blond, his eyes even more impossibly blue.
Walker, however, looked even more intimidating, his black eyes seeming to gauge
her every heartbeat as she debated whether to stay or run for her life. To hell
with him! She wasn’t any more pleased to see him than he was to see her.

She almost did turn around. She shouldn’t have come at all.
This whole trip was a journey down a path she should have avoided at all costs.
She might remember them, but there was no reason on God’s green earth they
should remember her. Unless—impossible though it seemed—they’d all fallen prey
to the same invisible time machine and they’d gone back in time as well.

In for a ha’penny, in for a pound
, she told herself,
holding out her right hand to shake theirs. Adrian bussed her cheeks. Walker
smiled that slow, assessing smile that raised her hackles and sent her
heartbeat racing. She wished her feet could race too, but they felt rooted to
the concrete floor beneath them.

They hustled her to the curb where a car waited. The
chauffeur dealt with her luggage. Walker issued a soft command to the driver
and off they went. Scenery flew by, leaving her unable to figure out where they
were going.

“Tired?” Walker said just when she supposed they wouldn’t say
another word until they reached their destination. Wherever that might be.

“A little. I slept between meals.” She looked at Adrian,
offering him a small smile. “The flight attendants take really good care of
first-class passengers. I didn’t realize—”

“You’re welcome,” Walker said before Adrian could utter a
word. “Adrian wanted to send the corporate jet, but that would have delayed
your arrival even more. The trip to fetch you. The trip back.”

As if she didn’t understand the logistics!
And he was
just as high-handed as she remembered. Maybe even more so.

“I don’t understand the hurry. Not that I’m complaining,”
she added, with a soft laugh to excuse her eagerness. “I can’t wait to see
Belleange and find out if I described it accurately.”

The men exchanged glances she couldn’t decipher.

“As it once was, very accurately,” Adrian said at last, his
smile not reaching his striking blue eyes.

Walker simply stared at her from the rear-facing seat of the
limo. He looked a little like a painting she’d seen of Bacchus after a night of
revelry. The god sat propped against a tree trunk while nymphs danced around
him, flinging flowers at his head. Bacchus had looked delighted. Walker looked
as if he’d found some rare beastie in his wine and wanted to toss it out the window.

“We’re taking the train to Yorkshire,” Walker said, setting
the bouquet aside while he continued perusing her face.

“Thought you might like to stretch your legs a bit after
your long trip.” Adrian seemed like an overeager host striving to make her feel
at ease. Which had just the opposite effect. Her nerves began to send
unpleasant thoughts along her limbs. Flight-or-fight impulses flooded her blood
with adrenaline.

“Your letter led me to believe… I thought we’d stay in
London for a day or two.”
Damnation
, even her voice sounded tense. “I
brought very little clothing with me.”

“I’m sure we’ll find something to fit you,” Adrian assured
her, clasping her hand then placing it on his thigh.

“I don’t know what game this is, gentlemen, but I don’t want
to play.” She pulled free.

“Then why did you come?”

The looks they gave her invited her to take off what she
wore. Her face heated, but she just felt embarrassed.
Sure.
Her nipples
always hardened when she embarrassed herself. Her juices always flooded her
panties when men stripped her naked with their eyes. Boy, was she a pushover
when it came to these two.

The limousine rolled to a stop in front of the train
station, affording her the chance to avoid a response. On a sigh of relief, she
exited the car.

* * * * *

They’d held the train. Whoever now controlled the London to
Edinburgh trains had held the one Diane boarded with her escorts. But then,
with two members of the House of Lords embarking, why should she even imagine
having to wait for another departure? They hurried her along the platform,
giving her neither time nor breath to ask questions.

Not only had they held the train, they’d attached a private
car at the end. Diane eyed the sumptuous furniture, draperies and chandeliers
and wondered aloud what damage the car might encounter were it slip-coached as
they did in the past—when trains first became an accepted mode of travel.

Old-time steam engines could get the cars up a hill—albeit
with some difficulty—but stopping on the downhill slope was nigh impossible.
Passengers debarking at the first station loaded into the last car. Nearing the
depot, the car was cut loose from the rest of the train and sort of coasted
down. She’d never found statistics as to how many people were injured or killed
in those days.

“In case you’re worrying about our arrival, our systems have
improved since the early days of rail,” Adrian told her, taking her voluminous
purse from her as he guided her to a plush, upholstered chair near one window.

“We even have brakes now,” Walker said, sitting across from
her.

She ran her hands over the inlaid parquetry tabletop,
saying, “This reminds me of the Orient Express. Of pictures I’ve seen of it, I
mean.”

Both men grinned.

“It’s a car we had refurbished.”

“We use it for tours,” Adrian added, as if that should make
things clearer.

“What do you two do?” she asked, puzzled by what they
weren’t saying. “I know you have hotels on your estates but…I don’t suppose
they support you as they once did.” And the death taxes in the United Kingdom
were notoriously killing for the heirs. She should have paid more attention to
their website, read more about their partnership. A useless wish now.

“Not in the same lifestyle. But yes, they do support us
still.”

Walker grimaced, then sent her a rueful grin. “We operate
tours. Ones that include tourists staying a week or more in our ancestral
homes.”

“Living as people lived. Dressing as people dressed in those
times.”

“Y-you mean…that’s why we’re not shopping in London? There
are clothes—costumes at Belleange?” They nodded. “So when are we living?”
This
time
, she added to herself.

“Regency era,” Adrian said, his eyes dancing with mischief
that made her spirits sink.

“No indoor plumbing?” she mumbled. “I mean…”

When Adrian just shrugged, Walker took the conversation in hand.
“That’s the one exception. You Yanks demand modern plumbing in every room
and—since your countrymen are our best customers—we provide it.”

“Thank God,” she said before she noticed they were still
smiling at her in a disturbing way. She recognized those smiles—remembered all
too well their invitation to sin.

“You needn’t worry, Diane,” Walker said, going to a built-in
sideboard with an array of liquor bottles on the marble top.

“You’ll have a couple of days to recover from jetlag.”
Adrian assured her, once more looking eager to please. In their previous life
he’d behaved like that, willing to do whatever pleased her. Giving her whatever
she wanted. Her gaze flicked to Walker, rekindling her animosity toward him.
Walker was, after all, Adrian’s liege. Walker seemed more an opportunist,
willing to prey on those too weak to fight back. Just as she portrayed them in
her novel.

Hmm.
Following Walker’s lead put Adrian in a less
flattering light.

“Don’t forget her fittings. After all, the Countess of
Belleange must look her best when our guests arrive.”

She bristled. Did Walker expect her to earn her keep? Adrian
had invited her, after all. But acting the part of a countess could be fun—as
long as it was only for Adrian’s guests and not for him alone. Like iron to a
magnet, her gaze again darted to Walker.

He picked up a tray with three highball glasses and a
crystal decanter of amber-colored liquid, then brought it to the table where
she and Adrian sat. With an indecipherable smile Walker poured two-fingers of peat-scented
liquor into each glass. “To your next book, Diane. May your readers enjoy it as
much as they will the newest one.”

Left with no choice but to toast her own success, she took a
careful sniff. Her nostrils and eyes burned, but she drank anyway. The tiny sip
went down like silk, then spread warmth like a heating pad pressed to her chest
and stomach. Though she willed it away, a smile curved her lips and she relaxed
into her chair.

“Good, eh?” Adrian said, looking pleased by her reaction.

Walker cocked one ebony brow, a knowing smile on his lips.
Without asking, he added more scotch to each of their glasses.

“It’s too early in the day for drink this strong,” she
argued lightly, taking a more generous sip.

“Somewhere in the world—” Walker began.

“The sun is over the yardarm,” Adrian finished, as if he
often used that as an excuse to imbibe.

She pursed her lips in disapproval. She didn’t know how many
generations had preceded him, but this Adrian seemed to have staggered into
Arnaud’s drunken footsteps. “Do you also support a mass of mistresses?” she
sniped before she thought to keep quiet.

He grinned, much the way that twelfth-century Adrian
grinned. When he looked over her shoulder, she turned to look, as well,
catching lustful heat in Walker’s fathomless eyes.

Sweet heaven!
Had they changed that much over the
centuries since she first met them? Were they now…each other’s lover?

Walker watched as an obviously distasteful idea widened
Diane’s eyes. Then she lowered her head, her dark lashes hiding her emerald-green
eyes and whatever unpleasant thoughts chased through her mind. Adrian frowned
at him before shrugging and reaching for her hand. She flinched, yet let Adrian
raise her hand to his lips, pulling away only when he turned it palm up.

So, Walker thought, her palms are as susceptible as her
heroine’s. What other parts of her lush body might prove even more susceptible
to a gentle caress? A tender kiss? He suddenly wished their paying guests would
not arrive for another week or more. Two days offered only time enough to begin
her seduction. But then, all seductions began in the mind. As with hypnosis,
the more resistant the mind, the more easily the spell was cast.