“Nothing could force me into it.”
“I believe you, because my head isn’t freezing up. If you’d gone through with it, you would have died in September of 1815.”
He recoiled. “Wh— How?” he stammered.
“I don’t know all the details, though Lady Travis claims you found Fay playing around with a groom. After revising your will to banish her to Scotland, you walked in here and blew your brains out.”
“Oh, my God!” He was shaking.
“But you won’t do that now, will you Drew?”
He shook his head.
“Good. Nothing is worth killing yourself for, especially a bitch like Fay.”
He stared.
“Sorry. I forgot where I was again. Women do occasionally swear in my day, particularly when the subject is so venal.”
He laughed. “So how do you know what Lady Travis has been writing?”
“I bought fifteen of her letters to Lady Debenham in an antique shop shortly after I arrived in London. Old letters are a great research source for those interested in the culture of a time period rather than the dry facts of war and politics.”
“I’d better burn all my correspondence,” he muttered. Then another of her odd comments returned to mind. “You mentioned Napoleon’s Russian campaign.”
“Right.”
“The winter?”
“Of the six hundred thousand troops that started the campaign, seventeen thousand will return. The horrors they encounter will be remembered well beyond even my time.”
“Dear Lord! Where did he find that many men?”
“Many of them came from conquered countries, but he also pulled some troops out of Spain.”
“Leaving the armies more evenly matched,” he breathed, hope and wonder flooding his body. “Is this the end of the war, then? Is Salamanca Wellington’s final push into Spain?”
“Almost.” She was surprised that the words came, but relaxed and continued. “He has split the army by now, half to take Madrid, the rest to hold off the French at Burgos. But Burgos is better defended than he thinks. He hasn’t the troops to take it by force, and he left his siege equipment elsewhere, so he’ll pull back to Ciudad Rodrigo and Badajoz for the winter.”
“I thought you couldn’t talk about future events.”
“I can’t, at least not about anything that matters. Think about it. Even if you went to London to warn the government that Wellington needs more men and equipment to take Burgos, and even supposing they believed you and didn’t lock you in Bedlam, by the time anyone could act, Wellington would have discovered the information for himself.” She shrugged.
“Will he win?”
She managed to nod.
The last of his tension relaxed. “Enough of war. I agree that Fay probably pushed Emily at the ball. All I need is one witness. Then I can keep her quiet about Randolph. I’ll start with Lady Clifford.” He paused as another thought hit him. “Do you recall how long my father will live? How long do I have to keep Fay quiet?”
Her mouth worked silently for a moment. She finally managed two words. “Not long.”
He bowed his head in a moment of grief, but in truth the marquess suffered considerable pain. “Thank you, Cherlynn. Or should I call you, my lady?”
“It would be better to stick to Emily.”
He nodded, then smiled and relaxed. The unreality of this conversation would catch up to him later, but for now he intended to satisfy his curiosity.
“Enough about my time. Tell me about yours. What was that you said about women and space?”
“You would home in on that one,” she complained with a grimace. “Describing the space program requires briefings on dozens of subjects.”
“So what are you waiting for?”
Sighing, she launched an explanation. Images floated through his head – of cars, airplanes, and rockets traveling at unimaginable speeds; of tall buildings filling cities that held enough people to dwarf even London; of organ transplants, wonder drugs, and artificial body parts; of photographs, moving pictures, and satellite surveys of earth and the universe; of telephones, computers, and an information network connecting the world.
“It sounds like Eden,” he murmured in awe.
“Technologically, perhaps. But there is much to be said for your time, Drew. Why do you think so many people read stories set in the past?” And she went on to describe the pressures exerted by technology, from the push to always be doing something to the need for acquiring ever bigger, faster, and better technology; the search for relief from that pressure that led so many people into drug addiction; the crime that grew from addiction and from packing people so closely together; the destruction of the environment; the wars that were still fought; the diseases that even advanced medicine couldn’t cure; the lack of respect that pervaded every level of society.
The dressing bell sounded. “And just as well,” she said with a sigh. “I’ve been talking too much. You live in a wonderful age, Drew. Enjoy it. Hungering for another life will prevent appreciation of what you have.”
“Very true. But before I can start living, I need to defang a serpent. There are still a few tenants who might be willing to answer questions about Fay’s activities.”
She nodded. “I will chat with the village gossips tomorrow – individually – in hopes of learning something useful. The sooner we get this over with, the sooner Emily will return.”
He watched her leave the library, confusion again filling his mind. Did he want Emily back?
The question shocked him, but it wouldn’t retreat. Even as he went upstairs to change, it hammered at his head.
Emily had seemed the perfect bride only five months ago. She was beautiful, and her kisses raised a hunger for more. She was a model of propriety otherwise, versed in the accomplishments that would make her a delight in the drawing room, trained in the niceties of entertaining and of supervising a household, and with both the breeding and the manners to charm society.
Cherlynn had none of that. Yet she challenged and excited him in ways he had never considered. Her intelligence was formidable; debating with her left him glowing with pleasure. She was determined, forthright, and independent, all traits that should have made him shudder, though they didn’t. But his greatest confusion arose from the kiss they had shared in the folly. It had been the most shattering experience of his life, inciting more passion than the most accomplished courtesan. He had attributed his response to love, but now he wondered. Emily – Cherlynn – had participated as never before. Was that what had made the difference? Or had his fascination with Cherlynn’s mind affected his emotions? Did Emily share that passion, or was it all Cherlynn’s? Did it matter?
Probably not, he admitted ruefully as Mason helped him into his jacket. Cherlynn would be gone soon, taking her intelligence and independence with her. If he was lucky, the passion was Emily’s and had been suppressed by custom. But whatever the truth, he owed Emily too much to allow a momentary infatuation with a woman from another time to interfere with his marriage.
And marriage there would be. On the fifteenth of September, as scheduled. He had already dispatched his secretary to London to acquire a special license in Emily’s name. She had saved his life and his sanity. A century of devotion wouldn’t begin to repay that debt.
A wave of guilt washed over him. Why had God gifted him with such extraordinary intervention? He had done nothing to deserve it. Even innocence in Randolph’s death didn’t make him a candidate for sainthood. Others were certainly more worthy.
Or was Emily the true recipient of celestial favor? She was caring enough, as her recent actions proved. Whatever the truth, his marriage would be quite different from the one he had envisioned. He could no longer consider his own needs. Her efforts deserved both recognition and reward. And part of that reward would be fulfillment of her every wish. He would have to work hard every day to make sure she never regretted her decision. The prospect was daunting.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
As dawn filtered through the window, Cherlynn gave up trying to sleep. Too much had happened the day before.
“Damn it, Drew!” she muttered, pulling on a dressing gown to combat the chill that permeated English nights even in August. “Why the hell did you have to kiss me?”
Her feet paced faster, but couldn’t out-race her memories. His hand tracing her cheek, moving across her hip, sliding under her bodice to cup her breast. His fingers unpinning her hair, whispering down her throat, peaking her nipple. His lips and tongue hot and wild as they plundered her mouth. Never had she encountered such a carnal kiss. Heat pooled in her womb, as it had been doing all night.
“Okay, so you want him,” she chastised herself, trying to force the images away with logic. “Who wouldn’t? The man positively radiates sex. But it wasn’t you he was kissing, girl. It’s Emily he wants and Emily he loves. Don’t ever forget it.” Not that she would have the opportunity. Now that he knew who she was, she needn’t fear a repeat.
Fear?
Who was she trying to kid? Even the most naïve Regency miss would want more of Drew Villiers. That hunk of blazing manhood could warm the coldest night, fill the loneliest heart.
And more. He had an interesting mind. Intelligent and educated, of course, but that wasn’t unusual, even for a Regency aristocrat. It was his curiosity, his tolerance, and his almost-twentieth-century willingness to embrace change that had surprised her. He cared about the people of his estate and wanted to improve their lives. Those who accepted jobs in the new industries worried him, for he anticipated the problems that Dickens would describe so eloquently. He was open to new ideas, even accepting, though with understandable reluctance, her appearance from the future. And his respect for others transcended both gender and class boundaries.
Intelligent, sexy, caring, tolerant. The perfect male. Too bad he lived in the wrong time period. She sprawled onto the couch and frowned. Surely the combination wasn’t
that
rare. There must be any number of men in her own time who were equally enticing. She just hadn’t noticed them yet. And that was hardly surprising. After walking out on Willard, she’d wanted nothing to do with men. A very acrimonious divorce hadn’t changed that. So what had?
She frowned, trying to pin down when the numbness of the last two years had worn off. Pain, grief, and despair had piled up, layer upon layer, until she could barely drag herself out of bed – fights about her worthiness to be a Cardington, arguments over her pregnancy, the accident that had nearly killed her and
had
killed her son, months of recovery, the dingy room she’d called home during the divorce proceedings, six new rejection letters, this last-ditch effort to do enough research so that her next book might have a chance, the unvoiced admission that she would never be a writer and should abandon this dream too . . .
When had despair turned to hope?
When Drew had lifted her from the hearth and cradled her close. The safety and security had overwhelmed her, answering a need she had not recognized, but one that had gnawed at her all of her life. The need for warmth, unconditional acceptance, and love.
“Damn it, you’ve fallen in love with the man,” she scolded herself furiously. “What a fine mess you’ve gotten yourself into this time!” And what utter stupidity! Buying a death sentence couldn’t hold a candle to loving a man who had perished more than a century before she was born.
Hadn’t she learned anything from the disasters she had already survived? This jaunt to the Regency was temporary, so forming an attachment was just plain dumb – worse even than marrying Willard. She and Drew could never be together. Even discovering a way to return to 1812 in her own guise wouldn’t help. He was off limits. He loved Emily, and Emily was everything Cherlynn wasn’t – beautiful, adoring, and conformable; the kind of wife who would devote herself to serving her husband and would never dream of arguing with him. He frankly hated Fay, whose independence and determination matched Cherlynn’s own.
This was yet another reason to get this job over with. She needed to leave before Drew discovered her idiocy. He would pity her, and that was the last thing she wanted. Visiting the local gossips would keep her out of his way for now. With Dr. McClarren due back as early as tomorrow, there was no further need to pretend weakness. Only if she learned something useful would she see Drew. Or perhaps she would write him a note with all the specifics. Another
tête-à-tête
in the library would risk both exposure and a broken heart.
* * * *
By late morning Cherlynn was sitting in Miss Langley’s sitting room, drinking a cup of tea. Grace had disappeared into the nether regions to interview Miss Langley’s maid.
Somehow, the conversation had moved onto the topic of flighty young girls – the spinster hurriedly disclaiming that Emily was included among their numbers. “Like that silly Maude Gardner,” she said with a snort. “She’d caught the eye of a prosperous farmer, and seemed quite puffed up with her prize. But two days after the first of the banns were called, she ran off without a word.”
“Where to?”
“No one knows. She disappeared last spring and hasn’t been heard from since.”
“That
is
odd. But perhaps she changed her mind about the match.”
“It’s possible,” conceded Miss Langley. “She was the one who did most of the chasing, becoming scandalously forward at times, but perhaps she had merely meant to flirt. Some claimed she was taken aback when her father accepted the offer without consulting her. Or they may have had a disagreement. But we’ll never know. Both her father and her betrothed died not long after she left.”
Cherlynn shivered, but couldn’t for the moment think why. It didn’t matter anyway. She needed to move the conversation to Fay. “So many people have died this year. Mr. Raeburn mentioned that his entire family succumbed.”
“Tragic,” agreed Miss Langley, “but hardly surprising. If people will insist on moving to such uncouth places, they must expect it. Why anyone would choose to live among savages, I do not know. Poor Mrs. Raeburn must have been terrified. She was always such a sensitive girl.”