Belmary House Book One (14 page)

Ashford was a loner by choice, his main company consisting of his surly valet, Duncan. The time he spent with others, mostly people he knew from childhood, like Jeremy and his idiot younger brother, his neighbor Serena, and his brother-in-law Kostya, ended up being a chore after the initial pleasure of seeing them after long stretches of time wore off.

He’d thought he’d want to strangle Matilda after riding four days across the country with her, but bizarrely, he quite liked her company. She prattled on and questioned him ruthlessly, but sensed the moment he’d had enough, and then calmly amused herself with a book or the scenery. She never once bemoaned the loss of all the so-called superior things from her own time like other people who slipped through from the future did, and had even seemed disapproving of his gun.

He hoped he hadn’t frightened her too badly about Wodge. He needed her to be sufficiently wary, especially now that the chances of her being able to return to her own time had so greatly decreased. He should have felt sick about that, and he hated to have to tell her that things didn’t look good. He sincerely didn’t want to see her distressed. But for himself … he wasn’t so sure.

She pulled the blanket over her legs and leaned over to pat the edge of her bed. Well, why the hell not, he thought, sitting on the mattress and feeling a foolish thrill to be so close to her in such a setting. Idiot. He was acting as if he was seventeen years old and not nearly thirty.

“So, are you going to squirrel me away in some turret room when we get there tomorrow, or will I be allowed to speak to anyone?”

He was shocked at her question. Really, what must she think of him? “Certainly you’ll be able to speak to anyone you wish. My brother-in-law Kostya will be delighted to make your acquaintance.”

He wasn’t altogether sure of that, but he knew Kostya would be nothing but welcoming and polite. He hoped Serena was remembering to visit him often, so the man wouldn’t turn into a muttering hermit at the young age of four and thirty.

“It’s his house we’ll be stopping at, then?”

“The estate belongs to my sister and me, from our mother. We grew up there. In fact, Kostya’s been there about as long as I can remember, as well. They’ve run the place since they got married, about twelve years ago.”

“Childhood sweethearts?” she sighed.

Ashford refrained from rolling his eyes. It wasn’t so far off the mark, after all. Camilla would have laughed at such an assessment of her relationship.

“It was an arranged marriage, but they did love one another. Their daughter died last year and things became difficult after that.”

Surprisingly, she reached over and grabbed his wrist, her eyes widening. He noticed for the first time that they weren’t only greenish brown, but had speckles of gold and flecks of bronze. “I’m so sorry,” she said, looking as if she might cry. “How awful. Your niece.”

“Aye, it was a bad time for all of us. She was only eight. Er, she was thrown from a horse.”

Why had he told her all that? No one who knew him well ever dared to speak of the incident to him, even he and Kostya danced around it. He blamed himself for buying her the blasted pony in the first place. His brother-in-law would say the blame lay with him for letting her ride without a proper inspection of the grounds first, but Ashford knew what he really feared. He himself had thought of it, and he knew Camilla must have as well, but it couldn’t have been possible. Ashford should have assured him then that it wasn’t possible. They’d been promised, after all. Now too much time had gone by, and though it ate at him, he couldn’t tear open old wounds just to assuage his own guilt.

Ashford cleared his throat and gently pulled his wrist from Miss Jacob’s kind-hearted grasp. She smiled at him and wrinkled up her nose in a way he found distractingly pretty.

“You sounded more Scottish a second ago.” She kept the smile on her face and he was grateful she didn’t ask more questions about his family, or what was left of it.

“Ah, did I?” He felt ridiculous that her noticing something like that should make him feel warmer.

God, they were sitting on a bed together, how unreasonable. He should be making her act like she was from his time, not acting like he was from hers. He never should have come in here. He felt at the time he had a reason for it, but now he couldn’t remember what it was, and for the life of him, he didn’t want to leave yet.

“Should we brainstorm ways to get me home if your house gets destroyed in my time?” she asked, looking at him with such hopeful trust, he wanted to open his damnable schedule again and pore over it for another two hours to find a way.

But, the truth of the matter was, if the house was destroyed, he didn’t know what would happen. He waited too long to answer and her lower lip drooped in dismay. He wanted very much to run his finger along it, or perhaps his tongue. Shocking. He’d never, ever felt any such urges about anyone who came through the portal. It seemed like a breach of trust somehow. Surely he just wanted to console her, or it was the stress of it all, being responsible for her, needing to find what became of Camilla, and now this new problem with the house. Yes, he’d finally gone mad, that was all.

“I have very little information about the portal in Castle on Hill,” he said. “Less about the one in Wales. I only used that one once in an emergency. I spent a great deal of time trying to find an alternate route home for you, but there just aren’t that many openings so far in the future. It would be better if you came from the past. I’d have you back by next week.”

He patted her hand, then clasped it in his. Her nails were chewed ragged, perhaps a way she distracted herself from her own stress. He ran his thumb over her fingertips, feeling hot at her small intake of breath, and thinking of other ways he could distract her.

He dropped her hand, and got up to sit on a chair. He couldn’t keep her here and he absolutely could not take advantage of her, no matter that she was the first woman he’d been attracted to in ages.

“What about the witches?” she asked. “You said they have a way to do it without the portal?”

He frowned at the suggestion, though it was a valid one. It was just the only witches he knew these days scared the bejesus out of him. Dangerous and hateful, and not too fond of him, either. Especially not after Camilla.

“We’ll save that as a last resort,” he said, seeing her nearly writhe with curiosity. “The connection was severed with my Scottish ancestors who originally created the portals, and my mother’s people are all passed on. Unfortunately it’s in our blood still, which is why I’m able to use the portal. My sister … she knows far more than I ever did, because she wasn’t able to use it. She studied and found out about our ancestry, and reacquainted herself with a more powerful family with whom she ended up aligned. She ended up knowing too much.”

He hadn’t meant to speak of Camilla at all to Matilda. She didn’t need that information, and the combination of her high curiosity and her eagerness to help made it dangerous for her. He didn’t want her getting mixed up with any of that.

“Is that why she’s missing? Did the witches steal her away?”

She was skating perilously close to things he didn’t want her to know. It was better and safer that she didn’t know, but for some reason he couldn’t shut up around her just now. Perhaps she was a witch herself? Anyone who could use the portal had to have at least a drop of it in them from somewhere. He frowned and almost against his will, kept talking.

“She became obsessed with— I guess you’d call them powers? What I do started out with the sheer bad luck of falling through the portal when I was a lad. I paid attention and eventually had a very good schedule, nothing more than that. There’s certainly nothing magical about me. She could actually do things.”

“What kind of things?” She scooted closer to the edge of the bed, dragging the blanket with her. “Oh, I wish you didn’t have to be so proper. I’d kill for a drink right now.”

 “By all means then, Matilda, let’s drink.”

He jumped up, but kept his eyes glued to her face, to see if she had any sort of reaction to his uttering her name. Her eyes drifted shut and her cheeks pinkened.

Good heavens, but she was pretty, even all disheveled and wrapped in the bedclothes as she was. No, especially that way. It made him want to rumple them, and her, more. He hurried to the door before he did something truly improper. He needed a few minutes to get out from under her spell.

“I’ll be back straightaway with a bottle.”

“Really? Oh my gosh, you’re the best.”

He knew she had to be teasing him, but her shining smile coupled with her words made him feel as if he was about to do something heroic, rather than run downstairs for a bottle of whisky. He almost felt as if he could do magic, and it was a heady feeling indeed.

***

Tilly scrambled to get her robe on, really Ashford’s old dressing gown. She loved it, all oversized and velvety soft, and she fully planned to take it with her when she went back. If she got to go back. She was too excited about Ashford’s sudden chattiness to dwell on that frightening thought. Every ounce of worry over the change in her situation disappeared when he started talking so openly. Finally, the mysterious stranger she’d begun to think of as a friend was going to share more than a few grunts about his life. And now he was getting them a bottle of wine. It was almost like a date.

She snorted at herself and found the brush Nora left behind when Ashford crashed into her room, demanding to be alone with her. The room wasn’t cramped, but it couldn’t be described as spacious either, and he completely dominated it with his height and stern masculinity, seeming to make it even smaller.

It had taken everything she had to pretend to be unaffected by him sitting on the bed and then hiding how bereft she felt when he got up to sit on a chair. She had to be out of her mind from the absurdity of everything, getting goosebumps when he said her name. Could he have been attracted to her as well, and felt the need to put some distance between them? She was fairly certain he’d checked out her legs before she managed to cover them up.

It was farfetched, but she couldn’t help but hope he found her attractive. She’d been interested in him ever since she thought he was a costumed researcher, and she was done trying to deny it to herself. So what if he was a little emotionally stunted, a bit rude, and clearly wanted nothing more than to be rid of her? He also had a vulnerability that he couldn’t hide, no matter how hard he tried.

For whatever reason, she liked him, and she didn’t mind that he frequently annoyed her with his high handedness. It would keep her from getting too attached so she wouldn’t be broken hearted when she left. She would leave. She had complete faith that they’d find a way. That was another thing that didn’t make any sense. She trusted him.

As she ran the brush through her hair and tied it back into a ponytail, she berated herself for being a simpleton. It wasn’t like a date at all, she almost certainly had no hope of getting home, she really shouldn’t be so excited right now. Ashford very likely thought her a nuisance, a responsibility, and if she didn’t keep it together, he’d think her a right fool on top of it all, throwing herself at him like a modern hussy. She could not, under any circumstances, come onto him when he returned. Or ever. She peered at her reflection in the foggy mirror and nodded at her appearance, the best she could do with no makeup.

Arranging the two chairs so they were close together, she sat in one and demurely crossed her ankles. The chair was hard, with a loose leg, and tilted so far to the left she nearly tumbled off it. Stowing the chairs in the corner, she propped one pillow against the headboard and the other against the footboard, settling herself against one of them. This had to be fairly proper.

They could see each other to converse, but it discouraged hanky panky, unless he reached over and grabbed her foot. She imagined his big hand wrapping around her ankle, pulling her closer to him, his other hand sliding up her calf, making its way under her shift. She got dizzy and fanned herself.

“Pathetic,” she told herself, getting back under her blanket.

Dex would make fun of her so hard if he knew how silly she was being over the staid Lord Ashford.

A sharp knock on the door and he entered the room before she could find her voice to call out. He held up a nearly full bottle of whisky and she swallowed hard, having expected wine. Well, she’d just have to take it easy, be extra careful and responsible. She wanted to hear his story if nothing else, not pass out just as he got to some juicy detail of his life.

He poured out two cups, raising his eyebrow at her bed setup.

“It’s how we used to do it at summer camp,” she explained.

“You slept with men at summer camp?” He continued to hold the cups, staring at her as if she were a briny sea creature.

“No, dummy, of course not. It was all girls. We set the bunks up like this to play cards and gossip. And you’re not sleeping here, are you?” She crossed her arms in front of her and looked sideways at him. He choked and shook his head vigorously. “So, take your shoes off and get comfy, my lord.”

He cleared his throat and handed her a glass at last, and after a moment’s hesitation, wrestled off his boots and took his place at the end of the bed. She took a self-congratulatory gulp of whisky and choked.

He crawled to her and whacked her on the back. “You may want to sip that.”