Belmary House Book One (7 page)

She noticed he said women and not ladies, but dismissed it. It wasn’t as if things like that really mattered in her time, but if he’d been subtly insulting her, shouldn’t she be more outraged? Well, she certainly had plenty to be outraged about, that small thing was the least of it.

“My mom designs and makes pageant dresses,” she explained, stepping backward again. “I’ve been helping her sew them since I was twelve. After my father passed away, it was our sole means of support, since, er, there was trouble with his insurance.”

Why did she tell him all that? And, why did he look like he cared at all? Her legs hit the seat of an armchair and she steadied herself to keep from falling backwards into it. She raised her chin and tried desperately to get some of her anger back, but he stopped advancing closer to her, and the look on his face was different. Softer, compassionate maybe? Nora had told her his own father died when he was a teenager, same as her, so maybe he felt a kinship.

“Pageant dresses?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest, looking down at her haughtily. His compassionate look was gone as if she’d only imagined it. “For the stage?”

“Yeah, you know, beauty contests.” He shook his head and motioned for her to continue. “Maybe you don’t have them yet? Okay, so, a bunch of girls enter for a chance to win a sparkly crown and some money or other prizes. It’s mostly for fun, but it can help you get jobs, too. You need a very special gown if you’re serious about winning, and that’s where my mother comes in. She’s pretty famous on the pageant circuit, actually. My aunt was Miss Egypt way back in the day, and third runner up in Miss Universe. That’s how my mom found out how much people will spend, and started the business when I was a baby. So she could stay home with me.”

“That’s fascinating,” he said, looking her over.

She was embarrassed of her nervous, rambling tale, and her eyes flew to his. Normally when someone said something like ‘that’s fascinating’ to her, their voices dripped with sarcasm, but he actually looked interested. Something pinged inside her and she had to forcibly remind herself that this handsome buffoon had mistakenly trapped her in another time. No matter that he suddenly acted charming and interested in her, all while looking amazing in those crazy tight pants. Maybe she could just give in and enjoy her time here, since there was nothing else to be done about it. Maybe she could enjoy his company.

But then he said, “Did you participate in these contests as well?”

She imagined that the ability to be sarcastic just hadn’t developed enough yet to be fully recognizable. While he sounded sincere enough, there was no way he wasn’t teasing her, and the small thing that fluttered to life in her heart not a moment before, folded up its wings and died.

She glanced around him to see her reflection in the mirror. Her cheeks were rosy from embarrassment, and her hair looked nice, thanks to Nora. Other than that, there was nothing special to comment about. She was strictly her mother’s assistant behind the scenes at every pageant she went to, all the contestants taller, tanner, and glossier than she could ever hope to be.

“Very funny,” she said, remembering she needed to holler at him for causing her misfortune.

No more getting distracted by pretty dresses, storm cloud eyes, and feigned interest in her life.

“Did I say something amusing?” he asked, frowning at her so intently she felt the heat from her cheeks spreading like wildfire all the way down her neck. “Would you like a tour of the house before I have to leave for the ball?” She was grateful for the sudden change of subject and nodded, fanning her face as soon as he turned his back. “I’ll place you in Duncan’s care while I’m gone. He’ll make sure you get a meal, and send Nora back up to you to help you when you retire.”

“What did you tell Nora, by the way? She seems to think she needs to be discreet about something other than the fact I’m from the distant future.”

He stopped so abruptly she almost ran into him, and cleared his throat. “You’re my mistress,” he said.

“Oh, that’s kind of what I figured. Is that all?”

He turned around and faced her, with that infernal look on his face as if she were from another planet.

“It isn’t actually all, but isn’t that enough? I thought you might be angry about it, but it’s the only thing I could think of that was believable. I’ve never had any of your lot stay with me before.”

Her lot? She wondered with dismay how many others there were. “You’re not married are you? As long as I’m not a homewrecker, it’s probably not much different than what we call a girlfriend in my time.”

 “I am not married.”

When he didn’t continue, she sighed impatiently. “What else then, if that’s not all?”

 “You’re a widow, as well.”

“A widow? I’m only twenty-four.”

“I didn’t think you’d want to be a career mistress, so I made you a widow.”

“I guess if a career mistress is like a prostitute, then fine. I’ll be a tragic young widow.”

He smiled at her, and she nearly lost all feeling in her legs. It was the first smile she’d seen on him and it was glorious. His full lips turned up to reveal shiny white teeth and his eyes crinkled at the edges. It was like he was another person, one she actually wanted to hang out with. He liked making up stories, it seemed.

“You’ve also just been cruelly dismissed by your previous benefactor, left all but penniless in the streets.”

Dear God, it really never lasted long, the feeling that she might actually like this man. He was a monster. “And you saved me, I’m guessing?” she said, clenching her fists. How could she face Nora again?

“My charity is well known amongst my servants.” He turned his back and continued down the hall.

“Charity?” she sputtered, rushing to keep up with him as he tossed out instructions not to go into any of the rooms they passed. “I’ve had a job since I was twelve. I would never rely on a man for money.”

“Would you rather I find you employment for the next three months? You’ll probably find the pay and the hours quite different from what you’re accustomed to.”

He tossed another smile over his shoulder at her and she quickly looked away, not wanting to spend her forced vacation in a nineteenth century sweatshop. Destitute widowed mistress it was, then.

The hall was completely different, with a long runner down the center of the highly polished floor. It was well lit with sconces at regular intervals, lighting up paintings of what looked like Italian scenery hanging on the panelled walls. Down the grand front stairs, he pointed vaguely in one direction and then the other, but didn’t offer to take her into any of the rooms on the ground floor, either.

He finally opened a door to the library, the first room she was allowed to go into, and she turned in a circle to see all the books that lined every wall from floor to ceiling. There were leather chairs and a sofa under a large window, little tables in between them all, and a massive, dark desk near the back wall.

He’d walked so fast, barely pointing things out to her, that she still didn’t know anything about the house, even after the tour.

“You can spend time here whenever you like. Any questions?” he asked, looking quite pleased with himself. “If not, I should be getting on.” He started to leave her in the library.

“Are you kidding me?” She grabbed his jacket sleeve, immediately dropping it when he turned his dark stare back on her. “I have a ton of questions. You can’t just leave me here.” He made what looked to be a supreme effort to be patient, and her anger, which she’d managed to tamp down in order to make the best of things, rose up again. “I mean, what in the hell happened? Why am I even here?”

A muscle in his jaw twitched and he narrowed his eyes at her. “I mistook you for Miss Saito,” he said. “Terribly unfortunate and I do apologize.”

She ignored the fact that he didn’t seem sorry at all. “No, I mean, how did it happen? You don’t act like it’s anything surprising, so that means you must do it all the time. So, how do you do it?”

He took her arm, led her to the nearest chair and pushed her gently into it. He crouched down in front of her, eyes troubled, and waved his arm around.

“It’s a curse,” he said. “A spell. In a word, it’s witchcraft. It’s a long story I will definitely explain to you further when I have more time, but I must get ready for the event tonight.”

He rose, but she clamped both her hands onto his wrist, almost pulling him into her lap.

“I’m lost in a different century because of you,” she said, feeling the tears she’d been holding in for the last couple of hours about to flow. “And now I’m a pathetic widowed career mistress. How can you just drop something like a witch’s spell on me and then go off to some ball? Don’t you have a single feeling?” She stared hard at him, willing the tears not to fall, almost biting through her lip to keep from sobbing.

He closed his eyes and dropped his chin, the same look of pain she’d momentarily glimpsed when they first arrived. “There’s someone I have to meet. He has information for me about— At any rate, he’s impatient to be on his way to his country home. It’s not something I can get in a letter. I must speak to him tonight or ride all the way to Scotland.”

Before she could ask anything else, Duncan entered the room, not even blinking at seeing Lord Ashford kneeling before her as she clutched at him. She dropped his hand and leaned back in the chair.

“Ah, good, I’ve found you. Miss Jacobs, there’s a meal waiting for you, if you’re hungry. Cook’s stew is the best in London, and there’s apple tart as well.”

Ashford nodded seriously, standing up. “Her stew is unparalleled,” he agreed.

Tilly was hungry, but more importantly, she was eaten up with curiosity. How could Ashford not manage to answer her questions? He’d replied, but she was more confused than ever. And witchcraft? If she hadn’t already got used to the idea of having been swept to 1814, the mention of witchcraft would have sent her over the deep end. As it was, all she wanted was more information. Information. She ignored Duncan and grabbed Ashford’s arm again.

“Information about what? You said you had to talk to someone tonight. About what?”

The two men exchanged a look, and Duncan hurried forward, probably to hustle her away from asking anymore questions. Surprisingly, Ashford stopped him with a flick of his free hand, then turned to look down at her.

“My sister,” he said. “She’s gone missing. I need to find out what’s happened to her.”

Well, she hadn’t expected that, nor the look on his face. If she’d thought he’d looked distressed before, now he looked downright anguished. She moved a step closer, feeling like a jerk for only thinking of herself when he clearly had something far bigger than her problem going on. She’d only thought he was going to have a wonderful time, forgetting about her completely. His sister, his twin, was missing. No wonder he was so agitated.

She had to stay strong, and not feel like any of this was her fault, no matter how badly she wanted to comfort him. Because she desperately wanted to comfort him somehow, anyone would, he looked so tormented.

She tightened her grip on his sleeve so she wouldn’t stroke the hair off his brow or something equally mortifying, knowing if she could ride it out, he’d say something awful and cure her of her wayward thoughts.

“Let me go with you,” she blurted. As soon as the words were out, she realized she wanted to go to a real life nineteenth century ball as much as she wanted to keep breathing. “I worked in law enforcement,” she added. “I can help you get the information you need.”

Ashford took his hand back from her and laughed. “Miss Jacobs, the man I’m meeting is a long time friend of mine. I won’t need any help.” He looked her over and laughed again, turning to leave.

Her wayward thoughts cured even more quickly than she thought possible, she pushed down her rancor and hurried in front of him, enjoying his blink of disbelief that she was going to press the issue. She was going to squeeze until she got to go to that ball.

“Please,” she said, batting her lashes like she imagined a woman of this time might. “I really want to go. I have to stay here for three months, I may as well get to see the sights, don’t you agree?” She turned to Duncan, whose mouth was open. “You agree, right, Duncan?”

“Duncan most certainly does not agree,” Ashford boomed, all his amusement gone. “I can’t imagine the trouble you’d cause at such a function. You’ll stay in the house until you get back to your proper time.”

“You really don’t know anything about women from my time if you think that’s going to happen,” she said.

He laughed again, bowed to her, definitely sarcastically, and left the library without another word. Duncan looked apologetic, told her he’d send some food to her room, and took off after Ashford.

She stood there alone, stunned, not knowing what to do. He hadn’t even deigned to argue with her. Remember his sister, she told herself. His sister was missing, and he was sick with worry and fear. Well, she was missing too, in her own time! Even if Emma was able to explain to Dex what happened, they had no way of knowing if she’d ever be back. She was only supposed to visit London for a month, how would Dex explain to her mother when that passed and she still hadn’t returned? For all they knew she was never getting back.

But she kept seeing the look on Ashford’s face when he’d said he needed to find out what happened to his sister. He had no parents anymore. Perhaps that was his only living relative. As much as she wanted to throw something, she decided to take the high road and go back to her room. She’d have it out with Ashford tomorrow, when hopefully he’d got the information he needed.