Forever Mine (45 page)

Present Day

N
ick sighed wearily as he closed the front door of his town house behind him. Today was the tenth day Victoria had been in a coma. He wondered how long it would be before he lost hope as to her recovery.

“Never,” he said beneath his breath.

Walking into the kitchen, he set his bag of groceries on the bar and started to unload them. He’d only spent an hour with Victoria before he’d left her in Miss Willoughby’s care for the night. For the first time since the bombing he’d gone to the gym. It had been a tough workout, but he’d managed to release some of the emotions he’d kept bottled up inside him for more than a week now. The groceries put away, he fixed himself a sandwich then carried it and a bottled water into the living room.

Nick turned the telly on for a few minutes, but he couldn’t concentrate on the program blaring out at him. The sandwich he’d made tasted like sawdust in his mouth, and he dropped it back onto the plate as he turned the telly off. Immediately his gaze settled on the second volume of the countess’ diaries. Nora had no problem referring to the journals as belonging to Victoria. He on the other hand had found it extremely difficult to do so.

With a disgusted sigh, Nick picked up his plate and returned to the kitchen to dump his sandwich into the trash. He opened the fridge and was about to reach for a Fullers when he decided he wanted something stronger. The door of the fridge snapped shut as he pulled a bottle of scotch from the cupboard. He poured a little more than two fingers, added water then returned to the living room.

The first sip of his drink ran the flavors of orange and cinnamon over his tongue followed by a hint of chocolate. It was the first thing he’d had to eat or drink in a long time that had actually left him with a sense of taste. He set his glass on the side table before he threw himself onto the couch and stared at the wall where the second portrait of the countess was hung.

Normally it hung in his bedroom, away from prying eyes. But he’d moved it into the living room last night. He wasn’t sure why, he just needed to see it whenever he was home in the evenings. The seductive expression on his wife’s face had made him the envy of every man in London. He’d rarely left her side for a moment, because she’d been like a flame every moth was drawn to.

Nick inhaled a deep breath as he realized he’d just substituted himself in place of the Earl of Guildford. He closed his eyes and swallowed hard. Inch by inch, he was being sucked into his sister’s firm belief that Victoria and the countess were one and the same. The minute he started believing he was—no, he refused to take that next step. With an exasperated grunt, he leaned forward and picked up the last journal.

I almost died three nights ago. If Nicholas hadn’t reached me in time, I wouldn’t be writing in my journal today. A Lord Darby came into the opera box ranting about some book he says he gave to Vickie. I don’t have a clue what’s in the book, but it has to be really important based on Darby’s behavior. I really thought I was going to die.

I don’t have any idea as to how Nicholas managed to pull me back into the box when I was halfway over the railing. He said I had another fainting spell. A doctor came and they gave me opium to help me sleep. If I’d known it was opium, I would have refused no ifs, ands, or buts.

Now things are even worse. I’m pregnant. I don’t know what to do. I know Nicholas won’t be happy, and I have no idea how to tell him. He doesn’t want children. Even if he believed I was from the future, I doubt he’d believe me about the odds of our baby being okay. I don’t even know if he loves me. But I do know I want this baby.

“
Christ Jesus
, I must have been an ass to make you feel so all alone. I should have said I loved you sooner.”

Nick took a sip of his drink as he stared at the countess’ painting and realized his thoughts had once again placed him in the earl’s shoes. Suddenly, every part of him went numb, and he almost dropped his drink before he managed to set it on the side table using both of his shaking hands.

“What the fuck is wrong with you Barrows? Nora and the Countess of Guildford aren’t the ones who need a psychiatrist. You are.”

In the back of his mind, Nick knew he was fooling himself. He closed his eyes and tried to clear his thoughts. It was a laughable attempt as his gaze was drawn back to the weathered journal in his lap. He opened the book and found his place again. There were numerous anecdotes about her brother-in-law, Edmund, and it was clear from Victoria’s writings that she loved the man dearly despite his limited development.

Nick paused as he realized it was the second time this evening he’d attributed the journals to his Victoria. He was on the verge of surrendering to Nora’s theories and beliefs, but he resisted and forced himself to focus on the page in front of him. The countess’ writing described her life with humor and passion. Although she didn’t detail her nights with the earl, she shared enough information to make Nick certain the intimacy she’d shared with her husband had been passionate and filled with love, which had enhanced her overall happiness.

Andrew Edmund Thornhill, the next Earl of Guildford (not for a long, long time I pray) was born two days ago. He’s beautiful and looks like Nicholas. Well, he has Nicholas’ dark hair and like most parents, we both think he’s beautiful. I know Nicholas is still worried, but I keep reassuring him that the baby will be all right. Edmund has been strutting around like one of the peacocks on the lawn, saying his nephew was called Andrew Edmund with an emphasis on Edmund. LOL

Nick dropped the book into his lap for a moment then picked it up again to stare at the letters
LOL
. Everyone used the acronym in texts, emails, and other social media. But how would the countess know to use that acronym? Not only that, but the countess’ diary entries were far too casual for the time period.

Everything he’d read in the woman’s journal up to the usage of the modern day term increased the inevitable conclusion he was fighting hard to dismiss. He flipped to the next page in the journal. With the exception of one paragraph, the rest of the pages in the book were blank. Nick frowned.

Why would she have stopped writing so abruptly? Had the countess died before she’d been able to write another entry? Nora had never said how the countess had died. He picked up his phone and saw it was one in the morning. He had no doubt his sister would bite his head off for calling her so early. With a sigh of resignation, he shook his head and decided it was time to go to bed too. Six-thirty was going to show up a lot faster than he wanted.

When he was in bed a few minutes later, he found it almost impossible to sleep. Staring up at the ceiling, his mind kept returning to Victoria’s journals. A tidal wave of confusion crashed over him.

“
Bloody hell
, I must be insane to think any of this is real,” he muttered into the dark. “People do
not
travel through time.”

Maybe not, but what about past lives. Wouldn’t that explain his feelings for Victoria after having just met her? Nick turned over and punched his pillow hard several times with an explosive frustration. A moment later, he dropped his head onto the soft head rest. Sleep was the best antidote for all this mental chaos. Sleep would cure him of these crazy thoughts.

§  §  §

Nick found himself walking along a dark corridor dimly lit by one or two torches. There was something odd about his clothing, and the pistol he carried felt strange in his hand. Livid with anger, he wanted to kill the two men walking in front of him. As they reached the end of the corridor, Nick saw an indistinct figure take charge of the two men, which allowed him to open a heavy cell door.

The interior of the cell was dark, and his anger grew. If they’d harmed one hair on her head, he’d kill them. He called to her in a soft voice. Then she was in his arms, her soft body trembling against his. Time shifted, and Nick felt his body flying forward. Danger stood right in front of him, although he couldn’t see what it was. Then he heard the cry of warning.

A flash of light exploded in front of him, and he caught her in his arms, relieved she was unharmed. A moment later a terrible howl ripped through the fabric of his dream and Nick shot upright in bed. Sweat ran in rivulets down his back, and he snatched up his cellular phone. His frantic fingers punched the number to the nurse’s station on Victoria’s floor.

“Four East,” a woman answered softly.

“This is Nick Barrows. I’m just calling to see if there’s been any change in Victoria Ashton’s condition.”

“I was just in her room a few minutes ago to take her vitals, Mr. Barrows. Nurse Willoughby said Miss Ashton has had no episodes and her status hasn’t changed.”

“Thank you,” Nick muttered as he disconnected the call and collapsed back into his pillows.

Get a hold of yourself, Barrows. You’re letting that journal make you believe you used to be Nicholas Thornhill. It’s all power of suggestion.

“No, there’s something else happening here,” he said softly to himself. “Coincidence is one thing, but my feelings for Victoria Ashton are real.”

Then accept the fact you were Nicholas Thornhill. Accept that you and your wife Victoria had a son named Andrew.
The idea of embracing such a notion threatened to set his ordered existence in complete disarray. Ignoring his inner voice, Nick viciously punched at his pillows as he tried to fall sleep again. As he dosed off he heard his sister’s voice quietly chastising him.
Everything is a leap of faith, Nick. Everything.

August 1898

N
icholas walked up the steps of Guildford House as a sense of foreboding fell over him. He’d only been gone from Victoria and the baby for little more than two weeks, and yet he’d never been so lonely in his entire life. If it weren’t for the fact that Reardon had suddenly surfaced last week, he would have been home by now. But it was the first time Reardon had been seen since the man had threatened Victoria in December. Even more frustrating, the man had disappeared again, and it had been five days now since the man was last seen.

He opened the front door of the townhouse and heard the sound of a carriage clattering wildly up the street. He glanced over his shoulder and frowned at the reckless driving of the man at the reins. About to step over the door’s threshold, he halted as he heard Mickey call out to him. He instantly turned around with a sinking heart.

“It’s her ladyship, my lord. Someone’s kidnapped her and Master Edmund.”

Mickey’s words sucked the air out of Nicholas’ lungs as he stared at the boy. Unable to move, his brain shut down. He shook his head slowly as he struggled to comprehend what was happening. The boy stared up at him with a look of shocked horror on his face.

“Jacobs tried to save them, but the criminals shot him.”

“When did this happen?” Nicholas choked out as his brain slowly began to function again.

“They’ve been gone more than six hours, my lord,” the stable hand said in a worried voice. “Jamieson sent me to catch the first train to London to fetch you back to Brentwood Park.”

Nicholas nodded then urged the boy into the house and off to the kitchen to get something to drink. As Mickey disappeared down the hall leading to the back of the house, Nicholas tried to form a plan of action. For the first time in his life, he didn’t know how. He’d always been able to act without thinking, but now his brain was paralyzed.

Someone had taken Victoria and Edmund. No, not someone, Reardon. He had no proof, only the conviction born of instinct. Fury, with the intensity of a black storm, welled up inside him. Rage was good. He could use that to keep him focused and driven until he found Victoria and his brother.

Nicholas dropped his hat and cane on the entryway table and shouted for Roberts. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw someone in the doorway of the salon. He turned his head to see Eleanor at the entrance to the salon. Her connection to Reardon had been strengthened over the last few months as investigators had uncovered a larger network of anarchists with Eleanor being the primary source of financing.

The only reason Sir Kenelm hadn’t ordered her arrest was because they’d failed to capture Reardon yet. Sebastian and he had determined the book Reardon believed Victoria possessed was either a listing of the man’s activities or his contacts. Either way, the book was valuable, and if Reardon thought hurting Victoria would get him what he wanted, Nicholas knew the man wouldn’t hesitate to do just that.

“Why are you here, my lady?” he ground out fiercely.

“Oh, please, Nicholas, do not be so cold to me,” she said in a voice that echoed with a note of hysteria.

“What do you want, Eleanor?”

“I…I am sorry,
mon cher
, I could not think of what else to do. I had to come warn you.” Her rambling irritated Nicholas and he turned his head to shout for Roberts before turning back to the duchess who was still speaking in disjointed phrases.

“What is it you wish to warn me about, Eleanor?” he asked impatiently.