TemptressofTime (6 page)

She believed it now.

Maybe because Adrian seemed so intent on pleasing her. Every
moan of pleasure from her brought a concerned look from him. Soon, however, he
seemed to realize her groans were ones of bliss, that he wasn’t hurting her at
all. Far from it. Every stroke of his calloused hands swept away more of her
tension. Every press of his fingers sent awareness of her needy body parts
soaring through her mind.

He watched her, those Caribbean-blue eyes taking in her
every expression. In moments he learned which strokes eased her and what
pressures aroused her almost to the point of orgasm.

Almost.

Looking into her eyes, mesmerizing her, he kept her on the
sharp edge of bliss. Then finally, he let her slide, boneless, into oblivion.

She awoke when her outer door crashed against the stone
wall. Groggy, yet with adrenaline racing to all her extremities, she sprang
from the bed. Realizing she was naked, she groped for the chainse she’d worn
yesterday but couldn’t find it. Forced to settle for what lay within arm’s
reach, she grabbed at the sheet on her bed.

Walker Mornay, Duke de Beaumont, leaned against the
doorjamb, a frown on his face, an unholy gleam in his devil-dark eyes.

Ignoring him, she gave a frantic jerk on the sheet and
wrapped it around her. A muffled groan came from the man in her bed, his head
buried under a pillow. A very naked man who now rolled to his back, his morning
erection waving at her and the duke as if inviting them to lie down with its
owner. A blush, sudden and unexpected, heated her face. Feeling like a teenager
who’d never seen a penis, she gazed at her feet.

Or was the heat fury at finding Adrian in her bed? Had he
massaged her feet with the idea of lulling her to sleep? Had his consideration
been nothing more than a ploy so someone would discover them together? Why she
had imagined besting Adrian at his own game, when the game was someone else’s?

Someone?

Hell no, the devil duke himself had no doubt plotted the
entire scene.

“I thought I might find you here, Adrian.”

“Well,
I
didn’t!” Diane snapped, gritting her teeth
to hold back shouts of protest. “And if you think to force me to marry your
friend,” she directed her vitriol at Walker, “think again.”

“I have no intention of forcing you to do anything,” Walker
said, his voice slick.

She imagined oil on water, the oil so thick nothing could
escape it. Snorting her disbelief, she saw her chainse on the floor, scooped it
up then strode to the connecting door to the garderobe. Walker’s voice made her
trip. Stumbling to a halt, she willed her ears to block his words. She failed.

“You shall repeat your vows gladly. Renew them with joy for
your husband’s people. After all, having lost their lord, they deserve a reason
to celebrate. Adrian is beloved here, so you shall pledge yourself to him. Of
your own free will. Won’t you, my lady…witch?”

Her knees shaking, her breathing like desperate gasps, she
refused to acknowledge his threat. She didn’t have to. The devil duke knew he
had her, capturing her with a single word. A word given to him by his minion
and her future husband, Adrian de Vesay.

* * * * *

She ate even less than she had at her first wedding feast.
At least her new husband’s people seemed gladder…umm, more glad?
Happier
than her people had—even though she’d left them and whatever resentment of her
they held. They might have cheered her departure as they hadn’t cheered Walker
Mornay’s toast to the bride. Tonight, however, she did drink more wine. And
enjoyed it too, silently applauding its oak aroma, its subtle fruity flavor.
Emptying a jeweled cup, she held it up for a footman to refill.

To her right, in a place of honor, the duke shook his head
and covered her cup with his hand. Ignoring her glare, he gripped her arm and
drew her to her feet.

“It is time, milady, for you to retire. Your husband will
soon join you.”

“What about you, milord? Will you also join me? Us?” Pulling
free, she swayed a little but steadied when he glared at her.

Unscathed, he rallied. “Do not tempt me, Diane. Do so at
your peril for, although I cherish Adrian’s friendship, it is not so great as
to keep me from what I want.”

Baring her teeth, she murmured, “Touch me again and I’ll
stuff your balls down your throat and pray you choke on them.”

Instead of looking shocked by her threat, he seemed amused.
“After I have filled your juicy quim, I shall not mind,” he said, the truth of
his words shining from his eyes.

She tried to ignore her
quim
tightening with
excitement rather than dread. With a disdainful sniff, she turned her back on
him.

The Days led her away, moving gracefully despite their
collective bulk. All were near term, all but one expecting her second child by
Arnaud de Vesay. Just looking at their swollen bellies renewed her outrage at
the man responsible—dead or not. He hadn’t cared enough about these women or
his own children to stay safe and come home.

Upon reaching her rooms, the Days reintroduced themselves
and chatted about their children as they removed her clothes. She felt dazed,
as if all this were happening to someone else. When Marget, the woman she’d
seen at the cottage, slid a gown so sheer it hid nothing over Diane’s head, she
gripped the woman’s wrists and clung to the only solid object she could reach.

“Do not worry, m’lady,” Marget soothed, guiding Diane to the
wooden chest at the foot of the bed. “It may hurt a bit at first, but if Adrian
is as skilled a lover as Arnaud…” Seeming truly upset by saying her dead
lover’s name, she gulped a breath. “You shall find great pleasure.”

“Arnaud,” said the youngest-looking Day—Taite, if Diane
remembered correctly, “was hung like a bull.”

“A stallion,” Fenella contradicted, then giggled. The rest
of the Days—Wilda, Tully and Suma—joined in the laughter.

A gentle smile on her face, Marget pressed Diane to sit on
the chest and began to comb out her now-unbraided hair.

Bemused, Diane said, “It’s not the size of Adrian’s sword so
much as how he’ll wield it.” The sudden silence had her scrambling for a reason
she might know such a thing. “Or so I’ve heard.”

Hellfire and damnation!
She had no idea if she was
still a virgin in this life or not. And if not, would Adrian notice? And if he
noticed, would he throw her out? And if he did toss her out, would he at least
pleasure her first?

Her jumbled thoughts made her laugh out loud. The Days
looked puzzled but smiled as they continued preparing her and the bed for
Adrian’s arrival. Inhaling, she caught the faint aromas of cloves and nutmeg
rising from the bed along with rosemary-scented rushes strewn over the floor.
Believing them infested with vermin and nest-building rats no matter how fresh,
she would have forgone the rushes. Perhaps once the Days left she could gather
them up and dump them…where? Down the privy hole, where no amount of water
would carry them away? Where the rotten stench would blend with that of shit
and—

On the verge of hysterics, she bent over her knees. Her hair
drooped all around her, reminding her of all the trouble the Days had gone to
trying to make her presentable for her husband.

Straightening, she swept her hair back over her shoulders
and gave Marget an apologetic smile. “Sorry.”

“No reason to apologize, m’lady. You are nervous—as were we
all the first time.” Drawing the comb through Diane’s hair one last time, she
added, “There now. A more beautiful a bride a man could never hope to find in
his bed.”

“Thank you,” Diane mumbled.

“It is we who thank you. Allowing us to return to the castle
and bring our children with us. We had heard such awful—” Her face red, Marget
squeezed Diane’s shoulder, an apology of sorts. “We did not expect such
kindness, such compassion.”

Having seen wariness bordering on hatred on her own people’s
faces, grateful tears filled Diane’s eyes. Not that those other people were
hers. But these women seemed genuinely grateful for an act that had cost her so
little yet brought them such happiness… Nodding, smiling through her tears, she
swiped them away.

The Days took their leave. Marget held out a linen square.
Taking it, Diane dabbed her cheeks as an odd sense of peace settled over her.

Perhaps bringing the Days back to the castle was why she was
here. Now. Perhaps she had needed to learn that kindness and compassion needn’t
happen on a grand scale like…oh, donating all her royalties to charity. The
realization felt like an “ah-ha!” moment. It also felt right. Had some power
sent her here so she could learn how to be a better person? Nothing else fit or
made any kind of sense. Seizing the excuse as if it were her sole lifeline, she
wanted to do a Snoopy dance, but stayed seated.

A soft laugh bubbled in her chest. Not that her royalties
were all that much. But they gave her a comfortable life. Her old life. Would
she ever return to it?

Laughter, deep and loud, alerted her to Adrian’s approach.
She forced herself to stand, considered climbing into bed and pretending to
sleep but stood her ground instead. Sooner or later he would have to learn that
she would take her place at his side, not behind him like some page carrying
his master’s sword.

When the door crashed open, however, she took a startled
step backward. There Adrian stood, silhouetted by torchlight, clad only in his
slops and one sagging long hose.

Afraid he was drunk, she focused on his face. A little
flushed, true, but his eyes were clear and intent upon her breasts. Just that
narrow concentration sent heat to her pussy and pearled her already aching
nipples.

Dear God
, it had been so long since a man had held
her, made love to her. The need coursing through her weakened her knees. Only
the thought that she would be having sex with another woman’s husband kept her
upright. Upright and sidestepping to the garderobe door.

“Get into bed, milord. I’ll join you soon.”

“Hurry.”

Her lungs felt too empty, her legs too weak. Somehow she
found the strength to slip through the door then close it behind her.

A piece of furniture that had not been there a few hours
earlier stood against the far wall. The frame was ornately curved iron. She
lifted the velvet cloth cover off the seat to peer inside. A removable brass
basin rested within. With some trepidation she lowered the lid, restored the
velvet cloth then plopped down. Ignoring thoughts of time slipping away, she
considered the man in her bed growing more impatient by the second. Her own
body seemed to share that impatience, which made thinking even more difficult.

Tough.
She had decisions to make. The most important
being whether to commit adultery or not. Sighing, she supposed sleeping with
Adrian, having sex with Adrian, wasn’t adultery. After all they had married a
few hours ago. But how would the real Diane de Vesay feel if she came back and
learned her husband had had sex with another woman? She wouldn’t like it at
all. But then her first husband had had six mistresses—women she’d booted out
without regret.

Her mixing her life with Diane de Vesay’s made her dizzy.
She forced herself to focus on the here and now. Like it or not, she might be
stuck here. Wouldn’t it be nicer—for her anyway—to share Adrian’s bed? Take
pleasure from his body?

What about Walker?

Tempting as she might find him, she refused to cuckold
Adrian. Decision made, she rose. She would go to her husband and be the best
wife she could be.

The room started to shake. Bracing herself on the fancy
latrine, she sent a panicked question heavenward.
Did I make the wrong
choice? Should I have run away or gone to a nunnery instead?

The latrine shook harder. Darkness swirled all around her.
Stifling her screams with her fist, she fought to remain conscious. The vortex
consumed her then swept her away.

* * * * *

I must have passed out
, she thought, regaining
consciousness. Stretching tentatively, she felt her heart stall then race on
like a rocket launching into outer space. Somehow she’d made it home, to the
exact place she’d left.

As she had that lifetime ago, she reached out, intending to
shut off her computer. Her flashing cursor demanded that she look at the
screen.

Large black letters flashed as well.

The End

Of what?

Chapter Six

Belleange, Yorkshire

Present day

Picking himself off the floor, Walker glared at Adrian.
“What the bloody hell just happened?”

Adrian righted himself in his chair. “How the bloody hell do
I know? Last thing I remember is getting into bed and waiting for Diane to join
me.” He supposed they’d had a rougher than usual ride through the vortex—a ride
neither he nor Walker had expected. Kronos playing games again or some other
Master toying with them?

“Then you didn’t…bed her?”

Amused by Walker’s oddly restrained phrasing, Adrian
laughed. “Not that I remember. Did you?”

Walker shot him an impatient look, then swore. “I see
Kronos’ hand in our sudden amnesia.”

Nice to have my suspicions validated
, Adrian thought.
“Why would he involve himself? Limit our recollection?”

“Because he can,” Walker snapped, striding to the sideboard
in Adrian’s ancestral office.

From medieval times to the present, earls and stewards
reviewed estate matters and went over accounts in this space. Nowadays the
massive desk housed a computer and printer. The sideboard contained the rewards
for work well done—brandy, gin and well-aged scotch. This close to the border
with Scotland, Adrian had established a tradition, making scotch his first
beverage when he returned home.

Walker handed him a glass half-filled with rich, amber
liquid. The peaty aroma made Adrian’s mouth water. The first sip went down as
smoothly as cold spring water on a hot summer day. Warmth spread from his belly
to his chest.

“Ahhh,” he sighed.

“We’re not where we started,” Walker said, his scowl blaming
Adrian for their displacement. “Not in the Lake District.” He seemed to need
confirmation, as if starting in one location and returning to another had never
before happened to him.

Knowing it had never happened to him, Adrian drew a breath
for courage, then said, “Do you remember any of what we just lived through? I
didn’t at the time, but now I seem to recall every minute. I had no idea who I
am…who we are. I was just Adrian de Vesay, medieval nobleman.” Besides, they
were where they’d been with Diane.

“In our previous missions, we were there to help others find
happiness. Any joy we found for ourselves was simply our…misfortune since none
of it lasted. For us, at any rate. Do you think Diane is the woman we are
destined… No. Not that harridan.” Raking his hands through his hair, he paced
the room.

Resisting the urge to contradict his mentor, Adrian held his
tongue. He had few doubts that Diane was indeed important to any future
happiness he and Walker might find. All they had to do was locate her and
convince her. And if modern Diane was anything like her medieval counterpart,
they had a devil of a time in store.

“Do you suppose…” Walker glanced at the computer, his
expression somewhere between hope and abhorrence. “Never mind.”

Knowing his friend had never gotten the hang of modern
technology—in fact seemed to consider it a form of witchcraft—Adrian insisted
Walker complete his thought. “Suppose, what?”

“That Diane is a guest here? Or is wandering about somewhere
on the grounds? After all,
we’re
here.”

Adrian snorted. “We don’t even know if she’s alive in this time,
let alone conveniently at hand.

“Thanks to Kronos!” Walker, heaving a heavy sigh, let his
gaze drift from the computer to Adrian then back. Taking the not-so-subtle
hint, Adrian sat at his desk then checked the guest list for
Adventures in
Time
—
Belleange
. His and Walker’s solution to maintaining their
ancestral estates had resulted in their becoming hoteliers.

“Not registered at any of our properties,” he reported,
noting Walker’s somewhat distressed look. “Doesn’t mean she isn’t somewhere
else.” He keyed her name into an internet search engine, leaning back as the
search wheel went ‘round and ‘round. Walker alternately hovered at his shoulder
or stared out the window.

Unwilling to believe her dead—Kronos would not have sent
them back to meet her if they would never meet her again…would he? Adrian said,
“What
do
you remember about her?”

“Aside from wanting to fuck her?” Walker flashed a brief
grin. “She wasn’t as horrible as I remembered. Once I remembered her at
all—which happened just as we arrived here. Once more, thanks to Kronos!” He
went on as if driven by forces outside himself. “I…almost
liked
her. I
had neither love nor respect for Arnaud. Given time, I would have persuaded
Diane to cuckold him and not regretted that betrayal for a moment. But you?
Without a blatant invitation from your wife…” He looked away, clearly
embarrassed by his confession. “Until now, even while living in the past, I
could remember
this
life.”

Needing to ease Walker’s embarrassment, Adrian offered his
own impressions. “Now that I can also remember her…she seemed more
compassionate. I never expected her to allow the Days to remain on Belleange
land. Bringing them and the children into the castle…” He shrugged.

“Surprised me too. I wish we could remember what happened
after we were all together.” With an uncharacteristic display of anxiety,
Walker raked one hand through his hair as he slumped against the window frame.

“Something else seemed different. That haughtiness I now
remember from our first time with her…this time it seemed as if she wanted to
hide her emotions. Whatever they were. I’d have expected her to…well, show more
jubilation at putting one over on us.” He looked at Walker for confirmation.
“Especially since that’s what we intended to do to her—take her down a peg or
two. Teach her humility.” This time, however, that hadn’t been part of their
plan. In truth, he couldn’t remember
having
a plan. Other than keeping
her dowry and taking her to bed.

“Yes. Almost as if she were afraid of us. Almost. Why would
she fear us?”

As if the repetition had reached into the computer and
demanded her presence, her name appeared on the screen. “Look at this,” Adrian
demanded, grateful he needn’t answer and tilting the screen so Walker could
see. “Diane de Bourgh, fifteenth century, eighteenth century and twenty-first
century.”

Walker stared at the screen. Adrian stared at the flashing
cursor and thought about tempting fate. A simple double click might reveal his
and Walker’s past lives with her—if they’d had any others than what they’d just
lived through. Or those other women might be someone else. He selected
twenty-first century and held his breath.

There she was—their Diane. Glasses perched on the end of her
nose, short curls rioting around her face, her smile almost reluctant, as if
the photographer had caught her off guard.

“Alive,” Walker muttered, somehow making the word sound
aggrieved.

“Real.” Adrian clicked on the link to her website. There
they were, he and Walker, on the cover of her upcoming historical romance
Noble
Warriors
.

Ever practical Walker said, “Did we get paid for this,” he
waved his hand at the computer, “photo? Sign releases?”

“Yes and yes. Surely you recall volunteering to donate to
cancer research. So why ask now?”

“Our faces. We’ll be the laughingstock of Parliament.”

“Only in the Commons. I doubt the Lords would admit their
wives and daughters read novels of that kind.”

Walker’s sudden grin startled Adrian, it was so rare. “Ah
but do
they
?”

Falling silent, they stared at the picture of Diane.

“Real and alive,” Adrian said at last, looking up at Walker.
“Do you want to meet her, here and now? Will it change our past? Maybe reveal
more of what we can’t remember?”

Walker shrugged. “I’ve never before relived one of my own
past lives. That I remember at any rate. The question is do we want to meet her
now?”

“Yes we do. Don’t deny it, my friend. I wouldn’t have
searched for her if you hadn’t made me.”

Walker cocked one eyebrow but didn’t correct him. “How do we
get her here?”

“The more reasonable approach would be for us to go to her
in the States.”

“There isn’t an address—not even a city where she lives. Her
publisher knows but is unlikely to tell us. An email might frighten her. She’d
never agree to meet strangers, even if she recognized our names and faces.”

“Okay, we need a plan.” Preferably one that would not
require flying or sailing across the pond. “One that will bring her to us.”

Sipping scotch, they once more lapsed into silence.

* * * * *

San Francisco, California

Present day

Ohmigod.

Sometime between being swept away and regaining
consciousness at home, she’d written a synopsis for a time travel story. Scary
as that was, she’d emailed the proposal to her editor and had already received
approval. And while she could recall every moment of her time in the twelfth
century, she could not remember typing anything about it.

Selective amnesia?
Or a sign of early dementia? Her
great-great-aunt Catherine had had that. Of course the old lady had only gone
dotty in her nineties. Still, one more thing for Diane to worry about.

Huffing out a sigh, she thought about calling her editor and
asking about the two men on her
Noble Warriors
cover. Upon further
consideration, she decided not to. No sense making Jackie think Diane had lost
her mind. She’d check out the internet first, ask Jackie for the models’ names
only if she couldn’t find the guys on her own.

Fingers poised over the keyboard, her brain froze. Which one
should she check out first? Walker or Adrian? de Vesay or Mornay? She swore to
herself and typed
Belleange
, not knowing why. Because it was a place and
might have fallen apart over the centuries? Hoping she wouldn’t find it at all
except as a footnote in some historic tome?

There it was. A breath-stealing structure that managed to
encompass all its parts. It began as a rather primitive, square-towered,
moat-surrounded medieval castle then became a Tudor-era manor house. Still
later someone had remodeled it into a graceful Georgian mansion. Yet it all
still stood. At least she could see pieces of its ancestry in the pictures on
the website. She could even take a virtual tour, book a room in any or all of
its historic periods.

Been there, done that. At least the oldest part of it.

Praying she could avoid another journey through time, she
clicked on the home page. There they were. Both tall, both too handsome for any
woman’s peace of mind. Even their names were the same. To her utter shock, her
book cover took up considerable space on the page, as did an explanation as to
how they’d been chosen for the cover. While other noblemen could trace their
ancestry back to the Tudors, theirs were documented all the way back to William
the Conqueror.

Diane gave a sniff of disbelief, knowing how fragile any
surviving documents were—if they even existed. Still, as reasons went for choosing
them… Hell, she would have chosen them no matter what. Cover hunks sold books.

Would they try to find her? Did she want them not only to
try but actually do it? Should she contact them?

She had the perfect reason. Thanking them for posing,
congratulating them for raising so much money for her cancer research project.
But what if they were married?

Where’d that idea come from? She didn’t want a
relationship…did she? Of course not.

Liar, liar, pants on fire.

That much rang true. Just looking at their picture on her
computer screen made her ache all over, especially her breasts and pussy.

Tempted to retrieve the printed copy of her book cover so
she could gaze at them for hours, she pushed away from her desk and headed for
her bathroom. She wanted a long, hot shower and refused to chance that cover
returning her to the past.

When—
if
—she ever met the men again she’d do it on her
terms, in her own time and place.

She had given herself four months to write her next novel.
That should keep her mind off those two.

How can it, dummy? The story’s all about them.

* * * * *

Five months later

Wow!
her editor had emailed after seeing some advance
reviews.
Don’t know what you did, but your writing sure improved, making the
wait worthwhile.

Diane grinned at her computer screen, a brief moment of
celebration for her latest release, the book about Diane de Vesay. Softened, of
course, to make her heroine likeable and heroic when she saved her husband’s
mistresses and their children from the fire set by the villainous Duke de
Beaumont. Why she’d cast Walker as the villain she had no idea. Perhaps because
he looked unscrupulous and wicked. More likely because he’d directed the
in
flagrante delicto
scenario with Adrian to force her to marry the earl. But
just as likely because he kept his emotions hidden. Emotions or secrets? A
mystery she would never solve unless she went back in time.

No way, no day.
One journey to the past would do her
for a lifetime.

Time to start on something new. Problem was Diane had no
idea what to write. She had never experienced writer’s block, didn’t know if
she had it now. But her muse had taken a hike just when Diane needed her most.
Damnation!
For all she knew, her muse had gone back to Belleange and was getting all the
sex Diane had missed.

When her doorbell rang, she almost jumped out of her skin.
Her heartbeat erratic, she took the envelope—complete with some sort of crest
and special delivery stamps that all but obliterated her name and address.

“Sign here,” the mailwoman told her, thrusting some
electronic thingy into Diane’s hands then staring intently as Diane scribbled
her name in the tiny box. Not that much of her name fit. And she really
disliked having to scribble when her handwriting was rather elegant and much
admired by the recipients of her Christmas cards. The postwoman took back the
device, looking from it to Diane as if comparing her face and signature.