Belmary House Book One (31 page)

She was pleasantly sleepy and warm in his arms, and curled around him so he wouldn’t get the foolishly proper idea to go back to his own room. He pushed her sweat dampened hair off her face and affectionately kissed her nose before settling in beside her.

“Ashford?” she asked after they lay in comfortable silence for a while, settling back into their own rhythms.

He grumbled, probably at her calling him Ashford again, but she needed him to take her seriously now. She hugged him tighter for a moment before continuing in her firmest voice.

“You know what’ll happen if you try to go to France without me, right?”

He easily broke out of her embrace and got up on his elbow to look down at her. She was sure he thought he looked plenty ferocious, but she had right on her side. There was no way in hell he could possibly leave her behind now. His fierce glare broke after the merest second and he collapsed back beside her, pulling her snugly into the crook of his arm.

“Aye, Matilda, I know. But you needn’t waste your time threatening me with murder, as I think it would kill me faster to leave you behind.” He dropped a kiss on top of her head and sighed. “God help us both, but you can come with me.”

So surprised at his acquiescence, she didn’t have a thing to say in response. His steady, slow breathing told her he’d already drifted off to sleep. She carefully pulled the covers over them both, falling asleep easily herself for the first time since she’d lost her job, which seemed like something from someone else’s life.

Ashford looked grimmer than usual, dark circles rimming his eyes and his skin pale from lack of sleep. He was a completely different man from the one who’d left her bedside a few short hours ago, when he’d slipped away before dawn to keep her reputation intact.

She had been filled with nothing but impatient agony as she let Nora wrestle her into her day dress, and it was all she could do to sit still while she visited with Serena. She was certain the glorious night before had to be written all over her face and she’d get called on her wantonness, but Serena was sullen and fidgety, finally sending Tilly off with a half-hearted apology for her bad mood and assurances that she felt much better. Tilly felt mildly guilty at how speedily she raced from the sickroom, but she ached to lay eyes on Ashford again. Even two hours felt like she was being torn to pieces.

Now he was a mess, and as soon as Tilly saw him, she put down her breakfast plate and nodded toward the window, heading that way for a bit of privacy. He followed her and held out a slip of paper.

“I received this from Adkins, one of my solicitor’s lads who uses the portal on occasion.”

“You let a kid go through the portal?” she asked, aghast at how calmly he delivered that news.

He closed his eyes, clearly wanting to get on with the important points and not be interrupted.

“He’s not a ‘kid’ as you say, he’s probably only a year or two younger than you are. It’s rare that he goes through, but he’s quite adept and some time ago I thought it might behoove me to have a reliable backup. Someone who not only knows about it, but can do it as well. He has an exact copy of my schedule and I trust him completely.”

“Oh. What did he write?” She took his hand with a backward glance at the dining table.

Kostya ate his breakfast with his nose in a ledger, unaware of their presence. Tilly smiled shyly as Ashford laced his fingers with hers, and wished their first morning together after such a wonderful night could be less fraught with worrisome news.

When she looked up at him, his eyes had softened and a hint of a smile tried to reach his lips, but he shook his head.

“It’s not working. Two of the most recent openings never happened. It may just be more of Wodge’s malevolent dickerings, but I of course, fear the worst.”

She swallowed hard, any appetite destroyed, and the smell of the bacon which had tempted her only moments before now made her want to run from the room.

“The house,” she whispered raggedly.

Had the house been demolished after all? She thought for sure they had more time. A week, at least. She didn’t know how there would be any recovery from that, if events could actually be changed.

The devastation she imagined Dex and Emma must feel seemed far away. She could no longer work up a bit of empathy for them. Dex would have to explain to her mother, Emma would be trapped forever as well. The only thing that kept her upright was Ashford’s hand tightly holding hers. As much as she’d wanted to stay forever in his arms the night before, how could it really be possible? Her life was somewhere, some time else.

Ashford gripped her other hand. “Look at me, Matilda,” he said. Without thought, she lifted her eyes to his and felt calmer, more sturdy on her trembling legs. “Don’t think about the house right now. We won’t wait any longer. We’ll leave immediately for France and find Camilla. Camilla will be able to get you home.”

She nodded, and he led her away, throwing out an excuse to Kostya. She followed him blindly until he dropped her off at her room, barking orders to Nora to pack. An hour later, they were on their way to the port, Ashford explaining it would be quicker to make the entire journey by ship rather than travel overland to London first.

“It would be safer if I sent you back to Belmary House,” he said, while they waited for Duncan to book them the first available passage.

Even as he said it, he linked his arm with hers and pulled her closer to him. She snuggled in, not bothering to reply, knowing there was no way she’d go back, even if he tried to send her.

Solomon Wodge needed money, and a lot of it.

He’d never given it much thought before now, always having what he needed, nothing more or less. It felt like a waste of time, gathering all the information he could about how people made money, and it seemed in order to get a large sum, one needed luck and time. He had more time than he could ever use, and with that, he would make his own luck.

He cleared a space on the hotel room desk, looking at his surroundings for the first time since he’d checked in. It was a nice enough place, had one of those small square ice boxes full of chocolate and alcohol, two things he had no use for. The view was why he’d chosen the room.

The year was 1973 and from his room, he could look across the city to see Belmary House, now owned by one of the most worthless of the Ashford line. He would stay here a short time, make some investments, and toy with the hapless gambler a bit before jumping ahead to reap the rewards in the future.

He had a massive stack of newspapers from the current day all the way up until the time he’d found out his father had been, the time that Belmary House was set for demolition. He’d spoken to a witch, living her life as some two-bit psychic, using her magic to read people, then selling them their thoughts. It sickened him, but she was mostly harmless, and while he firmly believed the only good witch was a dead witch, he let her live because she was useful to him for now.

It seemed his father had been nosing around the house, but for what purpose, the witch swore she didn’t know. She also said a young woman had given a fantastical tale of being transported from another time and was afraid she wouldn’t be able to get back if the house was destroyed.

Wodge wasn’t yet sure how that information could help him, but he liked having it. Any information could end up being useful. Looking at the newspapers with distaste, he decided to have a little something to eat after all, perhaps one of the tiny bottles of vodka as well. He took a notebook and a pencil and began laboriously scanning the forty-some years of stocks pages in front of him, ready to become quite rich.

***

Dexter carefully placed his hand on Emma’s shoulder, hating to wake her up, but half dead himself, he needed to go home or risk falling asleep at her apartment. He wondered what would happen if he just turned off the weak overhead light and put his head down alongside her on the small kitchen table. They’d both wake up in the morning with stiff necks and even worse outlooks than they had now.

With less than a week until the demolition date, neither one of them would admit defeat out loud, but if anyone knew how to to time travel without the use of the mysterious portal in Belmary House, those people had never taken the time to write it down. At least not in any of the countless books they’d made themselves half blind reading.

When Emma looked up at him, his heart ached at the sight of her. Her usually sleek hair was smashed to her cheek on one side, a frazzled mess on the other. She made no effort to straighten it, but merely blinked at him with empty eyes that were shadowed with deep dark crescents. She had a crease near her jaw where she’d fallen asleep on her notebook edge and he longed to stroke it away with his fingertips.

Her sadness increased every day, though she tried valiantly to hide it with manic studying and frantic lobbying to save the house. While it seemed countless people were outraged that Belmary House was set to be torn down for a crass shopping center, no one would reach into their pockets to save it.

“How much sleep are you getting?” he asked worriedly.

She didn’t look well at all and he worried if the house did end up getting wrecked, she’d crumble right along with it.

“How long was I asleep just now?” she said, brushing off his worry as usual. She stood up and stretched, shaking out her neck and peering blearily at her watch. “You should probably go, it’s well after three.”

“Yes, I woke you to tell you I was leaving. You’ll go to bed when I’m gone? I could make you some toast or something before I go.”

“Yes, I’ll go to bed, and no, I couldn’t eat a thing.”

She put both her hands on the backs of his shoulders and pushed him toward the door, stumbling over a pile of discarded books.

He noticed her determined face falter a moment and he looked around at all the stacks of books they’d already gone through, all completely devoid of helpful information. The thought of continuing on in what was sure to be fruitless busywork made his resolve shrivel, and he could only imagine how destitute she felt.

At the door, she stood on her toes and ruffled his hair, an unprecedented act of affection, and for some reason, instead of making him happy, it struck a note of fear in him. When he really looked at Emma these last few days, there seemed nothing left of her, just her outer shell carrying on as if pre-programmed to do so. Without thinking it through, he leaned down and kissed her gently on the mouth.

“Let me stay, Emma,” he beseeched. “I’ll keep reading while you sleep. I don’t believe you’re going to sleep if I go.”

She pressed her thumb wonderingly to her bottom lip and he thought he might have seen a small spark trying to kindle behind her eyes, but it was quickly extinguished by her exhaustion.

“You’re such an angel, Dexter, but you have to be at work in five hours, remember?” She crossed her heart and smiled. “I solemnly swear I’ll go straight to bed the moment you leave.”

He knew better than to argue, already probably on thin ice after his reckless kiss. She hadn’t smacked him, though she hadn’t responded either. He wished he had lingered a bit instead of pecking her like a six year old nephew. He couldn’t make his feet cross the threshold and he stood rooted, searching her eyes for any sort of feeling.

“This is exhaustion,” she muttered. “I’ll surely pay for this.”

To his great surprise, she grabbed his collar and pulled him down for another kiss, deep and full of passion. All of his tiredness was gone when her lips touched his, her tongue darting into his mouth, her hands clinging to his shirt.

His head was empty and storming with thoughts at the same time. He’d been waiting for this, dreaming about it since the first time he’d met her. He felt cracked down the center, not wanting her to ever leave him, but knowing how miserable she’d be if she had to stay. He knew he’d never get enough of her, and that it would kill him to have to give her up, but he would take the pain over missing out on this moment.

She had to know how he felt about her, no matter how cool he’d tried to be over the last weeks, he was positive it was plain to anyone who had eyes. Whatever the reason she was kissing him now, he didn’t care, he only wanted more. The second he slid his hands around her waist, she jumped back, shaking her head.

“I’m so sorry,” she said breathlessly. “Let’s not— that was a mistake. I’m sorry.” She shoved him out the door and closed it firmly in his face.

“I’m not sorry,” he said to the painted metal door.

He thought he heard her sigh on the other side of it, and resolutely headed home, knowing he had to start all over again in a few hours.

***

Emma leaned against the door, too tired to berate herself much. She was a fool for kissing Dex, that was a given, but she didn’t have the energy to fight his sweet longing looks anymore. She’d stopped thinking of him as a kid, or as her subordinate, weeks ago, as he’d continued to step up and never faltered in his resolve to help her find answers to her bizarre problem.

Of course, he had his cousin to think about as well, and she knew he was desperate to get Tilly back, but she could tell he liked her, and if she hadn’t been on the brink of a nervous breakdown, she would have liked him back, age difference be damned.

She got the confused, fuzzy feeling she often got when she tried to reconcile her life in this time and her proper time. If the real her was only eighteen, then Dexter was actually older than her. But which was the real her? The one that belonged in this time, or the one who was a visitor, an interloper? The fact that she existed at all perplexed her these days, as it didn’t make any sense. How could she stand outside her old house and look at her old self, her infant daughter who should have been eleven years old, and not implode or disappear?