Her smile was faint, but it was real. I’d take it for now. And once I had food in my stomach, I’d think of our next steps. In the meantime, my mates were safe and by my side.
And no one in this time or any other would take them from me.
Chapter
Fourteen
ALBIE
We sat at the small, round table in the suite with the remains of an excellent meal spread before us.
Late morning sun poured through the window, warming the already comfortable room. Our new clothes hung in the armoire. The humans who worked in the hotel had brought dresses for Portia and dark suits for Tavish and me. It hadn’t taken much effort to persuade them to accept my thanks as payment instead of coin.
The bathing chamber, which Portia called a “bathroom,” had been an extraordinary experience. Hot water flowed from a pump and filled the tub in minutes. No hauling buckets. No waiting for water to heat over a fire. Just twist a valve, and steaming water appeared.
We’d each taken a turn, then I’d helped Portia comb the tangles from her wet hair. The moment I finished, Tavish plopped into the nearest chair and presented his back.
“Now do me.”
Laughing, I’d obliged him, combing his long, dark waves under Portia’s watchful stare. Her lips had parted slightly, andher breathing had gone shallow. I might have lingered over the task longer than strictly necessary, plying the comb slowly while she tracked every movement.
Aye, my female liked to watch. She’d proven that already.
I shifted in my seat now, my cock stirring under my dressing gown. Tavish wore a matching garment, the soft, thick fabric lined with silk. Portia’s cream-colored dressing gown was thinner and more feminine, the lapels framing a matching nightgown tied with a thin blue bow.
Gods, that bow.
It sat just above her breasts, the pretty loops begging to be untied. One tug, and the whole thing would come undone. Those loops had tormented me since the moment she’d emerged from the bathroom blotting the ends of her hair with a fluffy white towel.
“The food was decent,” Tavish said, pushing away his empty plate.
I hid a smile. The food had been amazing, the bread soft as a sigh and the potatoes and chicken accompanied by rich sauces that tasted of herbs and wine. But Tavish would never admit another cook could match him.
“Just decent?” Portia asked, a knowing look in her eyes.
“Aye.” Tavish leaned back in his chair, his dressing gown gaping to show his tattoos. “Better than going hungry.”
“You ate three helpings.” She pointed to her plate. “And half of my chicken.”
“I need my strength.”
She snorted, and her smile warmed me as much as the sun spreading over the table. It was her first real smile since we’d killed the vampire.
As much as I wanted to avoid discussing what came next, none of us could put it off.
“We need to decide if we want to try the chronomancer’s spell again,” I said quietly.
Portia’s smile faded, and she looked toward the bedside table where she’d stashed the velvet bag. “I don’t have a choice. The 1920s are better than medieval England, but I don’t want to live here.”
Tavish poured himself whiskey from a crystal decanter with a stopper crowned with a fat finial. The amber liquid caught the light as it splashed into his glass. “We should get some sleep before we open that bag again,” he said, replacing the stopper.
I nodded. “We’re all tired. And this is a safe place to rest while we can.”
Portia chewed her bottom lip for a second. “Okay. We’ll sleep for a few hours and then try the spell again tonight.” She looked at me. “What if you’re right, and I’msupposedto interfere?”
I pushed my spectacles higher. “That’s the crux of it, isn’t it? If you’re meant to change certain events, how do we determine which ones?”
“And if that’s true,” she said, “why would the chronomancer warn me not to interfere?”
