Chapter Five
Okay, Michael thought,his back pressed against the opposite wall, facing her room. This had gone on long enough. It had to end. He wanted to go home. Did he truly want to? For what? A gun in his mouth every morning? Memories he wished would die just like everything else in his life? Maybe being here wasn’t the worst thing that could have happened.
He watched Miss Whimsey’s bedroom door open. It felt as if his guts dropped to his feet.
Maybe going back to the future wasn’tthatimportant. He had a place to sleep at night here. And her to keep an eye on. He also had an offer from the judge to begin keeping law and order in Croydon. The duke must have decided that no one else would do it except this crazy guy. And Michael took the job.
“What do you think you are doing in front of my door?” she inquired with a stiff smile. Like all the others. A few locks of her dark hair dangled around her face.
“It’s…it’s, uh…the hour is late.” He hoped to sound like he came from around here. Then again, it didn’t really matter. He looked her over. She’d changed her clothes and wore a fresh riding habit. “Are you going out?”
Her gaze sizzled on him. “Not anymore!”
She slammed the door shut. The sound of it echoed off the walls. Michael gave the door a little smile. It opened again. She appeared a second time and gave him a dark glare.
“I do not know what you want or why you came here. Stay away from me. Leave while my father sleeps and I will not have the halls swarming with men who want to see you dead.”
“I’m not leaving until you hand over my gun and badge.” He realized he didn’t need those things here. His gun would be useless the instant he ran out of bullets. But she didn’t know that.
Her smile remained, so well-practiced was it. “I assure you, Investigator, if I had your gun, I would shoot you with it.”
He wanted to smile. Were all the women in the eighteenth century this bold? Not that he believed he was in the eighteenth century. He didn’t know what he believed. But he wasn’t interested in Charlotte Whimsey. The last thing he needed in his life was a woman. He could use a drink though. He hadn’t gone to sleep without being drunk in a long time. He doubted he’d get any sleep tonight. It was just as well. He had a feeling Miss Whimsey was going to try to leave the house without him.
He didn’t really care where she went. He simply didn’t want to lose her father’s trust. He liked the Duke of Croydon, Judge of the High Court. Astonishingly, the duke believed him about the future and trusted him with his daughter. He was either a very good judge of character or he was a fool.
Michael appreciated having someone to tell. John the doorman/butler seemed to believe him, too. Michael had him swear he wouldn’t tell Miss Whimsey. The less people who thought him crazy, the better.
But for a man who didn’t consider himself crazy, here he was, standing in front of the door of the most beautiful woman he’d ever met, in her manor house in the eighteenth century. “Go to bed…my lady.”
“I will not be told what to do by a man I do not even know.” She took a step forward to leave the room. He reached his arm across the doorway, blocking her exit.
“Go to bed,” he warned in a low voice, leaning toward her ear, “or I’ll take you there myself.”
For a moment, he actually thought she’d hold out. No one ever had before. When he warned that he’d do something, he was known to do it. But he wasn’t known here.
For an unnerving moment, she looked as if she would leap at his throat. But her resolve faltered when he didn’t look away, and just an instant before he was about to make good on his threat and carry her to her bed, she spun on her heel and stormed away, kicking the door shut behind her.
Michael stared at the wood, a half-inch from his nose. She was a wild one. He shrugged his shoulders and sat on the floor. He knew she was going to try to leave without him. Well, not tonight, sweetheart. He doubted he’d sleep. But if he did, he wanted to make sure he blocked her path. He stretched his legs out before him, across the threshold of her door.
He realized he hadn’t thought about his past or any of his partners since he got here. It was kind of nice. He felt himself relaxing. His eyelids were heavy. He sat up and leaned his back against the door. How was he so tired? Time traveling really took it out of a person. Time travel. It was all so…
*
Charlotte pressed herear to the door. She heard a snore on the other side. No! He was asleep against her door? The rat! He was clever and she hated him for it. Pity his back would ache him in the morning for nothing. She hurried to the chest of drawers set against the east wall and pushed it aside. The small door on the other side gave her second thoughts about doing what she planned on doing. She’d never had to sneak out this way.
The tunnel had been built long before her family moved in. There were others throughout the house. Her father knew of one. Old John knew of this one and three others. There were cobwebs around the door, and it looked significantly smaller than she remembered. She’d never make it crawling on her skirts, so she changed quickly into her breeches and boots. She didn’t like squeezing through small spaces and she cursed Detective Pendridge because she had to do it thanks to him. She wasn’t about to be “watched” by anyone! She was a grown woman! She understood why her father assigned her a guardian. She knew she was trouble, but it was just like her father to hire someone else to handle his daughter.
Well, not this time. She took one of her lanterns and opened the door to the secret passageway. She’d been inside twice when she was a child with her cousin, Reggie. But she was much smaller then. She climbed inside and said a prayer. No insects, Lord. Just…do not…let there be…any insects. Something scurried by her! She stomped her feet and made loud noises letting all the crawlers know she was coming, and would they stay out of the way until she passed? She wanted to run but she had to control her air else she would lose it all. She couldn’t let fear overtake her. Preston taught her that fear would slow her down, dull her senses, get her killed.
She thought of anything else to keep her mind off how long the passageway was and when she would breathe fresh air again. Anything like the glittering sapphire blue of Investigator Michael Pendridge’s eyes, or the way they looked at her, like she affected him, and he did all he could to hide it. Or she was completely wrong and the detached nonchalance he showed her was genuine. One thing she knew for certain, her tears didn’t affect him. He was probably going to hate her after this but what did she care? She’d prove to her father that this man was incompetent and unable to control her, just as Aunt Louise would be. She would only stop if her father sent her to France. Oui! That was where she wanted to be sent. Away from Preston. Away from her family. Away from Investigator Pendridge. Would her father do it? Would he let her go to France…or Italy…or anywhere but here?
Would she make it out of the passageway alive?
Finally, she smelled fresher air. It wasn’t completely pleasant to the nostrils, but it was better than nothing. She hurried forward and climbed a small ladder to a door much like the one in her room. She pushed it upward and open, knowing what was on the other side. She climbed out into a shed about a half-mile from the house.
She looked around. She hadn’t been here in years. She thought about what to do next. She actually wanted to be found. She would smile triumphantly. Sleep outside her door, will you? She wondered if she should try to walk back to the stables and ride to Preston’s. The way things were going for her, Pendridge would track her down and tell her father where she was going and who she was seeing. Her father didn’t like Preston. He knew about some of Preston’s criminal activity, but he had proof of nothing. He’d likely tell all to his new friend, the investigator.
No. She had to stay away from Preston for a few days.
