Authors: Choices
Rachel Carrington (4 page)
Muttering a curse, he whipped around and crossed the room to sit down in the wing-backed chair to watch and wait. Patience never being one of his virtues, he crossed one stockinged leg over the other and then dropped his feet back to the floor, fidgeting endlessly.
“Your Grace?” Nettie stuck her head inside the bedroom. “Perhaps your lady would be more comfortable dressed in the proper attire to sleep.” In her hand, she waved a long, white sleeping gown.
“She can’t be expected to get a restful sleep in what she’s wearing.”
Sinclair’s gaze lingered on the woman’s clothing and he nodded abruptly. “You are probably right. You may help her change. I will wait in the hallway.”
Nettie, wearing a sly grin, slipped inside while Sinclair prowled outside the door.
He lifted his eyes toward the ceiling. “You will not take this one,” he warned.
Carla woke to sunlight kissing her face. Instinctively, she turned away from the warming rays, sinking deeper into the darkness afforded by the thick quilt, vainly trying to return to the comforting lull of sleep.
“One would think you were accustomed to sleeping away the better part of the day.” Although the man’s voice held amusement, Carla detected irritation as well. She frowned against the goose-down pillow. A man was in her bedroom. That definitely called for further investigation. Blinking sleepily, she rolled to her back and slung one arm across her eyes. “I’m dreaming.”
“You will be able to finish any visions when night falls again. For now, it is time to wake. The sun has been up for more than an hour.”
The deep voice washed away the last of Carla’s sluggishness and her eyes popped open, surprised, astonished and more than a little curious. “What in the hell are you doing in my bedroom?” The words fell away as clarity took hold. She wasn’t in her bedroom. Furthermore, she wasn’t home. She was lying in a strange bed, wearing an even stranger costume while a man with sexy black eyes watched her from across the room. And he had a body to go with those sexy eyes, a body which made her salivate. It had been a long time since she’d seen such tight pants on a man, but the black trousers cupped his crotch like a lover’s hand. Her twat began to hum.
The man folded his arms, drawing his white shirt tight against muscled forearms. Carla’s cleft began to sing. “It is morning.” His deep voice washed over her, bathing her in wicked sensations.
Debating between shock and disbelief, Carla picked a third option, anger. “That doesn’t answer my question. Okay, so maybe I’m not in my bedroom, but I have a right to know why you’re sitting across from me watching me sleep. Where I come from that’s considered rude.”
Dark eyebrows lifted aristocratically. “In my home, it is considered rude to question me…a punishable offense, even.” He spoke as a lord to a servant and while Carla’s body responded to the magnetic pull of his, her educated brain rebelled at his manner.
She dragged the quilt around her shaking body and scrambled to a sitting position. “Punishable offense?
What are you talking about? And why are you wearing that getup? For that part, why am I wearing this…” she tugged at the collar of the bedgown, “—sheet. God, how does anyone sleep in these things?”
Covered from neck to ankles, the garment shrouded her in white linen. The gathered neckline cinched her neck tightly and the sleeves reached almost to her fingertips, leaving little skin exposed.
“You may, of course, remove any clothing you feel is too constricting.” The man allowed this with a twitch of his lips while the heat of his gaze scorched her from neck to toes.
“Oh, I’d bet you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Who are you? And where in God’s name am I?”
“Your vernacular could use some improvement.” The sex god stood to his full, impressive height, bringing that marvelous bulge of his to Carla’s eye level. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am the Duke of Heath, known to my friends and close relatives as Sinclair, to acquaintances as Your Grace. You may call me whichever you feel most comfortable.”
Carla made a mental effort to close her mouth. She was dreaming. She had to be. It was impossible that she was sitting in a strange bedroom while a man told her that he was a full-titled Duke. His costume certainly befit a man in the latter nineteenth century. The thought brought her up short. The nineteenth century. Impossible. Her blood chilled slightly. Then, forgetting all about her nightdress, she flung herself off the bed and dashed from the bedroom.
“If you are looking for the library, you missed it. Back to your left.” The Duke now stood in the open doorway of the strange bedroom.
Carla skidded to a halt, pivoted and raced into the library. “The last thing I remember, I was reading a book on this sofa.” Her gaze fell to the settee. The book was gone. “Damn. Where is it? This is all some kind of joke, right? You’re not really here. I mean, you’re just in that costume because you’re going to some kind of party, right?” Even she heard the distress in her voice.
The black eyes blinked at her. “I can assure you that I am here. I am very real. Should I prove it to you?” His voice dipped a notch, oozing promise and heat.
Carla took a backward step, extending her hand as if to ward off any potential evil. Though it had been quite some time since she’d had sex, she recognized the gleam of desire in the man’s eyes. She tried not to snort aloud. Apparently, all men were alike. “I have a better idea. Why don’t you start from the beginning and tell me what’s going on?”
When he spoke, his voice was a stroking caress. “Perhaps you would like a dressing gown? I could have my housekeeper fetch one for you.”
She’d never known a man capable of seducing by speech alone. Determined to put her thoughts back in proper order, Carla clamped her hands on her hips and gritted her teeth. “What I would like is for you to answer my questions. Where am I and what am I doing here? And I’m warning you, I’m not going to take any bullshit from you. I want answers…preferably before I get hysterical.” Her nose wrinkled at the last bit. “I never get hysterical, but in this case—” her eyes swept around the room, “—I might make an exception.” She shot him another look. “Well?”
Apparently unaccustomed to being confronted in such a manner, the Duke’s shoulders stiffened. “You would do well to watch your tongue in my home.”
“Oh for the love of Pete…”
“Who is this Pete? You are close to him?”
Hysteria bubbled up inside her and tears pricked her eyes. She would not cry, but in all honesty, she had every reason to. Well, cry and panic. And judging by the tightness of her chest and the clammy feel of her hands, she knew panic was already taking root. “Would you just tell me where I am and what I’m doing here?” The last word ended an octave higher.
The Duke’s brows beetled together. “You are in my home, Heath Castle, and you are here because you came.”
Carla pulled in a deep, shaky breath. Now, for the most important question of all. She wasn’t sure she really wanted the answer. “What year is this?”
The Duke of Heath moved to her side, taking her elbow in his hand. “You should sit.”
“What year is this?” she bit out.
“1811.”
Carla’s head spun, her knees wobbled and she clutched at the sleeve of the Duke’s waistcoat. “This isn’t possible. This can’t be happening.” She pressed her fist against her mouth to keep from screaming aloud.
“I assure you that it is happening. It is to be expected that you would not accept the possibility that you are in my time, but you will grow accustomed to the fact. You will adapt.” Sinclair guided her toward the settee. “Sit. Nettie will bring some tea.” His hand closed around a small, brass bell that he rang with three short jerks of his wrist.
A woman Carla assumed was Nettie appeared as if by magic, wearing a full-length black gown, partially obscured by a white apron. She also wore a welcoming smile and her eyes twinkled. “Yes, Your Grace?”
“Bring the lady some tea, would you? She has had quite a shock.”
Carla leaped to her feet. “Tea? I don’t want fucking tea! I want to go home!”
Nettie gasped and scurried out of the room, making the sign of the cross.
“Remember your manners,” the Duke cautioned.
“Fuck manners! This isn’t possible. I…there’s no such thing as time travel. I was living in the year 2004.
Do you realize how far into the future that is for you? We have cars and trains and cellular phones and…” She broke off, her gaze whipping around the room. “That’s it! Where’s my purse?”
“If you’re referring to the bag you had attached to your arm, it was removed.”
“So where did you put it?”
“I did not remove it.”
Carla’s emotions bounced back and forth between fear and fury. “So who did? And where in the hell did they put it?” Any second now, she was going to start screaming.
Sinclair’s frown deepened. “I must call attention to your language once more. It is most unbecoming a lady.”
Carla paced the room like a caged animal, her disbelief wreaking havoc on her nerves. People did not simply traverse across time. This couldn’t be happening. Inspiration hit. “Jenny! Where’s Jenny?” Jenny could be logical at a time like this. Maybe.
“Your friend is not here. She is on the other side.”
“You make it sound like she’s dead!”
“I fear you are going to overwork yourself. Please calm down.”
“That’s easy for you to say! My friend very well could be dead and I’m trapped in some hell dimension!”
His jaw clenched. “Language.”
“Oh, it gets much better than this. And you won’t have to worry about me much longer because I won’t be here. However this happened, I’m going to fix it.”
“It is not broken.”
She stared at him blankly. “What are you talking about?” Her heart did a slow tumble. Surely, he wasn’t saying she couldn’t go back. No. Impossible. If there was a way in, there had to be a way out.
“You cannot fix what is not broken. You were brought here for a reason. The fates have chosen your destiny. You cannot fight your destiny.” Sinclair folded his arms across his massive chest and stood facing her, legs splayed, an enigmatic look on his face.
Carla stormed to the curtain and ripped them open, staring out into the early dawn. “This isn’t happening. Any moment now, I’m going to open my eyes and I’ll be back inside my condo.” She scrunched her eyes shut tightly for a brief second and when she opened them, dismay settled deep in the pit of her stomach. “This really is happening.” She whirled to face the Duke. “You did this, didn’t you?
You brought me here.”
“I have no control over your destiny.”
“This isn’t destiny! This is someone fucking around with my life. You can’t just yank someone out of their own century and expect them to fit in nicely with yours. It doesn’t work that way, Your Grace!”
Carla screamed with frustration.
“Perhaps I was wrong to wake you so soon. You seem agitated. Come. You will return to my bedchamber for additional sleep. Then, you may be of a better constitution.” His hand settled around her wrist and he proceeded to tug her from the room, but Carla dug in her heels at the doorway.
She pulled in several deep, restorative breaths. She needed answers and instincts told her she would get nowhere with fury. “Duke, whatever your name is, what is this destiny you were talking about? And how do you know my destiny?”
“All in good time. Do you have a name?”
Suddenly, she was very tired, but beyond the weariness, there was the bone-chilling fear. Fear that the man standing at her side was telling her the truth and she was stuck in another time, a place she did not belong with absolutely no idea how to get home. “Carla. My name is Carla Morgan.”
Sinclair wrapped his arm around her waist. “Nettie will bring the tea to my bedchamber, Carla Morgan.
You will rest some more.”
For once, Carla didn’t argue.
* * * * *
“Your mother is right. You had us very worried,” Baylor Morgan inserted his disapproval in his usual bored baritone. “I simply cannot overlook your avoidance of your responsibilities. You will be punished for this.”
“I am a grown woman!” Carla shouted, but no one was listening. Voices mingled with voices to drown out her protests.
“We were worried, Carla. You should have called. Even if he is a Duke. The man isn’t your family.
What are you doing there with him? Why don’t you come home?” Jenny stood in front of her, a worried look on her pixie face.
Carla pleaded with her friend to understand. “It wasn’t my choice. I was reading a book and then…”
But Jenny walked away, turning her back, ignoring her.
“No, please, you have to listen to me. I can’t get away. I’m stuck here in the nineteenth century. I can’t leave. Don’t you understand? I can’t leave.”
* * * * *
“You should wake now. It was only a dream.” The quiet, rumbling voice pulled Carla from the edges of the dream and tossed her back into a reality she still didn’t recognize.
She blinked up at the Duke. He sat beside her on the edge of the bed, his thigh bumping against her hip.
“I’m still here.”
He touched her arm to reassure her, but the sensation only brought another wave of unexplainable desire. He smiled and Carla thought she saw a trace of cunning in his eyes. “You’re still here.” She edged her arm away, needing to think clearly.
