The mental niggle resolved into one question, but still left me with the uncomfortable feeling of having missed something. ‘Would a young lady, eloping, not take her maid with her? If the man involved had honourable intentions, surely having a maid with them would give some sort of respectability to the affair? It would certainly contribute to her comfort.’
‘Depends on the maid, I suppose,’ Lucian said. ‘If she was loyal to her mistress, I suppose it might be an advantage. I am no expert on elopements.’
‘I am certainly not,’ James muttered and his brother gave him a warning shake of the head.
‘I got the impression that Arabella’s maid, Martha, liked her mistress. And she’s a bright, alert young woman.’
‘Hence the need to drug her, perhaps.’
‘Yes, I suppose.’ The niggle was almost in my hand, then it whisked away, like a teasing thread pulled in front of a kitten. Damn. I yawned, an inelegant jaw-cracking expression of just how tired I was all of a sudden. Perhaps the shock of ending up two hundred years adrift was beginning to wear off. ‘I am going to bed and to sleep on it,’ I announced and got to my feet.
The men all stood. It was going to take some getting used to when I got home, not to have that happen every time I moved.
‘I will bring you hot water, Miss Lawrence,’ Garrick said.
‘Go
od night, Cousin Cassie.’ James lifted his half-empty glass in salute.
Lucian followed me out and stopped at the door of the spare bedchamber. I turned and found he was close, close enough that if I leaned in a little we could kiss. Infuriatingly he just stood there, politely not crowding me. If it wasn’t for the lowered lids, the slightly parted lips, his very stillness, I would have thought he was thinking of nothing more than the mystery we had been talking about.
‘Lucian?’ If he was too much the gentleman, then I was most definitely not going to be a lady about this. I moved forward, raised my head and slid one hand around his neck to pull him down.
He was not too much of a gentleman to resist a kiss when it was pressed to his lips. He shifted, gathered me in with gratifying efficiency and applied himself to reducing me to porridge. His technique was excellent, confident but not pushy, and he tasted of brandy and toothpowder, like the stuff in the pot that Garrick had left out for me, and definitely of man.
He nibbled his way along my lower lip, finished with a leisurely slide of his tongue and raised his head. ‘What is the etiquette for this situation when you come from?’ he asked, his voice low. It was shadowy in the hallway but his eyes were dark and intent.
‘Between two unmarried people? Either can initiate things, either can say no, at any point.’ My fingers slid into the thickness of his hair at the nape, then slid free. At the touch of his bare skin against mine I was suddenly, unsure. Not like me at all, not when confronted by a staggeringly attractive, willing man. ‘Here, now – I am not certain what I want.’
‘I am.’ He made no attempt to move back and that let me feel just how aroused he was. But he did not try and push things either.
‘I can tell,’ I said, making it light, and stepped back. I definitely was getting cold feet, but I did not understand why. ‘I think I need more time to come to terms with… this.’
Lucian nodded. ‘Of course. You must be feeling very unsettled. Are there people in your time who will be worrying about you?’
I should have thought of that. It was as though my own time was the dream and this was becoming increasingly real. ‘My parents are in the Caribbean.’ It was a very small ship, the wifi was erratic and expensive and we’d agreed they would only get in touch in emergencies. Lucian nodded. I suppose he assumed they owned a plantation or something, which was not a comfortable thought.
‘My sister, Sophie – she’ll wonder where I am, but probably not worry for a few days. It was Friday night when it happened and I had no plans for the weekend, my friends knew I have a lot of work on. I’m not on duty at the police station until Wednesday so there are a few days before I am missed, with any luck.’ And, hopefully, no-one would wonder why I wasn’t answering my phone or using any social media. ‘After that, who knows?’
‘Friday? It was Wednesday yesterday.’
‘Different years, same date,’ I pointed out and went back to worrying. If I was reported missing would the police take it more seriously earlier because I was a Special? I could imagine getting home – somehow – and finding myself having to explain what I had been doing to launch a full-scale missing persons enquiry.
‘Oh, and then there’s Trubshaw.’
‘Who is that? Your maid?’
‘No, my cat. But he’ll go next door and they’ll feed him.’ He would sulk for a week when I got back – if I got back. ‘There is nothing I can do. Worrying won’t help,’ I said. The knack now would be to listen to my own good advice.
‘Lucian.’ I reached out and touched his cheek, the evening beard prickling under my palm. ‘Thank you.’
‘What for?’
‘For accepting me. For allowing me into your world. For taking, yes, maybe, later, as no for now.’
From somewhere behind me there was the sound of Garrick doing his tactful throat-clearing thing. ‘Your hot water, Miss Lawrence.’
‘Thank you, Garrick.’ I took the jug from him. ‘Good night.’