‘Yes, but twice is not statistically significant – that might simply be coincidence,’ I argued.
‘But you come to me. Not to this place, because it has been somewhere different each time. Not to a specific date, but to me. That cannot be simply chance, can it?’
‘No,’ I agreed. I come to you.
‘What happens if I am not here, in this time, but you are? What if I’d been killed on Friday? What would have happened to you?’
‘I would stay until the original problem was solved,’ I said, trying to reason rationally and not think about Luc being killed. ‘That was what happened last time. Or I would go back immediately.’
‘But would the same mechanism work? We have no idea how it happens. You could vanish into nothingness or you could be stranded here for ever.’
Well, that was cheerful. ‘I have a strong bond to James and Garrick now,’ I said, searching for something positive. ‘That would probably make it work, whatever it is. And anyway, you aren’t dead, so it doesn’t arise.’ I leaned in and kissed him, becoming aware that he was very much alive, even if his eyes were shadowed with worry.
He hauled me in and kissed me back, apparently determined to prove it. I shouldn’t have let him, I knew, it was probably high on the list of things not to do with concussion, but if it distracted him from worrying about me, then it was worth it.
The door opened and Garrick made his Interrupting Butler Pretending He Hasn’t Seen a Thing noise, a kind of polite cough plus an Ahem! ‘Dinner is served, my lord.’
We got to our feet and I followed Luc to the table, trying not to look as though my appetite had completely deserted me. Food and the prospect of sex might distract a slightly-concussed male for a while, but that conversation had left me worried. I’d been trying not to think about Luc’s narrow escape, now I had to worry about what exactly had pulled me here through time and what might stop me going back. And returning again. To Lucian.
Chapter Thirteen
If it wasn’t for the stitches in the back of his head no-one would ever have guessed that Luc had been injured if th
ey had seen him at breakfast Monday morning. He looked disgustingly bright-eyed and bushy-tailed whereas I felt as though I’d hadn’t slept properly for forty-eight hours. When I looked in the mirror I shuddered and thought longingly of my drawer full of make-up at home, but I did my best with mascara, tinted moisturiser and crushed geranium petals mixed with my lip gloss. (I knew reading all those historical romances would come in useful some day.)
By the time James arrived looking elegant and, to my eyes, strained, Luc’s hair was glued firmly into place with the whites of three eggs with enough still in the larder to redo it in the evening. The jewellery collection produced aquamarines and pearls to go with my gown of pale blue muslin, satin-straw bonnet with silk ribbons dyed to match the gown and deep blue shawl draped elegantly over my elbows.
Garrick provided a parasol to match the shawl, kid gloves, a reticule and a string of instructions including a prohibition on huddling into the shawl, even if it turned cold. Apparently my skin could turn blue to match the gown before I would be permitted to do anything so inelegant. The men, of course, were comfortable in palest biscuit-coloured pantaloons, Hessians, swallow-tailed coats and elegant waistcoats.
Garrick hovered with the clothes brush, flicking at imaginary flecks of dust until I told the three of them to stop peacocking and give some thought to what we were supposed to be doing at the garden party.
Finally we set out, each with a copy of the list of Home Office staff, some paper and a pencil for notes and assurances on my part that I would not go off into the shrubbery with anyone, let alone a government clerk. Garrick slipped me a folding knife which, when I opened it, glinted at me wickedly. It was most definitely a bladed weapon within the meaning of the Act and I’d have arrested anyone on sight if I’d seen it when on duty in my time, although I’d have called for back-up first. I folded it up again gingerly and put it in my reticule where it nestled incongruously into a lavender-scented handkerchief.
Luc settled next to me in the carriage and stared fixedly at his brother. ‘What’s wrong, James. No, don’t say nothing, I won’t believe you.’
‘There have been reports of men hanging around a couple of the clubs.’ James shifted uncomfortably against the upholstery and I realised that by clubs he wasn’t talking about White’s or Boodle’s. ‘Plain clothes, but all the marks of constables. They seem to be taking notice of who goes in and out and the staff report approaches being made when they are off duty – friendly strangers in public houses asking about their work, that kind of thing.’
‘Have you been to any of those clubs since they started watching?’ Luc demanded sharply.
‘No, but this isn’t just about me,’ James snapped back. ‘There are my friends to think about. If the authorities are cracking down – ’
‘And why now?’ I asked. ‘Does this happen regularly and is it just a coincidence that it is happening now?’
‘Yes, it happens,’ James said. ‘But the clubs are normally safe. The blatant molly houses run into trouble regularly, but the clubs have a face of – ’ He grimaced. ‘Respectability. They are houses of assignation, but they have a front that is enough to fool anyone not in the know.’
‘Even so, you’ll avoid them,’ Luc said, very much the Earl. ‘Stick to White’s and Brooks’s.’
‘Damn it, I’m not seventeen,’ James protested.
‘No, you are old enough to know better and not go risking your confounded neck.’
‘Do you think how I feel, how I am, is some adolescent game?’ James demanded, furious.
‘No. I think it a lethally dangerous part of you which cannot be changed – but you need to learn caution.’
‘I am cautious! If I dressed like Freddie Duncan and trailed up and down St James’s Park batting my eyelashes at any passing guardsman or with a pretty boy on each arm, then you could lecture me on caution – ’
‘His father’s one of Prinny’s favourites,’ Luc said crushingly. ‘If Prince George owed me as much money as he does him, then you could take out an advertisement in the Times announcing your preferences and still get away with it. As it is, I can probably keep you off the scaffold and out of the pillory. I hope.’