Chapter Four
Four
Rose had only been hoping the spell would help her meet a nice man in Chicago.
Her spells only nudged things. They tipped reality into her desired direction. If she was honest, just the act of doing a spell gave her hope, and any one of her successful spells could’ve been explained as coincidence or good luck.
She could not, for instance, make a man from another century materialize in her apartment.
Yes, she knew for a fact that at least one similar thing had happened before. And maybe, just maybe, a stone she’d blessed and given to Emily had helped with that. But still.
She had been thinking about Duke Henry what’s-his-name. And this impeccably dressed, furious, and now wine-stained man standing in her living room, cane in hand, had to be the man himself.
“Where am I?” he demanded again, and she realized she hadn’t answered him the first time. He swiped a sleeve across his face and looked wildly around him.
Huh. He was really not happy to be here. Rose supposed she couldn’t blame him. It had to be a huge shock. Did the goddesses believe he was the man for her? Or had thinking of him at the wrong moment screwed up the spell?
The latter seemed more likely. It wasn’t as though she actually knew what she was doing.
His gaze landed on her again, looking her up and down, and she could only describe the expression in his eyes as smoldering. Was he checking her out?
Oh yeah…he was. Because she was wearing nothing but a big T-shirt. Sheesh. That was one way to welcome a guy to the twenty-first century.
Managing a bright smile, she said, “I’ll explain everything. As soon as I put on some pants. Stay right there, okay?” She raised both her hands, palms up, then quickly lowered them again to tug down on the hem of the oversize shirt.
She turned and walked quickly to the bedroom with as much dignity as she could muster, which was almost none. After pulling on a pair of pajama shorts, she hustled back out to find him tapping his finger on the blank TV screen. He whirled around as she approached, then stared at her legs again.
“Madam,” he said stiffly, “I believe you intended to get dressed.”
“Oh! I did.” She lifted up the hem of the long T-shirt to show him the shorts. He didn’t look any less shocked.
A fresh wave of amazement rolled over her. She had a historical duke in her freaking living room.
His dark brows were drawn together. He looked even more grouchy than he had in the painting, which was saying something.
Okay. No need to panic. She’d gotten him here. If he didn’t want to stay, there must be a way to get him back home again.
“Can I get you anything? Wine?” She winced. “Sorry I threw some at you.”
“Who are you working with?”
She blinked. “What?”
He advanced on her, brandishing his cane practically under her nose. “You drugged me, somehow, and had me abducted to this, this place—”
“Get your big stick out of my face,” Rose snapped automatically.
To her surprise, he did, though he didn’t look a bit less furious. He looked wildly around the room. “You will never get away with holding me for ransom! The king’s own—”
“Hold up! I didn’t kidnap you. I…”
He turned and sprinted for the door.
“Where are you going?” Rose squeaked, as she and Andy rushed after him. In seconds, the stranger was out of her apartment.
Shit!
Rose dove for Andy’s collar, grabbing it just in time so he couldn’t rush out into the corridor. After slipping past the dog, she released his collar and shut the door in his face, then raced down the stairs after the duke.
When he reached the small foyer of her building, she was still halfway up the staircase between the first and second floor. The smell of garlic and onions from the downstairs apartment hung in the air. He flung open the door to the street.
She reached the bottom of the stairs and ran outside in her bare feet, then stopped short. She’d expected to see him running down the block. Instead, he stood on the corner, his face illuminated by the buzzing streetlight as he scanned his surroundings.
Her body felt limp with relief. He hadn’t run off…yet, anyway. He hardly looked real, standing there in his brown jacket with the brass buttons and long tails, and the high-waisted, cream-colored trousers…which fit his round ass extremely well.
Maybe, any moment now, he’d be flashed back to his own era. But in the meantime, she should make sure he stayed safe. Hoping she didn’t step on any broken glass, she ran over and grabbed his hand.
His fingers tightened around hers as he looked down at her. A frisson of heightened awareness ran down her spine. They were close enough to kiss…
“Wooo!” yelled an unmistakably drunk female voice from a car zooming down the street.
“What is that!” the duke demanded, thrusting his cane in the direction of the vehicle. “A…some kind of steam locomotive?”
“Close,” Rose said, honestly impressed. Since she was still holding his hand, she squeezed it for emphasis.
“Come upstairs and have a…a cup of tea.” He’d like that, right?
“It’s just me and Andy up there.” A frown touched his brow.
She added, “Andy’s the dog. He’s actually my best friend’s dog, but I’m watching him.
It’s the first time I’ve had a pet. Well, except for the time I watched someone’s snake, but that’s a whole other story. ”
He was looking around them, utterly bewildered. “I suppose if you had associates, they would’ve aided you in the chase.”
“Exactly! Come on.”
He released her hand—which gave her a stupid twinge of regret—and followed her back inside. When she was halfway up the first flight of stairs, she turned around and saw he was glowering up at her.
Rose was the first to admit that she had horrible judgment in men, but even she avoided crushing on ones who were actively hostile. This guy couldn’t be the one she’d asked for, could he?
“I think you just got delivered to the wrong place,” she mused aloud.
“Like one time I got a package with something called a voltage tester in it.” She never had figured out how to return that package, come to think of it.
Maybe she shouldn’t mention that. “Which was so funny, because I don’t know the first thing about electricity. Although, I might know more than you…”
“I haven’t the slightest idea what you are talking about,” he said crossly.
“Sorry. I should introduce myself. I’m Rose Novak. And you’re Henry…what’s your last name, again?” she asked as they reached the second-floor landing.
“How do you know my Christian name, and not my last?” he demanded.
“It’s a long name. I know you’re the duke of something?”
He planted the cane on the floor and thrust out his chest. “I am Henry Leighton-Lyons, the Duke of Beresford.” His haughtiness seemed so extreme to her, it ventured into satire. “And I will have you know my family is close to the Crown.”
“We’re not into kings around here,” Rose said lightly. “Nice to meet you.”
“I cannot say it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”
Okay, rude. He was definitely not the gentleman she’d ordered.
Although…she’d said to fall in love with me, not to immediately fall in love with me.
She went inside and gestured for him to do the same, then shut the door behind them. Andy bounded up as though they had been gone for a week, and Rose leaned over and petted him.
Then she straightened and suggested to Henry, “Why don’t we sit down?” She gestured toward the couch.
As he headed in that direction, he looked around him at the computer desk in the corner. “This is a very strange room.” Instead of sitting, he clasped his hands behind his back.
“I’m sure.” She lowered herself into an armchair, and Andy hopped up next to her. “First of all, you’re in the United States.”
“You’re lying,” he said flatly. “I was not unconscious long enough to be transported to America…” His eyes narrowed. “Unless I have amnesia.”
“You don’t.”
“I very well might,” he snapped. “My head is spinning, and my stomach is unsettled.”
“I guess I’m not surprised,” she admitted. “Do you think you’re going to throw up?”
“Throw up what?” he demanded.
Well, he probably wasn’t going to get sick, if he had the energy to get so snippy with her. She suspected that if she clarified and asked if he was going to vomit, he’d get even more snippy. No doubt he thought that vomiting was beneath him.
“Nothing,” she said. He was really here, standing in her living room. Every time that thought crossed her mind, she felt a little dizzy herself. “But you really are in America, in the city of Chicago.”
He scoffed. “There is no such city.”
Oh. “You haven’t heard of it?”
“I know my geography,” he said coldly. “I’ve heard of New York. Boston. Philadelphia. Baltimore, where we fought that unfortunate battle. Your capital, named after George Washington. And several other towns besides. But Chicago, Miss Novak?”
A nervous giggle escaped her. Maybe Chicago had been some little jerkwater town in his time. And even if he sounded stern, she liked the way he said Miss Novak.
He gave her a wary look. “Is it Mrs. Novak?”
She felt a flutter in her nerves. “It’s Miss. What about you? You’re not married, right?” The museum label next to his painting hadn’t covered this.
“No, I’m not,” he snapped.
“You can call me Rose,” she said.
“That would hardly be appropriate. We have only just met.” His jaw flexing, he straightened his wine-splattered white tie.
Right. “Well, the thing is, Mr. Lyons, uh, Leightons—”
“Leighton-Lyons,” he corrected her. “You may address me as Your Grace.”
“Yeah, that’s not going to happen,” Rose said, without even thinking about it.
“Americans,” he muttered, pacing over to the window.
“That’s right. We didn’t vote for you,” she quipped.
He looked back at her, an incredulous look on his face. “Nobody voted for me.”
“Exactly,” she said. “Look, I want you to listen to me very carefully, because I have something to tell you that’s going to be difficult to hear.”