Chapter 53
Chapter Fifty-Three
As the gray morning light filtered through the window, Haven stirred when Logan kissed her forehead.
Murmuring against his hard, warm, welcoming chest, she refused to open her eyes. She didn’t want to wake up. Real life couldn’t possibly compare to the dream she’d experienced over the last four hours.
“She ran away.” His deep voice startled her, his words even more so.
She opened her eyes to stare dumbfounded into his face. “What do you mean, she ran away?”
“They found her a week later.” He paused.
She waited; her breath lodged like granite boulders in her throat.
“Investigators believe that in her hurry to escape justice, her carriage overturned. She was pinned beneath and crushed to death, her pretty hair and face were soaked in mud and fetid ditch water.”
Haven gasped. “Oh my God. That’s how she died. Oh, Logan. I’m so sorry.”
After a long period of silence and steady breathing, she lifted her head and smiled.
He’d fallen asleep again, curled into her, his long, thickly muscled thigh laying over hers, his well-toned and strong arm draped possessively over her breasts, his head nuzzled into the crook of her neck.
She could lay there forever, warm, well pleasured, and in the embrace of someone with whom she felt adored, protected. ..loved?
She knew their little bubble of unbelievable intimacy would burst with the first stirrings of the household, so she peeled away from his side, and began the annoying but necessary task of dressing.
She turned to murmur her goodbyes to her slumbering lover, and caught sight of him lying on his back. Her heart heaved from her chest.
His tight, muscular arms were stretched over his head. He was relaxed and still drop-dead gorgeous in his sleep. He looked like every woman’s fantasy come to life, and she’d just spent the best night of her life with him.
Tiptoeing to the edge of the bed, she leaned over and kissed the tip of his nose. He stirred only enough to let the sheet hovering over his chest slide to the juncture of hard muscle right above his groin. Dear Heaven, even in sleep he was a tease.
What am I going to do with this man?
Choking back a wave of emotion, she fought the urge to lie down beside him again.
It felt right to lie next to him, beneath the weight and strength of his body.
If she allowed herself to care for the stuffy, duty-bound duke, she’d still have a protective wall around her heart.
But if she allowed herself to care for the vulnerable, yet deeply honorable man who’d known betrayal and tragedy, she’d be lost.
Shattered.
Never to be whole again.
Sighing deeply, she walked to the door, turned the lock, and pushed down on the latch. After checking to make sure Logan hadn’t woken, she slipped from the room, pulling the door shut behind her.
She leaned back against the wall, her mind racing.
Sure, she could walk away and close the door on him and the events of the past evening, but she didn’t know if she’d have the strength to shut the door again. Forever. Not when everything she ever wanted was on the other side.
The next morning, Millie informed Haven they’d be taking lunch with Lady Bleydon at her home.
Haven was filled with a mix of emotions: anxiety, excitement, fear, and a heaping helping of depression as she continued to mull over what Perez had said to her.
It gave her pause, made her angry, sad, and more determined than ever to get home.
She had to prove him wrong—her life in 2025 was just getting good.
The idea of living the rest of her life in 1817 wasn’t even an option.
Right?
The mind-altering sex she’d had with Logan shouldn’t be the only reason to stay there.
Yes, the sex was explosive, but what if, to him, all they had was sex?
That wasn’t enough to keep a relationship together.
Even if she did have feelings for him, which were scary enough, she was sick and tired of being the only one in the relationship who’d invested more than their genitals.
What would happen if the blazingly good sex fizzled?
She couldn’t give up her life in 2025 to be a Regency booty call.
Could she?
Her still deliciously sore body said, hell yes!
But her brain and her experiences with men said, you’ve lost your damn mind.
Her heart? Well, it still beat erratically from the orgasms. It didn’t have the energy to weigh in, but she knew it would side with her body in a second.
It terrified her. She wanted to keep her heart out of it so when Perez finally sent her home, it wouldn’t hurt when the time tunnel closed, effectively sealing away 1817, leaving Logan and a piece of her soul behind her.
It all seemed straight forward, but when she dwelled on what she’d experienced yesterday, the amazing sex and blissful intimate hours afterward, the teasing, the laughter, and the open and vulnerable duke, she wondered if a life with him was possible.
Could she forget about everything she left behind, and build a real future with him?
Despite the petrifying uncertainty, and her total lack of breeding or knowledge of how to live in Regency England, she wanted to believe she could be happy with him.
As the carriage rolled to a stop outside the large, white stone mansion, she craned her neck to take it in.
It was a square building, lovingly hugged by long, branching ivy adorned with vivid orange and purple blooms. Before anyone could move for the carriage door, two well-dressed men emerged from a set of large, dark-wood double doors.
The footmen had the carriage steps down, the door open, and the women safely on the ground in the blink of an eye.
She gasped.
With an unobstructed view, the building looked square from the driveway, but in truth, it had two wings flaring out from the main block of the house, each one in an opposite direction.
Verdant green lawns, well-kept gardens, and plants in full bloom surrounded the enormous mansion.
The estate could easily be the backdrop of a popular BBC drama.
According to Millie, Hughgate Hall was built in the late 1600s, but had undergone extensive renovations over the last two decades. Fires and age had damaged several of the rooms in the east wing, but the entire structure looked brand new.
After following Millie up the grand stone stairs to the front doors, Haven hesitated in the entranceway.
The entrance hall was three stories high with four pillars holding the massive hand-painted, gold-leafed ceiling in place.
Not to be outdone by the opulence of the ceiling, the floor boasted intricately designed and inlaid mosaics depicting God reaching down from the heavens to touch the face of a ginger-haired cherub.
A Hughes ancestor?
Haven continued further into the hall, and gasped at the dual grand staircases that rose from the ground floor to the landing where a railing crafted from wrought iron, gold, and ebony graced the vaulted room like a crown.
Millie glided to her side, and leaned in.
“Best close your mouth lest you gather bees,” she whispered.
Though laced with humor, her comment carried a note of censure.
Act like a lady, not a trailer park queen!
She clamped her mouth shut and turned in time to see a footman emerge from the shadows. Bowing gracefully, he escorted them up the staircase to the drawing room where Lady Bleydon, Miss Hughes, and Divinia Kroger waited.
She entered, her muscles tensed, and her heart rate quickened.
Glancing about, she couldn’t find a viable reason to be wary. Then she caught sight of Divinia on the settee beside the tea tray.
Beautifully dressed and as poised as ever, Divinia Kroger’s expression was one of calm, cool, deliberate threat.
Making the expected small talk was easy; a few words about the weather, a mention of visiting London to sightsee, and a promise to answer more of Miss Hughes’ questions.
A footman announced lunch, and she followed Millie into the dining room and, like a good little nineteenth-century lady, sat where indicated.
Afternoon tea was as she expected—lots of little sandwiches that looked delicious, but tasted like nothing.
As a woman from the twenty-first century she had to admit, compared to meals she’d eaten in 1817, foods and beverages from the future were over seasoned, over salted, and dripping in grease, but she liked it that way.
She smiled, and feigned delight, giving the impression that each dish was better than the last. Her smile almost faltered when she battled back the grumbling pain in her belly.
Hunger gnawed at her, but the thought of putting more strangely mushy food into her mouth made her stomach clam up in fear.
A maid appeared from nowhere and removed the tiny plates and empty teacups, and Lady Bleydon invited them to take a stroll through the gardens.
Hughgate Hall was known throughout Cambridgeshire for its extensive and well-tended floral terraces—at least that’s what Lady Bleydon said.
They were magnificent. She couldn’t believe so many plants could fit into such tight boxes, and still look natural. The fragrant bushes, the vibrant flowers, and the winding pathways enchanted her.
With the tour of the gardens complete, Miss Hughes made her excuses; she had a charity meeting to attend.
Lady Bleydon, Millie, Divinia, and Haven sat down to snack on surprisingly delicious cookies.
They tasted like roses and mint, which was a strange combination by twenty-first century standards, but it worked in 1817.
As the two elder women talked, Haven’s mind wandered.
Could she spend the rest of her life having pleasant tea in amazing gardens, dining with men and women of history, learning first-hand about the Regency era she’d read about in the romance novels, spending time with and making love to a man who had gotten under her skin?
Could she give up her chance to go back home?
“You seem to be enjoying yourself, Miss Edwards.” Divinia Kroger’s heavily accented voice pierced her bubble, bringing her crashing back to where she sat on the chaise.
Her toes curled inside her slippers, an unease pulling at her body.
“Yes, I am having a great time, thank you.” What else could she say? She didn’t want to talk to the woman, but she couldn’t ignore her. “It’s a lovely house.”
Her face tightened behind her forced smile, and she wondered if she looked as uncomfortable as she felt.
“Yes.” Divinia’s gaze was warm, which unsurprisingly, wasn’t a natural look for her.
What was she up to?
Haven’s body tensed, and she bit back an irritated groan.
“Are you enjoying your family visit?” A simple enough question. It couldn’t possibly lead to barbed words.
“Yes.” The other woman’s short answer carried wary weight.
Okay....
Haven probed her brain for careful words.
“How long do you and your brother plan to stay?” Another simple question, but she actually cared about the answer—the siblings were walking, talking, staring weirdness that never failed to make Haven anxious.
Just thinking about the brother, and how he stared, and how he just seemed to…
breathe wrongness made Haven’s heartbeat stumble a little.
She didn’t want to spend the time wondering why, either.
“We haven’t decided,” Divinia replied. “When we first arrived, we planned to stay only through the Season, but with the Season ending, we may stay on. Aunt Melisande is renowned for her country parties.”
Glancing over at the pinch-faced woman chatting with Millie, Haven thought the statement dubious.
“I bet she does.” Tired of the pleasant words with heavy undertones, she took a risk. “Are you and your brother close?”
At the mention of her twin, Divinia’s expression changed. An invisible shield dropped over her gaze, and she clinched her jaw.
“Yes, of course, we are twins after all.” Her lips pressed together in a sneer.
“So you would know if he had a problem with me, if something about me bothered him.”
The other woman laughed, the sound close enough to maniacal, Haven breath caught.
“My brother is bothered by many things, but you are not one of them. He likes you.” A glint of something insidious flashed in the other woman’s eyes, and Haven immediately raised her guard.
The female twin was hiding something, but Haven didn’t have a clue what it could be.
He likes you….
Unsure of how to digest the nugget of shudder-inducing information, she said, “Well, that’s nice.”
Since meeting the Kroger twins, she couldn’t shake the feeling of wrongness whenever they were around.
While Divinia was an easy read, like a large print book, her brother was the fine print on a prenuptial agreement.
He was gorgeous, probably quite charming, and had an accent that would make Elleane turn to pudding at his feet.
But something about him, his coolness, his calculated conversations, and his furtive looks made her uneasy.
She shuddered despite the warmth of the day.
To put distance between them, Haven begged her excuses and walked to Millie and Lady Bleydon. “Pardon me, but where is the...er...water closet?”
Millie replaced her teacup on the tray, and smiled. “These corridors are a maze, why don’t I show you?”
Panic coursed through her; she needed time alone. Time to chew on everything she’d been force fed over the last twenty-four hours.
“Oh, no, maybe I can ask a servant to help me.”
Millie smiled brighter, her expression gracious. “Nonsense, dear. It’s no trouble.”
Before she could grudgingly accept Millie’s offer, another less appreciated voice piped up. “You should enjoy your tea and conversation, Lady Dunham. I can take her.”
Turning to glance at Divinia, Haven was immediately struck with a sense of intent—it poured from the perfectly coiffed woman in waves.
Unable to deny the help without shaming Millie, Haven swallowed thickly, and accepted.