A Slip In Time (13 page)

“Felt his breath? You didn’t mention
this before.” Lord Muir scratched furiously in his book, but seemed
far from scandalized. “The phenomenon has many singularities.
There must be something in particular that enables the two of you
to directly interact. We’ll speculate on that later. Is there
anything happening in the room now?”

Julia looked back to find the servant, but
another man now entered the room.

“There is a second servant. He is
carrying a bucket of water. He’s pouring its contents into a deep,
footed pot and positioning it before the fire.”

“You said earlier you actually passed
through the door.” Lord Muir pressed on. “That would mean you went
through stone. Can you step out on the stairwell now?”

Julia hesitated, then crossed the room to do
so. She had twice done so before, why did she pause? Hearing the
voices again, she stopped before the portal.

“Someone is standing not far down the
steps. I hear them speaking — a man and a woman. For the most part,
I hear the woman. Her voice is very sharp and loud.”

Lord Muir struggled to his feet,
watching Julia closely. “Try at least to put your hand through the
door, so I might witness what happens.”

Julia looked to the door, bit her lip, then
stepped directly before it and started to reach her hand through
the open archway. As she did she felt the air begin to change, she
snatched back her arm.

“Time is shifting again. I feel
it.”

Disappointment lanced through Julia as she
realized she would not see her Scots laird tonight. But as she
looked up, Rae Mackinnon suddenly appeared, filling the doorway and
gazing down on her.

They stood scant inches apart, her
breasts nearly brushing his broad chest. Their gazes locked and
held. Despite herself, Julia smiled wide at the splendid sight of
him.

“He’s here,” she whispered, barely
able to force the words past her lips.

As Rae Mackinnon disappeared, he returned
her smile, a slash of white splitting his face. The force of it
sent heat rushing to her toes. Julia instantly reprimanded
herself, fearing he interpreted her smile as open encouragement.
Lord, the man needed no encouragement!

She turned back to the room, her heart
thudding madly and strived to appear calm. It took a full moment to
realize all was as before — the armoire, carpet, table, and chairs
back in their respective places, the bed hangings blue.

Lord Muir came forward and helped Julia to a
chair.

“Are you all right, my dear? I fear
this has overtaxed you.”
He brought her water and sat with her at the table, patting her
hand. She assured him she was fine.

“He saw me — Rae Mackinnon — just
before he vanished.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, he smiled at me.”
Julia felt herself flush, remembering the
potency
of
that smile.

Lord Muir chuckled. “The laird must be
as taken with you, as you are with him. Not that I blame him one
whit.”

“Oh, but no . . . He, I . . we’re not
taken with anybody,” Julia insisted.

“I might not have been able to see Rae
Mackinnon, but I could easily see the intensity of the smile you
sent him.” Lord Muir gave her a conspiratorial wink.

Julia rubbed at the pain in her temples,
knowing she blushed from head to toe.

“You must be exhausted. We can finish
this tomorrow. You should rest now.”

Lord Muir rose and packed his
instruments into his case. “Do not fear to remain in the room
tonight. From what you have told me of the other incidents, there
should be no more time slips until tomorrow. But I can send Betty
to stay with you, if you are fearful of being alone.”

“No, that isn’t necessary, really. I
suddenly feel so drained, I’m certain I shall sleep through
anything, even another time slip.”

Julia saw Lord Muir to the door. Checking
outside in the corridor, she determined the way was clear. She
stepped aside as he emerged from the chamber.

“Thank you, my dear.” He smiled and
gave her a small peck on the cheek. “You have made me a most happy
man.”

With that, the Twenty-seventh Laird of
Dunraven took his leave.

»«

Roger Dunnington, Lord Eaton, traveled
silently along the gallery, his slippers in hand. Who would have
guessed Lady Downs to be such a talented woman?

A grin tipped his mustache.

Reaching the far end of the gallery,
he turned left, into the narrow servants’ passage which connected
the south tower to the west end, ever so useful for nocturnal
visitations.

He stopped a moment and looked back
toward the short neck of a hall that led to Julia’s tower room. He
gave a brief, courteous bow. There awaited another conquest. He
sighed through his liquored haze. He hadn’t forgotten her, not
beautiful, golden Julia. Pity she had so meager a dowry, or he
would snatch her right up for his bride.

He began to turn and head off when
light knifed the darkness, Julia’s door pulling open. He pressed
into the shadows, concealing himself behind a pedestal and bit of
statuary. Julia appeared and scanned the passage.

What could she be about at this hour, Roger
wondered, intrigued.

To his astonishment his uncle emerged
from the chamber to stand beside Julia. Kissing her cheek, he spoke
words of gratitude, something about being a “happy man.” The
marquis then hastened away, passing just a few feet from Roger as
he turned and proceeded down the length of the gallery, moving in
the direction of his room.

Roger bristled, confounded that his
ancient relative should be tupping the much younger and exquisite
blonde. His thoughts turned to Julia, blackening
indignantly.

“The sly little cat.”

So she played him a game, rejecting
his own advances throughout the summer, biding her time to gain
just such an invitation as he had issued her to Dunraven, all the
while waiting to sport for bigger game. Well, she’d have her
“sport,” he vowed. His discovery this night would not be without
profit.

Roger still stung from his uncle’s
sharp words of this morning. Upon his arrival, the marquis had
roundly bawled him out over the matter of his gambling debts. The
old man refused to advance him one shilling more, though he knew
Roger’s allowance to be exhausted for the year.

“Profligate,” his uncle had called
him. Roger admitted his debts to be the reason for his hasty flight
north, his creditors at his heels. Still, he simmered at the
rebuke.

Marriage to Lilith would solve the strains
of his finances until he came into his titles. Her dowry was quite
generous, significantly improved from last Season, he noted.

But now, if he played his cards
shrewdly, his dottering uncle would not only cover his existing
debts, but fund his habits without grievance to protect
Julia.

His thoughts went to the beauty. If
his uncle would subsidize him, the two could continue their romp.
But Julia Hargrove would have to satisfy his own desires as well,
Roger Dunnington promised himself. That or she’d see herself ruined
in society. He swore it.

Julia stifled a yawn.

“Shall I send for more tea, Miss
Hargrove?”

“Thank you, no.”

Julia sent an appreciative smile to
Lord Muir, sitting opposite her behind his expansive mahogany
desk. She centered herself further back in her chair, then fought
down another yawn.

“Forgive me, your lordship. I’ve been
excessively tired of late. I never fully recovered from the trip
north, then with the nights being so disturbed . . .” She gave a
little shrug, smiling. “I was late to breakfast again this morning.
Everyone must think me a terrible slug-a-bed.”

Lord Muir templed his fingers in
thought. “Fatigue could be a side effect of the time slips. You say
the air grows heavy when the actual shift occurs?”

“Yes, it seems to compress and push
down all at once.”

Lord Muir entered a note in the red,
leather-bound journal that lay open before him. Finishing, he
leafed back through several pages, skimming each one, then
swiveled the book around and scooted it toward Julia.

“I have detailed the accounts of each
of the time slips as you have described them. Each occurrence
appears with a number and heading, followed by the date, time of
day, and duration of the shift — the first three being approximate,
the fourth, last night’s, being an actual measurement. The
particulars of each episode follow. Please, read over the entries
carefully. If you find them to be accurate and complete, then give
them your initial.”

As Julia lifted the book to her lap, Lord
Muir sank back into his chair and stroked his beard.

“The shifts appear to be
opening sequentially onto Rae Mackinnon’s past, their manifestation
and duration correspondent to those in our present,” he ruminated
aloud. “You’ll remember, during the third time slip, when you
awoke to find the laird in the chamber, he mentioned seeing you
that afternoon. He referred to his own time, but you had seen him
that same afternoon in
your
time as well.”

Julia quirked a brow, not wholly
understanding.

“My guess is that the two timelines,
past and present, are somehow connected, running parallel, so that
when the ‘window’ opens between them, both you and the laird have
progressed forward the same number of hours and minutes. We do not
know what laws govern the phenomena.” He splayed his hands in the
air. “Theoretically, time could slip randomly to any point in the
past, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.”

Julia hadn’t considered that. In one
instant, Rae Mackinnon would be a virile young man, and in the
next, aged or an infant, or not even be born at all.

Lord Muir sighed heavily and rubbed
his forehead. “There is much still to learn. We shall need to
maintain precise records as we witness more of the
phenomena.”

“More?” Julia straightened, placing
the book back on the desk. “Your lordship, I agreed to watch in the
chamber last night but to nothing ‘more.’“

The marquis cocked his snowy head to
one side. “Miss Hargrove, you surprise me. You are party to one of
the most exciting, unimaginable, implausible events of our century
— the breaching of time. You yourself have touched the past.
Literally. And it doesn’t seem the time slips are about to cease.
Can you walk away from it so easily? Or him?”

“Him?”

“The Third Laird of
Dunraven.”

Julia dropped her gaze to her hands, unable
to form an answer.

“Do you fear him?”

“No! Yes. Somewhat. He is a
fifteenth-century Highlander, after all. Lilith warned they were
barbarians.”

Lord Muir snorted. “And did she tell
you Highland men honored their women and treated them well, the
children, too, of both sexes? They did, much more so than the
‘civilized’ English of the day. Rae Mackinnon must be as confused
as you about the incidents he is experiencing, but I doubt he would
deal you a harm.”

“Unless he believes me to be a witch
and decides to burn me at a stake.” Julia looked at the marquis
squarely.

“Is that what you saw in his eyes when
he smiled at you last night?” Julia diverted her gaze. “Perhaps, it
is not the Third Laird of Dunraven you fear, Miss Hargrove,” the
marquis added softly.

Julia’s pulse quickened at the thought
of Rae Mackinnon. Yes, she feared him. Feared what he did to her
senses, emotionally, physically. Feared that part of her which had
responded to his kiss and now craved more.

Julia cleared her throat. “As I
expressed yesterday, I wish to return home to
Hampshire—”

“What awaits you in Hampshire, Miss
Hargrove?” Lord Muir interrupted, catching and holding her gaze.
“Your estate is let out, your parents tragically gone, God rest
them. Yes, I know of your sorrow and misfortune. I make it a habit
to know something of those in my nephew’s company and made a few
discreet inquiries, forgive me. But what is so important in
Hampshire that it cannot wait?”

Taken aback, Julia couldn’t piece her
thoughts together for a moment.

“My father’s works,” she said at last.
“Perhaps you’ve heard of his programs in Fareham which benefit the
poor. They are quite innovative and successful. Mr. Twyford, my
father’s former partner, carries on the works as I wish to do on
returning to Hampshire. I’ve been far too idle of late.”

“But if Mr. Twyford is overseeing them
satisfactorily, they will continue with or without your
presence.”

“Yes, that is true,” she conceded
reluctantly.

Lord Muir rose from his chair and came
around the desk to sit on its edge. “You can find any number of
causes to support here in Scotland, Miss Hargrove, if you wish to
engage in benevolent works. And I am prepared to help you to that
end with an offer of my own. But first, there is something I wish
you to see.”

At Lord Muir’s encouragement, Julia
accompanied him from the library and next found herself traveling
familiar corridors and stairways. At first, she thought he led her
to her tower room and began to object. But they continued to climb
higher in the castle before turning down a lengthy hallway, paneled
but devoid of paintings or furniture.