Enemy of Mine (19 page)

Then he noticed an odd string threaded through Erva’s hair. Thin white yarn with odd nubs on the end was connected to a small rectangular white and black glass rectangular box she held in her hand. It looked like the nubs had been in her ears. That must have been uncomfortable. So he gently extracted the string from her hair and pulled the glass box. He’d pressed a small lever of some kind, and instantly the top of the box lit with a vivid picture of a castle. But oddly, the box also held the time and date. The image dimmed then darkened completely. He stared at the box, then glanced at Sleeping Beauty, still resting. She didn’t so much as move. Will wondered if she’d stayed awake staring into the glass box. Too curious to stop himself, he pressed the round button on the top. Again, the box woke with the image of the castle, date and time, and asked that he slide to unlock it.

Slide what? He moved the whole box to the right. That did nothing. The image began to dim again. Flustering, he slid his finger atop the box. With his heart hammering in his ears, a whole world of small square pictures with words appeared, lit with bright light of its own. In the background he saw dancing northern lights, like what he’d seen at Halifax and in northern Scotland. It was a dark starry sky with green and even pink dancing through and around the constellations. Swallowing, he read the small squares. Kindle, iBooks, Music, and so many more. He pressed the music square and instantly saw a shadowed image of what looked like a Mohawk Indian. Pushing that image next, he then heard muffled banging from the nubs at the end of the string. He lifted one nub and put it closer to his ear. A woman sang. It was guttural and pleading and the beat of the music made his heart thunder, much as it did when he’d heard it from the Indian camps. He glanced down at Erva again who hadn’t moved, save for her chest to rise and fall. Staring at her, Will realized the music stopped, the image eventually dimmed. Putting the box down on a nearby table, his heart beat too loudly, his hands slightly shaking.

He was a reasonable man, a man who enjoyed scientific explanations. Of course, since meeting Erva, the little sun goddess, he’d had such fanciful thoughts that it had made him stop and take pause. Was this the answer why? Was she some magical creature from the past, like the stories he’d heard as a boy, come here to...Why had she come? He couldn’t remember at all her letters of introductions. He’d searched but hadn’t found what he’d done with them. Why?

He’d wondered if she was a spy, but she seemed to know too many answers herself. She hadn’t sought pertinent information of war, but asked more questions about him. He huffed while his mind searched for meaning. What was the little glass box? What did it mean about Erva?

He clicked on the box again and when reading the time winced. He was late. God’s teeth, he needed to see to his generalcy’s duties. He wouldn’t let his men down, even if he were planning on quitting them soon. Still, he hadn’t yet, and needed to see to them. Hurriedly, he found parchment and a quill and scribbled a fast note, informing Erva to find him when she awoke.

They had much to discuss.

Chapter 18

E
rva stretched and felt the tingly sensations of last night bounce through her body. She missed Will. Her breasts ached to be touched, and the little party between her legs was hard to ignore. Opening her eyes, she knew exactly where she was, and when, but most importantly who wasn’t with her. She felt overwhelmingly lonely without Will. God, she’d freaked out pretty good last night. Embarrassed, she kept her eyes on the crown molded ceiling, thinking.

It had felt so good to be with Will. So easy. So right. He’d been eager and gentle and—immediately after, she wondered if he had been experienced as a rake would be. But during, while he’d kissed her and explored her body, he’d seemed...somehow innocent. When he’d asked if she liked it when he’d bitten her, he’d appeared timid. But perhaps that was his MO, the seemingly kind and innocent widower.

She sighed. Either he was the world’s best actor, or Will wasn’t an act at all.

She was fairly certain the answer lay with the latter.

Which meant she’d freaked out last night because of her insecurities.

That was a definite pattern in her life, letting her insecurities get the better of her.

It wasn’t right to teach Dr. Peabody’s classes. It wasn’t right to do her errands. And it wasn’t right that Dr. Peabody wouldn’t sign off on her dissertation to be handed to the academic board for consideration. Erva’s supervisor kept saying how she didn’t think Erva had done enough research, written it well enough, and other lame excuses.

At first Erva had considered the excuses as critiques, and had gone back and rewritten much of her dissertation, and had done more research. All the while her instincts had been firing off warnings that Dr. Peabody was using her. Ben had agreed when Erva had finally told him how long Dr. Peabody had been sitting on her dissertation. He’d held her in a tight bear hug then said, “Honey, for me, but namely for yourself, bag the bitch. She’s holding you back from being the wild, punk rock star you really are.”

Erva knew at this point in her life it was herself that was holding back. All along she could have fired Dr. Peabody. But she hadn’t listened to her instincts, had been too afraid to rock the boat.
Too afraid...
that reminded her of how she’d run from Will last night. Oh God, he might think she had run because she’d felt forced to—well, do what Will had done to her. And that couldn’t be further from the truth. She’d been excited to have sex with him, although she had no clue how their relationship would work or if it held a minute chance of survival. Still, she’d wanted to make love to him, have him close, feel him inside her.

But she’d run because she’d been afraid at how easy it had been, how good it had felt, how her heart wanted him close every minute of the day from there on out.

She’s holding you back from being the wild, punk rock star you really are,
Ben’s sage words came back to echo through Erva’s mind, finally ringing impetus through her body.

She sat up with a start, with purpose. She wouldn't let anyone, not even herself, hold her back any more. This was
her
life and it was time she started living it. She would make love to Will, then, oh hell, she’d figure it out from there. Clio had said something about this being a
glimpse
, but with Will she was the happiest she’d ever been. She could save his life. Then...well, who knew what would happen. But she would not let Will die.

Glancing around, she finally noticed a small piece of parchment with black scrawl she knew intimately. Will’s handwriting! She almost squealed as she picked up the note, but then saw her iPhone under the letter. Panic rippled through her chest. Will had to have seen it. What had he thought of her smart phone?

His note indicated he’d gone to his troops. Shit! Shit, shit, he’d gone to his men. She had to convince him to retire from the army. He was going to die in just a couple days now. But she could stop that. She
had
to stop it. Damn it, why the hell was he here in the first place? He didn’t seem to believe in any part of this war, except he seemed to side with his enemy, the Americans. So why was he fighting?

She scurried to hide her super smart phone, then frantically set about to see Will and get some answers. But more than that, it was time to live her life, the life she may have never dreamed of, yet it was better than anything she could have ever fantasized.

However, dressing herself was not easy. After she’d cleaned up in the water basin, getting her corset on had been almost stress-free. Except she’d forgotten to put on her stockings, and bending over, trying to pull up the flimsy silk things was impossible, she quickly found out. Oh well, so much for stockings today. By the time she finished pinning her dress in place she was close to tears, and a small rivulet of sweat fell beside her hairline.

She finally relented to ringing her service bell, feeling idiotic that she needed help getting dressed. Instead of the faint knock that Erva had gotten to know as Mrs. Jacobs’, a louder, rougher rap came from her door. Erva opened it, hoping that Will had come back to surprise her. But standing in the hallway was Paul.

“My lady, may I offer my assistance?”

She blinked, unsure how to ask Will’s man of business to assist her so her seams to didn’t gape.

He gave her a small smile. “You were probably awaiting Mrs. Jacobs, but she is out of the house. And I’m sorry to report the other maids are away too.”

“Oh?”

“The lord hired the maids temporarily for cleaning the third floor. But he did say something about wanting to keep them for you.”

“Oh?” Erva repeated, wishing she could think of something else to say. She tried to think fast. “Is Mrs. Jacobs all right?”

Paul’s eyes widened for just a moment, then he bowed his head slightly. “Actually, her daughter is not well.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

Again, Paul’s eyes grew just a tad, but he recovered quickly. “I know not, my lady. But I’m sure Mrs. Jacobs will be greatly honored you’d asked.”

Erva wanted to roll her eyes. Not that Paul was being anything other than polite, but she had started to hate the very noticeable class differences in the eighteenth century. Thank God she hadn’t run into any slaves yet, because she’d probably try to create her own underground railroad. It was one thing to have an academic arm’s distance from things, as well as the two hundred plus years from the eighteenth century, but it was quite another to live through the times. She knew that there were slave protesters, especially here in America now, Thomas Paine a prime example, but it nauseated her to think that there might be something she could do about the intolerable injustice of slavery.

Even if there were something supposedly wrong about changing history, she couldn’t help but think that there was so much she could do if she stayed.

She swallowed and summoned courage. “I’d like to see Will, General Hill, as soon as possible please, and...I’m not sure I dressed myself appropriately.” She’d added quietly and felt hot flames paint her cheeks.

Yet again Paul’s eyes widened as he glanced down her body. Not in a leering kind of way, but inspecting for himself.

“I’ve had more experience taking a woman out of a dress, than in,” he said rather quietly himself, then glanced back up at Erva, shock apparent. “Forgive me, my lady. I forget myself—”

Erva just laughed as she patted one of his muscular shoulders. “It’s all right, you lady’s man.”

He shook his head. “No—”

“Please.” Erva couldn’t quite stop giggling, especially when she saw Paul was blushing. “It’s all right.”

Paul huffed and finally cracked a grin. “I’m sorry, again.”

“Don’t be. Your experience being what it is, I still need help making sure I’m not about to explode from my dress.”

“I could call the neighbor’s maid for assistance.”

Erva lifted her arm high. “Just check this seam. I think I might need another pin or to be sewn in.”

Paul squatted slightly, suddenly turning serious. He straightened while he shook his head. “’Tisn’t good.”

Erva grimaced. “I knew it.”

“But I might have a remedy.”

*

E
rva wondered if her father would be rolling in his grave from rage or laughter. She looked down again at the bright red coat she wore. It fit amazingly well. Paul had said that the tailor had measured Will completely wrong, but Will, being the considerate man he was, hadn’t had the heart to ask the tailor for one that would fit properly. So he wore old uniforms that he himself had recuffed. Was there no end to Will’s list of completely unintended sexy things he could do? The man could sew for cripe’s sake.

Picking at one of the golden frog buttons while Paul drove her to Will in a convertible-type carriage, Erva thought of her great-great-great-and so on grandfather, her father’s father’s father who had been in this war. He would probably tear all his hair out at seeing a distant granddaughter in a red coat.

Still, her get up was rather pretty when Paul had finished with a large black hat and giant gold plume of a feather stuck out at a jaunty angle. She’d had to wear her hair down today, since there was no one who could do it, wearing it in a long loose braid over one shoulder, a few blonde tufts waving about in a dramatic way. When she’d spied herself in the mirror, she couldn’t help but smile and approve of the dark blue dress with the bright red military uniform coat.

As Paul drove her, apparently the town’s people liked what she wore too, because folks started calling out to her and waving, calling her Fergie, the American duchess. Soon enough in Britain the Duchess Georgiana would consume the gossip and minds of many with her own outrageous fashions. Erva took a large breath when thinking over the sad fate of that duchess. The woman, it seemed, had only wanted love, yet life had been cruel and refused to give it. But how the duchess had fought for it.

It was a superb lesson: Here Erva had run from Will, from so much, too afraid love would hurt her.

But no more.

This was the day she wouldn’t let Will go. She was finished with running.

She had to get to the bottom of the rumors about Miss Emma and Miss Lydia first. Erva turned to whom Will had called his closest friend. Paul had to know something about the affair. But how to ask using eighteenth century manners, which she felt woefully short on?

“So, Mr. Miller—”

“Paul, if it pleases the lady, call me Paul.”

“Only if you call me Erva.”

He peeked up from the road and met her eyes with surprise. She thought she was shocking him senseless what with all his widened eyes she’d gleaned from him this morning that was quickly turning into a hot and bright afternoon. God, she’d slept in.

He bowed his head slowly, his brown hair glistening in the sun under a tricorn hat. Then he turned his eyes back to the road.

“So, Paul, how do you like New York?”

He sat up a bit taller. “Seems to be a pleasant village.”

“Can you imagine one day that millions of people will live here?”

He nodded and smiled. “It is pretty, all the trees and the scenery. I can imagine stacks of people wanting to come here.”

She wanted to tell him about the skyscrapers and the Statue of Liberty and of New York pizza and—and—oh, there was so much to love about New York. Instantly she craved Will, because ultimately she wanted to share with
him
what the future held.

She was here for a
glimpse
, yet she wanted more, much more. She wanted Will, and with him came...the eighteenth century. Could she stand living here? And what made her think that Will wanted her to live here? With him? What if all her fears were true?

“My lady,” Paul said, his voice low. “Erva, ‘tis truly been a pleasure to make your acquaintance, and I hope it not too forward of me, but I know that Lord Hill has been—” Paul sharply inhaled, then drew in the reins.

Erva glanced ahead and saw that the camp was close, as well as a small cart overturned, with a braying donkey standing close to upended bushels of crabapples. Or Erva guessed the small fruit was as much. It did feel as if this was another world away, even though it was just New York. But the times made everything so completely different. Fascinatingly so.

Paul steered around the wreck, turning into the camp where immediately she heard a huzzah. To her surprise someone started shouting out, “Fergie! Fergie!” She couldn’t help but giggle at that.

Paul caught her eye with a wide smile. “They are taken with you too.”

God, she hoped Paul meant that Will was taken with her as well. She wished her own insecurities didn’t bark at her, but they did, making her question everything. Well, some questions she needed answering, like Miss Emma and Miss Lydia, and she apparently wouldn’t get any answers from Paul, since he was about to drop her off.

It was time to go straight to the source, as many of her professors had said, although they meant going to a primary source, instead of secondary. But that was semantics. It was time to talk to Will.