Forgotten Time (Ravenhurst Series, #1) A New Adult Time Travel Romance Page 7

  The strange gentleman’s warnings about the necklace echoed in her mind along with Ned’s words about the treasure of Ravenhurst. Were they connected? Did the damn dress have something to do with it? Her mind discarded that notion as quickly as another entered it. It was the necklace. The blood-red stone, was that the treasure? Oh no! What did she do? Her body trembled all over as her mind screamed, “Get out before it’s too late”, but she had nowhere to go.

  She set the glass aside, it clanked loudly. Sebastian turned towards her. She looked at him warily, gauging the distance between them. Once he turned back towards the fire, she gathered her skirts in her hand and walked quickly to the door. She wanted to bolt right through it. “Excuse me; I am feeling a bit under the weather. Would you mind if I went back to my room for the evening?” she asked nervously, watching him from the doorway. She was prepared to run if need be.

  He turned towards her again, his face a stern, unreadable mask.

  Good Lord, what would he do? What had she done? She leaned forward a little for effect; it always worked on Ned.

  Sebastian’s expression softened a bit. He had to admit she looked deathly pale, and judging by the way she was leaning over, perhaps something disagreed with her stomach.

  “You know, Marguerite, you may call me Sebastian. In case it slipped your mind, we are to be married soon and we will be on a very familiar basis shortly. Do you not think it would be prudent for you to start acting the part?” he asked softly.

  Katherine blinked. His fiancées name was Marguerite? That was a pretty name. “Yes, of course, ah… Sebastian, if you say so.” She tried to smile at him, but suddenly felt ill. She was sure she looked ready to puke. Hell, she was ready to puke, and all over the lovely checkered, marble, foyer tiles, too. She glanced over at a gargoyle. It looked like it was laughing at her. She narrowed her eyes at it. She had to shake herself, she was acting crazy.

  She shoved her shaking hands into the folds of her dress, not even bothering to see if he watched, and walked quickly from the room, directly to the front door. A little voice chanted Run …if you can. Katherine tried to move forward, but couldn’t get her feet to budge.

  She suddenly wondered if this was how Dorothy felt when she woke up in Oz, with all the little people, squawking, Ding dong, the witch is dead! She looked down at her shoes; they weren’t ruby slippers and she was no Dorothy. Her mind balked at the absurdity of it all. Did she somehow manage to travel into the past? Or was she simply losing her freaking mind? Maybe it was a dream. She had to think. Turning away from the door, she grabbed the banister.

  A little voice snickered in the distance, echoing through the foyer. Her entire body shuddered with fear. She wasn’t sure if she was hearing things, or if her mind was playing tricks on her. Could it really be true that she was actually in the past, where a man… well, a hot man, believed she was his missing fiancée? A time where servants waited on her hand and foot. Was this place her new reality?

  She closed her eyes, fighting the urge not to run out into the dark night. She took a deep, calming breath, and then another. A calm spread through her, as she realized with perfect clarity, that the existence she was in at this moment, right now, had to be real… because she couldn’t make this shit up if she tried.

  Hawthorne Manor

  Water ran in rivulets down the side of Isabelle’s mud-laden prison, splashing on the ground. The constant noise was driving her crazy. She could not stand it. It was cold, damp, and smelled of rotting potatoes. The dampness of the room chilled her to the bone. She could hear creatures scattering about in the dark. Fear hit her so hard, her stomach roiled in response, making her heave. She closed her eyes, trying to banish the nightmare that invaded her dreams but she knew she was not asleep; she was awake, living her worst possible nightmare…she was trapped.

  Bile rose in Isabelle’s throat once more as she remembered what brought her to this place. She covered her mouth with her dirty hand, but the smell of damp earth on her fingers made her heave again.

  Tears rolled down her face. She wiped her face with her sleeve and made herself stand to get away from the stench of her own vomit. She wrapped her arms around herself, shuffling across the floor to the door … hoping. It was no use; it was locked. A faint light shone around the edges of the door. She would have yelled, but she knew it was pointless. She knew exactly where she was: her very own cellar, the one she hated. It was far beneath the ground and on the other side of the door. The crumbling stairs led back to where the old cookhouse once stood. She shuffled back across the room, away from the door, to the farthest corner. There was a sack hanging on the wall that stunk of mold. She closed her eyes, pushing the horror from her mind, and threw it on the floor before sitting on it. At least, it would give her some kind of protection against the cold floor. She leaned against the wall, tucking her legs in the folds of her gown and closed her eyes once more. She sat in silence, berating herself for her stupidity. She was not some naïve girl. She was well into her prime. She had many experiences thus far in her life. She knew what it was like to love, and to lose one’s love. She knew what it felt like to get older and watch helplessly as time began to take more and more of the beauty she once had. She knew what it was like to kill someone as well.

  Yes, Isabelle knew many things. Some of the things she welcomed and some she wanted to forget, but found they still haunted her in her dreams from time to time. She guessed now she was being made to pay one of her many dues.

  She sighed aloud, her voice sounding harsh and raspy from vomiting.

  “Oh my dear husband, why did you have to betray me with her?” The gears of her mind spun round and round replaying the day her world was smashed to pieces…

  Hawthorne Manor a few days earlier

  “Thank you, Charles,” Isabelle said, handing off her green ermine-lined cloak and muff to her butler. Her face was flushed with chill, having just returned from London, and she was not expected home for a few more days. But she was eager to see her young husband, Devlin. They had only been married for a short time and she rather enjoyed their love play. “Wherever is my husband?”

  “His lordship is otherwise occupied, Madam,” Charles replied nervously, tugging at his cravat.

  “Oh,” she said simply. “Do you have any idea how long he will be?”

  “I can’t say as I have the answer to that particular question, Madam.” His voice cracked awkwardly.

  Isabelle raised her brow in question. Charles looked piqued. “Are you feeling all right?”

  “Ah, yes, Madam,” he said hesitantly.

  “Well, I am weary from my travels. Would you please be a dear and tell cook I would like to have a small meal prepared, perhaps some soup and toast? Oh, yes, and have one of the maids bring it up to my chamber. I think a nice warm bath is in order,” she said, shivering slightly.

  Charles’s eyes widened. “Are you sure you would not prefer to have some hot tea in front of the fire?” he coaxed.

  “Heavens no, my clothes are damp, and truth be told, Charles, I am quite simply exhausted.” She leaned in conspiratorially, “Don’t tell anyone, but I am not the young miss I once was.” She, smiled, giving him a wink for good measure. Charles had been in her family’s employ since she was a young girl, and luckily, she was able to keep him after she married the Old Duke.

  “Is Judith with his lordship?” Isabelle asked distractedly. She glanced at a pile of missives on a silver salver on the hall table. There were quite a few invitations. Turning back to Charles, she saw his face was pale and he was staring down at the floor. “Charles, is something amiss?”

  “No… ah… no,” he said, focusing on the ground.

  “Charles, you look pale; perhaps you should get some soup from the kitchen and take yourself off to bed. You may be coming down with something.”

  “Thank you. You may be right; I am suddenly not feeling well.”

  “Of course, take yourself to bed. I’ll tell cook myself about my dinner.”

&nb
sp; “Oh, perfect, I’ll accompany you,” he said hurriedly, taking her elbow, trying to guide her towards the kitchen.

  Isabelle walked alongside Charles as he pushed her towards the kitchen. She had no idea what was wrong with him, but he was certainly acting strange.

  Once in the kitchen, she directed the maid to make a bite for Charles and slipped out before he could notice she was gone. She hurried down the hall and up the stairs. When she reached the top landing, she made her way towards her room.

  She heard moaning. She wrinkled her brow, wondering whatever the noise could be, but walked faster just the same. Dread filled her body. She stood outside her door, listening, afraid to open it suddenly. She heard another moan and muffled voices. Swallowing her trepidation, she grabbed the handle, and opened the door. It opened soundlessly. Her eyes widened as her breath caught in her throat.

  Judith, her husband’s sister, was naked as the day she was born. Her head was thrown back, her hair, swaying back and forth, as she moved up and down on top of a man. Isabelle had no idea who she was with; her body blocked the man’s face. Isabelle’s ire rose instantly. She was ready to give the girl a firm dressing down. How dare she enter her private chambers with…?

  Her stomach lurched as Judith was thrown backward onto the bed. Devlin rose over her, pushing her legs up into the air, and drove into her repeatedly. His body glistened with sweat, and his head was thrown back in ecstasy. Judith moaned louder, writhing as he picked his tempo up. He lifted her legs even higher. She screamed his name as she cried out in pleasure.

  Devlin opened his eyes and looked directly at Isabelle. His body convulsed, finding his own release. Spent, he dropped Judith’s legs.

  Isabelle stood stupidly, frozen in place. Her mind was not able to process what she had just witnessed.

  “Judith, it seems we have an audience,” Devlin said, breathing heavily, staring directly at Isabelle. He seemed amused as he leaned back on the bed and ran his hand through his dampened hair.

  Judith rolled over onto her stomach, an irritated expression on her face, kicking her legs back and forth in the air. “My goodness, Isabelle, had I known you liked to watch, I would have offered you a chair… so you wouldn’t have had to stand so long,” she snickered cruelly. “Devlin does take a while, does he not?” She laughed again. “Oh, right, you would not know that, would you?” she said in a sickeningly sweet voice.

  Isabelle finally got her voice back. “She is your sister! How could you have sex with your sister?” She lifted her hands helplessly in the air.

  Judith laughed harder.

  Devlin got his breath back and rolled off the bed. He tossed on a robe. “Well, that is a good question.” He crossed his arms and tapped his chin. “Ah, I see your dilemma; I mean what kind of sick deviant would have intercourse with his sister?” He waited a moment to speak.

  Isabelle’s stomach twisted. “You’re a sick monster!” she yelled in shocked horror.

  “Tsk, tsk. Be careful what stones you throw, wife. You married this monster… remember?” he said, narrowing his eyes at her.

  “That was before… I didn’t know… I mean how…” Isabelle couldn’t even finish.

  “Goodness Isabelle, you just saw how,” he said callously, then chuckled lightly. “Calm down, Isabelle, I am not a complete monster, well… at least not a deviant one. Judith is not my sister, so it seems you are in luck,” he said coldly. So what brings you home so early, wife?” Devlin asked casually as he toyed with the belt of his robe.

  “What do you mean she is not your sister?” Isabelle asked shakily.

  “Goodness, you are slow, aren’t you?” Judith complained. “Someone please save me from this old person’s stupidity,” Judith sighed out as she gathered her hair in her hand and began to run her fingers through the ends.

  “It was a lie, Isabelle,” Devlin said with a matter of fact tone in his voice.

  “It was a lie?” Isabelle responded, her voice deadpan.

  “Yes, it was a lie, you old bat. Did you think someone as young and virile as Devlin would truly be interested in someone as old as you? You really are slow of wit, aren’t you?” Judith asked nastily, climbing from the bed. She paraded naked across the room and settled herself on the chair in front of Isabelle’s dressing table, giving Isabelle an ugly look in the mirror.

  Isabelle watched her uninhibited display, not an ounce of skin sagging down, her body still firm and ripe from youth. She too once looked much like Judith when she was young; time had taken its toll on her body, but her mind was sharper now than it had ever been.

  Looking at Judith now, her face reflecting in the mirror, she could see the distinct differences between Devlin and her. She had been played for a fool. She should have known from the start. After a moment, Isabelle straightened her spine and pressed her shoulders back. “Get out of my house and take your whore with you,” she ground out, her voice shaking with anger.

  Judith turned towards Devlin, looking mortally wounded. “You aren’t going to let that bat call me names, are you?” she whined.

  Devlin waited a moment before he spoke. “Now, now, wife, don’t be hasty; surely we can come to some understanding,” he replied callously once more.

  “Understanding? Are you a bloody idiot? I said get out or I will call this house down upon your insolent heads. Do you understand what I am saying? And don’t think to take anything with you either, except the pathetic pittance you came to me with. And your whore can go just as she is since I am the one that bought her clothing as well. Or have you forgotten my money paid for all you have?” Isabelle stood rigidly, wanting to crumple, but holding her ground.

  Devlin raised a brow at her, daring her to say more. “We had a deal, Isabelle, or have you forgotten that as well?”

  Isabelle took a step backward, inching towards the door. “I’ll give you a head start. And if you do not leave this moment, I will make sure you are escorted from this house directly to the magistrate,” she warned. She turned to leave, making one more stupid mistake in a long line of them. Before she could make it to the door, a burst of white stole her vision and pain brought her to her knees. Another sharp pain followed and she finally crumpled to the ground.

  Footsteps sounded from above, bringing Isabelle’s mind back to the present. She opened her eyes, awaiting her captor’s arrival.

  The dim light flickered in the hall, throwing shadows against the door of her borrowed room. It loomed before her, fading in and out of focus as she swayed on her feet. All the alcohol she consumed caught up with her body, but her mind still raced. She was still trying to decide whether she was a raving lunatic or somehow managed to travel into the past.

  Really, who knew? Maybe she was having an alcohol-induced hallucination. She grabbed her skin under her arm and pinched, only to be rewarded by a sharp pain. “Ow, that hurt,” she whined, trying to rub the pain away. A red welt the size of a marble rose on her arm as she massaged it. Would the room still be as she remembered it? Or would her delusional brain conjure something else up in its place?

  She swallowed hard as she twisted the handle. It didn’t budge. She tried again, nothing.

  Katherine wanted to scream, but who would help her if they heard? She wanted out. Out of the dress, the house, out of this… this place she found herself stuck in. Angry, unshed tears welled in her eyes and she dashed them away. Grabbing the handle again, she shoved with all her might.

  The door swung open easily as her body sailed through, flying into the room and landing on the carpet with a loud, reverberating “thud!” Her gown flew over her head. She could feel the cool air chilling her stocking-clad legs and backside. She lifted her head slightly, but gave up and dropped it again to the floor.

  Much later that night, at Ravenhurst

  Two black, shiny objects floated in and out of focus in front of Katherine’s face. Her head turned sideways on the carpet, the pile wet under her cheek from drool. She was a mess. She focused her eyes on one of the objects, which was tapp
ing up and down. It was a foot. As a cool breeze wafted up her gown, she closed her eyes in humiliated horror. Her ass was showing.

  “Good evening, milady,” he said finally, his voice crisp and proper, emphasizing his accent.

  She lifted her head, trying to focus on his boots. “Good evening, my good man,” she managed, with her own feigned, English accent, slurring her words.

  “Do forgive my intrusion into your private sanctuary, but I found no other alternative to share a moment of privacy with you.”

  Katherine crawled up on all fours, pushing her gown over her backside. “No problem,” she slurred again, trying to lift her head. Her hair came undone, falling in front of her face, blocking everything but the shiny boots.

  “Milady, can you stand without, erhm… becoming ill?” he questioned warily.

  She fell forward, her face rubbing across the rug. “Damn, that burned,” she groaned as he lifted her up off the floor. “You know, my good man, I think there is someone spying on me when I am in bed. I have a feeling they are trying to get me,” she hiccupped, swaying on her feet as he tried to steady her. He smelled like leather and a heady spice. It was a comforting scent.

  Milford watched her hiccup and giggle as she tried to cover her mouth with her hand. She missed. He rolled his eyes. Despite noting this may not have been the best time to approach her on the subject, he really saw no other alternative. Time was running out.

  “One minute, my good man” she slurred out; “I’ll be right back.”

  Katherine fell out of the bathroom a short time later. She felt less drunk. Shoving her wet hair from her face, she wiped her hands on the front of her already wet gown. She just wanted to lie down. The man was still in her borrowed room, standing by the fire. She groaned, unable to help herself as he lifted his arm towards the chair in front of the fire where she had eaten earlier.

  “Milady, please take a seat.” He knew from his own experience that his lordship’s drink of choice was a heady brew. He wasn’t sure she would even remember what he had to tell her.