His and Hers Read online

  Peering into the night, she saw the outline of buildings a short distance away. Stables, possibly. Maybe she could dive under a stack of hay long enough to bring her thoughts into synch, to come up with a plan of action. With any luck, after a cursory look around, James would come up with a plausible excuse for her absence and give up looking.

  Of course, if Mary ever caught wind of that kind of behavior, he'd be a hero with a z instead of an h and they'd all be doomed.

  Think. She had to think.

  She picked her way across the path that led away from the house and then scooped up her skirts to run through the grass in what appeared to be a more direct route to her destination. As she came closer, she saw it was actually one building, in the shape of an L, with high stone walls and small windows in the upper part of the center section.

  She stopped and reached up, pulling her hair from its restrictions to let it tumble around her shoulders. It felt good. Free. With her breath coming hard and her feet hitting the ground with as little sound as possible, she ran toward the building. When at last she reached one end, she ducked into the tall shadows it cast to watch for James, her fingers against the wall.

  It took only a minute or so for her to see him, illuminated at the top of the hill. "Jane?" he called into the stillness. "Are you there?" He stood there, waiting, while she held her breath. When no answer came, he retreated back toward the house.

  She exhaled, as relieved as she was disappointed. He could have tried a little harder, even if she didn't want him to. Then she allowed herself to take a few deep breaths while she tried to get her bearings.

  Alone. In the night. Light-years away from all she knew. In another country. Another century. Dressed in yet another torturous corset with enough layers of fabric on her to make an entire summer camp of yellow silk tents. Running from the man who was slated to be her husband for the next fifty years or so.

  Might take a while to get those bearings. She'd pull a Scarlett O'Hara and think about that tomorrow.

  Emerging from the shadows, she took cautious steps around the corner and heard a gentle whinny coming from inside the building. So she'd been right. It was a stable.

  One door loomed directly in front of her, with two high-arched ones to the left. After a brief hesitation, she chose one of the arched doorways and inched her way into the stables.

  Jane paused, allowing her eyes to adjust to a darkness relieved only by slivers of light coming in from the moon. On either side, she could make out stalls with wooden doors. In the one nearest to her, she saw the outline of a horse's head, his ears up.

  She made herself as small as possible, creeping along on tiptoe. No need to sound the horse alarm, letting James know exactly where she'd gone.

  A pungent mixture of horse, fresh straw, dirt and manure assaulted her nostrils, making her wrinkle her city-girl nose. It wasn't a bad aroma, just sort of earthy. Still, someplace clean to hide would be a good thing.

  She'd just reached the end of the row of stalls and followed a turn to the right when she heard a man's voice. Quickly, she flattened herself against a stall, drawing interest from its occupant, who gave a small whinny from above her.

  The male voice stopped for a moment but then resumed in tones too low for her to understand the words. After several seconds had passed, she allowed herself to look closer. She knew that voice. Knew its rumble. Her pulse had recognized it before her brain had. Curran.

  As she watched, he raised a hand to run it along the side of a horse's face, blowing gently on its nostrils. The horse shook his head and gave an answering snort, earning a smile from the man. It was a gentle side of the normally fierce Curran that she'd seen only glimpses of earlier.

  Jane debated whether to show herself or to slip back into the night, but before she could decide, the horse on the other side of the wooden stall did it for her, bringing up the volume on his alarm this time.

  "Who's there?" Curran demanded.

  Jane stepped into the faint light "It's me."

  "Come closer."

  Not a good idea, given her current escalating heartbeat. But Jane had never considered herself someone with exceedingly good judgment. And right now, she was on the run. She did as he asked, stopping a foot or so away from him. "What are you doing here?" she asked.

  "That inquiry is mine to make."

  Hard to argue that. "I was out… walking."

  "Surely not alone." Exasperation circled the edges of his voice.

  Much as she hated to admit it, the idea of a man concerning himself with her safety had its attraction. If he wanted to mount a fiery steed and defend her honor while fending off potential attackers, who was she to stop him? Unless she was taking this line of thinking a little further than he had actually intended. "James was with me. He decided to go inside."

  Curran dropped his hands from his horse's head. "Leaving you to wander the grounds unaccompanied?" He took a step away. "Irresponsible lout. I shall find him at once."

  "No." She put a hand on his arm. "I left. I just— wanted time to myself."

  He stared down at her hand.

  She withdrew it slowly. Right. The villain.

  Curran turned back to his horse.

  "Must be yours," Jane said.

  "He is."

  "Do you like to ride him at night, hard and fast through the dark?" Her tone didn't sound quite as casual as she had hoped it would. Her pulse quickened.

  His eyes held hers until Jane had to drop her gaze to stare at the floor. Did he think she was suggesting… ?

  "In indulging himself in such foolhardy activity, my brother has broken the spirit of one bold horse and the leg of another. "Jane looked up to see his eyes glinting in the near-darkness. "James has a recklessness that too often soundly defeats reason."

  She fought a sense of disappointment that had nothing to do with James and his recklessness. "I think I've known a few people like that in my life." She moved toward the horse, lifting her hand. "May I?"

  In one smooth motion, Curran drew her to him. "From his side. He must be able to see you. To know your purpose."

  She followed his instructions, approaching the horse cautiously at first and then relaxing enough to enjoy the feel of his mane against her fingers. It was better than thinking about the way the nearness of his master seemed to rob her of her breath. "What were you doing earlier? Blowing on his nose?"

  "Horses often greet each other in such a manner. I am told it expresses respect."

  "What's his name?"

  "Alfred."

  She tipped her head, thinking. "A good, strong name."

  "It was my mother's surname. The name I bore at birth." With a pat for his horse, he stepped back from the stall and waited for her to do the same. When she had, he pushed the top part of the door back in place and began to walk away. She followed.

  "Do you miss being an Alfred?"

  "One cannot miss what is not gone."

  "What were you talking about with Alfred?"

  Even in the shadows, she could detect his surprise at the question. But it disappeared quickly, his features regaining their more practiced, unreadable expression. "Simply the words of praise any master would give his horse at the end of a day. Before the start of the next."

  Jane was no expert on human-to-horse communication, but she'd bet it wasn't quite as simple as that. She'd opened her mouth to say something to that effect when she heard another voice, from not far away, calling her name. James. From the sound of his boots, he was getting close. She grabbed Curran's upper arm, holding on tight "If he finds me right now, I'm going to have to hurt him."

  He barked a laugh, quickly stifled. "Not precisely the action your hero might seek."

  "Just don't tell him I'm in here. That's all I ask. I will go back and everything will be fine. Just not now." She looked from one side to the other, scampering ahead, skirts hoisted, to find somewhere, anywhere, to hide.

  Then she found it, an empty stall with what smelled like fresh straw. Turning back,
she hissed one final word of entreaty over her shoulder. "Please." She held her breath, closed her eyes and dove into the pile, covering herself head to toe with the straw. And waited, hoping the effort at deception would be worth it. The straw was already beginning to make her itch. Who knew what kind of bugs or… other things might be lurking in it.

  She heard James's voice and boots. Coming close. Very close. "Curran," he snapped. "Have you seen Miss Ellingson?"

  "Do not tell me you have misplaced her, James."

  The younger brother's answer was terse. "Kindly do me the favor of a reply."

  "The lady in question has, I am given to believe, returned to her bedchambers."

  "Are you quite certain of that?"

  "It is what she indicated."

  A pause. "So you are the last to have seen Miss Ellingson."

  Hey now. What was James trying to establish here? That if anything bad happened to Jane, Curran alone would be responsible? Would be fingered by the police as the "last to have seen her"? Let's go back to that list of James's Good Qualities. Minus ten points for callous disregard.

  "She appeared in the stables briefly."

  "Her aunt, and indeed her father, would be most distressed to learn it."

  "Then I suggest they do not."

  James cleared his throat. "I must determine she is safely returned. I shall have the maid check to see that she is in her bed."

  All right. Add back five points for follow-through… Never mind. This whole list was making her head hurt.

  "It would be wise," Curran agreed.

  What? No, it wouldn't.

  "I am returning to the house myself," he added. "I shall accompany you."

  Jane remained perfectly still, even as she heard creaking from the floor above. Servants. Another creak of floorboards sounded, prompting a ripple of panic up her spine. Being a stable servant probably didn't require references. Or a background check. The sound of Curran and James's voices, and their boots, faded as they walked from the stables. She would be left alone. Her, the horses and the suspicious servant element.

  So much for defense of her honor and person. She pushed her head up, spitting bits of straw from her lips. Great Now she had to hightail it back to the house and into her bedroom before James discovered she wasn't there, sounded the alarm and organized a search party, complete with lanterns of fire.

  What did a girl have to do to get a minute alone around here?

  Chapter 12

  She knew she should have bolted from the stable stall, boots flying, to get back to the house before James did. But instead, Jane remained sitting in the midst of straw and skirts, running through a mental assessment of her current status in life. She had never had much success at being Scarlett O'Hara, no matter how many times she tried it The things she didn't want to think about until tomorrow, or never, always came surging back to hit her in the face and demand attention. Now.

  In the twenty-first century, she'd ruined her chances with her job, boyfriend and social life. In the nineteenth century, she didn't even have much hope of gainful employment, couldn't seem to get on compatible footing with her alleged almost fiancé and any social life that didn't include the pianoforte was a pretty remote possibility.

  But she had one important constant in both centuries. No matter what, Jane was still Jane. And that didn't seem to be a particularly good thing.

  Giant tears formed in her eyes. She felt one begin to roll down her cheek, while the other remained stuck, turning the vision in one eye blurred and watery. She sniffed, sinking into a quicksand of self-recrimination and pity. The tear spilled out at last, rolling down her other cheek.

  Some people knew all the right things to do, without even having to think about it. They weren't so accident-prone that people joked they didn't want to sit too close to their water glasses. Or walk too close to their stilettos.

  Those people didn't blurt things out and two seconds later want to frantically push DELETE. Or just plain make a mistake and want to hide in a closet, arms over their heads, once it had been realized. No. Those people always knew what to do and how to do it right.

  The virtual quicksand began to close in, reaching her neck. She was going down. And who would miss her? Her cheeks were wet, tears splashing. They would reach her dress soon. Then the straw. She was drowning in defeat and self-pity.

  Some heroine. Mary Bellingham needs to have her writer's license revoked. At the thought, Jane gave an even louder sniff, wiping her sleeve across her face. Of all the people out there in the world who could have picked up that stone and made a wish, why had she been the one? Nearby, a horse stirred and sputtered.

  "Unless you have a way out of this mess, keep your opinions to yourself," she choked out.

  She heard a rustle. Then, "You have frightened my horse." The voice, deep and familiar, came from above her head.

  Jane's chin whipped up. She raked both sleeves over her eyes, frantic to wipe the flood damage from her face. The lantern Curran carried moved to illuminate her cheeks before she could succeed. "I didn't—didn't mean to."

  Most of his face was hidden by the shadows, while hers felt glaringly exposed. Pushing against the floor with her feet, she scooted backward, away from the light.

  "I am quite certain you had no such intention, but there you have it, all the same."

  His matter-of-fact tone caught her off guard, disarming her instincts to duck and run for cover. Pressing both palms into the straw, Jane turned her head in the direction of Alfred's stall. "I don't know how to calm a horse."

  "It is simply a matter of assuring him that the noise will soon cease." He moved the lantern closer to his face. As the beams lit the strong planes of his features, she could see that his eyes held concern. "Would that be true?"

  Jane took a deep breath, straightening her shoulders, and then let it out, feeling the weight of a weariness that seemed to penetrate to her bones. "Yes." She didn't mean it As soon as he left, she'd be crying her eyes out again. But while he was here, she could manage to contain it Maybe.

  He extended his hand.

  She hesitated and then took it, allowing him to help her to her feet His hand felt strong and comforting and the feel of his skin, pressed into hers, sent tingles of heat shooting from her fingers to her shoulders and all the way to her toes. She cast her eyes down and brushed bits of straw from her clothing, determined not to let him see what his touch did to her.

  If the same thing had happened even once when she was with James, there wouldn't be a problem. She pressed a hand to her forehead, looking at the stalls, the equipment hanging from hooks on the wall, the floor. Looking anywhere but at Curran. "How can you tell when Alfred is frightened?" Get the conversation away from her and the fact that her eyes had to now be rimmed with a less-than-attractive red. And on to anything else.

  Curran hung the lantern on a hook near his horse's stall. "It is much the same as when a person is frightened. There is a look in his eyes, certain sounds that emerge and reluctance to be approached." He reached out to pat the horse and then looked over at Jane.

  A silence hung in the air between them, one that she hoped he would fill with words, so that she didn't have to she wasn't sure she could trust herself enough.

  But he didn't say a word. Finally, she folded her arms tight across her ribs and said, untruthfully, "I'm not frightened."

  From behind Curran, Alfred gave a snort that sounded like disbelief.

  "You stay out of this," she said to him.

  Then she turned back to Curran. "I'm not." Jane brushed hair from her eyes with a jerk of her hand. "I'm frustrated."

  Still Curran didn't speak. He just put a hand on the wall and leaned against it, his eyes on Jane. "Okay, maybe I'm little frightened," she admitted. "You would be, too, if you didn't know how you got here or what was going to happen. Especially when there's a writer you've never seen or heard who supposedly holds your entire life in her hands and she doesn't seem to have a clue about what she's doing. And you don't know
if you can keep it together long enough to keep from messing everything up! Because that's what you always seem to do no matter how hard you try not to." She took big, heaving breaths.

  A furrow appeared between Curran's thick, dark brows. He ached for the lantern, took her elbow and began stealing her away from the horse's stall. "Come with me."

  She did. There was a huge difference between the way he said it and James's no-questions-asked Come command. Speaking of which… "Is James going to raise an alarm when he finds out I'm not at the house?" It wasn't as though she had a cell phone to call him and say she'd be late, not to worry. And the last thing she needed was a such party descending on her.

  "James allowed himself to be convinced that you have retired to your bedchambers with an unfortunate headache." Jane suppressed an irrational feeling of disappointment. It was what she wanted him to do, right? She walked with Curran down the wooden floor of the hall and out through the heavy door, hearing the occasional shifting and sputtering of horses they passed on the way. Jane darted a look up at him as they emerged into the cool night air. "I guess I should be glad he won't be coming after me."

  A slight dip of his chin. No comment.

  "So he let his villainous brother tell him I'm fine and not to worry." She shook her head. "He needs to work on this hero thing."

  They continued walking for several minutes, Curran leading the way with one hand holding the lantern and the other on her elbow. She liked the feel of his hand, protective and confident. Not that it would do any good to think about that right now. Or any time.

  "It seems desperately important to you to know precisely what is to come," he said.

  "Only in these circumstances. Because so much depends on things turning out well." And that was different from life… how?

  "One can never be entirely certain of what is to happen, under any circumstance." There was a hint, but only a hint, of resignation in his voice.

  She searched what she could see of his face. "You've had to deal with a lot of uncertainty in your life."