“I do. It’s two hundred and ninety-five years away.”

  She studied him as best she could in the lantern light. He seemed so convinced. If her father believed his mad story for any reason, it was because Michael sounded so sincere.

  “Okay, tell me about the world two hundred and ninety-five years from now.” She wanted to see how far he would take this.

  “Okay, um, there’s something called the internet…we have computers and phones, and now, watches, too, that can—”

  “What are all those things?” she asked. “You lost your phone.”

  “Yes, that’s right. They are devices that enable you to speak to someone who is far away. You can see them on a screen and talk to them. You can buy things like…I don’t know—anything. Everything you can think of, someone is selling it on the internet. With a phone, you can take pictures. They are still images captured on the screen or printed up on glossy paper. You can find a job, find a husband, a one-night-stand, whatever. The world is at our fingertips.”

  “It sounds fascinating,” she said, wide-eyed, suspecting for certain now that he was beyond help and likely had one of the most brilliant minds of anyone she knew. Such a terrible pity. “What is an internest?”

  “Internet. The internet is like an enormous spiderweb that connects those devices all over the world. It’s not something you can touch like a phone or a computer. It works inside those devices, kind of. It’s very complicated. Our technology has grown by leaps and bounds. It makes us lazy.

  “Some of the other things are lights.” He explained what they were. “And plumbing. Oh, man, I miss plumbing most of all.”

  They arrived at Belmair Hill, or at the bottom of it. It wasn’t a steep incline, or an exceptionally high hill. In fact, there was nothing spectacular about it, until the sun came up over the vast horizon. There was nothing around but fields, so there was nothing to mar the view. One could see the light spreading across the earth for hundreds of miles.

  She couldn’t wait for him to see.

  They sat in the thick grass on top of the hill to wait.

  “How long have you been coming here?”

  “Since I was thirteen. Preston brought me.”

  “I figured.”

  Did he sound angry? She decided to find out.

  “He wanted to kiss me here once.”

  “Charlotte, I’m not really inter—once? Why just once?”

  She wished she could see his face. He sounded as if he were scowling. “Because I stopped him the first time. I love it here and if our first kiss would have been here and things went sour with us, this place would be ruined for me. I did not want to take the chance and it angered him.”

  “Well then, I guess kissing you here tonight is out of the question.”

  Oh, he made her cheeks blaze and her blood boil. The more time she spent with him the worse it was becoming. She had to think with her head, although she never found it so difficult to do in her life! She leaned in, smiling at him.

  “Things have more of a chance going sour with you than they do with Preston,” she told him with a teasing smile.

  “Why?” He didn’t smile back. He wasn’t angry. He was just earnest.

  “I told you. You will eventually cage me, Detective. You will have to. You take your duty very seriously. I think that is also what my father saw in you. But as I told you already, I think you came here to catch me.”

  “Catch you at what?” he asked, pulling his knees to his chest.

  She smiled, but she wasn’t sure he could see her. He had put the lantern down when they sat. “Robbing, Investigator. Surely you know I am a thief.”

  “Surely you know that if you’re caught and convicted, you could hang.”

  She didn’t know why but the thought of him caring so much made her bones melt a little. “You were paying attention at my father’s gathering.”

  “How else would I know your fate?” he asked. “I don’t want you to get caught. I don’t want to be the one to catch you. I wish you would swear never to do it again.”

  What if he found out that Gerald FitzSimmons had acted on her silent orders? That deVille escaped to Hayward House? Could she stop? Would Preston just let her go? No one had ever left him. What about Rosie and the others? Who was Michael Pendridge? No one truly knew. He was most assuredly soft in the head. Nevertheless, he was a lawman. The only one Croydon had at present. No. There was too much at stake. She wouldn’t abandon it all for a shadow.

  “We shall see what the days bring, Michael.” It was all she would promise him.

  “I will just have to keep watching over you then,” he answered on a low, husky voice.

  “Is that what you are doing? Watching over me?” she asked wryly, “And why do you sound as if you are not enjoying yourself, when we both know you are.”

  His eyes opened wider and shone like sapphires in the starlight. He had so mastered his emotions that, for a moment, she couldn’t tell if he was amused or angry.

  “I am,” he gave in gruffly. “And so what? Your father asked me to watch you. I’m sure he meant watch over you.”

  “I’m sure he did not mean the latter,” she corrected with an indulgent smile. “There is a difference between the two. My father asked you to spy on me, not to protect me.”

  Silence reigned for a moment, then he shook his head and smiled. “I never met anyone like you before.”

  “Is that a good thing?” She bumped her shoulder to his arm.

  “Yeah. That’s a good thing.”

  She was close, so she rested her head on his shoulder. He stiffened beneath her, but then warmed up to having her so close.

  “Sleepy?” he asked quietly.

  “Aye. Michael?”

  “Yes?”

  “What is a screen? You said people could see each other on a screen.”

  He put his arm around her and pulled her closer. “Did anything I was saying make sense to you before?”

  “A little,” she admitted, enjoying how his arm felt around her too much to move away.

  “I forget how entirely different our times are,” he said.

  She agreed though she couldn’t find her voice. His body was warm and hard as armor. She felt cared for under his arm and, oddly, it made her want to cry.

  “What are the people like?” she asked, hoping to distract her thoughts.

  “People will always remain the same, Charlotte. Whatever the era. Maybe in the twenty-first century crime and killing happen on a grander scale because of our technological advancements, but it’s the human heart that is so marred. It’s the anger, and the hatred, and the hardness that will destroy us.”

  “You have met many sorry souls being an investigator,” she guessed by the deep cynicism in his tone.

  “Yeah, and they all had one thing in common,” he told her.

  They all broke your heart? she wanted to ask him.

  “Crime,” he told her.

  Her belly sank. She realized he thought very little of criminals. What would he think of her when he found out about the things she had done? She had never been frightened before. But there had never been a threat like Detective Pendridge around before.

  He was going to catch her.

  “Are you cold?” he whispered over her head. “You’re trembling.”

  She tried to slow her breath. She was made of stronger mettle than this. He had not done much to prove that his prowess at catching her was any greater than any other failed attempt made by other men. What was she so worried about? He said he would protect her. That did not mean throw her in a cell.

  She let herself relax against him and yawned. He held his breath, feeling her breathe instead. “Tell me more about your world, Michael. Convince me that you are not ill in the head.”

  He chuckled softly. “I don’t know if I can convince you of that, but our music consists of a lot more instruments or synths. There are hundreds of different styles, thousands of different beats. There might be one singer or many. Some are fast, some are slow ballads, and all them can be heard by anyone who has a radio, a computer, phone, you know the rest.”

  “Oh,” she breathed longingly. “I wish I could hear it.”

  He began humming a tune and hitting his knee for rhythm. It was a fast tune, but different in tempo than anything she’d ever heard before. He began singing about wanting someone back and seeing her in someone else’s arms. Despite the lyrics being on the sad side, excluding the bursts of oh, oh baby, the song was playful and catchy.

  “I like it,” she told him when it was done.

  “The little boy who sang it was twelve at the time and grew up to be one of the most famous performers in the world.”

  “Sing another!”

  This time, he chose something slower, softer. His voice swept across her ears and went straight to her heart, slowing it. He had a very pleasant singing voice. She wanted to tell him, but she was too weary.

  She cuddled closer and finally felt herself being draped across his strong thighs and her head cradled in the crook of his arm.

  She was safe here. She was protected. She was important.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Michael looked around in the darkness for Mr. Simeon. Charlotte didn’t seem to mind, but Michael knew he sounded like a full-blown, certifiable nut. He knew it. He was sure she knew it, too. He couldn’t prove anything he told her about the future. He didn’t know why he told her in the first place. He feared she would look at him differently now. He didn’t blame her if she did. He wouldn’t have believed him if he were her. And yet, her father, whom she didn’t get along with, believed him on the first telling. Old John, too.

  Mr. Simeon could prove Michael wasn’t out of his mind. Where was he? Michael tried to remember everything Simeon had told him. Michael had definitely traveled back in time. He believed it. It was all real. There might be a way to get home. All he had to do was talk about the future enough to maybe threaten the steady course of things. They’d come back for him like they came back for Miss Lancaster. He could tell the judge things. He could tell a whole room of judges things. Did he want to? Was there a reason he got the brooch and came back? What did it all mean? This had to do with King Arthur, but what did Michael have to do with any of it? Was he just unfortunate to get the brooch and find his true love?

  Gazing down at her asleep in his lap, his heart melted against his ribs. He would keep her from picking any more pockets if he had to follow her everywhere she went. She’d told him he would put her in a cell. He would make sure he never did.

  He wished they had brought some whiskey, but he hadn’t even thought of it until now She made him feel lightheaded enough. She made him forget everything, including his duties. He should have questioned their prisoner today. He most likely would have found out much, but he allowed Charlotte to distract him and the bastard got away. Now, here he was sitting atop a hill waiting for the sun to rise, as if it were some huge event. One that Charlotte couldn’t stay awake for.

  He should be out hunting the perp. Once again, he allowed Charlotte to distract him from his duties.

  He was about to wake her and take her home when he was distracted by a wash of golden light. He turned to witness the top arch of the sun dazzle the earth beneath it. Light burst forth in blinding, gold, orange, and crimson shafts. A new day was being born. New chances, new beginnings, new mercies.

  He had a gun and he had a bullet, but he hadn’t thought about using them on himself. He drank tonight but he would have preferred not to if he knew he’d see Clements. He didn’t want to forget his friends. He just wanted peace from them. Maybe here, in seventeen twenty-four he would find that peace.

  As he watched the sun make its lazy ascent over the horizon, he thought of all the possibilities that were dawning with the day and he suddenly felt choked up. He wanted to take a step out. Everything would be okay.

  He felt a tear fall from his eye and then he felt Charlotte’s hand on his arm. She was awake, sitting up—she leaned in and tilted her beautiful face up to his.

  Should he kiss her? He wanted to do more than that. He wanted to ravish her.

  She slipped her hands over his face and stared into his glassy eyes as the sun rounded to a fiery orb in the sky. He closed his arms around her tighter and dipped his head.

  What about ruining this place for her?

  She pulled his head down more to reach her eager mouth.

  He pressed his lips to hers. She responded with nervousness and shyness, a completely different reaction than what he was used to…before.

  Slowly, he cupped her cheek and her nape and took her deeper, molding his mouth to hers, branding her with his kiss. He breathed her, tasted her, and teased her with his tongue, flicking it over her lips, her teeth.

  “You kiss very nicely,” she said against his neck when she came up for air.

  “So do you,” he said, biting her chin.

  He knew it wasn’t a good idea to continue, but he did. He kissed her until she giggled, and then he kissed her neck. She smelled like grass and sunshine, and newness. They didn’t kiss long. They both knew what they were doing was foolish. They walked on two different sides of the road. They weren’t children who couldn’t control their passions. They were both masters of control. They let each other go awkwardly and smiled while Charlotte patted her hair. She was pleasantly shy. He liked it.

  “Michael?” she asked later, after the sun had come fully up and she sat beside him. “Why were you crying?”

  “I wasn’t crying,” he corrected her firmly.

  “A tear came out of your eye. That is crying.”

  “One tear, Charlotte. Let’s not make more of it than it is.”

  “All right then,” she smiled indulgently. “Why did a tear fall from your eye?”

  “I don’t know.” He shrugged and shook his head. How could he tell her that every morning he was usually holding the barrel of a gun between his teeth? And that this morning, he was glad he’d never put a bullet in the gun?

  “Well, I liked it.”

  “Don’t get accustomed to it,” he muttered.

  He looked at her face. “Charlotte, why are you grinning like a satisfied cat?”

  “No reason. Come,” she said, rising to her feet. “We should get back before my father suspects something and sends you away.”

  His good mood returned when he looked up at her and said, “You don’t want me to be sent away?”

  “Of course not, silly. Is that not obvious? You are entertaining,” she added with a spark of humor in her eyes.

  He smiled with her. He couldn’t help himself. He didn’t want to. “So are you.”

  She quirked a brow at him, as if she wanted to figure something out, then her grin returned, and she held out her hand to help him up. He didn’t need it, but he accepted her offering just the same.

  He bounded to his feet, close to her. In fact, his body touched hers in certain places. He angled his head and looked into her eyes. The golden light behind Charlotte cast her in what appeared like a halo around her. He felt the urge to laugh. She was no angel. But she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. Even with her dark locks spilling around her shoulders like a tangled cloak, she was ravishing.

  He coiled his arm around her waist and pulled her in. “It will be hard to keep my hands off you today.”

  “Aye,” she agreed and pushed off him. “But we must exercise control over our desires. I know ’tis something you can do. I, too, can do it.”

  “Okay.” He let her go. He understood. She didn’t want her father to find out. He didn’t want to be sent away either. He stepped away and headed toward the house—he hoped—he turned one last time to see the sun resting on the horizon with light, like arms of many shades of gold and red spread out across the vast expanse.

  A new day.

  *

  “He said to tell Lord Sutton that Gerald FitzSimmons of Croydon freed me from the clutches of the new lawman. But I’m sure I heard Lady Charlotte outside of the cell. She called out to FitzSimmons.”

  Aye, she was a clever girl, and loyal unto death most likely. Sebastian Alexander, Baron of Surrey, rolled his eyes heavenward. Preston didn’t deserve her. Sebastian didn’t know any man alive who did. He liked to rile her up. She had a fiery temper, a truly fearless nature. She enjoyed doing things her father, the judge, would disapprove of. He smiled thinking of her. One day, he would usurp Preston and become the head of the Horsemen. Perhaps he’d also take Preston’s woman.

  “What is to be done about this stranger?” deVille asked.

  Sebastian didn’t know much about him. “He claimed to be a lawman and shot Lord Sutton in the leg.”

  “I knew he was a danger,” deVille whispered and looked around as if the man were here and listening in somehow. Fool.

  They would likely have to kill this lawman. Sebastian thought it was too bad. He may have liked this bold, fearless stranger who shot first and asked questions later, especially when it came to Lord Sutton, Preston Bristol III. But deVille was correct. The lawman was too dangerous to befriend or look up to. Whoever had the chance had to kill him.

  He told deVille and gave the order to spread the word. The lawman must die. Next was Charlotte. Of course, he wouldn’t kill her. He hadn’t seen her at Preston’s. Surprising, since she was allowing Amanda to see to Sutton’s needs, which were many, according to Agnes, one of the scullery maids lucky enough to find herself in Sebastian’s bed from time to time.

  “Keep your eyes open for Lady Charlotte,” he told deVille. “Let me know when you see her.”

  “Last I saw her, she was with the lawman.”

  Hmm. According to Preston, she was with the lawman when he was shot. What was she doing with this stranger? Telling him their secrets? Telling him her secrets? Was she falling for this man? Perhaps it was time to warn her to keep silent. He would see to it himself.

  “Roger!” he called out into the air. “Have my carriage brought around!”

  He’d dropped by Judge Whimsey’s manor house unannounced before. He and Charlotte were friends. Her father, the duke, knew it. Judge Whimsey didn’t mind him. It was Preston the judge didn’t like. According to her father, ever since Charlotte met Sutton, she began getting into trouble. Her father believed Preston was the cause of it all. He was partially correct. But there was no proof. And how could there be? Preston was paying off just about everyone—except Judge Whimsey and a few others, and those never saw a side of Preston of which they could grumble. He did not commit the crimes but had others do it for him.