“What are your plans for today?” her father asked as if reading her thoughts. She looked up from her bowl. He was speaking to Michael. Not her.

  “I’m escorting your daughter to Sutton so she can visit with the baron,” Michael answered.

  “Viscount,” Charlotte corrected.

  He squinted his eyes on her just a bit. Enough for her to understand that he didn’t like her correction because he didn’t give a damn about Preston’s title. She tilted her mouth up at one end. She liked the small flares of his temper that his eyes could not conceal from her.

  “Viscount,” he muttered to her father. “And then, unless we are attacked again on the road—”

  “No,” her father interrupted. “I do not want Charlotte with Preston Bristol. The visit is no longer part of your plan.” He lifted his cup to his mouth and drank.

  “’Tis part of my plan and I’m going,” Charlotte told him, setting down her knife and fork.

  “No. You are not,” he argued.

  “My lord,” Michael appealed, “we both know she’ll go whether I escort her or not. I want to protect her. I can’t do that if she runs off when I’m not with her.”

  Her father stared at her. Michael was correct. She would go with or without him.

  “I’ll keep her safe in the forest,” he promised.

  “All right then,” her father relented, giving Michael a hard stare, and then aiming it at her. “Do not let trouble find you, Daughter.”

  She nodded. She didn’t tell him that Michael was going to leave her alone with Preston and wait for her in a nearby village. Michael didn’t tell him either.

  They set out a short time later, packing midday meals to eat upon her return.

  “Thank you for not telling my father about leaving me alone with Preston.”

  “Are you certain you’re safe with him?”

  “Preston? Of course. He has been my friend for a long time. Do not worry.”

  “Does your mother not sit at your table?” he asked a little later, on their way to Sutton.

  “Hardly,” she told him, keeping her horse at a slow pace with his. “She was not around much. Rosie used to stand behind me as Old John stands behind my father. She took care of me. She raised me until I was eleven.”

  “I would like to meet her,” he said with a smile.

  “Michael?” Perhaps she was mad. She had the urge to laugh. “Let us go visit Rosie instead of Preston.”

  His smile widened. “Are you sure?”

  She nodded. She was very sure. Preston would be fine. Rosie was another matter.

  She told Michael where to go while butterflies awakened inside her at the thought, even the faintest one, of Michael wanting to meet Rosie. “She will like you.”

  “How do you know?” he asked playfully.

  “You are handsome and tall, strong and well-mannered—and you are not Preston.”

  “No one in your life seems to like him,” he pointed out, as if she did not already know. “Why is that—besides the obvious, I mean?”

  She began to speak and then stopped half a dozen times. She didn’t want to tell him too much about Preston. She still wanted to protect him if she could. She couldn’t bear to see him in a cell.

  “They blame him for much he did not do?”

  “And what has he done?”

  “Can you cease being a detective for a few hours?” she asked. She flicked her reins and picked up her horse’s pace.

  He rode up beside her and kept his pace steady with hers. “I don’t think so but, today, for you, I’ll try.”

  She felt her blood go warm. He was honest, and he sacrificed for her. “You have my thanks.”

  He cut her a warm side-glance and then rode off.

  She raced to catch up, but he laughed at her attempts, pushing his horse to bound over rocks and race as if it were running against the wind.

  It felt wonderful to let her horse open up and run. She loved the wind snapping her hair behind her, making her squint to see and fight to breathe.

  She gave a shout of victory when she passed his horse and won the race. They both laughed, out of breath, and dismounted to walk their horses slowly.

  “Where did you learn to ride so well?” she asked him.

  “My grandfather had a stable upstate. We used to visit every summer when I was a kid. Geoff was a better rider than I was. But I loved it. I’ve missed it.”

  “You said you were adopted—”

  “Yeah. By the Davenports. They were good people. I loved them very much. To me, they will always be my parents.”

  “Why do you use Pendridge as your name?”

  He shrugged. “They never changed it. I never asked my father why he didn’t. It always made me feel like I didn’t belong there. Deep down inside, you know?”

  She nodded and swiped a tear from her eye. They had much in common. Perhaps he was her true love.

  “What else do you miss?” she asked as they walked.

  “I will miss my father eventually. He moved out to the west coast—New York is on the east coast—so I don’t see him too often. After my brother died, things between us changed.”

  “Where is your mother?”

  “She died of a heart attack twelve years ago.”

  “That is very sad,” she told him, moved by his story. “Do you have other brothers?” When he shook his head, she continued, “One would think he would cherish you more deeply now that you are his only living son.”

  “Not if he never considered me that to begin with. Besides, my brother died a hero. He ran into the burning buildings and was inside trying to save others when the tower collapsed. He’ll always be a hero. I can never compete with that.”

  “You should not have to, Michael.”

  “Yeah. You’re right. But even knowing it, I still wanted to prove myself. Until my third and final partner was caught taking bribes. It was assumed that I was doing it as well.”

  “Were you?”

  His flashing blue eyes lit on her for a moment. “No.”

  She believed him.

  His father obviously did not.

  “My eleventh birthday was approaching,” she began, wanting to say something to him to soothe him, but not knowing what. She thought sharing a part of her, as he had done, was a good offering. “John and Rosie and the others had planned a large celebration. My parents both promised to come. Of course, no one expected Lizette to show up to something so trivial as someone else’s celebration. But I had fallen over a cliff, three months before. A cliff that, thankfully, ended underwater. I nearly perished, but I stayed awake, and with a broken leg and two broken ribs, I managed to swim to shore. I made it home, where I remained abed for three months. It was the worst time in my life. I hated being dependent and helpless. My parents knew I had had a difficult time. My father had spared no expense for my birthday celebration. He bought me the bracelet that I will never wear.”

  “Why won’t you ever wear it?”

  “Because it came with a promise he never kept.”

  He reached for her hand and entwined his fingers through hers. Then he brought her knuckles up to his lips and kissed her softly. “What was the promise, Charlotte?”

  “That things would be new with us. We would start over and he would be the father I needed. I knew ’twas all vain talk, for he did not show up to my celebration. I waited all day for him. I waited while all the foolish fancies he had birthed withered and died before my eyes. I ran away after that, but not for long. I would have missed Rosie and John and Anna too much.”

  “You will have your own family someday,” he reassured. “All the fancies you dreamed of can be real.”

  “I have heard this before from Preston,” she told him.

  “Did he promise to give it to you?” She nodded and he scowled and mocked his adversary. “What is he waiting for? Someone to come and steal you away?

  She laughed and slid her playful gaze to his. “Perhaps. Will that someone be you?”

  “Yes,” he told her brazenly and without hesitation. “It will be me.”

  Her eyes opened wide with surprise. “Detective, how do you know what I want?”

  He moved closer, so close that their bodies touched. He snaked his hands around her waist and drew her in gently. “You want me. Am I wrong?” he asked letting his lips hover over hers.

  “No. You are not wrong.” How had she come to love being in his arms? She hadn’t been there often, but it was as if she were coming home. Home…to a husband and a babe. A family. He held her as if he cherished her and hated to let her go.

  His kiss was deep and long, curious and hungry. His lips felt as plump and pouty as they looked when she sucked his bottom lip between her teeth. Preston never hauled her into his arms before. He never kissed her so passionately.

  Michael desired her. She could feel it in his salacious kiss. She could see it when he looked at her, which she found him doing often. She wanted to kiss more of him, his arms, his belly…

  He groaned into her mouth and she felt as if she was being set aflame. She could feel his desire growing harder and boldly, instinctively rubbed herself against him.

  “All right,” he said, breaking their kiss. “We need to stop before I can’t.”

  She smiled, liking that she could bring him to such pleasure that he would abandon his control. But liking more that he would not force her to do what could possibly ruin her if she ended up carrying his child and he was taken back to his home in the twenty-first century.

  She still found it difficult to believe his story about time traveling—or her own eyes when Mr. Simeon appeared and disappeared and brought her back her blanket and a toy from the future. But it had to be real. What else could it be? Presently, she didn’t care, except that she didn’t want to fall madly in love with him if he was leaving.

  “Michael,” she asked, staring up into his starlit-blue eyes “what if you are given the choice to stay here or return to your future? What will you choose?”

  He didn’t answer her. Not for a few moments, at least—and that was enough.

  She straightened her spine, patted her locks, and moved away from him.

  “Charlotte,” he called out to stop her as she walked off with her horse. “Hang on, let me—”

  “There is no need, Michael.” She stopped and turned to face him. “You fear that speaking the truth of your heart will hurt me, so you avoid it. ’Tis kind, but your pity will do me no good.”

  “Will this do you any good?” He appeared beside her, pulling his horse by the reins with one hand and holding out the other to her. In his open palm was the ruby ring she’d lifted the morning she’d met him.

  “You had it all this time?” she asked, reaching for it.

  “It was in the back pocket of my jeans.” The same black jeans he was wearing now, and that he hadn’t worn since changing into eighteenth century hose. “I never gave it to the constable.”

  Her eyes danced at the sight of the glittering red stone. “Bromley is not far. We could go to the town and trade this for food.”

  He smiled at her. “Let’s go.”

  She chose not to think about his hesitation in answering her question. Not now. They had the ruby ring! He could have kept it and said nothing to her, but he gave it up to her. He agreed to trade it for food.

  So, he was exactly the sort of man she wanted as a husband; compassionate, considerate, strong, handsome—the list went on. So what? He didn’t know what he wanted, and she didn’t want to be waiting around the way she’d done for Preston.

  They rode on toward Bromley without exchanging much talk. He said a few words, but nothing substantial. He didn’t try to explain why he’d hesitated and, at this point, it would not have mattered. At least, with him, Charlotte knew where she stood.

  The vendors in the town were all willing to trade food for the ring. The only question now was which vendor would give them the most? None of them asked any questions about where the ring came from or who it belonged to.

  Michael haggled for the best offer, which was more than what she’d ever received for anything she’d brought them. It angered her that the vendors would offer him more, but she was thankful Rosie and her family would be getting more. In fact, Michael was able to acquire at least a sennight’s worth of food and still had coin left over to purchase a cart. Charlotte was ecstatic.

  “You are very good at bartering,” she remarked after they tied their horses to their new cart and rode out of Bromley.

  “When you’re a New York City detective,” he answered, glancing at her sitting beside him on the cart’s small bench, “you learn how to talk to people to get what you want.”

  “Oh?” she put to him with a half-smile and a raised brow. “Do you use your wiles on me?”

  “As much as you use yours on me.” He winked at her and then looked forward as they rode.

  “Why, I hardly use my wiles on you at all, Michael.”

  “So then, it’s your natural charm that’s been knocking me on my ass lately.”

  She nodded, enjoying the way he spoke, and smiled. “As it has been yours knocking me on mine.”

  “Your what?” he pressed playfully.

  “My ass.” Almost instantly, she lifted her hand to cover her mouth.

  He laughed and then so did she. When he put his arm around her, following a slight breeze, she melted against him. She was still stung that he would likely choose to go back if the option became able. It saddened her.

  Thankfully, Rosie’s small village was just outside the town and, within minutes, the group of thatched-roof huts came into view.

  “It’s like going back even farther in time, Michael remarked. “This place looks medieval.”

  “They have nothing,” Charlotte told him and sat up straighter, eager to see her friend.

  They rode the cart to one of the four small, thatched-roof cottages along the road out of the large town. Charlotte bounded from the cart and found her friend in the sunny backyard hanging her bed linens out to dry.

  There were three rows of thin sheets billowing out around her, but Rosie, with her deep auburn hair and her ever windburned cheeks, saw her and pushed her way forward.

  “Charlotte, I feared you had stopped coming and I would not see you again.”

  “That will not happen, my dearest,” Charlotte promised, holding her close. “And look at how much we brought you this time.”

  She moved away and let Rosie see around to the front of the house where the cart, piled with sacks of grain, rice, and vegetables, just to name a few things, sat waiting. There were smaller bundles of fruit, and dried meat, and all manner of small boxes.

  “And that is not all!” Charlotte nearly burst with excitement telling her. She was so wrapped up in it that she forget to introduce Detective Pendridge to Rosie. “The cart is yours!”

  “How?” Rosie nearly shouted, and then she did call out to her husband. “Who is it that you travel with?”

  Charlotte laughed into her hand. “Oh, forgive me. This is Michael Pendridge, he is a paid investigator, hired by my father to make Croydon safer.”

  “Greetings and welcome to our home,” Rosie said with a friendly grin that revealed three missing teeth. She gave a pat to the hair gathered at the top of her head and covered by a caul.

  “What is this?” came a man’s voice. “Ah, Charlotte!” called Rosie’s merry husband, Warren, as he entered the backyard. He pointed to his wife. “She has been waiting for you.”

  Charlotte knew it wasn’t just for food. Rosie loved her as a mother loved her daughter. “Well, I’m here, Warren,” she addressed him, a man she didn’t think could be any more perfect for her Rosie. “Did you see the cart packed with food in front?”

  They all went to see and unpack. Rosie cried and invited her three neighbors over for supper this evening. Warren cried when Michael told him that he could keep the cart.

  The men were together doing something outside, and Charlotte and Rosie were cutting carrots and kneading bread in the kitchen, which was also the sitting room.

  “What about Preston?” Rosie asked.

  “Michael makes me forget Preston,” Charlotte confessed to her. “Michael makes me forget everything but him. All my thoughts, day in and day out, are about him! I just met him, Rosie, and you know I don’t give my feelings away so easily.”

  “I haven’t known you to show interest in anyone your whole life except for Preston, Child.”

  “Exactly, but Michael has come into my life like a consuming fire. My father hired him to keep an eye on me and it has been infuriating. But I find Michael so appealing, so amusing…and he is passionate, Rosie.” She felt a rush of heat course through her and felt her face go red.

  Rosie laughed. “Aw, then he has kissed you.”

  “Aye, and ’twas wonderful,” Charlotte said with a sigh and flung her hands to her chest. “But…”

  “What is it, my girl?” Rosie asked in a soothing voice.

  “He—” Oh, she couldn’t tell Rosie that he came from the future. Without Mr. Simeon here to pop in and out, Rosie would never believe her. “His employer in York may call on him again. It would be his choice to stay here or go back to his old life. I asked him today if he would go back and he couldn’t answer.”

  “I see.”

  “I don’t know where he stands in his feelings for me. Why should he have any feelings at all? It’s been a few days! He’s very detached to begin with. He’s—”

  “He who? Me?” Michael appeared at the doorway. It wasn’t fair how just the sight of him made her feel as if she couldn’t breathe her next breath unless she were looking at him. He bent below the lintel and entered the cottage. “Here’s where I stand in my feelings for you, Lady Charlotte.”