“Sebastian!” Preston demanded. “Where are you going?”

  “For a walk…to ponder you ordering the death of Lady Charlotte.”

  “Sebastian.” His voice was softer now, curious with a menacing spark in its depths. “Did you plant seeds in my head that deVille was disloyal so that I would have him killed and Charlotte would be saved?”

  “Preston,” he said with the same patient smile he would offer a lackwit. “Are you that easy to play upon?”

  Preston laughed, a choked-out sound. “Your wiles will not work on me, Surrey.”

  Like magic.

  He would never admit that Sebastian had compelled him to do anything. His pride couldn’t let him. He would drop the matter of deVille.

  A shot rang out from outside. deVille was dead. Sebastian had to bite his lip not to smile. Charlotte was safe for now. None of the other men knew exactly where she was. It wouldn’t take the next one Preston sent long to find her.

  “Pres,” he said as he walked to the door, “are you sure you want Charlotte killed? Who will be left to love you if she’s gone?”

  “But I’m losing her now to him,” he cried. “She hasn’t come to visit me once!”

  “Then he is the one who needs killing, Pres. Not Charlotte.”

  Preston gathered himself together and ground out his words on a wrathful groan. “Then go kill him, Bastian.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Michael vowed to love and honor and cherish Charlotte until death parted them. He didn’t mean it. Death wouldn’t part them. If he died first, his spirit would stay with her. If she died first, he would go to her. He heard the priest in the background reciting Scripture, asking Charlotte the same question.

  They were in Croydon, at the manor house. He was marrying a woman he met a few days ago, who had lied to him and let a criminal, who later killed the husband of the woman who was more of a mother to her than her own, go free. Michael knew Charlotte suffered for it. Her heart was broken. She even wept when she apologized to Colin because he’d been hurt. What she had done was wrong, but she was sorry, and Michael understood why she did it.

  Rosie and the others were with them while they spoke their vows. They were invited to stay in rooms throughout the large house until their homes were rebuilt. Rosie agreed, happy to be around Charlotte again. Her father had gone along with it, since Charlotte threatened to live in the woods with them if he didn’t. Charlotte didn’t give a damn what her mother thought of the arrangement. Neither, it seemed, did the duke, her father. He’d also gone along with their marriage, since Michael was better than Preston Bristol III, and he knew any protests he had would go unheard by his daughter.

  The priest said he could kiss her. Did he dare do it with everyone standing around watching? He was afraid his legs would fail him, or he would throw up.

  Had he gone mad somewhere along the way down this rabbit hole? What was he doing getting married? Especially to a troublesome woman?

  But he couldn’t look at her without falling in love with her all over again, every time.

  This was what he wanted. Her.

  He reached for her and cupped her face in his hands then bent to kiss her. When her arms came up around him, he responded—

  The priest cleared his throat. People laughed. Michael broke away and laughed with her.

  “You are now husband and wife,” the priest informed them.

  Michael couldn’t wait for tonight. To have her alone and just…get to know her in every single way possible.

  But first would come the celebration. Allegedly, everything was planned out by John, the butler. Some of the women who lived here helped and according to all, her father helped as well and paid for everything.

  Her mother stayed away.

  “Well,” her father said, coming to stand with them when the ceremony ended, “my daughter is a Pendragon. Tell me,” he said, turning to Michael. “About your father.”

  “Albert Davenport was a good man. He—”

  “Davenport?” Her father paled. “But your name is Pendridge.”

  “I was adopted when I was six months old. My name, I was told, was already given to me. Micajah Pendridge.”

  “Micajah?” Charlotte asked, repeating it over. “’Tis very beautiful. Like you.”

  Michael grinned like a fool. He didn’t care. Let someone mention it.

  The duke set his dark eyes on him and said with all seriousness, “You are a Pendragon, Son.” He sounded as if it were the most important thing he had to say. He’d said it once before. After Michael had told him everything. You are a Pendragon.

  “Now that you are married to my daughter, there are things I need to discuss with you in private.”

  “Not tonight, Father,” Charlotte said. “No serious discussions until tomorrow.”

  She pulled Michael away and headed for Rosie. Michael would rather head for the stairs and their room, but they had all been through so much trauma in the last few days, Charlotte needed to spend time with her friends. He smiled and waited patiently while some of them gathered with the duke’s men and discussed how the new houses in the village would be built.

  “Rosie is excited about her new house,” Charlotte told him when they made their way off to be alone again. “Thank you for doing this for her.”

  “She deserves to have a place to live where she’s happy.”

  “Aye,” his beautiful wife agreed. “She does.”

  He leaned down and said softly against her ear, “When is it customary in the eighteenth century to leave the party and go to our room on our wedding night? I’m impatient for you.”

  “I, too, am impatient for you,” she let him know with a slight flush. “If we are to leave, you must announce it.”

  “Really?” he asked with a pained look on his face. “Why does everything need to be announced in this day and age anyway?”

  She covered her mouth with her hand and chuckled as he cleared his throat. “Attention everyone.” What now? He couldn’t thank them for coming. They all lived here. He knew the instant he said they were leaving people would know why. His gaze caught her father’s. He looked away quickly. “Charlotte and I are tired and we’re going to—”

  A cheer went up. Michael cringed. He pulled her by the hand out of the large hall and stopped to laugh as they reached the stairs. “I’d rather announce the beginning of a new plague than ever do that again.”

  “I would rather have the plague than remember my father’s face when you announced it.”

  When he swept her up off her feet and cradled her in his arms, she squealed with laughter and coiled her arms around his neck.

  They would sleep in his room since it was larger. All her father’s belongings had been cleaned out by John and the others. Now it was bare, but soon Charlotte would add herself to it and make it livable for them. She’d invited him to help, and he promised to make time to do so.

  The bed was made with fresh linens but the soft woolen blankets he’d been using were still there. Still inviting. He carried her to the bed and fell with her to the mattress. They kissed as they fell, excited and eager for each other. They tugged at each other’s clothes, wanting to begin, to see, to touch each other’s body.

  She tore at his jacket and léine, pulling him free of constraint. He tugged at her stays, not really understanding how to release her from them. When she pressed her mouth to his bare shoulder, he unlaced her skirts from behind her back and then pulled them from her body. She was left in her hose, underpants, and her stays. He never wanted anyone so badly in his life. He wanted to cleave to her and protect her. “Would you rather be my lover and the mother of my children than a thief?” he asked, scraping his teeth over the milky white rounds of her breasts being pushed up in a bone corset.

  “Aye,” she answered silkily. “Will you convert me?”

  He groaned and pressed his hardened body against her legs. “Yes. As often as we can.”

  They laughed and kissed and explored as they stripped each other completely bare, leaving nothing but tattoos, scars, and beauty marks.

  He was ravenous and licked and nibbled her inner thigh. First one, and then the other. When he buried his face between them, she scooted back, startled, with laughter in her eyes and shyness in her smile. He watched her while he spread her wide and dipped his tongue into her then suckled her fiery nub.

  He waited until droplets of inviting nectar fell from her, then he hoisted himself up on his knees and came down again, sinking deep into her. She was hot and tight. The feel of her made him want to explode. He slowed down, taking her gently, remembering that she was new at this.

  He stretched her under him and moved up her body. He took her hands and held them over her head. He had to stop twice to keep himself from coming.

  “Charlotte, you don’t know how you saved me,” he told her tenderly, kissing her chin, her neck. “I was ready to give up my life and then I met you.”

  She clung to him as he pushed inside her, entering deeper He wasn’t sure how hard to push. She’d just lost her virginity and he didn’t want to hurt her. He moved slowly, taking his time with her, relishing every moment. He kissed her breasts and suckled each taut nipple, all the while sinking deep then slowly retreating. He felt the cascading rush of pleasure wash over him as she released herself with rapturous cries.

  *

  Charlotte couldn’t stop it. She didn’t want to. Her body was reacting to his, squeezing him tight, tighter. She roved her palms over the trembling muscles in his arms, her gaze over beautiful images and swirls that accentuated his physique.

  Instinctually, she wrapped her legs around his, and then flipped him over.

  Sitting atop him was like nothing she’d ever imagined. He filled her to the hilt and went still, wanting to keep her there forever.

  But she moved. Oh, she moved atop him. At first it pained her, stretching her open wider. But she pushed down and pulled up until he gritted his teeth and threw back his head. She watched him. She felt him filling her to overflowing. She would never share this kind of abandon with anyone else. “I love you,” she whispered, falling upon him when it was over.

  They dozed and woke up twice more to make love. She was certain she was going to hurt in the morning, but she didn’t care. This was her night. This was Michael’s night. They would have what they wanted.

  “Tell me more about the twenty-first century?”

  “Everyone is in a mad hurry to go places or to get things done. It’s a time of instant gratification. There are millions of people.”

  “Where do they all live?”

  “Everywhere,” he told her. “In the city where I live, people live in buildings.” He described them and she sat up.

  “You have images of two buildings on you!”

  He shook his head at himself. Here was proof that he was telling the truth. He explained that they were the towers of the World Trade Center. He told her they were the towers of 9/11, where so many, including Geoff, had died. The date of the tragedy was tattooed on him. September 11, 2001. But she already believed him. Michael was honest.

  It sounded like a very violent world. Everyone seemed as if they were smarter, creating things like cars and planes, ships that traveled to space, phones. There was so much, but what good was it all if everyone was killing each other? She was happy Michael came here. But was he any safer with Preston around?

  They slept for the night in each other’s arms. Charlotte felt safe there. She felt loved and cared for. She fell asleep thinking how strange it was that one man could provide everything she needed.

  Only one thing spoiled her dreams. Preston. She had to tell him she was married! She also had to tell him that she was quitting the life he followed. She was going to follow her husband and do things the right way. Preston would hate her for it. He would hate Michael and, most likely, would send someone to kill him.

  He would also hate her because of what she’d told her husband. Though she admitted nothing, Michael was no fool.

  They woke early the next morning and met her father in the dining hall. Rosie and the others chose to go back to the village with provisions for another sennight.

  “I supplied your keep with weapons last night,” her father said, sitting to his left. “I need to ensure your safety now that you’re married to my daughter.”

  “Thank you for your concern,” Michael told him, happy to finally get the weapons. “Even if it is only for Charlotte’s sake.”

  “Aye,” she agreed, sitting at his right. “And thank you for putting my friends up for the night, Father.”

  He smiled at her. “Of course.”

  “You’ll have as many men as you need to rebuild and all the supplies,” her father told Michael. “I just want you back at the keep, training men to go out there and fight these masked bastards.” He meant the Horsemen.

  “That’s my intention, my lord.”

  Her father smiled at him and patted his back again. “Sutton has written to me twice demanding that you be arrested for shooting him in the leg. What do you think, Detective? Should you arrest yourself, since I did put you in charge of everything?”

  Michael thought about it for a moment and then shook his head. “No, I was innocent.”

  They both chuckled and the weight of what was about to change hit Charlotte. Michael and Preston were going to go to war. One might not come out alive. The backs of her eyes burned but she held back her tears. She loved Preston, but she would do whatever needed to be done to keep Michael safe.

  “Father,” she began. Things seemed to be cordial enough between them to finally ask what she wanted to know. “Why did you believe Michael when he first came to you, instead of throwing him out? A man comes to you out of nowhere, claims to come from the future, and you believe him. And not only do you believe him, you set him as a watch over everything, including you daughter. I must admit, it has made me feel terrible. Why? Why did you believe him?”

  Her father looked at them both as if he were trying to decide something. He apparently did because he blew out a heavy breath, one he seemed to be holding for quite some time and turned to Michael.

  “Three weeks ago, I received a letter from a man who claimed to be living in the twenty-first century. He told me who you were and to expect you. You would not know how you arrived here. But ’twas by his hand, he claimed—to end your loneliness. He told me you were a detective and would make a fine ‘officer of the law’. He advised me to listen to you.”

  Hold on, Michael thought, putting down his cup. To ease my loneliness? What? Who was behind this?

  “He said you would help Charlotte,” the duke continued. “No one knew that she was in trouble. I cover up everything for her. He told me you would help my daughter as you tried to help his recently.”

  Michael had the urge to laugh. He might not stop until he went mad—if he hadn’t gone there already. This was getting crazier all the time. “The letter was from Charles Lancaster?”

  “That is what some call him, I imagine,” her father told him and looked around cautiously. “No one must hear. No one must find out.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Find out what? What do others call him?” Michael asked. He could feel Charlotte’s eyes on him. He felt as if something life-altering were about to take place. Something even more life altering than traveling back in time. He took Charlotte’s hand under the table. He felt calmer with her near. What did Charles Lancaster have to do with anything?

  “I only know how he signed the letter and he bid me to tell you never, never mention this to anyone. It could mean everyone’s lives.”

  “How did he sign it?” Michael asked. His heart was pounding in his ears. Why? Why did he feel sick…dizzy…

  “He signed it exactly as Arthur Pendragon, King of Briton, King of Avalon, father of Micajah Pendragon.”

  “My—no.” No way! He began to rise from his seat but Charlotte’s hand tethered him to sanity. Now, he was supposed to be King Arthur’s son? He laughed. He had to. This had to be a dream. He was in a coma. He was dead. Something, but this couldn’t really be happening to him. He couldn’t be King Arthur’s son! He shook his head. Why couldn’t he be? He didn’t know his true parents, only that they gave him his name. They were Pendridges. Pendragons.

  “John, get him some wine!” he heard Charlotte cry.

  “No.” He shook his head. “No wine. I’m all right.”

  It was a grand delusion, this. King Arthur’s son, eh? He looked deep into his wife’s eyes as she leaned into him. “Charlotte, you aren’t real. You’re the perfect woman in my imagination.”

  She glared at her father. “What you’re telling him is madness.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me before?” Michael asked him.

  The duke shook his head. “I have said too much already. You asked me why I believed you and now you know.”

  “Detective?”

  Michael and Charlotte turned to look behind them and saw Mr. Roldan Simeon, the time traveler, stepping into the hall with poor Old John looking around behind him.

  “Who are you?’ the duke demanded, standing. “How did you get in? John!”

  “’Tis all right, Father,” Charlotte calmed him. “He is a friend of Michael’s.”

  “And, I would hope yours, as well,” Mr. Simeon said with a wide smile to Charlotte.

  “I would hope so as well,” she agreed and invited him to sit for some breakfast.

  He thanked her, bowed to the duke when Charlotte introduced them, then asked to speak privately to Michael.

  “Charlotte and I were married yesterday, Simeon. You can speak in front of her. Come, we will go outside.”

  He excused them to the duke and led the way to the front doors.

  “Are you ill?” the time traveler asked him.