Maybe going back to the future wasn’t that important. He had a place to sleep at night here. And her to keep an eye on. He also had an offer from the judge to begin keeping law and order in Croydon. The duke must have decided that no one else would do it except this crazy guy. And Michael took the job.

  “What do you think you are doing in front of my door?” she inquired with a stiff smile. Like all the others. A few locks of her dark hair dangled around her face.

  “It’s…it’s, uh…the hour is late.” He hoped to sound like he came from around here. Then again, it didn’t really matter. He looked her over. She’d changed her clothes and wore a fresh riding habit. “Are you going out?”

  Her gaze sizzled on him. “Not anymore!”

  She slammed the door shut. The sound of it echoed off the walls. Michael gave the door a little smile. It opened again. She appeared a second time and gave him a dark glare.

  “I do not know what you want or why you came here. Stay away from me. Leave while my father sleeps and I will not have the halls swarming with men who want to see you dead.”

  “I’m not leaving until you hand over my gun and badge.” He realized he didn’t need those things here. His gun would be useless the instant he ran out of bullets. But she didn’t know that.

  Her smile remained, so well-practiced was it. “I assure you, Investigator, if I had your gun, I would shoot you with it.”

  He wanted to smile. Were all the women in the eighteenth century this bold? Not that he believed he was in the eighteenth century. He didn’t know what he believed. But he wasn’t interested in Charlotte Whimsey. The last thing he needed in his life was a woman. He could use a drink though. He hadn’t gone to sleep without being drunk in a long time. He doubted he’d get any sleep tonight. It was just as well. He had a feeling Miss Whimsey was going to try to leave the house without him.

  He didn’t really care where she went. He simply didn’t want to lose her father’s trust. He liked the Duke of Croydon, Judge of the High Court. Astonishingly, the duke believed him about the future and trusted him with his daughter. He was either a very good judge of character or he was a fool.

  Michael appreciated having someone to tell. John the doorman/butler seemed to believe him, too. Michael had him swear he wouldn’t tell Miss Whimsey. The less people who thought him crazy, the better.

  But for a man who didn’t consider himself crazy, here he was, standing in front of the door of the most beautiful woman he’d ever met, in her manor house in the eighteenth century. “Go to bed…my lady.”

  “I will not be told what to do by a man I do not even know.” She took a step forward to leave the room. He reached his arm across the doorway, blocking her exit.

  “Go to bed,” he warned in a low voice, leaning toward her ear, “or I’ll take you there myself.”

  For a moment, he actually thought she’d hold out. No one ever had before. When he warned that he’d do something, he was known to do it. But he wasn’t known here.

  For an unnerving moment, she looked as if she would leap at his throat. But her resolve faltered when he didn’t look away, and just an instant before he was about to make good on his threat and carry her to her bed, she spun on her heel and stormed away, kicking the door shut behind her.

  Michael stared at the wood, a half-inch from his nose. She was a wild one. He shrugged his shoulders and sat on the floor. He knew she was going to try to leave without him. Well, not tonight, sweetheart. He doubted he’d sleep. But if he did, he wanted to make sure he blocked her path. He stretched his legs out before him, across the threshold of her door.

  He realized he hadn’t thought about his past or any of his partners since he got here. It was kind of nice. He felt himself relaxing. His eyelids were heavy. He sat up and leaned his back against the door. How was he so tired? Time traveling really took it out of a person. Time travel. It was all so…

  *

  Charlotte pressed her ear to the door. She heard a snore on the other side. No! He was asleep against her door? The rat! He was clever and she hated him for it. Pity his back would ache him in the morning for nothing. She hurried to the chest of drawers set against the east wall and pushed it aside. The small door on the other side gave her second thoughts about doing what she planned on doing. She’d never had to sneak out this way.

  The tunnel had been built long before her family moved in. There were others throughout the house. Her father knew of one. Old John knew of this one and three others. There were cobwebs around the door, and it looked significantly smaller than she remembered. She’d never make it crawling on her skirts, so she changed quickly into her breeches and boots. She didn’t like squeezing through small spaces and she cursed Detective Pendridge because she had to do it thanks to him. She wasn’t about to be “watched” by anyone! She was a grown woman! She understood why her father assigned her a guardian. She knew she was trouble, but it was just like her father to hire someone else to handle his daughter.

  Well, not this time. She took one of her lanterns and opened the door to the secret passageway. She’d been inside twice when she was a child with her cousin, Reggie. But she was much smaller then. She climbed inside and said a prayer. No insects, Lord. Just…do not…let there be…any insects. Something scurried by her! She stomped her feet and made loud noises letting all the crawlers know she was coming, and would they stay out of the way until she passed? She wanted to run but she had to control her air else she would lose it all. She couldn’t let fear overtake her. Preston taught her that fear would slow her down, dull her senses, get her killed.

  She thought of anything else to keep her mind off how long the passageway was and when she would breathe fresh air again. Anything like the glittering sapphire blue of Investigator Michael Pendridge’s eyes, or the way they looked at her, like she affected him, and he did all he could to hide it. Or she was completely wrong and the detached nonchalance he showed her was genuine. One thing she knew for certain, her tears didn’t affect him. He was probably going to hate her after this but what did she care? She’d prove to her father that this man was incompetent and unable to control her, just as Aunt Louise would be. She would only stop if her father sent her to France. Oui! That was where she wanted to be sent. Away from Preston. Away from her family. Away from Investigator Pendridge. Would her father do it? Would he let her go to France…or Italy…or anywhere but here?

  Would she make it out of the passageway alive?

  Finally, she smelled fresher air. It wasn’t completely pleasant to the nostrils, but it was better than nothing. She hurried forward and climbed a small ladder to a door much like the one in her room. She pushed it upward and open, knowing what was on the other side. She climbed out into a shed about a half-mile from the house.

  She looked around. She hadn’t been here in years. She thought about what to do next. She actually wanted to be found. She would smile triumphantly. Sleep outside her door, will you? She wondered if she should try to walk back to the stables and ride to Preston’s. The way things were going for her, Pendridge would track her down and tell her father where she was going and who she was seeing. Her father didn’t like Preston. He knew about some of Preston’s criminal activity, but he had proof of nothing. He’d likely tell all to his new friend, the investigator.

  No. She had to stay away from Preston for a few days.

  She disappeared into a dark corner in the shed and sat against the wall. There was nothing left to do now but get a few hours of sleep. She didn’t want to walk around in the dark. Let them find her in the nearest village in the morning. If her father tried to send her to Otford, he wouldn’t find her again.

  She closed her eyes and smiled, satisfied in her victory.

  She didn’t sleep all that well, not because of her surroundings, or the sharp tool poking her in the back, but because she dreamed of Investigator Pendridge. She dreamed she was being led to the gallows in some town square. He was there, the only one who could help her, but he turned his disinterested gaze away from her and let her hang.

  If her dreams would have stopped there, it would have been bad enough, but next he was in an odd-looking room with a bed. He held a sword to his throat. Michael! she cried out. His gaze met hers. There was no glitter in them, no…life. His hair was unkempt and his jaw was covered in dark hair.

  What are you doing here? he asked.

  I came to find you. Why? Why would she say such a thing?

  She forced herself to wake up. She didn’t want to look at him the way she was, as if she cared for him. She was happy to see sunlight streaming in through cracks in the wooden shed walls. It was morning. She would go to the town in Croydon. It was closest and likely the first place the investigator would look. She would make certain people saw her, so they’d tell anyone asking for her.

  She sat up and stretched. She heard parts of her crack and pop. She pulled the remaining pins from her hair and ran her fingers through her thick waves. She didn’t like wearing her breeches in daylight, but there was no choice.

  She headed for the door, opened it, and fell over the body sprawled across it.

  She landed in his arms on the ground. No, she thought, looking into his haunting dark blue eyes. No. He couldn’t be here! Had Old John told him about the passageway in her room? Why would he?

  “What are you doing here, Investigator?” she bit out, staring at him.

  “I was obviously sleeping. Anyone would have seen me.”

  Her mouth opened into an “O” and she pushed off him. “Are you suggesting that I fell upon you on purpose? You are a fool to—”

  “Are you telling me you didn’t see me…me?” He looked down at himself, all tall and bulky, dressed in his black clothes.

  “I was not expecting you to be lying at my door like a big oaf, blocking my path!”

  He rose up on his long legs. The look he gave her warned that he’d like to throttle her. For a moment, she thought he might try. Could she fight him? She’d have seconds to do what she’d been taught…seconds before he grabbed her and used his strength to hold her down.

  “Just watch where you’re going next time. It’s not a pleasant way to wake up.”

  She straightened, waiting for him to say more. He didn’t. At least not about sleeping.

  “What are you doing out here?” he asked her. “What are you trying to prove?”

  “I think ’tis clear. I will not stay where I am put. I will escape and, next time, I will not be so easily caught.” She began walking the opposite way of home.

  He went to the horse he had tied to a tree—one of her father’s horses and untied it. He vaulted to the saddle and rode toward her.

  “So you escaped,” he laughed. “You’ve obviously been doing this for a long time. I knew not to underestimate you.”

  Was that a compliment? She smiled and nodded. “How did you know where to find me?”

  “John told me about the passageway,” he told her, keeping his horse at a slow pace beside her. “He was worried that you would never come back.”

  She smiled, knowing better. “He needed only look in my room to see that I did not leave for good.”

  “Oh?” he asked. “What would he look for that would help him know for certain?”

  She shrugged her shoulders as if it meant nothing. “A bracelet my father gave me many years ago. I will never wear it, but I would never leave it behind.”

  “Why won’t you ever wear it?”

  “Did you follow me here and sleep in front of two of my doors to ask me about what I have in my bedroom?”

  When he smiled and didn’t answer, she continued. “Besides, ’tis you who is curious. Who are you? Where do you come from? You have not answered any of the questions I put to you so far.”

  “You know who I am,” he told her from his saddle. “I’m Detective Michael Pendridge. I’m from…uh…York.”

  She stopped to rest her hands on her hips and squint her eyes at him. “You do not sound too sure. What are you doing here, Detective?”

  “I was…uh…was beat up last night and left for dead. I woke up in the square. That’s when I saw you.”

  “Hmm,” she said and starting walking again.

  It wasn’t something she’d never heard of before. Men often got beat up. There weren’t many constables to stop the attackers, or victims who wanted to prosecute them if they were caught. There wasn’t any law here really. Lucky for Charlotte…and for Preston, and the rest of her friends.

  “Why do you call yourself a detective and not investigator like the other investigators?”

  “In York, that’s what we call ourselves. Anything else?”

  She looked up at him. “Now that you’re here, what exactly do you mean to do?”

  “About what?”

  “Lawlessness.”

  He cut his glance to her. “You mean you.”

  “What?” She laughed a little. “Why would—”

  “You’re the only person I know here except for your father and your…what is John anyway?”

  She thought about it for a moment. Old John was many things, she thought fondly. He was there for her when her father was too busy, and her mother had gone off to who knew where.

  “A rat apparently,” she answered, remembering that John had informed Detective Pendridge of where she was. “And a friend. To me and to my father.”

  “Okay then, and John, your friend. Out of the three of you, you’re the only criminal. So what you’re asking is what am I going to do about you?”

  She felt as if smoke were coming from the top of her head. He infuriated her. She balled her hands into fists. “Since you are so clever,” she said softly with a well-practiced smile. “Aye, what are your intentions with me? How long do you plan on staying here, following me?”

  “I don’t know. It’s a nice set-up,” he answered. “I’m getting paid to do nothing really. You’re easy.”

  “Easy?” She thought about waking up this morning and thinking how clever she was to escape through a secret passageway. But he was one step ahead of her. She grinded her teeth.

  “I’ve had dealings with craftier, more elusive criminals than you.”

  “Oh.” She lifted a brow at him. “I shall have to toss aside my pity for you and make you eat those words.”

  He chuckled. She would make him eat that, too, after she basked in the sight of him. The darker shadow of a dimple in his right cheek mesmerized her for a moment, along with the deep, throaty sound of him.

  She blinked away and kept on walking.

  “Where are you going?” he drawled, as if he would rather be doing anything else but this.

  “Just going for a walk on this pleasant morning,” she answered with a smile.

  “At the pace you’re walking,” he informed her, “you’ll need to get on my horse with me soon. I urge you to slow down.”

  He didn’t want her to get tired and have to ride with him! Did he not want her near him? Why? Heaven forbid he got off the horse and let her ride alone. It was her father’s horse, after all.

  She slowed her pace anyway and looked around. She didn’t know where in the blazes she was going. She was disorientated by being on foot and not in a carriage or in her saddle. She’d taken a wrong turn somewhere. Which way was the village?

  He stopped speaking and Charlotte finally looked up at him. He’d removed his leather over coat and tied it to his waist. He wore a shirt that was dyed black. It fit him like skin. The sleeves were cut short and hugged his thick upper arms. He looked strong, as if he could use his fists to beat his way out of a fight.

  She admonished herself for giving his arms or the rest of him any thought. He was her father’s henchman. Paid to keep her whereabouts known to the duke.

  He wasn’t her friend. As soon as she thought she was getting comfortable with him, he reminded her of it.

  “How did you do it?” she asked after another quiet moment. “How did you win my father’s, and it seems, Old John’s trust so quickly.”

  “I don’t know. I was honest and they believed me.”

  That’s it? There had to be more. Her father was a judge. It was his duty to be able to read people. But Old John was even harder to win. The tall, gray-haired butler trusted no one. To win him, one must first gain his trust. He could read just about anyone.

  “Honest about what?” she asked.

  “Everything I can remember,” he said in a low voice.

  Did she want to know? Did she want him to share his life with her? They might be spending more time together if he was going to continue following her around. It could be dangerous for him to grow fond of her. He wouldn’t want to leave. But he was a law keeper and she broke the law. Preston and his friends robbed carriages on the roads and, twice, they’d killed. She wasn’t sure she wanted to continue on as his friend. Their adventures and escapades picking the pockets of the rich and feeding the poor had gone dark. She was a part of it. She was in on it. Her life was going in a spiral. She felt as if she couldn’t control it, just as she couldn’t control her tongue.

  “And what do you remember?”

  “Nothing good.”

  Chapter Six

  Michael wasn’t sure what to tell her. He didn’t think he wanted to tell her anything. Oh, by the way, I traveled back in time yesterday morning. I’m from the future. There aren’t many women there like you.

  Sure.

  She’d laugh all the way back to her manor house.

  “So you told my father and Old John that nothing good happened to you and they believed you—and my father took you under his wing. Just for that? Do you expect me to believe that? You’ve had a hard life. Many people do. You are not special. Your explanation about my father makes no sense. He would not—”

  “There was more but I’d rather not go into it again.

  “Oh, of course,” she retreated.

  He stared at her while she walked. “Why do you do it?”

  “Do what?”

  “Rob people.”

  She shrugged a delicate shoulder. “Why does anyone do it? For the thrill.”