Divine (25 page)

She sat down—slumped, actually, in a decidedly unladylike manner—into the chair at the opposite end of the table, lit in a pool of sunlight from the windows behind Sebastian.

She looked impossibly lovely in her flowing muslin dress, golden hair teasing around her face, blue eyes bright.

Like the woman he loved.

But he was not sure he
knew
her.

Not anymore.

Silence.

A sudden series of chirps and whistles shattered the quiet.

Bing. Chirp. Whip-woo.

What the—?!

With a grimace, Georgiana reached into her stays and pulled out a thin, rectangular object about size of her hand. Shaking her head again, she touched its surface. The noises instantly stopped. She laid the object down on the table.

Sebastian swallowed and lounged back in his chair, legs wide. Slouched, just like her. Drumming his fingers, giving her his most earl-ish stare.

He could wait her out.

She regarded him and then exhaled. Leaned forward to place her elbows on the table and sent her fingers into her hair, as if trying to hold some emotion inside.

“Heavens, what a horrid mess,” she murmured, rubbing her neck, as if it ached.

She reached up and pulled out a hair pin, dropping it with a
ping
onto the table.

Two more followed.
Ping, ping
.

Still running her hands through her hair, she sighed. “Oh Seb, I am
so
incredibly sorry. What a horrid situation.” She shot him a glance through her eyelashes.

Ping, ping, ping.

He continued to drum his fingers, not trusting himself to speak.

“Sebastian, I don’t know—” she stopped and pulled a final pin out of her hair.

Ping.

Her glorious mass of golden hair tumbled loose, cascading across her shoulders and down her chest. With a weary sigh, she continued to massage her head.

Was the woman
trying
to drive him mad?

Vividly, he saw her walking into D’Avery’s arms, resting with a hand casually around his waist.

Who
was
this woman? The one who let down her hair and slumped in chairs?

Where were they? And where was the Georgiana he knew?

She swallowed and fixed him with her blue, blue gaze.

“So remember what you said about the moon? How you wanted to know the truth?”

He nodded. A painful, stunned motion.

“Well, for the record, this is
not
the moon. But it is not far off.”

She let out a long breath. Spread her arms wide, eyes soulful and intent.

“Let me be the first to welcome you to the future. Welcome to the twenty-first century.”

Chapter 15

The great room

Duir Cottage

September 15, 2013

Birthday in minus 23 days plus two hundred years

S
ebastian’s eyes widened at her statement.

Or, more aptly, bulged out of his head.

Whatever he had been expecting, Georgiana knew time travel was most definitely
not
it.

“Par—Pardon me?” he stuttered, shifting in his chair. “Is this yet another of your flights of fantasy, Georgiana?”

His dark eyes were shuttered. All traces of good humor and cheer gone.

In their place was the Earl of Stratton.

Intense, brooding.

Jaw clenched, side whiskers cutting across his cheeks, giving his face an almost devilish look.

He vibrated with leashed power.

Unbidden, she saw him again at the front door, staring at her and Shatner with hooded eyes. Bristling with aristocratic hauteur and confidence.

Seeing the two men together had been . . . surprising.

Shatner had seemed so small in comparison. And not just in stature.

She swallowed, forcing such thoughts away.

It had been
nice
to see Shatner. He was a
good
man.

Sebastian stared at her for another moment and then, shaking his head, he stood up and began to pace, his tense energy reverberating through the room. His large body
filled
the space, looking somehow completely at home in his tight green coat and elegant ivory waistcoat, boots clicking against the wood floor.

“I’m so sorry, Sebastian. I most certainly never expected you to get caught up in this mess. If it helps, I meant to tell you today. It was why I led you to the cottage . . .”

He looked around the room, taking in the kitchen with its stainless steel fridge and industrial gas range. The microwave blinking the time.

Then stopping, he turned to stare at her, resting a hand on the kitchen island, tapping fingers again.

“Do I know you?” The deep bass of his voice rumbled through her.

Georgiana gasped, her heart snagging in her throat.

Of all the
questions
—!

“Of course, you know me. We have both changed, Sebastian, but I am still the same intrinsic person.”

His dark gaze snared her, emotions skittering across his face. Confusion, hurt . . . and something else deeper and more fathomless.

A beat.

“Are you? Or is the girl I knew just a facade?”

She blinked. “I am still Georgiana, Seb. I am sure your experiences as a soldier have changed you but—”

He snorted. “What an understatement—”

“Exactly. We were practically children the last time we knew each other. Both of us have experienced . . .
life
over the last decade. And the last year, in particular, has most definitely changed me. It’s one of many reasons why I have resisted your persistent offers of marriage—”

He laughed at that.

A harsh quick sound. Devoid of any humor.

He turned his head, took a step toward the window. His jaw tensing, quivering.

Silence.

“Have I been a complete damn fool?” he asked after a minute. Voice hoarse. He leaned forward, hands braced on the counter under the window. Back to her.

She paused.

“No—not a fool—”

But she had hesitated a fraction too long before responding.

He made that sound again.

The laugh that was not a laugh.

His head hung forward, shaking back and forth.

Georgiana was not entirely sure if he was laughing or crying.

Perhaps a bit of both.

“You are
not
a fool.” Georgiana stood and walked over, leaning on the opposite side of the kitchen island. “How could you have anticipated this reality? I have
lived
through it and can still scarcely believe it.”

He seemed so . . . bereft. She ached to reach for him. To offer some sort of comfort. To feel his arms around her.

To have him understand.

“Sebastian, I was dying . . . No nineteenth century medicine could save me. It was my only option . . . coming here. The only way left to save my life.”

“How—How did it happen?” His voice a choked whisper.

He lifted his head and turned around, facing her and planting his hands on the island. The expanse of cold, glittery marble between them.

Symbolic that.

He fixed his gaze on a point beyond her. Away. Refusing to look at her.

She stared at his hands resting on the hard white stone, fingers in agitated motion.

Long elegant fingers, broad palm. A hand that promised strength and kindness.

“There was an ancient oak tree on this spot that had guarded the portal since Roman times. But oak trees don’t live forever and—and the portal was uncovered. James had this house built to protect the portal. I never intended to come here. That was not part of my plan. But I was so ill . . .”

She shifted her gaze to the windows behind his shoulders, remembering those awful and yet miraculous weeks over a year ago.

“I was barely conscious through the entire process. I have fleeting memories of the vertigo of the portal and then people everywhere, shouting orders. Sticking me with pins, whispering soothing words. I woke up in a white room with machines beeping all around, tubes poking in and out of me. It was not pleasant, but at least I felt no pain. I lay in that bed for a couple weeks while twenty-first century medicine worked a miracle.”

She gave a small, little laugh. He still looked away, but his hand had stilled on the counter.

“I had been so ill, you see?
No one
expected me to live. Especially not myself. I had reconciled to the idea I would never marry, never have a family, never . . . never experience . . . romantic love. Never have a life full of hope and choice and options—”

“Oh, Georgie.” He abruptly shifted his gaze, dark eyes drilling into hers. “I was prepared to offer you all of that. I fully expected to find you ill and dying when I came in search of you. I wanted to make the time you had remaining magical, to give you whatever bit of happiness I could . . .” He choked again and looked down at the counter, at the stone that separated them.

Unable to resist, Georgiana reached across and captured his hand in hers. He wrapped fingers around hers, engulfing her hand.

Warm and strong. True.

“Thank you.” Her voice barely a whisper.

They both stared at their twined hands.

“I would have, you know. Married you. If you had found me ill and dying, if I had lived long enough. If I hadn’t come here.” A stuttering breath escaped her. “You were always the best of friends. So kind and thoughtful—”

He let out a short burst of air. His shoulders shrugged. Swallowed.

He traced the back of her hand with a single finger.

“But, being here has changed everything. I am whole and healthy and anything is possible again. James is here with Emme and—”

“Wait—James?!” His head snapped to attention. “Your brother James is here? He is not dead?”

“Oh, yes, did I not say that first? He deliberately left 1812, deciding instead to spend his life here. The future suits him better, and his wife, Emme, is from this century. Duir Cottage is actually his home now. Arthur placed the gravestone in order to provide closure and ensure he inherited the Knight estate as James’ heir. James will never return to the past.”

The news seemed to unsettle Sebastian. He stared again at their hands still entwined on the countertop, rubbed his thumb between her knuckles.

“So your brother is here, too.” He did not look up from their hands. “James—the person you always claimed to be closest to in the whole world . . .”

She nodded. “Yes, he is here. Happy and whole. And with him choosing to stay here . . .” Sebastian raised his head, locked his eyes with hers. She licked her lips. “I cannot imagine leaving him and returning to live permanently in the nineteenth century . . .”

Her voice drifted into a whisper. His gaze snared her.

His eyes, in that moment . . .

Georgiana was quite sure she would always remember that look.

Haunted. Gutted.

As if she had
died
. Was dead to him.

Unbidden, it echoed through her too. Felt it all too keenly, as if he had wrapped her in the pain of his soul.

The tightness in her throat suffocated.

“I am so sorry, Sebastian. I know you need to marry and soon . . . that you considered me your simplest option. I tried so hard to help you understand. I should have told you everything sooner. I just didn’t know how to make you believe me . . .”

He dropped her hand and turned sideways, looking away, swallowing every now and again. Taut.

She couldn’t bear it.

“Sebastian,” she murmured and walked around the island to him.

Wanting—no,
needing
—to comfort him.

Without thought, she slipped her arms inside his coat, wrapped her arms about his waist and rested her cheek against his chest.

Holding him to her,
willing
him to give her some of his heartache.

His arms reflexively crushed around her, gathering her to him, burying his face in her hair. Her hands rested on his back, and she could feel his muscles twitch under his waistcoat, could hear the bellows of his lungs as he fought his emotions.

Why did his pain gut her so?

She melted into his warmth, his strength. Breathed him in, wool and starch and clean soap.

The smells of home.

But then he stiffened, brusquely pulling back and pushing her away.

“Enough.” His voice hoarse and rough.

He took a step back, ran a shaking hand over his face. Placed his hands on his hips, staring at the floor.

Silence.

Then, he let out a long, shuddering breath. And lifted his head to look at her.

His jaw was still clenched, but he had mastered himself.

Taken all his emotion and reeled it back inside. Closing himself off.

Gave her his game, boyish Sebastian smile.

A smile that masked everything and gave nothing.

Had he
always
been able to do that? To hide himself like this?

How little she truly knew him.

But, suddenly, she wanted to know him so much more. Ached for it. To understand all the emotions that bound him.

“Enough, Georgiana. I appreciate your honesty with me throughout all of this. You insisted from the beginning there was never to be anything between us. I was wrong to doubt your understanding of the reality of the situation.”