HerOutlandishStranger (26 page)

Epilogue

Jas sat in bed, his thigh pressed against his wife’s
backside. The windows of the large bed chamber had been thrown open and a soft
breeze laden with the scent of flowers filled the room. Jas sniffed happily as
he listened to the distant hoot of an owl and the bark of some other animal.
Even after several months, the country was still endlessly fascinating to him.
Even in the dead of night.

“The first was an owl, I think,” he announced to his wife.
“But was that the yip a fox?”

“Hmm. Maybe. Yes.” In the dim light of two candles, Eliza
composed a letter to a girlhood friend. She sat on the bed with her feet tucked
under her, leaning over a portable desk.

He sat up and looked over her shoulder. “You write so
quickly,” he commented with a grin. “And how can you contrive to write so
even?”

She pursed her lips and stared down at the paper, ignoring
the reference to his favorite author. “Jas, do you suppose I could change
events by changing my letter to her? Couldn’t you appear earlier in my life and
woo me? I fear I am quite conventional despite your best efforts. I should have
liked being wooed.” She swatted his hand away. “No, you must stop or the ink
shall spill.”

She straightened up and stared down at the letter. “And my
father. I would save him if I could.”

He stroked a forefinger across her cheek. “I warn you,
ignore the whole squirrelly mess of time. Back and forth and back. I’ve only
gone one way, as far as I can tell, but I know it’s worse than seasickness. As
the old man said, ‘That way madness lies. Let me shun that!’”

She shifted to look at him, distracted at last. “Lear? You
have the sonnets, I know. But your time knows—will know Shakespeare’s plays?”

“Certainly. And I’ve seen some of his plays since I’ve ended
up stranded here. Those alone almost make the privations worth it.”

Her smile broadened. ”Wretch,” she muttered. “Privations indeed.”
She lightly flicked the end of her quill across his ear, then looked down at
the paper again.

“But my father. Do I dare try, Jas?”

“Oh love, do what you want. After all I’ve said and done, I
don’t believe we can change a thing, no matter what we try. But don’t ask me. I
broke all the rules and won the game. No, I don’t give a damn about following
the Department rules anymore.”

They looked at one another.

She shook her head sadly. “Madame Blanro.”

“Yes, that’s true,” he said, understanding her meaning. He
carefully reached over and ran his palm gently across the frown that creased
her forehead. “Maybe you’re right. We should stick as closely to what we have
lived as possible.”

But then he wore a frown as he slowly added, “No wait. I
remember something important. You’ve got to hold on to the story of the
stranger in Spain. Time agents are not supposed to make an impression on the
natives. Eh, stop laughing, woman. I
told
you I was strictly amateur.
One of my trainers mentioned that a ‘mysterious stranger’ mentioned in letters
is some kind of tag for the Department’s searches.”

The way they seemed to read one another’s minds was proved
when he then talked about her other main worry. Maggie. “But I don’t think we
have to be so careful with little Magpie. I scanned all of the CR’s records and
I’m fairly sure that in a couple of generations there will be an attic fire
that wipes out all sorts of information. That and a flood at the church where
we got married is how your maiden name got lost—although come to think of it,
Peasnettle was the name that got lost…gets lost…no, will get lost.

“I’ve decided it all means that we don’t have to fret, er
worry, about knowing too much and perhaps tell Maggie I’m her real father. I
think we can live as messily and happily as we wish and let history tidy up
after us.”

“After us.” Her voice trembled as she asked, “Will the CR
tell us more? Do you know exactly when we die?”

“I did at one point but I’m happy to say I have forgotten.
Any time I stumble across reference to this era or any later history, I delete
it.” He kissed her shoulder. “Especially the tips that allow us to lead such a
grand life. Seems more like robbery now that I am an official citizen of the
time.”

“Do you remember nothing? I’m too curious not to ask. What else?”

“You are obscenely rich for the rest of our lives and you
tend to give huge amounts of money away. And we have a long marriage. And more
children. You are—”

She put her hand flat over his mouth. “I’ve changed my mind.
Do not speak another word. I believe I should not enjoy your too wholesome,
well-ordered world you have described to me. All the devices run that world and
I welcome some surprises.”

“Believe me, in that world there are… Eh, damn…will be
plenty of surprises even with all of those devices for information and
measuring. Ah well, at least I have the good old CR. I’m too fond of the thing
to burn it until it’s crumbled to bits.”

Eliza sanded the second page of her letter, then gently
waved it. Jas had insisted she take the time to write a long note to her dear
school friend, without crossing the lines.

When she was done, she reached for his shoulders and pulled
him to her for a tender, lingering kiss. She sighed and rested her forehead
against his. “Use your brain or your CR to tell us how we bring you into good
flavor with society. Aunt Carolyn’s last letter mentioned she overheard yet
another tabby call you a fortune hunter.”

He stopped her mouth with another kiss. “Eh, as if I gave a
damn,” he whispered, his lips still brushing hers.

His light touch distracted her but she persisted. “Yes, but
I heartily dislike hearing you maligned.”

He brushed his lips along her neck, then worked his way over
to her mouth again. After another long, delicious and lazy kiss, Jas pulled
away and pensively remarked, “Simon.”

Liza burst into laughter. “My kiss reminds you of my uncle?
Oh what a come down.”

He propped himself up on an elbow facing her. “We’ll feed
the old, er, blowhard information again. Worked fairly well first time ’round
with your James Sandton Gentleman Traveler and Warrior scheme.”

“Go on,” said Eliza, wondering if she trusted the innocent
clear-blue-sky look of his eyes. Her husband tended to be trickiest when he
looked most transparent.

“Tell your uncle all about how your late husband Peasnettle
distrusted banks. He handed me sacks of money to give to Gardner. It’s true
enough I shoveled stacks of coins and bills at Gardner. The point is, did the
honest Mr. White keep the cash? No, he did not. Not a single farthing of my
friend Peasnettle’s fortune found its way into my pockets. It all went to his
widow, the woman I had grown to respect and admire on our journey together.”

“Of course!” She clapped her hands. “You might easily have
disappeared with my fortune, instead you were honorable enough to make sure
every last groat was accounted for.”

Jas nodded. “And after Simon has blabbered that story to
everyone in London, the cats will change their tunes.” He smiled dreamily. “I
can just hear the new story. I married the widow for her fortune, but I also
lusted after her body.”

She sighed again. “Oh how I wish I could cultivate your
indifference to society’s censure.”

He leered at her. “Shall I tell you my secret? Find
something more interesting to concentrate on.”

Shifting close, he leaned over her for a kiss. After a
minute or two, she ran her hand over his shoulder, down his arm to touch the
tips of his fingers with her own. She smiled at him, then slipped out of the
bed. Eliza stood, entirely naked.

“Where are you going?” he growled. “Didn’t I just make it
clear I have plans for you?”

“I look forward to them. But now, ah! I have plans as well.
At dinner you again expressed a desire that I teach you how to dance. No, come
to think of it, you demanded that I teach you.”

She thought for a moment then added in an aggrieved tone, “I
must say it is hardly fair for you to be so belligerent, since I have attempted
time and time again to tutor you in the dance. And it is part of my plan to
transform you into an acceptable gentleman.”

“Liza, I’m sorry I’ll never be a completely acceptable
gentleman.”

She looked shocked. “Good heavens, no! That would never do.
Naturally you shall not become too acceptable. A horrible thought. I shouldn’t
recognize you if such a thing should come to pass.”

He rolled over to the edge of the bed and looked at her with
a mischievous smile that curved the corners of his mouth. “As long as you
promise not to start on one of those endless complicated figures in which I
don’t even get to touch my partner. Let’s save that for another lesson. Okay?”

She tilted her head and examined him. “Very well. That will
suit me too.”

He leapt out of the bed and stood next to her. She tried to
stop herself from gawking at him, but she still loved the sight of his tall,
muscular golden body. She looked up into his eyes instead, though the light in
them was nearly as distracting.

Eliza cleared her throat. “Let us begin. Place your hand at
my waist. No, no, sir. How many times must I remind you? Not that low, you
lecherous madman.”

When she tried to twitch away, he groaned his displeasure
and pulled her closer. She laughed when he whispered the recommendation that
they put off the dance lessons.

“No. I am determined to finish this lesson even if it
requires the rest of the night.” She lightly placed her hand in the correct
position, absently stroked his warm, broad shoulder. “You should be an
excellent dancer,” she scolded. “You are quite graceful. If only you would keep
your mind on your work.”

Humming a tune and tapping her bare foot to the beat, she
gave a quick adjustment to his hand, which had somehow slid from her shoulder
to spread his fingers over one of her breasts.

“Recall that it is one-two-three, one-two-three motion.” She
swayed her upper body from side to side. “Do you see?”

“Yes, I do indeed,” he answered fervently, his gaze on her
breasts.

“Good.” She managed to squirm away from him again so their
skin was only touching at certain points. She sighed as his hand slid over her
side then collected her wits again. “No. I have already pointed out your hand
goes on my waist, sir.”

“I beg pardon, madam. I shall try to be a better pupil,” he
said gravely. “Eh, I think I can compromise. And after all, you do have a fine
waist.” He gently ran the tips of his fingers over her curves as if verifying
the fact for himself. Again.

After many attempts, adjustments and corrections, they stood
facing one another. Straight-backed and formal, he lightly clasped her in the
proper embrace for the dance.

“So, madam? Will this do?”

“Yes, good sir. Wonderful.” She rubbed her cheek against the
bare, warm skin of his chest. But before either of them could be distracted
again, she pulled back.

Using her best imitation of her old governess she briskly
announced, “Very well then. I believe we shall begin with the waltz. One, two,
three.”

And they glided across the floor.

About the Author

Summer Devon is the alter ego of Kate Rothwell. Kate
invented Summer’s name in the middle of a nasty blizzard whilst talking to her
sister, who longed to visit some friends in Devon, England, so the name Summer Devon
is all about desire. Summer lives in Connecticut, and also writes books—usually
gaslight historicals—as Kate.

As Kate, Summer has a blog, katerothwell.blogspot.com. She
also a webpage, so be sure to catch up with her there.

Summer welcomes comments from readers. You can find her
website and email addresses on her
author bio page
at
www.ellorascave.com
.

Tell Us What You Think

We appreciate hearing reader opinions about our books. You
can email us at
[email protected]
.

Also by
Summer Devon

Futurelove

Invisible Touch

Irrational
Arousal

Perfection

Print books by Summer Devon

Irrational
Arousal

Out
of This World Lover
anthology

Shrink
Wrap
anthology

Taming Him
anthology

Discover for yourself why readers can’t get enough of the
multiple award-winning publisher Ellora’s Cave. Whether you prefer ebooks or
paperbacks, be sure to visit EC on the web at www.ellorascave.com for an erotic
reading experience that will leave you breathless.

www.ellorascave.com