Kiss the Earl (11 page)

Sinking gratefully into a chair, Ella licked her lips as she looked at the giant table full of food. “He was right; the ham does look good.”

“I beg your pardon?” The door opened, and Patrick entered.

“The innkeeper said that the ham looks delightful. I was just saying I thought he was right. It looks like a spread in a magazine.”

Patrick smiled a bit as he came to the table. “Then you shall have some of this delightful ham. I am sure that if you are as famished as I, we shall make short work of this table.”

“I kind of doubt that.”

Along with the full-sized ham, there were four chicken-looking birds, seven or eight different kinds of vegetables, and coarse brown bread dripping with butter. Ella's mouth watered, but she had an internal argument before she let herself go wild on it. Patrick sank down into the chair across from her and laid a linen napkin in his lap.

“I'm sure there's some kind of protocol here,” Ella said, hoping he couldn't tell how embarrassed she was. “I'm really tired of looking like an idiot where you're concerned, you know.”

“I am sorry if I've done anything to make you feel inferior. I assure you that was never my intention at all.”

“No, that's not it at all. It's just…” Ella shrugged. “I'm not used to being in situations like this. You know, out of my element. Uncomfortable. I'm kind of a homebody on purpose. I really hate feeling awkward.”

Patrick smiled across the table at her, warming her insides, which had just started to shiver before he did that. “Then it is good that we are friends and you have no need to feel awkward. Tuck in. There is no need to stand on ceremony here.”

“Friends?” She wasn't sure why, but her heart thudded a little harder.

“Of course. I do not hare across the country with my enemies, Ella. Now, shall you have some of this delectable ham? Or is partridge more to your liking?”

Ella blanched. “Let's go for the ham. I'm not sure why, but partridge kind of seems like too big a stretch for me right now.”

She wasn't sure how they did it, but only forty-five minutes later, there were only two partridges, a small chunk of ham, and half the vegetables left. Patrick groaned in pleasure, sinking back into his chair with his hands laced over his flat belly. She couldn't help but hate him for looking so handsome right then. Just a little. She felt as bloated as the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man.

“I think we shall have to remain here for a bit longer. I doubt I could mount my horse, as full as I am at the moment.”

“That's probably a good thing.” Ella didn't really want to mention this, but she couldn't really wait any longer. “If you don't mind, in a little while, do you think you can help me bandage my foot again?”

“Of course,” Patrick said, sitting up straight. “How is your wound?”

Training her gaze down into her lap, Ella bit the proverbial bullet. “It's, well, I don't think that little dip in the creek did it any good, if you know what I mean.”

The chair scraped back and Patrick rounded the table. “Let me see.”

Her toes curled of their own volition, and as much as Ella wanted to say no, she pushed her own chair back and let him look.

“Hmm.”

The top of his dark-blond head was tilted toward her, and she swallowed hard as he examined her. Man, she hated this, hated feeling weak, feeling stupid. But she couldn't complain about him. He'd never made her feel bad about being so clueless.

“It looks bad to me. I think those red streaks are infection, and I've been feeling like I might be getting a fever.”

He looked up at her face then, and Ella swallowed hard.

“May I feel your head?”

She nodded, numb. He rose on his knees and laid his hand not across her forehead as she'd expected, but on her cheek.

Her eyes fluttered closed, and without thinking, she leaned into his touch. His hand was cool but warm at the same time, and it sent tingles all the way down to her belly.

What was wrong with her? It was just her friend Patrick, checking for a fever. But God, why did she imagine him kissing her?

She didn't know, but she leaned forward slightly anyway, unable to stop herself.

He'd known she was feverish from touching her ankle—he hadn't needed to touch her face. He'd simply wanted to, halfway hoping, for his own sanity's sake, that she'd deny him.

She hadn't.

The skin of her cheek was softer than satin, and he indulged his hungry fingertips in caressing the warm skin. Too warm. She was right; she was becoming ill.

Her eyes closed then, her sooty lashes dusting her beautiful cheeks, and she leaned into his touch. He couldn't help himself; he moved closer too. Her lips parted—pink silk pouting and beautiful and begging to be kissed.

And how he ached, how he yearned to kiss her. She was the only person he'd ever bared his soul to. Not even Amelia, as dear as she was to him, knew the things about him that Ella now did. He longed to know Ella deeper, body and mind alike. But it was not seemly—he should not take advantage of her. Despite everything, he found himself drawn closer to her, his mouth only inches from hers, when…

The door flew open.

“Sir Iain,” the innkeeper gasped, his thin face red as he panted with exertion. “I am sorry to bother you, but—”

“Spit it out, man.” Patrick shot to his feet, anger and frustration pounding through him. God, he'd been so close to kissing her. If anyone had seen, their cover story would have been ruined—and so would Ella. It was all too easy to turn his anger at himself on the hapless innkeeper.

“There is another gentleman here, sir, and he's claiming to be you.” The innkeeper drew himself up tall, as starchy as a butler in a duke's household. “I thought I should let you know that the bounder is using your name. What would you have me do with him?”

Patrick wanted to cry, but he wanted to laugh at the same time. His damned cousin. Of all the times for him to be interested in Patrick's goings-on, this was hardly the best.

“Show the man up,” Patrick directed, not sparing a glance in Ella's direction when she gasped. “I shall deal with him myself.”

“Of course.” The innkeeper bowed and turned to leave.

“And before you go…” Patrick cleared his throat. “I shall need some brandy and fresh bandages.”

The man nodded and left, shutting the door behind him.

“Who is that?” Ella said, propping her foot on her knee and rubbing the toes with a pained expression. “Sir Iain, I mean.”

Patrick gritted his teeth. “I had hoped to spare you further introduction, but Sir Iain Cameron is my cousin. He is the one who so gallantly introduced us as a married ducal couple at the Hart and Dove last evening. I presumed to borrow his name to throw the baron's men off the scent, but I should have known the blighter would get wind of the goings-on and come to investigate himself.”

Ella let her foot slide from her lap, and she smoothed down her gown. A pale yellow color, it made her skin look unfashionably brown. He wanted to peel it from her and admire every last inch of tanned skin.

“What will you tell him? About me, I mean.”

Patrick fished inside his pocket and withdrew his watch. Ten past two now. “I suppose I will tell him the truth. If, that is, you are agreeable?”

She flushed but nodded. “Whatever you think. I know it sounds crazy, but right now I really wish I were home. I'd be grateful for some Tylenol and antibiotics right about now.”

“These antibiotics, they are the things that cure infection?”

Her smile was wan, and it almost felled him. “Yeah. Those are the things for infection.”

His strides made short work of the space between them, and he clasped both her hands in his. “I know that we do not have the medicines that are so available in your time, but you must believe me when I tell you that I will do everything in my power to prevent you from becoming ill.”

She laughed softly. “I know. I never pictured myself as a damsel in distress, but I can't help thinking that you're the white knight for the job.”

Her words were oddly pleasing, and his chest swelled with pride. Before he could release her, however, the door flung open.

“You sodding bastard,” Iain said with a knowing grin as he entered the room. His rakish, long, dark hair was pulled back into a queue, and his fashionable clothing was dusty from the roads. “Taking your lady love on a jaunt across the country and using my name to do it? I did not think you had it in you, m'lad.”

Regretfully, Patrick released Ella's hands and turned to his cousin. “I apologize for using your name, but I did what I must do. Please, sit down.”

The last three words were delivered dryly, because Iain had already settled himself in Patrick's vacated chair and started shoveling ham and partridge onto his plate. “Quite a spread for a country inn. Remind me to stop here on my next journey to Town.”

There was a soft knock, and Patrick fought to keep his frustration under control. “Yes?”

It was the innkeeper with the asked-for brandy and bandages. Once he'd been relieved of his burden, and Patrick had thanked him, the innkeeper shut the door behind him, leaving the three of them alone.

His cousin was by far his favorite relative, but nevertheless, Patrick wished him gone. He looked over at Ella, who was watching with fascination as Iain shoveled food down his gullet.

“What brings you to this part of the world, Iain?”

The dark-haired man took a swig of wine before answering. “After you, old chap. Aren't you going to introduce us?”

“I'd prefer it if you would eat and leave.”

“That is not very nice. Besides, I did not ruin your story. When the innkeeper came back and said they already had a Sir Iain Cameron in residence, I told him that I was just having a lark.”

Relief, though short-lived, flooded Patrick. “Thank you.”

With a twirl of his fork, Iain turned his attention to Ella. “I beg your pardon, miss, but I do not believe we've been properly introduced.”

Ella smiled shyly, and Patrick fought the wave of jealousy that clawed its way up from his toes.

“I'm Ella Briley. Nice to meet you.”

A slow, predatory smile spread across Iain's handsome features. “Well hello, Miss Briley. I am Sir Iain Cameron. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. When you tire of this clod's company”—he gave a curt nod in Patrick's direction—“I shall be happy to offer you my protection.”

“You damned bounder,” Patrick snarled, jerking Iain up by his lapels. “She is a proper young lady, not one of your common doxies. Keep a civil tongue in your head, or I've a mind to cut it out.”

“Whoa there, cowboy,” Ella said, incredulity threading her tone. “He hasn't done anything wrong. Let's ease up on the violence, okay?”

Patrick glowered at Iain but loosed him nonetheless. Clasping his hands behind his back, he strode over to the window. Thankfully, the rain seemed to have cleared out, and the sun was now peeking through the clouds above.

“Don't mind him,” Ella was saying to Iain. “He didn't get much sleep last night.”

Iain barked a laugh. “I see.”

“He's really a very nice guy.”

Iain's voice took on a seductive tone. “I am nicer.”

“Patrick, are you sure it's okay if we tell him what's going on?”

Temper clouded Patrick's vision. “Tell him what you like,” Patrick bit out. “I shall be back in a moment.”

He needed to get some air, just for a moment. Though he despised the thought of leaving Ella and Iain alone, he reasoned that it was just for a moment or two. Not much could happen in a moment or two.

Could it?

* * *

When the door shut behind Patrick, Iain's face took on a much darker, more serious look.

“Is your name truly Ella Briley?”

Ella started, nerves firing. She hadn't done anything wrong. “Of course it is. Is yours really Iain Cameron?”

His expression didn't crack. No smile. Oh well.

“If you are hoping to trap Patrick into marriage, you must know that it will never happen.”

Ella snorted before she realized what she was doing. “Oh my God, are you kidding? I'm never getting married. And Patrick?” She glanced aside, hoping her feelings didn't show on her face. “He's in love with someone else, and he's already planning to get married.”

“Who?” Iain stabbed a piece of ham with his fork.

Ella sat forward in her chair, tilting her head in question. “You don't know?”

“Why would I? We are men; we do not discuss matters of the heart.”

She rolled her eyes. Apparently men hadn't changed at all. “Amelia Brownstone. They were eloping, but things didn't exactly work out.”

A little hope had started somewhere in her guts, one that whispered something like,
If
his
own
cousin
doesn't know he's in love with Amelia, maybe it isn't real
. But that little hope died when Iain nodded.

“I had expected they would eventually marry. He has always been mad for that girl. I remember the time…” Iain trailed off as he took another sip of wine. “It does not signify. But tell me, Miss Briley—”

“Ella,” she corrected him with a polite smile. “Miss Briley makes me sound old.”

“Ella, then,” he said, traces of his former charm returning. “Tell me why you are running across the country in the company of Patrick Meadowfair, one of the most proper and straitlaced men of my acquaintance?”

“Ah.” She swallowed, wondering why her throat was so dry. “Well, it's kind of hard to believe, but I hope you understand. Every word of this is true.”

Iain gestured with his fork for her to continue, so she took a deep breath, and she did.

His brows started to raise almost immediately, because she began with the fact that she had been born over a hundred and fifty years in the future. They crept higher and higher as she told him of Mrs. Knightsbridge and the mirror, and then the case of mistaken identity that had Patrick grabbing her and knocking her out. When she finished with the baron's search for Patrick, and how she'd begged for his assistance in helping her to return home, Iain started to laugh.

“What's so funny?” Ella said, temper warming her cheeks. “Every bit of this is the truth.”

“I do not disbelieve you, Miss Briley. Er, Ella, that is.” Iain dabbed tears of mirth from his cheeks. “It is just thinking of my cousin in this situation.”

“And what situation might that be?” Patrick had entered the room when Iain started laughing, and Ella couldn't pretend she wasn't glad to see him. She smiled up at him, but he didn't look her way.

That was probably a good thing. After they'd almost kissed, she wasn't sure what she was supposed to feel around him.

“You, my lad. You, who having returned from war, think the best adventure lies in visiting Hookam's and buying a new novel. Whose most thrilling acts since the glory of battle have involved chasing a young lady through her mad schemes.” Iain let gales of laughter loose, echoing in the small parlor. “It is too much, Coz. It is too much.”

Ella darted a glance at Patrick. His jaw had tightened, and he looked positively thundercloud dark.
Uh-oh
. She needed to do something, and fast.

“Patrick, would you mind bandaging my foot? It's kind of hurting pretty bad.”

It wasn't much of a lie, just a little one. It was uncomfortable, but the chills that had settled deep in her bones were worse. But it worked anyway. Patrick nodded, gathered the supplies the innkeeper had left, and knelt down before her.

“This will help to clear the poison, but I'm afraid it will feel worse than it did last evening,” Patrick cautioned her as he set a basin beneath her foot. Ella nodded, keeping her eyes trained on Patrick.

“I'll be fine. I'm kind of a badass when I need to be.”

Neither Patrick nor Iain cracked a smile, but she shrugged her shoulders and gripped the sides of the chair in preparation. As the liquor dripped down over her red, swollen wounds, she hissed in a breath.

“Ella, you said you were from the future, yes?” Iain spoke quickly, and Ella couldn't help but be grateful for the obvious distraction technique. “Tell me more about the method of your travel.”

“Mrs. Knightsbridge is from here—well, London, I guess. Ouch, Patrick!”

“I am sorry,” he said, pausing in his careful cleaning of the puncture wound. “I am being as gentle as I can.”

“I know. Sorry.” She nodded for Patrick to continue, and started talking faster to get her mind off the pain. “She was Micah's housekeeper. That's Jamie's husband, and he was an earl. But Mrs. Knightsbridge is a witch. She spelled this mirror to be able to transport someone through time and help them find their true lo—
Yeowtch!
” Ella's fingernails cut into her palms as she squeezed her hands into tight fists. The brandy had worked its way up, waaaay into the wound, and it was burning like a four-alarm chili.

“Breathe slowly, in and out. That's right.” Patrick rubbed her ankle in slow, smooth circles, and Ella stared down at his large hand on her. He'd touched her face, almost kissed her—it had been so close.

She'd wanted that kiss so badly. It shouldn't have happened. It hadn't. But she still regretted the loss.

When her breathing had smoothed out, Iain prodded her. “Mrs. Knightsbridge helps them find…”

“Their true love. She's done it twice now, I think—well, twice that I know of. My friends Jamie and Leah both found their husbands in England, in the past.” The pain was lessening now, and Ella could breathe a little better. She looked up at Iain. “I didn't ask Mrs. Knightsbridge to send me here. I'm not sure why she did it.”

“Are you not?” Iain asked mildly, pouring himself more wine.

“No,” Ella said emphatically as Patrick began drying her foot. “I'm happy the way I am. I have a great job, great friends, a great life. I've never wanted to find a man, let alone a true love. I don't even know if such a person exists.”