PENETRATE (The Portals of Time Book 1) (17 page)

“I’ll just admit it. I’m a severe. Failure. At control.”

He broke the words into separate sentences again.

“Control?”

Ainslee straightened a bit with the surprise. Her move pulled more of her bosom from the bodice of the gown. The duke moved his gaze to hers.

And the world shifted.

Words felt like they got hurled back and forth. Raw words. Filled with emotion. His chest rose and fell with increasing rapidity. His nostrils widened as he inhaled. Her nipples hardened into tight knots against the satin dress. Itching. Straining. She almost glanced down, but it wouldn’t have mattered. The duke acted as if he knew!

His upper lip lifted into a snarl next. And his eyes narrowed. Ainslee’s heart seized up, and then started beating in a frantic motion. She caught a flash from between his eyelashes, but his eyes didn’t look remotely silver. Or gray. They were multi-hued glass shards refracting light. He looked wild. Untamed. Extremely dangerous. His unbound hair just added to the impression.

“Do you understand what I’m saying?” he finally asked.

She nodded. And then shook her head.

His response was a complete shock. He slammed his eyes shut and arched backward, and sent a howling sound into the chamber. He didn’t stop until he ran out of breath. Waves of bass tones reverberated through her room. Ainslee’s knees shook first. Her entire body followed. She held back any further reaction, but heard what sounded like gasps from her maids.

The duke finished his cry and looked back at her. He was frowning, and his eyes were the color of lead. Ainslee darted her glance toward the mirror. It was far safer. She watched his reflection release her hands. Gain its feet. Heard the clinking of weaponry as it settled back into place about him. He might be gazing at her in the mirror. He could be checking his own reflection. She didn’t peek to check. She didn’t dare.

“I’m going to leave now, Ainslee.”

“L-l-leave?”

Her heart fell. Her stammer reflected it. He wouldn’t leave her to face everyone by herself. Would he?

“For my own chamber.” 

Ainslee dared a glance upward. Got snagged and then held by his gaze. A roar of ocean crested through her ears. A thunder of horse-hooves accompanied it. The breath got sucked out of her, leaving her weak enough to fall.

And fall hard.

Someone knocked on the connecting door. One of her maids opened it. Some talking ensued. She barely heard it. It took a moment to note that Niall’s valet, Mason was speaking.

“...nae need to shout, your grace. I’ve found the answer myself. I’ve got the topaz studs. MacGruder is on his way with the rest. He’ll be here momentarily. You may na’ ken the history behind this particular set. If I recall correctly, it was the third duke who bought the stones, but your uncle who had them set. Or maybe it was his wife. She had a great eye for presentation. Your grace?”

The duke blinked and turned his head from her. Ainslee wavered in place. She felt as washed out and weak as she had one summer day, after she’d slipped and fallen into a burn, and been pulled under by the swift water. She’d fought her way to the shore, and had lain on the bank. Weak. Wrung-out. Shaky.

That’s exactly how this felt.

The duke moved away. She heard him and his valet speaking. She sensed the maids moving about. Most of it failed to register. She reached out and grabbed onto one side of her cheval looking-glass, holding it like a lifeline as the duke and his valet moved toward his door.    

That’s when the duke’s words filtered through. The door wasn’t fully closed behind him. He must not realize he was ruining the act he’d just put on.

“You heard me, Mason. I need whiskey! Right now! Double-shot. Why? Because I’ve damn-well earned it, that’s why!”

Beth hurriedly shut the door. Too late, though. Nobody said anything. They didn’t have to.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Whiskey didn’t work.

But he’d already known that.

The liquor still had its uses. The shot he’d downed earlier cleared his head, braced him momentarily, but then it had dissipated, leaving him as shaky and frustrated as before. Neal could have tried stepping out onto the stone balcony again. The Chieftain’s chamber had a large balcony on the seaward side. He’d looked over the edge. Considered things. If a man was desperate, he could conceivably drop onto the rock ledge beneath, work his way along the cliff, and with a great deal of luck, escape. Should any attackers actually make it that far into the structure.

The balcony was as sturdily built as the rest of Castle Straith. A balustrade ran the edge, waist-high at the center, but rising significantly on both sides. That had created two dark, three-sided enclosures. One contained a rain barrel for his use as it caught the stream of water sluicing from the roof. Neal shoved the rain barrel to one side and found that he had a unique, but credible shower.

A really cold one.

The effects of that had long worn off, too.

Neal gave a short sigh, glanced down at his problem – the woman holding onto his arm, and then he quickly darted his gaze back to the hall they traversed. Ainslee walked beside him, taking two quick steps to his one, which just made the amount of cleavage she’d put on display bounce. This was his fault. He didn’t have to escort her the entire way. He could’ve met up with her at the landing above the great hall. Or used the foyer beneath the stairs. Heck, he could have even arranged to catch up with her outside the grand salon with adjacent dining room, with minimum contact.

But.

No.

Mason had arranged this, but Neal hadn’t fought it, either. At a subconscious level, he must want this contact. Which made no sense. Zero. Zilch. Nada. He was already dealing with an incomprehensible level of testosterone-fueled need. He had to go and add to it?

He forced his mind to go over the reasons it was a bad idea to pursue any thoughts of bedding Ainslee. Again.

Mind over matter, buddy.

Focus.

This wasn’t his life. It wasn’t his body. Ainslee was
not
his wife. The only thing that Neal Straithmore could claim was his intellect. He hadn’t been reborn here. He’d traveled backward through time and usurped another guy’s body. There had to be a reason for it. He’d been dropped into the dawn of the nineteenth century. He didn’t think it was so he could hijack somebody else’s life.

And make wild, passionate love to—

A jolt of electricity shot down both legs as he yanked his mind from the instant vision. Neal stopped. Ainslee followed suit. A glance in her direction showed the shadow of her dark lashes on her cheeks. She didn’t look up to see what the matter might be. That was no surprise. He’d been an absolute ass last night in her chamber, but at least they’d been alone. This time, when he’d acted like a rutting beast, he’d had witnesses.

Argh.

Mason hadn’t acted like Neal’s foray into the duchess’s chamber was of much import. The valet had been whistling that same stinkin’, off-key Highland tune as he assisted Neal with the topaz studs that secured his cuffs. And then Mason had brought up his belief again about the new duchess and her gift. The man truly believed Ainslee was fey. She could work magic with any creature. He was certain Neal had noted it by now. How could her own husband miss it?

Bullshit.

Neal kept his opinion unvoiced. The valet was free to think as he wanted, and use what information he had. But Mason was dealing with things from an early nineteenth-century perspective. With limited knowledge to draw from. Neal was a world-traveler who’d had every available benefit of education and technology from the twenty-first century. He’d heard it all; practically seen it as well. Almost everything had a root cause that had already been discovered. Catalogued. Discussed. Had documentaries filmed.

Magic had been disproven time and time again.

That wasn’t proof that unexplained things didn’t happen.
Hell
. Neal had experienced one. Didn’t make it magical. The only thing his presence here right now proved was that forces existed in the physics arena that hadn’t been scientifically explained.

Yet.

He’d heard of people like Ainslee, however. They used the title ‘
Whisperer’
for publicity purposes. Made money with it. Titled their reality shows the same way. It was inserted after the name of the animal they specialized in. Didn’t make anything magical.

Or fairylike.

Or enchanted.

Despite the internal warnings rocketing through his skull, Neal tipped his head toward the mass of her braided hair situated at his shoulder level and inhaled. She smelled so sweet. Clean. Fresh. Like a wildflower, bravely struggling for life…blooming where nothing else could. Warm. Alive. Utterly female...

Desirable.  

Damn it.

Neal stiffened. Blinked rapidly. Swallowed. And began walking again. Ainslee started up her double-step beside him. Mason was off a bit. Ainslee wasn’t fey, but she was a magnet for all sorts of warm and loving emotions and sensations. With the exception of his cousins and their mother, the entire household seemed genuinely fond of the new duchess. Neal looked away from the shining crown of hair they’d created atop her head, and barely avoided hitting a suit of armor by the merest span of space.

And she giggled over it.

Neal’s entire frame seized up. This was the problem cold showers didn’t correct. Whiskey didn’t even dent. He moved again before anything else happened. They passed a hall that branched off. Went straight. Started up a flight of steps. Turned to the left at the top. The castle was a maze. Ainslee had stopped him at his first almost-wrong turn. Gestured wordlessly to the correct hall. After that, she used slight turns of her body to direct him. Good thing. Neal was lost. And his mind wasn’t assisting with much. The woman had too much allure, and it was displayed way too well. He hadn’t thought she possessed much bosom, but what she had was shoved up so a massive topaz necklace could rest atop her cleavage. She probably owed her new curves to a corset. A black lace one. One of the really sexy ones...from the past.

Well. Of course she would, Neal. That was the only kind they made.

Neal tripped, and caught it with a couple of danced steps. Ainslee actually kept step beside him, although her hand tightened on his arm throughout the maneuver. He was in luck they weren’t on a staircase. His clumsiness could have sent them both flying.

Great.

Just great.

Neal looked heavenward. Took a deep breath. Exhaled. This wasn’t going well, and he had an entire room full of people awaiting them. He needed vigilance. Wariness. His observation skills at their most keen. Garrick would need watching. Lachlan, a bit of monitoring. Their mother was probably the spider in a proverbial parlor, awaiting a fly.

“Uh. Sorry about that,” he finally said.

“The rugs should be weighted at the edges. Secured better.”

“What?”

“Before someone takes a nasty spill. Forgive me. I’ll speak...with the staff.”

Neal smiled. If she hadn’t trembled through most of that she would have sounded like a gracious hostess of advanced years. Helping him save face as she took the blame for his near-disaster. It was still a good try.

“You’re really cute. You know that?”

He made the mistake not only of saying it, but of looking down at her while speaking. His ears stared buzzing. She had her brows drawn together, a puzzled look on her face.

“You call me bow-legged?”

“What? That’s not what cute means. Um. Nowadays.”

“What does it mean?”

“Well...uh. It means...something like...pretty. And darling. And endearing. A few more things like that. I think I’ll just shut up now before my mouth gets me into even more trouble. All right with you?”

Well.

He’d cured her frown. Her eyes had gone wide, her mouth had the same affliction, and a blush colored her cheeks as she quickly looked down. She appeared to focus on the topaz stud Mason had pinned into Neal’s lace jabot at the space right between his pecs. Or thereabouts.

“Oh.”

Oh?
That’s all she had to say?

“Um. Niall?”

She said his name. Well. The other guy’s name. It meant the same thing. Neal’s heart caught at the fact she’d used it, and the hesitant way she’d done it. He almost thumped his free fist against his chest until his heart restarted on its own.

“Yes?”

“I...need to be thanking you.”

“For what? Not falling? And dragging you with me?”

She snorted. And then she looked up at him and stole his next breath. His heartbeat again. She damn near took every wit he possessed, too.

“For...not deserting me.”

“What?”

“I ken...you wished to...leave.”

“When?”

“Today.”

“It’s raining cats and dogs outside.”

“It is?”

Neal almost rolled his eyes. “It’s an expression, Ainslee. It doesn’t mean real cats and dogs—forget it. I couldn’t go. The roads are a mess. A carriage would be stuck within a half mile.”

“You could have taken Huntsmen’s Dale.”

“That would require riding a horse. And that’s not likely to happen, babe.”

“Babe?”

“Uh. That’s another...bit of slang. Means the same as cute. Sort of.”

“Well...I still wish to thank you. Especially since...you do na’ wish to be anywhere near...me.”

“Where did you get that idea?”

“From you. Last night. In my room.”

Her voice had lowered to the slightest whisper. He had to bend to hear it.

“Oh. That. Well, darling. That may have been what I said. But it is light-years away from what I meant. Trust me.”

Her eyelashes fluttered as she looked away. And the fingers atop his arm tightened.

“What is it now?” he asked.

“You just…called me darling.”

Neal straightened. He called himself every kind of fool. Her reaction was the same she’d given him last night when he’d offered to stay in her bed chamber with her. She was exhibiting something close to panic. Or fright. Or...what did he know? Could easily be dislike. He looked over her head at the wall. Tried ignoring the solid knot of ache overtaking his chest. There was a large rendition of a seascape opposite where they stood. With a lot of stitches to it. Somebody had taken a lot of time putting a lot of thread into it. It went out of focus as he stared. Neal blinked his eyes rapidly to clear them.

“And I—well...I just want to thank you,” she continued.

Neal cleared his throat. Tried for a non-committal tone. Completely unemotional. He should have waited. It sounded like he was chewing on gravel. “No need.” 

“But...the Lady Margaret. She’ll....attend?”

“My aunt?”

She nodded.

“Well...the woman can’t feign illness forever.” 

Ainslee was quick. She had a conspiratorial smile on her face as she looked up at him. And damn him for seeing that much! Her glance darted away again.

“She is na’ verra fond of me.”

“I don’t think I’m in her good graces, either,” he replied. “You ready to proceed, then?”

She nodded. He moved automatically. One foot before the next. Whatever he was feeling for Ainslee had to cease. And, if he couldn’t stop it, he needed to at least put the emotions on a back burner. He had unknown people to face. Problematic social codes to follow – some he might not even be aware of. A lot of unspoken tensions to alleviate. Hidden agendas to discover and abort. Potential hostilities to decipher and nullify.

And a massive woman problem.

You can do this, Neal. This is your forte.

They reached the landing outside the grand salon without further mishap. Neal waited for a moment before approaching. He could hear sounds of a crowd through the opened doors. Sounded festive. Large. He sucked in a deep breath.

“We’re about to gird the lions in their den, Ainslee. You ready for this?”

She gave him a quick grin and squeezed his arm. Nodded. They were spotted. And then announced.

“Their graces, the Duke and Duchess of Straithcairn!”

Applause erupted at the end of the announcement. Neal barely heard it. He walked into a room ablaze with candlelight and filled with people. He didn’t hear or see much of it.

Because of the woman on his arm.