gentleman, however, he couldn’t curse at her. She drew a hand across her mouth and sat back on the edge of his coverlet, her arms wrapped across her middle.
“Oh God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean, I just, that smell from that thing she shoved under my nose before and it’s cold in here and…you must think I’m a total bitch.”
He looked skyward, begging for patience. “Madam, I cannot speak as to your character. I cannot deny that your, ahem, ill health has just caused irreparable harm to my boots, but at the moment, I’m more concerned with getting to the truth of the matter at hand. Now, are you well?”
The wench nodded her head, setting her streaked hair to trembling.
“Excellent.” He drew the word out. “So, now, please tell me how you came to be in my home. I want the complete truth and no nonsense.”
“This is going to sound crazy, and I’m sorry, but it’s the God’s honest truth. I’m from Concord, North Carolina, and the year 2012. That stupid bureau sucked me in through one of the mirrored doors and spit me out right over there. Your dog jumped on me, and I fell and got knocked out. I know it sounds insane, but I promise you, that’s what happened.”
She looked up at him with the clearest blue-green eyes he’d ever seen. She was an odd creature, with an odder way of speaking in a flat, drawn-out voice, but he couldn’t help remembering the way her lean body had felt against him when he deposited her on his bed. “I am to believe that you came to be in my bedroom by traveling through a mirror?”
She nodded.
“And you are from nearly two hundred years in the future.”
She nodded again, twisting the robe in her hands.
“Impossible.” He crossed his arms and skewered her with his best lord-of-the-manor stare. “You are either an escaped Bedlamite or a witch. I will know which I am dealing with, if you please.”
The chit’s brows lifted in desperation. “I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true.”
Micah shook his head. He’d never been susceptible to the megrims that had afflicted his mother throughout her life, but he was certain that the pounding at his temples heralded something very similar. He closed his eyes and took three deep breaths before responding.
“Madam, I have listened to your tale, and since you do not have a reasonable explanation for how you came to be lying in my bedchamber, I’m afraid I must call the watch and have them deal with you.”
“Wait, is that like the cops?” She bit her lip, and Micah felt a twinge of guilt at the worry in her expression. She must be simple—or mad. That was the only logical explanation for her oddly accented words that made no sense.
“I cannot help you.”
Micah gave her a curt bow, turned on his heel, and winced at the wet, sucking sound his boot made as it traveled through the gunk on the carpet. Mrs. Knightsbridge would also have a fit of the vapors at the state of the Aubusson carpet. In a spate of sympathy for the beautiful but daft woman in his bed, he decided to blame the carpet incident on Baron. Mrs. Knightsbridge had a fondness for his blue greyhound, and he’d not suffer under her wrath.
“Please, wait.”
At the plaintive sound, Micah turned. “Yes?”
“I can prove it.”
She stood, untying the robe at her waist. She let it fall to the bed. Micah averted his gaze, all too aware of the vision of her nearly nude form. She might be daft, but she was a beautiful female, and he was a young, healthy man with a healthier sexual appetite. Control. He must maintain control. He held out a hand to stop her.
“Madam, please remain clothed. It is not at all seemly for you to be standing there in such a state of un—What the bloody hell?”
She’d shoved a smallish, heavy thing into his hand. Bright colors danced across the front of the object and a tinny sounding music sounded in the room. Words appeared on the object. Angry Birds.
“What the devil is this?” He thrust it back at her, more than
“Oh God, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean, I just, that smell from that thing she shoved under my nose before and it’s cold in here and…you must think I’m a total bitch.”
He looked skyward, begging for patience. “Madam, I cannot speak as to your character. I cannot deny that your, ahem, ill health has just caused irreparable harm to my boots, but at the moment, I’m more concerned with getting to the truth of the matter at hand. Now, are you well?”
The wench nodded her head, setting her streaked hair to trembling.
“Excellent.” He drew the word out. “So, now, please tell me how you came to be in my home. I want the complete truth and no nonsense.”
“This is going to sound crazy, and I’m sorry, but it’s the God’s honest truth. I’m from Concord, North Carolina, and the year 2012. That stupid bureau sucked me in through one of the mirrored doors and spit me out right over there. Your dog jumped on me, and I fell and got knocked out. I know it sounds insane, but I promise you, that’s what happened.”
She looked up at him with the clearest blue-green eyes he’d ever seen. She was an odd creature, with an odder way of speaking in a flat, drawn-out voice, but he couldn’t help remembering the way her lean body had felt against him when he deposited her on his bed. “I am to believe that you came to be in my bedroom by traveling through a mirror?”
She nodded.
“And you are from nearly two hundred years in the future.”
She nodded again, twisting the robe in her hands.
“Impossible.” He crossed his arms and skewered her with his best lord-of-the-manor stare. “You are either an escaped Bedlamite or a witch. I will know which I am dealing with, if you please.”
The chit’s brows lifted in desperation. “I know it sounds crazy, but it’s true.”
Micah shook his head. He’d never been susceptible to the megrims that had afflicted his mother throughout her life, but he was certain that the pounding at his temples heralded something very similar. He closed his eyes and took three deep breaths before responding.
“Madam, I have listened to your tale, and since you do not have a reasonable explanation for how you came to be lying in my bedchamber, I’m afraid I must call the watch and have them deal with you.”
“Wait, is that like the cops?” She bit her lip, and Micah felt a twinge of guilt at the worry in her expression. She must be simple—or mad. That was the only logical explanation for her oddly accented words that made no sense.
“I cannot help you.”
Micah gave her a curt bow, turned on his heel, and winced at the wet, sucking sound his boot made as it traveled through the gunk on the carpet. Mrs. Knightsbridge would also have a fit of the vapors at the state of the Aubusson carpet. In a spate of sympathy for the beautiful but daft woman in his bed, he decided to blame the carpet incident on Baron. Mrs. Knightsbridge had a fondness for his blue greyhound, and he’d not suffer under her wrath.
“Please, wait.”
At the plaintive sound, Micah turned. “Yes?”
“I can prove it.”
She stood, untying the robe at her waist. She let it fall to the bed. Micah averted his gaze, all too aware of the vision of her nearly nude form. She might be daft, but she was a beautiful female, and he was a young, healthy man with a healthier sexual appetite. Control. He must maintain control. He held out a hand to stop her.
“Madam, please remain clothed. It is not at all seemly for you to be standing there in such a state of un—What the bloody hell?”
She’d shoved a smallish, heavy thing into his hand. Bright colors danced across the front of the object and a tinny sounding music sounded in the room. Words appeared on the object. Angry Birds.
“What the devil is this?” He thrust it back at her, more than
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