“Simply place it over your head. Have you no dresses where you come from?”

“Of course I’ve worn dresses,” she snapped. “Oh, thank God.” Her voice was suddenly louder and clearer.

He heard her inhale deeply. She would’ve made her way up and through all that fabric, then.

“But this . . .” She paused, and Rollo heard more rustling. “Well, you can’t expect me to do all these buttons by myself.”

He’d seen the dozens of tiny fabric buttons running up the back of the dress. He just hadn’t realized their import until now. Of course she’d need help. Women needed the assistance of maids to get ready.

“I . . .” he stammered. “You . . .”

“Come on, Will. I’m decent. I just need you to button this thing up for me.”

Will. She’d called him Will.

Women in his acquaintance were generally more formal. And then there had been MacColla’s bride, Haley, who’d called him “Rollo” with the carefree ease of one of his school chums.

But his given name, rolling from a woman’s tongue with such careless intimacy? The sound stabbed him and thrilled him both.

He turned again, staring at the screen as if it were an approaching marauder.

“Uh . . . You there?” She popped her head up again. “Will?”

“Yes.” He’d never buttoned a woman’s gown before. But they had to make haste. He’d paid a lad to fetch a carriage from the mews—it would surely be out front by now. Waiting to put as much distance between them and England as possible.

Cromwell’s Parliamentary soldiers had captured Ormonde, imprisoned him in the Tower. And Rollo had freed his friend right from under their noses.

From under his brother’s nose.

His brother Jamie would be on the lookout for him. Blood or no, Jamie would not let such a slight stand.

Rollo girded himself. Tried to let thoughts of Roundheads and Royalists tamp down his unruly flesh.

He inhaled deeply, a white-knuckled grip on the head of his cane. “Buttons are buttons,” he muttered, and stepped behind the screen.

Chapter 5

Why was he being so quiet?

“Are you still there?” Felicity clutched the dress to her chest. Despite the fact that she was, for all intents and purposes, almost completely covered, she suddenly felt very self-conscious.

She shook her head, amused. She wasn’t usually so modest. She supposed she was getting into the spirit of the time period. Or maybe it was just in reaction to the strangely grave and proper man on the other side of the partition.

“It’s okay, come in,” she said, seeing that he stood at the edge of the screen.

She turned back around, offering him her back for buttoning. The dress began to slide, and she tucked her elbows to her sides to hold it in place.

“The corset thingy tied in the front”—hooking a thumb at the top, she gave a little tug to her stays—“I think I did it right.” It was a ridiculously tight contraption, but she had to wear something, and this was all the shopkeeper had left behind for her.

Still, she thought her breasts were going to pop up and out at any moment.

“Are you there?”—she twisted to make sure Rollo hadn’t disappeared—“ugh, does this need to be so tight?”

He was staring at her with narrowed eyes and a clenched jaw.

“I just need you to button me. I can’t reach up the back.”

He didn’t budge. He could make this a little easier. Felicity raised her brows. “Please?”

He gave a curt nod.

Is he angry or something?

“Sorry.” She shrugged. “I tried to . . .”

“No apologies, lass.” Rollo’s voice was ragged. His eyes grazed her bared shoulders. He cleared his throat.

The tense silence was unbearable. She shrugged again.

“Be still.”

“Oh, sorry. I mean . . . Sorry I was sorry.” She scrunched her face, happy her back was to him. She tried to stand as still as possible. “Okay, I’ll just shut up.”

Felicity sensed Rollo placing his cane down. She heard his shuffle at her back. Felt his approach. Heard his breath, suddenly close at her ear.

She shivered, and felt her skin pebble tight.

Why was he just standing there?

She fought the urge to apologize again, just to fill the silence. Could this really be her Viking? He sure was a serious one.

Why wasn’t he buttoning—?

His hands skimmed along her back. The silk of her dress under his fingertips made a muted shushing sound.

Oh. A breath escaped her, and she clamped her lips between her teeth.

Rollo’s fingers went to her waist, tugging the fabric together, securing the first button.

The room was suddenly unbearably hot.

“Are . . . are you sure this dress will fit me?”

“Aye.” His voice had a steely, sharp edge. She felt his breath on her neck. He did the next button. And then the next.

His fingers found a rhythm. Dip beneath the fabric, pull gently, flick the button through. Dip, pull, flick. She felt the warmth of his fingers through the linen of her corset all the while.

“Thanks,” she managed. Heat rippled beneath the surface of her skin, suffusing her body. “I . . .”

He was almost done. She didn’t want him to be done. She’d thought the stays were tight, but the dress snugged her even more, and it was the most erotic sensation she’d ever experienced. The feel of her breasts pressed tight, rubbing up against so much stiff fabric.

She glanced down. Her breasts were two pale, perfect mounds above the rose-colored silk.

She hoped her nipples didn’t pop out.

But it looked pretty hot.

Oh, wow.

She hadn’t realized her breasts could do that.

He froze behind her.

He was done.

She blushed. He hadn’t even seen the front of the dress yet, but still the anticipation of it made her blush.

She turned slowly and his gaze was waiting for her. Simmering, and deadly serious.

Rollo ran his eyes down the length of her, pausing at her breasts.

She struggled to inhale.

He ran his eyes back up.

And this time she saw something raw there. Those hazel eyes, the color of chocolate in the dimly lit room, stared at her. Didn’t budge from her.

Wanting him overwhelmed her. She leaned closer, taking him in. Taking in his gorgeous face, that thick, wavy brown hair. That perfect mouth.

So damned handsome.

She leaned closer.

He didn’t move, and her heart thrilled with it.

Her Viking. She’d kiss her Viking now.

Closer.

His lips parted. She trembled, getting closer.

She brought her hand to his chest. Rested her palm lightly on him. She felt his muscles tense, so tight and hard beneath his waistcoat.

She was mesmerized. Those eyes of his, with just a little bit of gold that she could see now, up close.

Lean down, Will.

Why wasn’t he leaning down? She had the bodice on, now it was time for her Viking to rip it from her.

He tilted his chin down. Brought his hand slowly up, cupped her cheek.

Yes.

A bell jingled as the front door opened, and Rollo closed his eyes as if in pain.

“Hello?” The shopkeeper sounded confused, suspicious.

Rollo brought his hand back quickly to his side.

Felicity made a tiny deflated sound, and he marveled at the endearingly feminine noise.

Had she truly wanted him to kiss her?

Good Christ.

He’d almost kissed her.

He inhaled deeply, exhaled sharply, and opened his eyes to her. What had he been thinking?

That open and guileless gaze snagged his. He held it as he called, “Aye, just here. We’ve finished.”

They needed to go, but still, Rollo couldn’t take his eyes from her.

Those brown eyes with that yellow hair. The delicate features of some fairy-tale beauty. And breasts that he wanted to free from her gown, take in his mouth. And suck. And ravage.

Those goddamned buttons had mocked him. He wanted to tear them off, to take her in his arms, and see if the rest of her was as creamy and pale as the delectable stretch of décolletage that he’d decided would surely then and there be the death of him.

“Hello?” The disembodied voice was closer now.

Rollo turned, reached for his cane, and just then stumbled. His damned legs had cramped up, so tightly wound had he been holding himself.

The shopkeeper peeked behind the screen just as Rollo cursed under his breath. Scandalized, the man’s eyes grew wide. “If you’d be so kind—”

“Aye,” Rollo gritted out, “you’ve my coin. We leave you now.”

The click and drag of his cane and feet were the only sounds as they made their way, excruciatingly slowly, from the shop.

Rollo felt Felicity’s eyes on him in the carriage, and he pushed himself as far into the corner as possible.

She smelled so . . . lush. Womanly and rich, her scent filled the small enclosure, driving him to distraction. Did she have to watch him so?

The wheel caught on a rut. The carriage gave a sharp jolt, and Felicity bounced closer in his direction.

“Sixteen fifty-eight,” he said suddenly, his voice cracking. “The year. Is 1658.”

“I . . .” She looked confused for a moment. “Oh. Okay.”

“That doesn’t . . . shock you?” And he’d thought MacColla’s woman Haley had been a peculiar one.

“Shock me? What about you? I’m from the twenty-first century, and you act as though women pop back in time every day.”

“Bloody hell, but it seems you all do . . .” he muttered.

“What?” She leaned closer to hear.

“I’ve seen . . . this”—he waved his hands, gesturing to her—“before. But don’t fash yourself.” He glanced away from her to stare back out the window. “As I said, I will help you return to your proper place.”

“I’ve been trying to tell you. I think this is my proper place. I did . . . something—”