James watched his butler escort the blonde haired beauty inside. His eyes lingered on her retreating figure until she was gone from his view. Whoever she was, she’d looked shocked and confused when he’d found her, prompting him to wonder if perhaps he’d been wrong to accuse her.

No.

He shook his head and gave Tatiana his full attention. When he’d heard a scream, he’d rushed from his study to discover what had happened. Snypes, who served as both valet and secretary, had followed. As had Hendricks. Crouching down beside his sister, James ran his fingers gently across her frozen brow. He didn’t bother to hold back his tears, allowing them to mingle with the falling rain. It was difficult to comprehend her reason for being out here in such inhospitable weather. Especially since she’d told him she planned to retire for the evening no more than half an hour earlier. Finding her here like this made no sense, which only made the tears fall faster. She’d been his responsibility, his little sister, and he had failed her. Whoever had caused this would suffer the full extent of his wrath, regardless of whom they might be. He would certainly not allow a pretty face to distract him from his purpose.

Curling his fingers into a fist, he rose with renewed resolve. Mourning Tatiana would have to wait. For now. Convicting her killer and seeing justice served was now his first priority. So he rose to face Snypes, who’d stayed a respectable distance away in order to allow James the privacy he needed. “Please take her upstairs to her chamber. Ask her maid to make her look presentable. I don’t want anyone else to see her like this.”

“Of course, my lord.” Snypes hesitated, then said, “I am so sorry for—”

“Just see to it.”

The valet inclined his head and James left him to it, trusting the man to complete the task with the same degree of competence he applied to everything else. He then made his way upstairs to his own chamber for a change of clothing.

Once alone, James unbuttoned his jacket with trembling fingers and tossed it aside. His shirt and breeches followed, torn from his limbs with angry movements until he was standing before the mirror in a portrait of crazed undress. So much blood. It filled his vision, the memory of it constricting his breathing and tightening every muscle in his body.

Without thinking, he slammed his fist into the crystal before him, shattering his image in a shower of glass. “Aaaargh!” The ache in his knuckles was welcome. The tension released more so. But it wasn’t enough. He still felt weighed down and buried alive.

Drawing a breath, he forced himself to regain his focus. Allowing himself to drown in his grief was not an option. Not if he was to solve Tatiana’s murder with a clear head.

With this in mind, he crossed to his chest of drawers with renewed purpose and pulled out a clean shirt and fresh trousers with waistcoat and jacket to match. Once dressed, he descended the stairs and strode swiftly toward his study where the mystery woman awaited. Entering the room, he found her sitting in one of the armchairs close to the fireplace while Hendricks stood by the door keeping watch.

“Have you learned anything?” James asked his butler.

“No. She has not spoken a word yet.”

Eyeing her carefully, James studied the tilt of her chin and the gleam in her eyes. Defiance prevailed though he’d yet to determine if it was genuine or a mask she wore to hide her fear. “You may leave us, Hendricks. I will ring for you if further assistance is required.”

“Are you quite certain?” Hendricks asked. “She is a young woman and—”

“Possibly guilty of slitting Tatiana’s throat,” James snapped. “Propriety be damned.”

Hendricks visibly bristled but James refused to apologize. He waited until the servant had shut the door behind him before turning back to his quarry. She stared at him with undeniable interest, her dark brown eyes framed by long black lashes assessing him in a manner that quickened his pulse and caused irritation to flare.

“Who are you?” he clipped, repeating the question from earlier.

She tilted her chin and crossed her arms. “Jane Edwards.”

Frowning, he ran the name through his mind. It was plain but unfamiliar. “Where do you live?” Something about her was off. She seemed out of place somehow, her dress an entirely different cut from any other he’d ever seen. And her hair had not been styled or hidden beneath a bonnet. Instead, the loose tresses fell over her shoulders and down her back in an untamed manner that stirred his imagination. And not in a good way, all things considered.

“I cannot say.”

“Why not?”

“Because the truth is quite unbelievable. Considering the situation I am presently in, I would like to avoid being thought of as crazy.”

Her cryptic remark piqued his interest even though it annoyed him. What he needed right now was answers, and she seemed reluctant to provide him with any. But blustering as he felt inclined to do would probably not help. So he searched his mind for a different angle from which to approach her and immediately focused on the manner in which she spoke.

“You sound as though you are forcing your words.” He studied her, registering the momentary spark of acknowledgement in her eyes. “So I presume you are not from around here. Perhaps…” he continued as he moved closer to where she sat, “you are not even British.”

Her jaw tightened with visible defiance. She averted her gaze and James reached out, catching her chin with his hand and forcing her to look at him. “Are you a spy?” He couldn’t imagine why she would be since he and his sister did not have any secrets worth ferreting out. Which led him to his second question. “An assassin?”

The edge of her mouth twitched. And then she suddenly laughed.

James stiffened, caught between anger and complete incredulity. He dropped his hand and leaned toward her with intentional menace. “You find this amusing?” He knew the lethal tone in his voice was intended to make pure fear run through the veins of those on whom he chose to use it. So he was not surprised when his visitor flinched as though she’d been slapped.

“No. Of course not.” All humor vanished from her features. “I am not a spy or an assassin. I am an author and I did not kill anyone.”

An author? James stared at her, momentarily lost in the depth of her dark brown eyes, so full of compassionate kindness right now, he regretted the moment she glanced away. “Why should I believe you?”

“I don’t know.”

“That is not very helpful, Mrs. Edwards.”

“Miss, if you please, and I’m sorry I can’t tell you more. All I can do is give you my word that I am innocent in this.”

He winced. “You do understand that there is no other suspect, that you appeared out of nowhere, standing over my sister’s body, and you would have me trust you?” His voice was rising out of frustration, but he could not seem to control it. Never before had he felt so helpless, and with Miss Edwards offering no information, she served as a hindrance more than anything else, which only increased his annoyance. “Do you take me for a fool?”

Her eyes widened. “No. Of course not. It is just…” She swallowed and seemed to consider how to proceed. When she spoke again, her words were measured. “I didn’t expect to arrive here this evening. Finding your sister’s body was quite a surprise. I’m sorry about what happened to her. Truly.”

James clenched his fists. “I never said who the woman was, and yet you know she is my sister?”

Miss Edwards dropped her gaze to the floor and drew a shuddering breath. “I cannot explain.”

“I insist you bloody well try!” He’d never cursed in front of a woman before, but this one pushed him past all restraint.

A tortured bit of laughter escaped her. Raising her chin, she regarded him with utmost seriousness. “Very well. Considering her age and the silk gown she was wearing, I made an assumption. Apparently it was correct.”

Narrowing his gaze on her, James tried to discern if she was indeed being honest. He wasn’t sure. If she were, there was still the matter of her presence to consider. “Even if what you say is true, which I very much doubt, I still want to know what business you had wandering about my property in the middle of the night.”

* * *

Jane flinched. The earl was furious and rightfully so. But what explanation could she possibly give him without getting locked up for good, or worse, condemned to die? So far, she’d gotten by on her knowledge of Regency England, but it would only get her so far. The man was not an idiot, and she’d be stupid to treat him as such. Which meant she had to give him a plausible reason for her presence along with cause to let her stay. Because while she could not for the life of her comprehend what had happened, she hoped the portal, or whatever it was that had brought her here, might appear again so she could return to her own time.

“I came to seek a position.” It was in fact the first thought that popped into her head.

One elegant eyebrow shot up, creasing his forehead. “Why not say so at once?”

“Because the first thing you said when you saw me was that I would hang.” Keeping utterly still, she held her breath and prayed he’d believe her.

He did not look convinced. “A position as what, exactly?”

“I don’t know but I need the funds and thought I’d inquire.” When he continued to stare at her, she slumped back against her chair with a groan. “The truth is I recently arrived from America.” Which was true. “The few funds I brought along with me were stolen almost immediately after disembarking in Plymouth, so when I spotted your estate I saw a potential opportunity. That’s all.”

He narrowed his eyes and peered at her as if hoping to read her mind. The intensity of it, along with the dread of what might happen if he were to doubt her, made Jane’s heart thrash about inside her chest.

“So you are American?” She nodded and his frown deepened. “I suppose that explains your peculiar speech pattern and…your strange choice of clothing.”

He allowed his gaze to slide over her without apology. A wave of heat assailed her, banishing the chill of her still-wet clothes. In spite of her unappealing circumstance, awareness sparked so acutely, she all but gasped.

Instead, she responded tartly to hide the reaction. “I would have dressed more appropriately if I’d known I’d be conversing with aristocracy.”

The edge of his mouth twitched enough to convey a spark of humor. It was gone as quickly as it had appeared, buried beneath his serious demeanor. “Regardless, I have no need for an additional maid. As to what you may have witnessed, however…”

“I saw no one else.”

A lengthy pause followed before he turned away and strode to the door. Stopping there, he glanced back at her. “In that case I have no further use for you right now. You will remain here under watch until I confirm what you say is true. If you are indeed as innocent as you claim, you shall be released. If you are not, the magistrate will see to your arrest.” He held her gaze for a long second before inclining his head. “Good evening, Miss Edwards. I do hope you enjoy your stay here at Summervale.”

He was gone before she had a chance to say anything further. Enjoy her stay? Was he serious? At least if she did remain here there was still some hope she might find a way back to her own time.

Any lingering possibility that the recent events had not been a reenactment arranged by the museum had been dashed as soon as she’d been taken inside by Hendricks. Everything had looked different from how she remembered. The furniture seemed newer and there were pieces present that hadn’t been there before, while others were missing. Some paintings had also been moved. But it was more than that. It was that the house now felt lived in.

The door opened and a woman appeared. “Miss Edwards.” Her tone was very precise. “I am Mrs. Fontaine, the housekeeper. If you would please come with me, I will show you up to the room in which you are going to be staying.”

Unsure of what to expect, Jane hesitantly stood. “I’m very cold,” she confessed.

Mrs. Fontaine looked her up and down with a pair of sharp eyes. “Yes. I imagine you would be. The sooner we get you out of those clothes the better.”

Jane followed her from the room, quickening her step on occasion in an effort to keep up with the housekeeper’s pace. They ascended the grand staircase and made their way along a corridor until Mrs. Fontaine came to a sudden halt in front of a door. Opening it, she ushered Jane inside. “The maid’s quarters are full, so his lordship has asked for you to be put in here.”

The room was gorgeous, more extravagant than any other she’d ever seen. Pastel shades of blue dominated the space, accentuated by white accents. The furniture itself was extraordinary. Intricately carved, it consisted primarily of a tall wardrobe, a dressing table, and a magnificent four poster canopy bed fit for a queen. “It’s lovely.”

“I will bring some clothes for you so you can get changed. A hot bath has already been ordered, though you ought to know that it is only to prevent you from catching your death.” Mrs. Fontaine spoke with obvious discomfort and without ever meeting Jane’s eyes.

“I didn’t kill Lady Tatiana.” Jane felt a sudden urgency for the housekeeper to believe her. “I could never do that. I truly hope whoever did it is found and punished.”

“Thank you, but until that happens, I intend to remain on my guard.”

In other words, she was not about to trust Jane.

“Of course.”

Mrs. Fontaine straightened her spine. “And since you claim to have come here seeking employment, I hope securing this room for yourself will not encourage you to forget your position within society.”

Jane understood completely. The housekeeper thought her unworthy and rightfully so. Especially considering the time period in which she found herself. “Understood.” She added a nod for good measure, hoping to ease Mrs. Fontaine’s concerns.

Mrs. Fontaine did not look the least bit relieved but rather than comment, she went in search of the clothing she’d promised, returning moments later with a bundle of white and grey fabric in her arms. “Stays, chemise, dress, and stockings,” she said, laying the items out on the bed. “One of the maids was good enough to provide them when I asked. Considering her size, I believe they ought to fit you well enough.”

A knock sounded, announcing the arrival of four footmen who carried a tub. They were followed by two more footmen, each bringing a pail of steaming hot water with them. The bath was prepared under Mrs. Fontaine’s supervision while Jane stood by, appreciating the cordiality with which she was being treated, all things considered. Surely, if the earl truly believed her guilty of murder, he would have thrown her in a dungeon instead.

Or perhaps his code of honor – something lacking from everyday life in the twenty-first century – compelled him to see to her comfort regardless.

Either way, she looked forward to the bath and was grateful when the footmen departed. “I will help you undress,” Mrs. Fontaine said. She took a step toward Jane, who took an immediate step back.

“Thank you, but I am perfectly capable of doing that on my own.” Especially since she had no wish for Mrs. Fontaine to see the zipper in the side of her dress or her very un-nineteenth-century underwear.

All of the above would likely shock the woman. She’d probably show it to her master and, as mortifying as that would be, Jane’s greatest concern was that he might choose to tell the authorities. Jane would then be brought in for questioning and perhaps lose her chance to return to her own time. It wasn’t a risk she was able to take.

Thankfully, Mrs. Fontaine respected her boundaries. “Very well then. I will lock your door for security reasons. If you need something, you may ring the bell.” She pointed toward the red velvet rope that hung in one corner of the room.

Jane dipped her head. “Thank you. I appreciate your help.”

Without further comment, Mrs. Fontaine departed, leaving Jane to her bath and the myriad thoughts swirling through her mind.

* * *

Staring into the fireplace, James downed the remainder of his brandy and muttered a curse. What a God-awful day this had been. His sister had been brutally murdered for reasons he could not begin to understand, and the only person he’d found at the scene was an utter enigma. Jane Edwards. A curious woman with secrets carefully guarded behind deflection and lies. Any judge in the land would find her guilty. And yet instinct told him the opposite was true.

He was fairly certain she’d fabricated the story about seeking employment. But then why the devil had she been walking through his garden? What was her purpose for being on the terrace this evening?

Re-filling his glass, he took another sip. Her story bound her to Summervale instead of allowing escape, which suggested she wanted to stay. But why? Unable to figure it out, he turned down the oil-lamps and exited his study.

A quick glance toward the parlor made his chest ache. Tatiana now lay there, surrounded by candles and flowers, while footmen took shifts keeping watch. Mrs. Fontaine had done a wonderful job, preparing her for the upholsterer’s arrival in the morning. If they’d been in London, the funeral furnisher they’d used when his father had passed would have been called, but here in the countryside where few could afford such extravagance, the task fell on tradesmen.

Strangely, Tatiana’s personal maid had been unable to help since she had apparently gone missing. The girl had not been seen since earlier in the day. Footmen had been sent out to search for her, but Betsy had not yet been found. James could only hope that her absence was not connected to the crime. He rather liked the young maid and her spirited personality and would hate to discover her capable of committing murder.

Sighing, he started up the stairs on heavy feet. Tomorrow he would question the servants again and in greater detail, hopefully with the help of the magistrate Snypes had sent for. A new search party would be sent out to find Betsy, and Miss Edwards would give him some proper answers if he had to wring them out of her himself.

Passing her door, he paused, considering. Light spilled beneath it, suggesting she’d either forgotten her oil-lamp on or remained awake. Would it be improper of him to inquire about her well-being?

Yes!

He hesitated, torn between guilt and anger and an inexplicable need to see Miss Edwards again, if only for a second. Which was wrong. She might still have wielded the dagger that Hendricks had found in one of the flowerbeds. Which was why he’d insisted on making her his prisoner until such a theory could be completely dismissed. But all things aside, he was still a gentleman, and as such, would the proper thing not be to inquire if she needed anything before he retired?

That’s what the servants are for.

Yes, but she was still his responsibility and if she was innocent of the crime…

He rapped lightly on the door. There was a pause and then a very soft, “Yes?”

James steeled himself. “Are you all right in there?”

“I cannot complain. The room is lovely.”

“Excellent.” He ought to leave it at that and be off, except her voice held him captive, and damn him he wanted to hear more of it, even though he knew he couldn’t yet trust her. Caught between the urge to see her punished for the crime she might have committed and the strange desire to protect her if she was innocent, he asked, “Do you have all that you need?”

It was not until the words were out that he realized how propositional they sounded. Which got his mind thinking about things he really should not be thinking about. At all. If only she would say something. Except she didn’t. She kept silent for an infernally long moment while he began wondering how best to take his leave and spare them both additional awkwardness.

But then she said, “Some food would be nice.”

“You have not eaten?” He could not believe it.

“I did not want to bother the servants any more than I already have and I thought…I thought I could manage until morning, but now I’m suddenly ravenously hungry.”

Her comment surprised him. What sort of cold-blooded killer would spare a thought for the comfort of servants? Making his decision, he told her quickly, “I will fetch something for you. It won’t take long.”

“But—”

He did not linger to hear her protestations but hurried downstairs to the kitchen. It was well after midnight, so all the staff had retired, leaving him to rummage through the pantry alone. He was used to it though since he often enjoyed a late night snack and was loath to wake a maid or a footman to do a chore he could easily accomplish himself.

Finding a plate, he made an arrangement of ham and cheese, some bread, an egg, and a few tomato and cucumber slices. He then climbed the stairs, returning to Miss Edwards’s chamber and knocking gently on the door. “May I come in?” When she answered in the affirmative, he grabbed the key to the room from the hook where it hung on the wall and unlocked the door.

Pushing it open, he entered, and froze as soon as he saw her. Because there she was, sitting on the bed in the plain chemise Mrs. Fontaine had provided and with not just her feet or her ankles but her entire calf showing. The pose was casual, relaxed, and the coverlet mostly tucked around her, but still, he was a man and she…Hell, he could not for the life of him tear his gaze away from the beauty of that limb. The skin was perfect, unblemished and…he almost forgot the plate, straightening it not a moment too soon before the egg rolled over the side.

Irritation followed on the heels of his visceral reaction. Because she’d known he was coming and had not bothered to make herself descent, making him wonder if she’d deliberately chosen to uncover herself in some ploy to provoke him.

Clenching his jaw, he tightened his grip on the plate and glared at her with intentional ire. “You should cover yourself,” he clipped.

“Oh!” It was as if his presence had just occurred to her then for she quickly pushed her bare leg under the coverlet and pulled the entire mass of fabric all the way up to her chin. “Sorry. I forgot myself completely.”

He chose not to comment and made a point of leaving the bedchamber door wide open while he approached the bed. If she was toying with him, she’d soon be disappointed by his unwillingness to participate. “This may offend you,” he said and handed her the plate, “but I must inquire about your situation.”

She bit into the egg and James watched while giving himself a silent set down. He could not afford to want this woman. Whatever happened, he had to resist her.

“My situation?”

“You say that you are American, which in and of itself explains your boldness. To some degree. But the carefreeness with which you welcome me into your room while in a state of dishabille makes me wonder if…” He waved his hand as if this would be enough to get his point across without actually asking what he wanted to ask. When she simply stared at him, he finally said, “Are you a courtesan?”

She gaped at him.

“It is a fair question.” He would not apologize for asking it. “And since the information you have volunteered about yourself has been rather lacking, I am forced to assume that there is something you are hiding. So, with this in mind—”

“You wish to know if I might bring shame upon your home even if I did not murder your sister.” Rather than look offended as he’d expected she might, her expression conveyed a sense of understanding. “You need not worry, my lord. I am not a loose woman, nor have I ever been married, though I did come close once. In fact, the reason I’m here is because I wished to escape my fiancé.”

“I see.” Her story made a little more sense now. And the way she told it was quite believable. He was sure she was telling the truth about that, even though she might still have murdered his sister. “And do you expect this fiancé to come chasing after you?”

She shook her head. “No. He has no interest in me anymore, nor I in him. I simply wish to start over.”

Which was something he could help her with. “In that case, if you are proven innocent and wish to remain here afterward, I am sure Mrs. Fontaine can find a position for you.”

It would keep her close, but to what end? So you can find a means by which to get her into your bed, you scoundrel. The thought tore through him with lightning speed. It quickened his pulse and pricked his skin. Christ! She might have slit Tatiana’s throat without a second thought and here he was, lusting for her regardless. And with Tatiana lying lifeless downstairs in the parlor.

He ought to be ashamed.

“Thank you, my lord.” Miss Edwards tore off a piece of bread and placed the ham and cheese on top. She added a slice of tomato and bit into the sandwich she’d created. “Perhaps you would like to pull up a chair and keep me company while I eat?”

He was tempted, but he’d already stayed too long. Best to keep his distance from her until he discovered the truth about Tatiana’s murder. “It has been a long day,” he said while backing away. “So I will wish you a good night instead.” He reached the door, sketched a quick bow, and quit Miss Edwards’s room before her questioning gaze could stay him.

Locking the door behind him, he expelled a breath he had not realized he’d been holding. She was dangerous. Innocent or guilty, it made no difference when it came to the tumult she was bound to inflict on his life. He pondered this while he continued toward his own bedchamber, the need Miss Edwards had stirred in him as fiery and hazardous as a blazing inferno.