Chapter 21
As soon as the horses began to trot, Will turned to Erva, trying to be patient. “You haven’t given me your answer yet. I know it was rather assuming to make plans that you will say yes to our getting married, but I—”
She lunged for him, his lips.
He wasn’t at all prepared for the passionate onslaught and was easily pushed back against the bench. Erva followed, kissing him rapturously. He tried to keep up, but then realized she was yet again evading answering him.
Holding onto her arms, he pulled her away enough to say, “Erva—”
She pushed through and kissed him again. Her tongue slid into his mouth with a small, almost animalistic noise. Well, he couldn’t argue with sense like that, so he joined her, and plunged his own tongue into her mouth. She slid her hands up his arms and rested them on his shoulders.
Somehow they’d landed in the exact opposite position of the first night he had kissed her. He lay on his back with the lady almost entirely on him. Yet his legs faced forward uncomfortably, and Erva was trying to climb up him as if he were a boulder.
“Erva, may I please—”
“You’re so wonderful,” she whispered in his ear, then suckled his lobe.
He lost the ability to think momentarily with the pull of her mouth against his ear. Growling hungrily, he was surprised he could react like that, forgetting everything. But then he remembered she hadn’t said yes yet.
“You’re such a good man,” she continued.
“Thank you, but I—”
“You’ll really retire from the army?”
“Yes.”
“Immediately?” She undid his cravat in a swift move, then kissed down his neck.
Clutching at her hips, he pulled her near his erection. He couldn’t seem to help himself. Damnation, how many skirts was she wearing? It was much too much, since he couldn’t feel her through the thick layers of silk.
“Will?” Erva whispered a bit more pointedly.
One of his hands had somehow found its way up her skirts to her not-stockinged knee. Oh, the lady was scandalous without her hose, but he loved it. He had to internally shake himself to understand the words Erva formed.
“You’ll retire immediately? You won’t go to battle tomorrow?”
Just as his hand traveled up her thigh, he stopped, staring at her. His heart was already thundering, but now it roared in his ears. Good Lord, how did she know he was to battle tomorrow? No one knew, save his commander in chief and other executive officers.
Realization dawned. It should have made him angry or at the least hurt, but he still clung to hope. “You are a spy then?”
She blinked.
“You’re a spy. You’re letting me know you’re a spy.”
She shook her head, still laying partly on him as the carriage rode through town, making the potholes more erotic than they should have been.
He inhaled sharply. “Come now, my lady, how else do you know I am to battle on the morrow?”
It was her turn to take a quick breath. Lord, it was heaven to watch her do so. She grimaced though, which made some blood return to his brain for a bit.
“I—I don’t care that you’re a spy,” he said hastily. “Just please stop and marry me. I know I can’t offer you much. My family is limited to my sister whom you’ve just met, but I believe she would make a loyal and loving sister-in-law to you. I can offer you my estate, but as you know my sister and her lover will live there. I—”
“Stop it, please.” Erva rested her forehead on his chest. “I’m not a spy.”
“How else would you know, my darling?”
Her head shot up. “You’d still call me your darling after you think me a spy?”
He nodded.
“You’d still want me to live with you after you think me a spy?”
“Of course, but I’d prefer that you stopped, especially if you are a French spy.”
She smiled. “I’m especially not a French spy. I hardly speak a word of it.”
“Vraiment?”
Erva narrowed her eyes, appearing to think. “That means...truly, right?”
“Oui.”
She suddenly smiled down at him. “You speak French. God, that’s so sexy.” Then she kissed him again, this time with even more force, ending by biting his bottom lip playfully.
He chuckled, and finally found her hip with his one hand under her skirts. Her skin was like silk, and her hip was something to marvel at, the way it flared out and radiated femininity yet at the same time had an agility that many women didn’t possess. Realizing what lay under all the layers of fabric made him even harder. Still, he was curious.
“I’m surprised you weren’t taught French. Isn’t that the one language every lady speaks?”
As if he’d broken a spell, Erva suddenly tensed, then slowly lifted herself off him. Immediately, he wanted to bite off his damned tongue. She had morphed in the matter of a heartbeat into a sad version of herself, looking so far away from him tucked into the corner, crossing her arms around her bosom.
As he straightened, her eyes were wide, her brows furrowed, but not with frustration. He knew that look too well. She was worried.
“No matter what happens to me, to us,” she said, her voice shaking slightly, “you have to promise me you will retire. Immediately. You can’t fight against the Americans anymore.”
He sat up. The affronted feelings he supposed he should have had all along finally surfaced. “What kind of spy are you, my lady? Was your purpose mainly to make me fall in love with you, then force me to retire? Was it not intelligence?”
Her eyes shot poison at him at the accusation. “I’m not a spy.”
“Then how do you know so much? Why force me to retire?”
“You were going to retire anyway.” She threw her hands to the carriage’s roof.
He leaned forward heatedly. “Yes, when I thought you might marry me, which you’ve not answered for as of yet.”
Swiftly her anger evaporated. Her face crumpled into a frown, and tears formed and stormed down her cheeks. She wiped at the moisture with the back of her hand. “It—it’s hard for me to believe you mean it.”
When she started to cry, his own ire dissipated, but it suddenly flared back to life. “Why? Am I not good enough for the lady?” As soon as he’d barked out the words, he wished he could take them back. It was his fear that he wasn’t good enough that had made him say such a thing. After all, he hadn’t saved his wife. He hadn’t been a good enough husband to cure her. He hadn’t done enough.
Erva grabbed at his red uniform, suddenly ferocious. She balled her small hands into fists, looking as though she would scream at him as tear after tear fell from her eyes.
But then she turned away, whispering, “No. I’m the one who’s not good enough.”
That broke him, seeing her back round, trying to protect herself from him. He reached out for her, embracing her roughly against his chest. Not caring that she struggled in his hold.
“I’m so sorry, my darling. I’m saying words in haste and with anger coloring them, for you are so perfect. I utterly adore you, and I worry I am not good enough for you.”
She turned in his arms, facing him, her face completely wet. Shaking her head, she tried to distance herself from him, but he wouldn’t allow it.
“I—I’m the one not good enough.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“No.” He tried to catch her face, but she shook him off.
“I’m not a lady,” she said it so quickly that at first he didn’t catch what she’d said. But then she swallowed, her hands still on his shoulders, trying to push herself away from him. “I—I’m not a terribly good liar, but I went along with the charade because...because it allowed me to be close to you. I’m nobody.” Her words were particularly bitter as she uttered that last phrase. “I’m not a lady; I’m not an aristocrat. My father’s highest rank in the Marines was as a master sergeant, which he d
eserved and better because he was a damned fine soldier.”
Will was touched by her pride for her father, but was still trying to catch up in the conversation.
“Why did you want to be close to me?” he asked, afraid of her answer.
She looked down, her cheeks taking on a slight pink edge. “I—I studied you.” Peeking through her wet, glossy eyelashes, she whispered, “You are my dissertation.”
What did that mean?
“I am your dissertation?”
She nodded, looking down again. “I—I read about you for years. In all that time, I think it’s normal to grow affectionate. Maybe even have a little crush...”
“Pardon?”
She winced. “I might have been slightly infatuated with you.” Then she looked up, her dark honey eyes pleading. “But I never thought you’d be so...wonderful.”
Despite being utterly confused, he couldn’t help but still cling to hope that perhaps she did love him in return.
The carriage slowed, and Erva glanced out the window. Damnation, he’d left the curtains up again. If New York didn’t know what Erva and he were doing, they would soon enough, with the way he kept forgetting to protect their privacy. When she turned to look at him again, she took a shaky breath.
“It’s time I explained everything to you,” she said.
Once the carriage door opened, she took his hand and guided him slowly into the house. She walked as if she feared her death. So Will caught up with her on the stairs, trying to squeeze her hand for reassurance. He knew not why. After all, what if she were a spy who didn’t give a damn about him? What if she didn’t love him?
The house staff was silent, and even Paul took only one look at Erva and her somber visage and about-faced. Soon enough they were in her chamber, and she latched the door shut. She took off the small red uniform coat she wore, and laid it carefully on a chair, then turned to him.
“You might want to sit down for this.”
Will’s legs did feel weak, too much fear already coursing through his veins, but he shook his head.
Erva nodded and carefully went to the chifforobe, opening it. Will saw the jewel-toned dresses and white linens and muslins of her undergarments, and wanted nothing more than to see her in her shift at that moment. To hell with all the seriousness and explanations! He just wanted one more moment of time with Erva where all he felt was his heart pounding and his body against hers.
She twirled back to him, holding a small wooden box with an intricate design around the top of it. She put it on the floor before him, unhinged the top, and revealed the small glass box he’d seen this morning. As she lifted it from the container, it began to flicker with an image of a castle. Holding it in her palm, she extended it to him.
“You said you listened to music on it earlier?”
He nodded quickly.
“Pull the arrow across the screen please. We can listen to more music.”
Will didn’t budge.
Erva sighed as the castle’s light, she called it a screen, darkened. When she pressed another button, Will noticed the box lit up again. “It’s called an iPhone.” She pulled the arrow as she’d instructed him to do.
He knew it wouldn’t hurt him, but there was something so...This moment seemed so final, as if what Erva was about to say would change everything, and he didn’t want anything to change.
The screen though, did transform as he knew it would. Then Erva pressed the music notes as he had done. Her adroit fingers flicked at the screen and more and more boxes of faces or people or odd images appeared. She selected an image of a man, a conductor who was bowing to his orchestra.
“Bernstein.” She looked up at him with a shy smile. “I think you’ll like this.” Tucking the device closer, she pressed the screen again, and emitting from it was the sound of dainty violins, playing so melancholically, yet with something savagely raw and brave. As the music moved, it turned more and more grand, yet still refined and elegant.
“The composer was a man by the name of Tchaikovsky,” she whispered as the music swept into a more vigorous note.
Will glanced up, amazed. “Was?”
She nodded, then opened her mouth, but then closed her eyes in a tight clench. Taking in a deep breath, she finally looked up at him. “I love this part. It’s so romantic, don’t you think?”
He nodded.
“Tchaikovsky somehow could put into music all human emotions—the pain of not knowing what will happen next, the hope that grows in our hearts, the way defeat can devour us, the way victory can transform us, transform us forever.”
She held her iPhone closer to her flat stomach as if she didn’t want him to see it.
He watched her closely as the violins began again a sweeping romantic tune. Closing her eyes again, she finally released her tight grip on the glass box. That was when he read “1812 Overture.” He sucked in a breath.
“Does that mean in the year of 1812?” he asked wildly, not recognizing his own voice.
The music escalated. It sounded as if cannons fired off. For a long moment she didn’t answer, but stared at him as the music beat with monumental rhythm and the tones vibrated through him. Not because the music was loud, but it resonated with all human emotion, as she had said. Will thought the music especially spoke to him and his sense of accomplishment when on a battlefield. He knew this tune. He knew it innately.
With rolling drums, it ceased, and she pressed something on the screen, then looked up at him, holding out her iPhone again so he could read it.
“It’s a book. It’s a book about the British commanders in chief of this war. First, there was Gage, now Howe, but soon Howe will retire too. As you know things were not easy between Howe and the Ministry at home. King George wanted better results, and Howe, again, as you know, came here as a mission of peace, not war. He will retire next year and be gone by 1778, then General Henry Clinton will take over.”
“Why not General Guy Carleton? He’s the better general and has more experience.”
She smiled ruefully. “You believe me?”
Will sucked in another breath, not sure how to answer, not sure why he believed her.
Tentatively, she looked up at him again, one tear rolling down her cheek. She shook her head. “I didn’t know you were this wonderful. I would have never known it, if it weren’t for this experience. I only knew your tactics.” Looking down again, she said, “You feign a frontal attack, but then outflank your enemy. Howe gets much of the credit for your designs, your battles, but through my research I came to understand that it was you, your brilliance, your attack plans. It was all you.” She took a shaky breath. “Tomorrow you will do the same. Only, you won’t just use your right flank, as you usually do, but you will also use your left, essentially pinching your enemy to death. The American militia that will meet you at Kip’s Bay won’t see what’s coming. In one day’s time you will have more than a thousand prisoners of war.” She glanced up again, as his heart beat crazily in his chest. “I know how this war will turn out, because I’ve read it over and over again.”
At that his legs finally did almost give out on him, and he walked backwards until he found a nearby couch to fall into. He huffed for air as Erva approached.
She gave him enough room to make him think she was fearful of him. The pained look in her face, the occasional tear down her cheek gashed at his heart.
He had to clear his throat a few times, but finally he could say, “Read it? The outcome?”
She nodded.
“Because you are not from my time?”
She nodded once more.
He let out a dry chuckle. “Lord, when I met you, I imagined you were from another time. But I thought from the song you sang, and the way you make me feel...I made believe that you were a medieval princess.”
“Princess?” Her voice cracked. “The way I make you feel?”
He looked up at her as she held her iPhone and hands protectively over her heart. “Yes, because, I sw
ear to God, with you I felt I could rip apart dragons with my bare hands. I felt I could do anything.” Again, he gave a wry laugh. “I fancied you some princess I could rescue, but, Erva, my darling, you were the one saving me.”
She fell to the ground in a cloud of her blue skirts. He rushed off the couch, kneeling in front of her, holding onto her waist.
Trying to wipe away her tears, she said, “I don’t usually cry like this.”
He smiled. “Okay.”
She giggled.
“Did I use that term correctly?”
She nodded.
“Is it Germanic? Are you ever going to tell me what it means?”
“I believe it’s American. Founded in the early 1800s, but used predominately after...after a presidential candidate used it in the 1840s.”
His breath ceased and his stomach clenched, but he would get through this, by God. “What year are you from, darling?”
She bit her bottom lip, which he guessed she didn’t mean to be as provocative as it looked. Damn, he wanted to kiss her and never stop.
“I’m from a little more than two centuries in the future.”
Being hit in the gut might have had a lesser reaction than what he experienced at that moment. He plopped on his backside, somehow sitting up still, probably appearing stupefied.
Erva held onto his coat. “I’m sorry.”
“What? What are you sorry about, darling?” He sounded drunk to his own ears.
She shrugged.
“You said you’re older than I, right? You said you are actually five and thirty, although you could pass for a girl of two and twenty.”
She smiled. “Flatterer.”
He couldn’t help but grin back. “I’m not trying to be. I’m trying to make a point: I’m actually older than you, am I not? I’m more than two hundred years your senior.”
She giggled, and Will realized all was well. It was odd, and very hard to wrap his head around, but all the same, she was here. With him. And he wouldn’t let her go.
“So, how does this work?” he asked. “Are you going to stay here? With me? Marry me, and accept my title and estate and new sister? Or do we jump into the future now?”
She swallowed. “You—you’d still want to marry me? After you know—”
“My darling, you could come from a different planet, and I wouldn’t care.”
“You don’t care that you’re two hundred years older than me?” she asked with a slight twinkle of mischief in her eyes.
“As long as you don’t.” He smiled.
She shook her head.
He wrapped his hands around her waist, pulling her closer. “Erva, I don’t know much about love, but what I do know is that the way I feel about you...I doubt I would ever experience it again, except mayhap in another two hundred years’ time.”
She smiled again, but then looked down shyly. “You—you don’t just want to marry me. You love me?”
“I know it’s utterly impetuous, improper, and unreasonable to fall in love so soon—only a few days after I met you.” He hooked a finger under her chin and forced her to look at him again. “But it’s also perfect. I love you. I want you. I swear to God, Erva, I want to make love to you as often as I can. Let me amend that. I want to make love to you as often as you’ll let me.”
She giggled and grabbed hold of him in a tight embrace. All too soon, she pushed herself away. “I—I have more to tell.”
He nodded, bracing himself by swallowing his tight throat.
“This would be a good time to say, ‘okay.’”
“Okay.” He tried to grin.
“As I said, I’m not a lady. I don’t have a title.”
“Okay.”
Now she smiled, but continued. “I—I work at Harvard, where I teach classes.”
“You’re a professor?”
She nodded.
“How clever of you, darling. Congratulations! Or are there many women professors in the future?”
“There are more and more, yes. And I have to tell you—” she squinted her eyes closed, “—I’m divorced.”
Although jealousy snapped through him, and he was fairly certain he’d like nothing more than to hunt her former husband down with a hatchet, he saw the fear in her tense visage. “Thank God for that, then.”
Startled, she opened her amber eyes.
“I don’t think I could handle polyandry. I couldn’t share you.”
She shook her head, appearing confused. “I know most people from this time think divorce is...is—”
“Pardon me, but I think you’re being a wee bit of a bigot again. I’m sorry to say as much, but there are women who are divorced from my time.”
“I know, but aren’t they social pariahs?”
Will shook his head. “Not that I know of, but you must remember with whom you’re speaking. I’m not exactly knowledgeable of social protocol. I was much too serious as a young man, then married, then a widower who seemed to drown in my grief.”
Erva sank closer to him on the floor. “I’m so sorry for that.”
“I’m not now. Drowning, that is.”
Tears collected in Erva’s lovely eyes again.
“I don’t know how it works, Erva, but did my wife have a hand in you being here? Truly, you are so perfect that I’ve often wondered if she somehow...?”
Erva shook her head. “The muses, Clio and Erato, sent me here.”
“Ah.” Will nodded as if talk of muses were an everyday occurrence, but then winced. “This makes my head spin.”
“I know. I thought I had gone crazy the first day I arrived, but then the muses came and gave me better instructions, and then—”
“The maids! The muses are the maids who took you to your chamber?”
Erva nodded with a smile.
“God, really?”
Faintly she nodded again, her smile waning. “You don’t mind that I’ve been married before?”
Shaking his head, Will said, “I know we haven’t known each other long, but I trust you. I trust you did what you must. It makes me dreadfully sad to think of you as unhappy, and unhappy enough to get a divorce—”
“Getting a divorce is a civil suit in the future, not an act of Parliament as it is now. So it’s easier to obtain.”
“Still, darling, I wish you had never known a touch of unhappiness. But,” he tried not to smile, yet couldn’t help himself as he said, “I’m rather pleased you’re available for me to pursue and marry.”
“Did you pursue me?”
“I thought I was a tad too obvious, what with insisting on carrying you around everywhere.”
“You weren’t doing that because my knee hurt?”
“Ah, you see, that was a wonderful excuse, but I fear if you hadn’t had an injury I still would have carried you about. I’m dreadfully sorry, but something about you brings out a very primal, possessiveness in me.”
She giggled.
He leaned forward, sweeping his lips against hers. “I want you to be mine, Minerva Ferguson.” He kissed her again, gently but pleadingly, then he leaned back, thrilled at the way she gasped for air and leaned closer to him to return the kiss. Before she could, he tenderly touched her forehead, skimming his fingers into her silky blonde tresses. “I want your mind to be mine.” He kissed her along her eyebrows, making her thick blonde lashes flutter closed. Then he kissed both her eyelids. When she gazed up at him again, with dark honey in her orbs, he smiled proudly. Taking her iPhone from her, he set it close by. He slid a hand over her dress to her heart, hammering against his palm. “I want your heart to be mine.” Then he reached down and kissed where his hand had been. Moving to her breast and cupping her, he gave a gentle squeeze and found her nipple reacting immediately, hardening and peaking through her layers of clothing. He rolled his thumb over the small nub, making her moan. That sent a jolt of electricity straight to his cock, making him rock hard in a matter of seconds. Latching on to her nipple with his mouth, he found her dress too much
in the way. Lord, clothes were detestable at this moment.
After Erva clutched onto his hair with her dainty fingers, he lifted off her breast, and maneuvered her to lie down on the floor. He hovered over her for just a moment. “And I want your body to be mine. All mine.”
She smiled and pulled him to cover her, to feel her body with his own. “Okay.”
He chuckled then relented and swayed his hardness against her soft center. God, he loved it when her lashes fluttered closed, like two light-colored butterflies descending to earth. He loved the light pink coloring in her cheeks, also drifting across her chest. He loved the way she smiled as he rocked into her. He loved her.
He really did. As much as he was a man of his time, reasonable and expecting scientific explanations of things, this defied everything he’d ever known. He knew he loved her, and, Lord, he hoped she felt the same. The little minx hadn’t yet admitted anything, hadn’t even said yes to his proposal.
He lifted himself off her, to hover over her again, frowning.
She opened her eyes, her dark honey orbs appeared glassy and slightly out of focus. “Don’t stop,” Erva whispered.
He obeyed without a thought and felt through her skirts, through his breeches, her heat and her pleasure. Then reason came back to him, and he lifted himself once more.
She groaned. “Please don’t stop.”
He shook his head. “You haven’t given me any kind of answer, my lady.”
“I’m not a lady. I told you that.”
“You will be if you say yes.”
She blinked rapidly for a moment. “You mean to your proposal?”
“Yes.”
Surprising him, she latched onto his hips with her hands, and forced him back down to her. Just touching her center again, and he was nearly insane with need, almost all his blood rushing between his legs. Thank God for one small droplet still in his brain. He drew back, scowling at the wee temptress.
“You—you—” His voice cracked with strain. He had to wipe his forehead as sweat suddenly appeared, thanks to holding back from what he wanted so badly. “I can stand firm against your temptation forever.” Again, his voice cracked and gave away his weakened stance, but he had to have an answer. “You can’t play your tricks against me.”
Her giggle was low and sultry. “I don’t think I can hold out forever, so you have me there.”
“Oh, thank God, for I really couldn’t...wait! You still haven’t answered me!”
Her smile widened and this time she placed both her hands on his cheeks. He felt his stubble catch on her soft palms.
“I have to shave again.”
She shook her head. “I like it. Being my husband, can I force you to grow a beard for me?”
“Truly? You’d want me to grow out my beard?”
She nodded while still caressing his cheeks. “I have a weird ZZ Top thing.”
“Pardon? Is that a disease from the future?”
She giggled rather loudly. “It probably should be, but, no, I’m disease free.”
He smiled. “Are you relenting? Is your request for a beard a yes?”
Solemnly, she nodded. “If you really want me, William Hill, then I will be yours, my mind, my heart, and my body will be yours.”
He frantically kissed her then. “God, yes, I really want you, and I will be yours, Minerva Ferguson, my mind” —he kissed her again on her forehead— “my heart” —this time he kissed her over her heart. He moved back to hover over her, watching as he lowered his hips. Her lovely blonde butterflies fluttered shut momentarily when his hardness met her hot center, and he smiled. “My body is yours, all yours.”
When she opened her eyes again, she beamed up at him as she clutched onto his derrière. “Good,” she whispered. “Will?”
“Yes, my darling?”
“I think it’s time to rip me out of my clothes now.”
“Okay.”