“Before the Fire”

An

Ellora’s Cave

Electronic Publication in association with author:

Tia Isabella

ISBN # 0-9707169-7-4

All Rights Reserved.

http://www.ellorascave.com/

© Copyright Tia Isabella, 2001.

This book/e-book may not be reproduced in whole or in part by email forwarding, copying, fax, or any
other mode of communication without author and publisher permission.

Edited by Lee Haskell

Chapter 1

NASA Headquarters, Houston Colony of Planet Earth

April 15, 2429 AD

“I cannot believe this is the only way.”

“Believe it. We’ve no other recourse.”

“But this is insanity!”

“It’s better than death for our people!”

Kane Edmonds plopped her weary body down onto the black sensory chair behind her desk and fixed
Commander Linder with a frosty stare. The computerized seat, having sensed Kane’s stress level by
synaptic analysis, automatically kicked into relaxation mode. The massagers began pummeling at her
backside, springing out from the chair like angry robotic fists. She winced.

“What’s the matter with you?”

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“Damn chair is busted,” she grumbled. “It hits with a little too much vigor lately.”

Commander Linder sighed. “Budget cuts.”

At Kane’s nod, the commander forsook the idle chitchat concerning the sensory chair and reverted back
to the previous topic of conversation. He drew his arms across his chest and assumed his most
authoritative pose. It was the same pose he’d used for over thirty years to make galactic leaders cower.
It consisted of arching one bushy gray eyebrow while simultaneously glowering at his opponent.
Unfortunately, the pose had never had much of an affect on Kane. Sensing that, he glowered harder.
“Listen Kane, you know that I will not order you to head up this project. This mission is so classified that
even the supreme ruling body of the Milky Way doesn’t know about it.”

“I’m glad you’re not planning to order me Linder because—”

The commander held up a silencing hand. “I said I would not order you to do so. I did not say,
however, that I would notbeg you to head it up.”

Kane scowled, knowing she would have a difficult time refusing her boss when he put the “request” like
that. Linder wasn’t a man who begged to anyone for anything. The sensory chair began pounding harder
at Kane’s back, causing her to curse a choice oath. She sighed. “Commander, I am honored that you
think enough of me to head this project up for you, but I am a planabotonologist, not a...a…” She
paused, unable to think of a way to phrase her thoughts.

“A time travelling mercenary?”

She nodded emphatically. “Yes! Thank-you. I am not a time travelling mercenary!”

Kane nestled further into her seat, ignoring the jabbing little fists that would no doubt leave bruises if she
didn’t calm down soon. She closed her eyes and rubbed her temples, trying desperately to lower the
electrical activity in her nervous system. But how could she after the bomb that was just dropped in her
lap by Commander Linder? Time travelling! Had he gone mad? She was a planabotonologist for Saturn’s
sake!

Kane cleared her throat and smiled, subtly making the point that she was trying to be understanding.
“Commander,” she began in her most reasonable tone, “I am a planabotonologist. Do you know what
that means?”

Ignoring the scowl her patronizing remark yielded, she continued on. “That means that I scout out and
collect plant life from variousplanets so we can use those findings to create synthetic drugs to conquer
humanoid diseases. As I said, I collect the plants from other planets –not from other times.”

Commander Linder, realizing that his forbidding pose was having even less of an affect than usual on the
scientist, pulled out the big gun and went for his two-brow scowl. He threw in a grunt for added theatrics.
“That is precisely why I wantyou to head this project up, Kane. You are the best planabotonologist in
eight discovered solar systems and you know it. The species of plant life we are trying to locate has been
extinct for hundreds of years. The only galaxy we even know of where this plant used to thrive was in our
own, here in the earth’s past.”

“I know nothing of time travelling, Linder. Hell, I didn’t even know NASA figured out how to do that
yet!”

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Commander Linder fidgeted in his seat restlessly, the massaging sensors in his own chair now kicking in.
Kane arched a golden brow. “You’re squirming, Linder. Why are you squirming?”

“No reason,” he mumbled.

“I see. Then that explains the beads of sweat breaking out all over your forehead.”

“Well, it’s nothing big. It’s just that…that…”

Kane made a slow meandering motion with her head, wishing she could physically rip the words from
Linder’s mouth. “It’s just what?”

“It’s just that the time travelling program is quite experimental. We don’t know that it will work.”

The sensors in Kane’s chair began pulsating beams of light with each pummel of their angry fists. Any
higher and she’d be forced to endure a stress modification injection in the NASA shrink’s office. “
Experimental?Linder what were you thinking?”

Commander Linder took a deep breath while mopping at his brow with a sterile handkerchief. He
replaced the silk handkerchief into the pocket of his Vegas star system imported suit and regarded Kane.
It was time for the truth. All of it. “It’s Egis,” he admitted on a sigh, “my grandson.”

“Egis? What about him?”

The commander rose from his seat and walked stoically toward the window panel. Even at midnight, the
Houston colony was bustling with liveliness outside NASA’s protected walls. At three thousand feet,
NASA was higher off the ground than the standard one thousand feet of most domiciles and businesses,
but it wasn’t so high up that he couldn’t see the activity below its classified gates.

The neon tracks of the silent glide cars operating at two thousand feet shown brightly through the
window panel. The commander looked at it reverently, as if he’d never realized how beautiful NASA’s
view of the colony was before that moment.

Kane sensed immediately that something was wrong. Though he hadn’t said as much, it wasn’t like
Linder to walk away in the middle of an intimidation tactic. He was sweating and slouching. She had
never seen a more dejected pose smother the commander’s typically together facade. “What is it?” she
asked in a hushed voice. “What’s wrong with Egis?”

Linder didn’t look back. He stared out of the window panel, fixated on the various neon colors of the
glide car tracks below. “BV-5.”

“My God.” A chill swept through Kane’s body as she mentally registered what she’d just been told.
BV-5. That sweet, adorable little boy was stricken with Brain Virus Five.

Kane had been studying the causes and origins of BV-5 for the past three years and was as determined
as the next planabotonologist to find a cure for the deadly mega-virus. The mega-virus, called such due to
the fact that it consisted of five singularly lethal viruses merged as one, had been claiming victims for over
four years. Although the death toll due to BV-5 was an exhaustive one, Linder’s grandson was the first
fellow humanoid she’d known personally to be struck by the vicious and painful viral killer.

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Kane shook her head. She couldn’t believe it. Her voice all but deserted her, her throat constricting.
“How long?”

“A month.”

She nodded, though Linder didn’t know that for his back was still to her.

A month. Little Egis had already been stricken for an entire month. Time was running out fast. BV-5
would lay dormant for only another seventeen months at best and then it would hit his tiny brain full force.
Kane physically shuddered as she considered what would happen in a full-blown BV-5 case.

Brain hemorrhages so hellish that blood seeps from the eyes and ears. Head contractions so powerful
that one lower class victim who couldn’t afford to purchase a synthetic womb during her confinement
described it as akin to giving birth before her brain imploded. It was painful beyond understanding and
frightening beyond scope. It made the diseases of the ancients such as AIDS and Ebola look like cases
of the sniffles.

“I’ll go.”

Commander Linder whipped around and faced Kane with an open-jawed expression. “Just like that?”

“Yes, just like that.”

Linder scratched his head and sighed. “Kane, I can’t tell you how grateful I am. I know that if anyone
can find and identify that damn plant, it’s you.” He took a deep breath to steady himself as the stinging
sensation behind his eyes threatened to overpower him.

Linder put his hands in his pants pockets and regarded Kane. He was afraid to ask the next question,
but knew that he must. “According to your research, are you certain that all the needed ingredients are
contained in the ancient’s…what scientific name did you give it?” He squinted his eyes shut, trying to
remember. “Oh yes, of course,” he mumbled, “the ‘kabitross’ plant.”

Kane shrugged. “As sure as I can be. The descriptions of the plant in the primitives’ documents certainly
fit. Mind you, this plant life was written about before Darwin. Before people understood the power of
nature. Still, the documents are surprisingly concise, not to mention intact, for the time period.”

Kane blew out a labored breath and closed her eyes, conceding to the only possible choice that existed.
She had to go back. She would do this for Linder, for Egis. “Please tell me what I’m up against,
Commander. I have to know,” she added in a near whisper.

Linder walked back to his chair and sat down. He looked Kane in the eyes, knowing he could never let
her proceed with this mission if she didn’t realize every possible outcome. He laid out the facts, straight
and to the point. “It might not work. Or it might get you there, but then you can’t get back.”

She sighed, rubbing her temples once again. The jabbing fists from the sensory chair that had calmed
down for a few minutes began striking her in the back again. She chose to ignore them. “Fine. Let’s
assume all goes well and I can both get there and get back. What sort of resistance will I be facing at the
hands of the primitives?”

Linder shrugged his wide shoulders. “It’s impossible to say. You will be armed, of course, just as you
always are when you collect species off-planet.”

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Kane nodded. That much was acceptable. The laser-c every planabotonologist carries with them
off-planet was quite effective as a stunner, killer, replicator, and communicator all in one. It was also
extremely small, making it easy to conceal from the natives. “Fine.” She dismissed that subject with a
wave of her hand. “And what of their customs? What do we know?”

Linder absently scratched at his head as he contemplated her question. “To be honest, we don’t know
much of eighteenth century England. Most of the electronic and hard data were destroyed during the
sweeps of World War IV. And most of what managed to survive was decimated in the fires of World
War V.”

Kane’s sensory chair began pounding at her back with an alarming intensity.Stress . She’d never fully
understood the meaning of the word until now. “Well that’s just lovely, Linder,” she hissed sarcastically.
“I’m going to make a fool of myself!”

“Not necessarily.”

“How so?”

“We know how they dressed. We know they held titles such as Lordling and Lady back then. We know
enough to get you by on. As to the rest…well…you can just do as the ancients did andgo with the flow
.”

Kane frowned. If she remembered anything from earth history’s semantics class it was that that slang
saying came from the twentieth century ancients, not the eighteenth century ones. She decided not to
mention that fact to Linder. “Fine. Do you have microchips for me to inject then?”

Linder reached into his pocket and held out the syringe in question for Kane. The sterilized syringe
contained microscopic data chips that were to be injected into her bloodstream, travelling with relative
speed to the brain. Linder knew without asking that Kane would prefer a data injection to a top-speed
data download, for it was the brain downloads themselves that had been the medium through which
BV-5 had first entered humanoid bodies.

Linder placed the syringe in her palm and sighed a breath of relief when she curled her fingers around it,
accepting it. Kane would do this for him. She would find the kabitross plant and a serum would be
produced. Egis would live. Linder had to have faith.

“This is everything we know about the primitives’ culture. There is approximately forty-eight hours worth
of data on the chips, in hyper relative time of course. Inject the data into your blood stream tonight as
soon as you reach your domicile. Go to sleep immediately thereafter and your brain should be able to
recall all data by morning.”

Kane sighed—a common occurrence for her these past few minutes. There was no way in the solar
system she would attempt to download the data on eighteenth century England directly into her brain, but
she detested the amount of time it took for an injection to work.

It would take her bloodstream at least three hours to deliver all of the pertinent facts, thoroughly
primitive to her way of thinking. Of course, she could always opt for a synapse injection, which would
deliver the data directly to the brain’s synapses, rather than coursing through the veins. Quick millisecond
transfers tended to give her a head rush, however. She sighed again, wondering to herself if sighing was
to become the norm for her. At any rate, a blood injection it would have to be.

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Linder walked around the confines of Kane’s desk and drew her to her feet for an embrace, taking her
by complete surprise. Linder was only demonstrative in an intimidating sort of way, never like this. His
voice was scratchy, his face haggard, and she realized that it was taking every last bit of willpower the
commander possessed to not weep right there in her office. “Thank-you, Kane. I cannot thank-you
enough.”

She grabbed his hand and squeezed gently. “It will work. I know it will.”

Linder nodded. He had to believe. He had no choice but to place his faith in her abilities. The
commander drew himself up to his full height and forced his emotions at bay. He released her hand and
headed toward the office door. “You’re the best. I don’t doubt you for a moment.”

Kane plopped herself back down into her seat with yet another sigh. “Thank-you. Oh and before you
leave,” she added as he was attempting to make an exit.

“Yes?”

She held up the syringe and met the commander’s gaze. “You’re certain everything I need to know is on
these chips?”

Linder chuckled, throwing a devilish grin her way. “No, I’m not.”

Her sigh erupted into a full-blown heaving of air. “But I—”

“I told you Kane, we lost most of the data in the sweeps of the fourth world war.”
“But what data are on here are accurate?”

Linder flushed. Kane didn’t know what her boss’s change in color could possibly signal, but she
conceded that it didn’t bode well. She locked eyes with Linder and gritted through her teeth, “what else
haven’t I been told, Commander?”

Linder clasped his hands together in front of himself. He realized, with a slight amount of agitation, that
he was sweating again. He shook his head in bemusement. How could a five foot six, one hundred
thirty-pound woman intimidate a man such as himself? “Well, uh, as to that…”

“Yes?”

Linder swallowed—roughly. “The electronic historians did the best patch-up job they could do on such
short notice.”

Kane’s eyes glittered. She smiled sweetly and utterly falsely at the commander. “And that means what
precisely?”

“We weren’t altogether certain which data was which. There is eighteenth century, nineteenth century,
and twentieth century data included in the injectable.”

Kane’s sensory massager chair began pulsating rapidly, keeping in tune with the beats of her heart. The
robotic fists pounded at her back, tenderizing her as though she were a slab of meat in a glide car
station’s deli butcher block. The chair might have wanted her to calm down, but that was no longer an
option. “What?” she asked through hooded eyes.

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“I said—”

“I heard you!” she snapped. “Damn it Linder, how much worse can this get? I’m going to go amongst
the ancients without knowing whether or not I am behaving out of character to them. And what if I act
nothing like they do? This is very chancy, you know. It increases the probability that my origins will be
discovered!”

“Kane, you’re an intelligent woman. You’ll muddle through.”

“Muddle through? Linder, this isn’t a pop quiz in virtual dating 101. This is time travelling for Saturn’s
sake!”

“I know that, Kane! Believe me, were it not for Egis I wouldn’t ask this of you. I would continue
searching the solar systems for traces of the kabitross plant. But my grandson…I…” He shook his head,
unable to finish his thought without his voice breaking into a quiver.

Kane closed her eyes against the emotions she saw in Linder’s face. She wanted to stay angry with him.
She wanted to yell at him and blister his ears with a thousand ugly and highly choice sentiments. She
wanted to, but she couldn’t. She had a hard time maintaining her rage when that despondent look swept
across his person. “Forget it Linder, I’ll manage.”

The commander nodded, regaining control of his raging emotions. “Of course you will. Besides,” he
added with a smile meant to assure his self more so than her, “you’re an expert on all the deadly body
arts. And if the primitives give you any trouble, you’ve also got your laser-c to protect you. Plus, if the
situation gets too hectic, you can always video us and we will transport you back.”

“Assuming it works, of course.”

“Of course.”

She sighed. Yes, she decided, sighing was definitely a part of her new personal protocol. “Very well
then. I’ll go home and inject the chips’ data into my bloodstream tonight and I’ll be ready to commence
at 0700 hours.”

Linder glanced at the digitized hologram clock on the wall behind Kane’s desk. “So early? It’s already
past midnight.”

“I’ll still get four hours sleep. That’s all I require.” She shrugged. “I can always take a synthetic sleep
clone to fool my brain into thinking I’ve slept longer.”

Linder nodded. “I’ll see you in the morning then.”

“Fine.”

The NASA commander saluted Kane with the universal symbol of peace and prosperity, then turned
back toward the door once again. “Oh by the way, we’ll be dropping you into southern England in a
locale known to the ancients as Blackmore.”

“Blackmore? Never heard of it. Anything I should know about it?”

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Linder whistled as he placed his thumb on the DNA scanner and waited for the office door to open. He
was on the other side and the door half closed when he added, “Oh nothing you can’t handle, Kane. So
what if the Lordling of Blackmore supposedly murdered his wife? I’ve every faith in your ability to handle
him should the two of you ever meet.”

The door slid shut with an ominous click to the auto-lock.

The jutting fists in Kane’s sensory seat went haywire, knocking her from the chair and onto her ass.

Chapter 2

Kane paid little attention to Timal, her personal droid, as he dressed her in an eighteenth century
lady’s gown. Timal, a six-foot, two hundred and ten pound droid modeled after the muscular male
humanoids of planet Nero, carefully buttoned the back of her gown to secure it. When he was finished,
he inclined his handsome head to Kane and smiled. “Is that all you require of me, mistress?” And when
she didn’t answer right away he asked again, “Mistress?”

Kane blinked, his question not registering at first. “Uh yes, Timal, that is all I require for the present.”
She hesitated for a moment as she briefly considered whether or not he was needed for anything else.
She decided that he wasn’t. “You may retire to my sleeping chamber and deactivate until I call for you
again.”

Timal frowned as he gazed into Kane’s eyes. It was obvious she had hurt his preprogrammed feelings.
She didn’t have to wait but a moment to find out why. “Do I not please you anymore, mistress?” he
asked hesitantly.

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course you please me!” she defensively insisted, refusing to let him think
otherwise. “I bought you because your last mistress built you to my specifications, remember?”

Timal smiled, placated. “I remember.” He strolled up to Kane and encircled her in the fold of his
perfectly muscled arms. He placed soft kisses on her mouth over and over again until Kane parted her
lips to accept him inside. The droid swept his tongue inside of her, pulling her forcefully closer to him as
he did so.

She mentally winced, realizing that the kiss was having no affect on her whatsoever. She didn’t have
time, however, to deal with the underlying significance of that fact.

Without warning, Timal ended their brief kiss. He pulled away and winked down at her. “Are you
certain that you do not require anything else of me, mistress?”

Kane gulped—from guilt or resignation she couldn’t say. She shook her head to clear it. “I wish I had
the time. Truly I do. But I must go.”

Timal respectfully inclined his head to indicate his acceptance of her decision. “I will await you in your
sleeping chamber. May the goddesses bless you, mistress.”

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“May the goddesses bless you, Timal.”

Kane took a relieved breath as she watched Timal depart. By the galaxy, she wished she felt even an
iota of attraction for him! Timal was everything a humanoid woman could possibly want in a droid:
strong, handsome, loyal, and utterly devoted to catering to her every whim. Still, there was a significant
part of her soul that cried out for the loving of a real humanoid every time Timal pleasured her.

Her droid had never breached her, as it was expressly forbidden by the laws of the Milky Way for a
robot to do so unless his mistress filed for permanent companion status with him. The status of permanent
companion then conferred upon the droid the rights of what an ancient would have called a “husband”.
Timal had been pressuring her to file for over two years now. He insisted that he could pleasure her more
thoroughly if he were permitted to use more than his hands and tongue.

At the age of twenty-six, Kane was more than ready to learn all of Timal’s promised pleasures. She had
come close to caving in and filing three times, but had forsook the idea in the end. In the Milky Way,
after all, permanent companionship is as the name implies, permanent. It is a legally binding contract that
no humanoid, no matter their status, can alter or break.

And now she realized the truth—she would have to sell Timal. He was a good and faithful servant and
therefore deserved to be owned by a woman who would one day make him her permanent companion,
because she knew she never would.

Deep inside, Kane wanted a flesh and blood humanoid to file with. She was unlike many women of her
acquaintance in that she wanted a real man with real urges, desires that weren’t programmed in. She
wanted a man that would tell her his true feelings and share himself with her. She didn’t want to end up
bound for life to a quasi-man who did as he was instructed to do out of fear that he would be
de-skinned, recycled, and fashioned into an auto cooker. Not that she would ever do that to Timal.
Droids are people too, after all. Sort of.

Kane dismissed her thoughts of Timal with a mental shrug, knowing she would have to wait until her
return to find him a proper mistress. It was time to consider the task at hand.

This was confusing business, time travelling. The injection had gone smoothly enough, all things
considered. Still, she had quickly realized upon rising this morning that it trulywas difficult to discern
eighteenth, nineteenth, and twentieth century words and customs from each other. All of those worlds
were long dead to the various humanoid cultures of the twenty-fifth century. She could empathize with the
plight of the electronic historians all too easily.

If a man asked her to dance, was she to assume he would sweep her into a Waltz or was she to
do this Moonwalk that a popular singer called Michael Jackson had often done in times past? If she
made friends with a woman, would she refer to her as “dearest” or as “girlfriend”? If she wanted to
speak with someone, would she request a “private word” or a “rap session”? It was all so confusing.
And yet, she admitted with a grin, incredibly exciting!

Kane verbally ordered her bedroom wall to metamorphose into a mirror. She took a deep breath as she
stared at herself.

Her long mane of blonde curls was swept up and secured into what she hoped was passable as an
eighteenth century lady’s coif. Her gown was made of imported Vegas star system red silk—her favorite
form of splurging—and was fashioned into a tight and low-cut bodice that was cinched together in the

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middle with a corset. A train of material puffed out from the tight middle section and flowed to the
ground. The arms of her gown as well as the bodice itself were trimmed with lace. The lace was tailored
into what the Warrior Woman Melea, her closest female friend, had calledruffles .

Kane suppressed a bout of quelling excitement, telling herself that she needed to concentrate. All was in
readiness. She was prepared. She would find the kabitross plant, bring it home, and kill the virus that had
plagued her people for four long years. Egis would live. And she would be an intergalactic heroine! Not
that notoriety was her first objective. Curing Egis was.

So what if this Lordling of Blackmore was a murderer? Kane scoffed at the notion. She would
do her best to stay out of his path, but if the twain should happen to meet, he’d better stand back and
watch out. She could “kick ass” better than the ancient Bruce Lee.

Kane grinned. Those primitives didn’t stand a chance against her superior agility and know-how. Too
bad she’d have to kick ass in a corset. Very cumbersome.

Kane took one last glimpse of herself in the 3D holo-mirror and resigned herself to her fate. It
was time. Egis had been stricken for a full month. She could put off the inevitable no longer.

“Mirror, disengage.”

She nodded in satisfaction when the mirror reverted back to an ordinary wall, pleased that the electronic
devices in her home were not subject to budget cuts like NASA’s were and, therefore, always worked.

* * * * *

“For the last time Linder, I am ready. Just engage the Neptune-forsaken program before I lose
my nerve!”

“Kane, I want you to know what this means to—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Don’t get me teary-eyed. I have enough to deal with as it is.”

“Very well.”

Linder stepped down from the raised platform on which Kane stood, regally walked over to the
control panel, and took his seat. He placed his hand on the initiator, straightening his shoulders rigidly. He
gazed at Kane one last time before saying goodbye, hoping it wasn’t the final chance he would be given
to do so. “May the goddesses bless you, Dr. Edmonds.”

“May the goddesses bless you, Commander Linder.”

The glowing red initiator scanned the commander’s palm print, confirmed his security clearance, and
glowed an ominous green, giving him the go-ahead. Linder looked Kane directly in the eyes and imparted
what he hoped to Saturn was a look of unadulterated confidence in her ability to complete the mission.

Without breaking Kane’s gaze, Linder cleared his throat and spoke two words that would change a
certain twenty-fifth century planabotonologist’s life forever.

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“Program, engage.”

Chapter 3

Outskirts of London, April 16, 1776

George William Frederick Alexander Wyndom, the ninth Earl of Blackmore and heir apparent to
the Duke of Browning, flexed his long, gloved fingers and sighed. His mother was right. It was past time
to find a suitable wife. He was a mere three years shy of reaching two score in years and could no longer
overlook his duty to the title and his lands in good conscience.

The people of Blackmore harbored a healthy fear of him—as did most when confronted with his
gigantic frame and brooding dark looks—yet they also needed him, depended upon him, and he had to
do the right thing by them. With the glaring exception of failing to replace his first wife with a new
countess who would bequeath heirs to the line, George had never shirked his responsibilities to his
people. He was a hard worker, through and through, willing to take off his waistcoat, roll up his sleeves,
and get as dirty as the peasantry if the situation required it.

And that was in addition to all of George’s usual daily duties. Keeping an estate profitable was
no easy feat after all. There was endless research to be done on the newest farming techniques along side
exhaustive searches to find the right workers to implement them. There were accounts to be settled,
peasants to be fed, and disputes between crofters to dissolve. Since his father’s death thirteen years
earlier, George had grown accustomed to working twelve-hour days. Longer when needed.

And now Lord Blackmore had an additional requisite duty. He needed to find a wife. He was an earl, he
mentally reminded himself for at least the hundredth time. And, more to the point, an earl who found
himself in dire need of a countess.

It was the height of the London season, the perfect time to find a bride. For the past two weeks, he had
been harangued endlessly on the attributes and qualities of various marriage minded ladies by their equally
tenacious mothers. Mothers who wanted their little chits to hold a title, especially one as lofty as
Countess.

George found the situation ironic to be sure. The women of society who gossiped about the “strange
demise” of his late wife were the very same women who now sought to throw their young daughters on
the sacrificial altar of the Blackmore marriage bed.

Were it not for the fact that George needed an heir, he wouldn’t care to remarry at all. It was quite a
shame that Lady Nina hadn’t been considerate enough to leave behind a son before she found herself
bludgeoned to death by one of her jealous lovers. Then none of this would be necessary.

Lady Nina Chesterley had seemed the appropriate choice when George offered for her hand and
wed her ten years ago. She had always presented her best face to society, appearing to be all things

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gentle, unassuming, and innocent. Unfortunately, a face was all it ever was. The deceitfully wicked
woman was as gentle and unassuming as she had been innocent, which Blackmore had discovered on
their wedding night to be not at all.

Still, he had stayed with her. He hadn’t had their marriage annulled. He had desired Nina enough
to believe her lies, to believe that she would be faithful to him now that they were wed. He had accepted
her lack of virginity with a grace he had been far from feeling.

Next week would mark the ninth anniversary of his wife’s death. Unfortunately, it would also
mark the eighth anniversary of his mother’s constant attempts at nagging him into remarrying.

Lady Julia, the notorious Dowager Countess of Blackmore, had paraded a variety of potential
candidates for the position of wife in front of her son in the past eight years. George mentally winced
when he thought back on some of his mother’s more colorful selections.

First there was Lady Harriet Winters, an heiress whose pinched face and hairy upper lip showed
a disconcertingly strong resemblance to George’s favorite thoroughbred horse, Socrates. When George
had questioned his mother over what possibly could have possessed her to even entertain the notion of
him taking Harriet to wife, the dowager countess had shrugged, suggesting that Harriet was unlikely to
find bed sport with other men for no other man was likely to want her. This inevitability, his mother had
concluded in all her infinite wisdom, would ensure that the future earls of Blackmore and Dukes of
Browning were indeed of Blackmore/Browning bloodlines. Granted, it was more than he could have
assumed had Lady Nina mothered his heir, but still...

“You go too far, mother,” George had protested, holding a palm up to silence her. “There is
nothing about the Lady Harriet to recommend her. Even her personality is as stale as her face.”

“Details, details.” Lady Julia had dismissed her son’s excuses with a regal wave of her hand and
glowered at him. “You’ve titles to see to, George. It is your duty to carry on our line. You are my only
son, indeed my only child. If you fail in this regard, the titles shall end up in the hands of cousin Hershel.
Surely you cannot tell me you wish for that to happen?”

“No I do not wish for it,” George had gritted out, “but neither do I wish to wake up next to a
woman who sports more body hair than I do for the rest of my days. I will not wed with her, mother. Be
reasonable.”

Lady Julia had been anything but reasonable, George recollected. At least not until the day that
the announcement of Harriet’s engagement to a country viscount became widely whispered about.
Apparently his mother had been wrong on one score—another man did want the lady to wife. In the end,
the dowager countess had retreated from her former plans and found another heiress to victimize him
with.

That heiress had been Lady Jane Spencer. She was a plump, nineteen-year-old virgin with an
impeccable background and an impressive family connection to the Duke of Weymouth. George could
have overlooked Jane’s penchant toward sweets had it not been for the large brown mole that protruded
from the middle of her forehead. Every time George looked down into Jane’s otherwise pleasing visage,
he saw nothing but one big mole.

He hated that damned mole. It mocked him, ridiculed him in the way that it refused to simply fall off of
her face and cease to be an issue. When George looked at Jane he secretly feared that the future earls of
Blackmore and dukes of Browning would become as legendary for inheriting their mother’s ghastly mole

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as for any of their worldly accomplishments. He refused to overburden his sons in such a manner.

“A mole?” Lady Julia had inquired through hooded eyes. “You will not make an offer because of
the poor chit’s mole?”

“It’s a rather large mole, mother.”

“Who should care? I’ve got it on good word that the Earl of Essex plans to offer for her. Do you
wish him to beat you to the punch?”

“In a word, yes.”

“George,” his mother had sighed, “you will be the death of me.”

Lady Julia had quickly abandoned her designs on Lady Jane and scoured the cities and
countrysides alike for the next potential Countess of Blackmore. It took her two full seasons to regroup,
but the next time she’d approached her son she was certain that she had found a winner.

Indeed, Lady Irma Giddings was beautiful in a classical, elegant sort of way. George would have
had no problem bedding her as many times as it might have taken for her to conceive his heir.And a few
more heirs after that .

Were it not, that is, for Lady Irma’s inclination toward nose picking.

At first, George believed he had been inventing things in his mind. Perhaps he was seeing what
wasn’t truly there in an effort to find something wrong with an otherwise suitable candidate for a wife.
After all, what fine lady of quality breeding would be caught dead picking her nose?

The picking of one’s nose was simply not done in society. Granted, there was no law writ and passed by
the House of Lords expressly forbidding the public picking of the nose, but he was certain that there
should have been one. Mayhap he should even suggest as much when the House reconvened.

“Oh George, how can you say such a thing about dearest Irma?” Lady Julia had argued, properly
scandalized. “She heralds from a reputable line I’ll have you know. Not at all the types to indulge in such
an act.”

“I saw her, mother. Oh the chit tried to be discreet about it, but there was no denying what she
was doing with the tip of her glove-clad finger. She was inserting it into her nose, I tell you!” He waved
his hand about, the bicept in his arm bulging. “It was as plain to me as the mole on Lady Jane’s forehead
would have been to anyone standing from here to France.”

“Goodness George, you’re being obnoxious.”

“I’m sorry mother, but this is where I draw the line. I simply refuse to wed with a woman who
partakes in the picking of the nose. It is unseemly.”

And so had been the exchange between mother and son for eight dreadfully long years. Lady
Julia would attempt, the Earl of Blackmore would deny. Lady Julia would regroup and try again, the earl
would shutter and say nay.

It was only now, all these years later, that Lord Blackmore had at last resigned himself to the fact that he

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must find a countess. He was a hard worker, not at all a dandy who expected an estate to run itself of its
own accord. He would handle the obtainment of a new wife in the same sensible fashion with which he
had long obtained new horseflesh or farming equipment. He would make discreet inquiries, choose his
countess well, get her with heir, and be done with the matter.

George sat pensively as he stretched out his long legs and enjoyed the carriage ride provided by the new
team of grays he’d recently procured in London. His mother had been right all along. It didn’t matter
what the girl looked like. What was important was that she birth him a few heirs.

And that she not engage in the picking of the nose.

Yes, the earl would remarry. He would father a viscount before the year was out.

George smiled as he watched the city roll further and further into the distance from the window of his
carriage. The grass in the countryside had never looked greener. The trees had never looked more
fragrant. The peasants had never looked plumper.

The earl’s smile evolved from barely detectable to breathtakingly brilliant. He had a goal. It felt good to
have a goal. Goals were a fine thing. He would find a bride.

So why then, during the height of the London season—the very place where he was most likely to find a
suitable countess—why was he, George William Frederick Alexander Wyndom, the ninth Earl of
Blackmore and heir apparent to the Duke of Browning, riding toward his estate in the country?

George sighed. Whoever had invented the wordgoal was undeniably a cad.

* * * * *

“That will be all, Stuart.”

The butler inclined his head and walked quietly from the earl’s study, closing the door behind him.
George took a resigned look around at the mountain of correspondence that had accumulated during his
brief sojourn into the London season. It was amazing how much could happen in a fortnight. He sat down
at his desk, picked up a quill, and delved into his pile of awaiting work.

Two hours later, he was interrupted by a knock on the study door. “Yes? What is it?”

Stuart entered, bowing respectfully as he met the earl’s furrowed brow. “Your mother to see you, my
lord.”

George sighed. Lady Julia would no doubt have an earful of reprimands to bestow upon his person for
leaving London during the height of the season. As much as he’d like to refuse her entry into his study, he
knew it would be a useless endeavor on his part. His mother would simply track him down him and
irritate him all the more. “Very well Stuart, show the dowager countess in.”

A few minutes later, Lady Julia glided into the Blackmore study. George rose to his feet out of
respect for her. His mother was a pestering hellion, but he loved her dearly. He inclined his head politely.
“Madam.”

“George.”

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Lady Julia sauntered toward her son and regally took the seat opposite the one he had been
sitting in moments prior. “Do sit down. We’ve much to discuss.”

“Mother,” he countered as he plopped down onto his chair, “we’ve nothing to discuss. I did as
you asked. I went to London. I found no gel who was suitable.”

Lady Julia raised an elegant brow. She tssked as she shook her silver-blonde head. “Come now,
Georgie, out of all the marriageable women in London you could not find evenone worthy of birthing an
heir?”

George raised his eyes to the heavens in silent supplication. “Mother, how many times must I ask that
you refrain from calling me Georgie? I am hardly a boy of five, milady.”

Lady Julia waved her hand impatiently through the air. “We stray from the topic at hand, dearest.
Let me come straight to the point. Why did you leave London before acquiring a bride?”

George drew a calming breath as he worked his fingers through his raven black hair in agitation.
“I made the acquaintance of no one I would consider taking to wife. Mother, I promised you before I left
for London that I would wed before the year was out and so I shall. But I shall do itmy way inmy own
time.” His eyes narrowed into green slits as he rubbed his temples. “Question me no further.”

Lady Julia inclined her head, sensing it was time to back down. Her son was in one of his
infamous surly tempers. The curse of the Blackmore men, those tempers. Her husband had possessed
the temper, as had his father before him. And now, along with the title and lands, the Blackmore temper
belonged irrevocably to George.

Lady Julia regarded her son in silence. She wanted happiness for her boy. Even more than she
desired a Blackmore heir, she desired George’s contentment. Lady Nina had managed to not only break
her son’s heart, but her unknown murderer had managed to taint his reputation. Though no one in society
would dare to question the earl to his face, it was widely whispered that Lady Nina had met her end by
Lord Blackmore’s hands. Those who carried on in society believed the rumors. And she knew that
George was aware of that fact.

Lady Julia sat up straighter in her chair, proud of her son as she was. He had endured all manner
of heartbreak, lies, and gossip, yet he remained a stalwart paragon of pride and gentlemanly virtue. He
wasn’t the handsomest of men, at least not in the foppish, fashionable sense, but he was a good man. A
true gentleman. George was all things noble and chivalrous. No mother could be prouder. She just
wished he wasn’t so incredibly…alone.

It broke Lady Julia’s heart to know that her beloved son had all but cloistered himself inside of
Blackmore’s walls for the past nine years. He showed no interest in marrying, no interest in much of
anything at all aside from working himself into an early grave to distract himself.

She’d heard enough gossip over the years to know that her son had kept the occasional mistress, as he
was a man with a man’s needs, but she hadn’t even heard a rumor such as that one in at least four
months. He was alone, her George, and whether or not he would approve she was determined to bring
an end to it. One way or another, she would call a halt to his self-imposed exile from society and see him
wed.

The problem stemmed from finding the right girl. The chit had to be special. George would not
abide the marriage bed with a bride who feared she was to become his next murder victim. Her son was

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a huge man of hulking proportions who men and women alike innately feared as it was. Add to that the
malicious lies that had been spread about him over the course of the past nine years and the fear young
gels abided grew into pandemonium proportions.

But somewhere the right girl was waiting. And Lady Julia, the Dowager Countess of Blackmore,
would find her.

* * * * *

Kane smiled at her handiwork. It was a fine cottage, the house she’d ordered the replicator inside of her
laser-c to build. The house was smallish, but quaint. The sort of fairytale house of yesteryear she’d
learned about during the data injection. The cottage wasn’t so grand that it required droids to upkeep it,
but it was large and formidable enough to keep her from being labeled a peasant should she happen to
cross paths with a primitive.

And more important than anything else, the cottage gave her a home base, a place to hang her head after
a weary day of searching the forest for the kabitross plant. All in all, the domicile served its purpose.

Kane opened up her travelling kit and, moments later, injected a visual guide directly into her brain’s
synapses. She squinted her eyes closed, moaning against the momentary nausea and dizziness that always
accompanied the transfer.

Unfortunately, there was no other way to inject a visual guide but through the synapses and she simply
refused to work without one. The visual guide’s effects would last for approximately twelve hours, giving
her all of daylight to use her chemically-induced hawk-like visual acuity to search for what she was
hoping to find.

When the nausea and dizziness had subsided to a manageable level, she walked over to the nearest
table, picked up her laser-c, and secured it into the thin leather holster strapped to her thigh. She then
shook out her skirts, patted her lady’s coif, and grinned at herself in the mirror.

This was more invigorating than travelling off-planet! More exciting than the discovery of a new galaxy!

After a brief perusal of the image she presented, Kane verbally ordered the mirror to return to its former
status of eighteenth century wall. She turned on her heel and headed for the cottage door.

It was time to do what she did best.

It was time to hunt.

Chapter 4

The earl took Socrates out for a brisk ride through the woods of Blackmore. It felt damned good, riding

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against the wind with no destination in mind. It gave him time to think, time to be away from his multitude
of responsibilities to country and kin, time to forget he was the Earl of Blackmore who needed a countess
and an heir and to simply be George.

George drew Socrates to a halt ten minutes later. He dismounted next to a tall pine tree, then pulled a
plump, crisp apple from his coat pocket and fed it to his horse. While Socrates munched, George looked
around, hoping to find a stream for his Arabian to drink from. He had ridden the animal too hard. The
powerful horse looked ready to fall over in a fit of exhaustion. He felt a tremor of guilt, realizing his height
and musculature were heavy enough for the horse to carry around without the added burden of running
him in a full gallop for hour upon hour.

“I apologize, Socrates, but I’ll be damned if I know where we are,” he mumbled to himself. George
surveyed the woods with a frown. He was certain they were still on the outskirts of Blackmore lands, but
where about he hadn’t any notion.

He was just about to give up entirely when the soft sound of—a woman’s singing?—floated through the
air and caught his attention. George squinted towards what looked to be the beginnings of a clearing
deeper into the neck of the woods. “Stay,” he absently muttered to his horse as he followed the singing
on foot.

A moment later, he quietly crept through the thick of the trees in an effort to locate the owner of the
lulling voice. It had an earthy, sensual quality to it that seemed to beckon him closer. He hadn’t been so
intrigued by the possibility of making the acquaintance of a woman since Nina, the witch of a wife who
had betrayed him. And, ironically enough, he didn’t even know what this singing siren looked like.

She could be as hairy as Harriet, who, the more he thought on it, was appropriately named. Or she
might sport an eyesore of a mole as Jane did.

George shrugged. So long as she didn’t partake of Irma’s sordid habit, he wouldn’t mind.

The sounds of the woman’s singing grew louder as he closed in on his prey. He was able to make out an
odd accent in her lyrical musings, one he had never heard before. George smiled as he listened to the
siren’s call:

I’d like to teach the world to sing

In perfect harmony

I’d like to buy the world a coke…

George shook his head. He had no notion what a coke was, but if the singing woman knew where to
purchase one from, he could endeavor to aid her in her goal. He strode toward a thicket of trees from
where the singing appeared to be the loudest. A jolt of awareness swept through his body, telling him
with all certainty that he would soon be upon his quarry.

George walked into the green thicket and placed his large hand on the feeble branch of an otherwise
sturdy oak. He drew in a steadying breath as he prepared to move the branch to see what awaited him
on the other side. Tendrils of nervous excitement twined in his belly as he slowly moved the branch out of
the obstruction of his view.

He told himself that he was behaving silly, she was but a woman for the love of god. Why was he

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sweating as though he was about to be the first mortal ever to lay eyes on an immortal goddess?

Telling himself how heshould behave did little to quell his anticipatory restlessness. He felt every inch the
hunter closing in on a relished kill.

George slowly drew back the branch and peered into the opening left in its wake. There was a stream
very near to his standing position. The clearest, bluest stream he had ever seen running through
Blackmore lands. And there was a woman splashing around in it.Naked . Scandalously, wantonly,
gloriously naked. George grew immediately erect.

The siren stood in knee deep waters, her cascading hair glistening the color of moonbeams as it pooled
around her. It was unfashionably long, like a maiden from King Arthur’s court might have worn her hair,
and breathtakingly lovely. It was the same mesmerizing shade of yellow-gold as the triangle of hair
between her thighs. The siren’s breasts were ample, each of them capped off with a taut rouge nipple.

George imagined himself walking up to her, as bold as he pleased, and taking a berry-colored nipple into
his mouth. He would suckle from one and then the other, over and over again. She would give herself to
him without hesitation, begging him to fill her with his loving manhood.

George sighed as reality struck him in the unforgiving way it had about it. This exquisite, earthy woman
would never want a man such as himself. He was an earl, that was true, but there were other earls.
Handsome earls. Earls without gossip attached to their names. Earls that society didn’t falsely whisper
about as murderers of their first wives. Hell, a woman of this siren’s appeal could aim higher than an earl
altogether and entice a duke into the marriage bed, or even a prince unlikely to succeed to the throne. Of
course, if her penchant toward splashing about naked in streams ever got out her reputation would be in
tatters.

Entranced, George watched the woman bathe. He knew he shouldn’t, that his spying wasn’t proper, but
he couldn’t seem to stop himself.

The siren splashed her upper body with water from the stream as her singing winded down into whisper
soft humming. George sucked in his breath and groaned when the droplets of chilly water made contact
with her nipples, causing them to lengthen into pebbled points. They were so erect, so succulently hard.

The siren emerged from the stream a few minutes later and plopped down onto the grassy shore. She
closed her eyes and laid back on the slope, hands cradling the back of her head, and smiled up to the
sun. Her nipples smiled too. In reaction to the full force of the sun’s heat beating down upon them, the
siren’s rouge points grew even harder and longer. A yearning like he’d never known raged through
George as he watched her body’s reaction to nature in fascination and hunger.

He wanted her. God how he wanted her.

The siren moved her hands from under her head and stretched them out as far as she could reach above
her head. The position thrust her breasts upward in an invitation that George feared would cause him to
spill his seed right then and there.

He leaned in closer to get a better look.

He muttered a curse when he lost his footing and stumbled from the protection of the forest trees.

* * * * *

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Kane was enjoying this relaxing indulgence of sun and water. It reminded her of the grassy shores
of Nero, a planet in the Falon star system she’d explored a few years past. The trip to Nero had been an
exercise in futility in terms of locating the plant-life she had sought. The only thing there was to
recommend the entire journey was Nero’s grassy shores. And Timal. She had purchased the droid from
a fellow planabotonologist there who needed to sell him in order to dissipate the jealousy of her
humanoid lover.

Unlike droids, humanoid men could couple with humanoid women without the benefit of filing for
permanent companionship. Kane had never believed that universal law to be just, for it was no doubt
created by humanoid males who were jealous of the masculine perfection of the droids. The law made
sure a woman thought twice before spreading her legs to a robot.

Kane basked in the rays of the glowing sun, enjoying every moment of it. For two days and
nights, she had searched high and low in the forest for the kabitross plant, only to find failure at every
turn. She deserved the luxury of this much-needed break. She would lay here and indulge for only a while
longer, she silently promised herself. Yes indeed, just a few minutes more.

No longer than that.

Definitely not.

Maybe not.

She’d have to wait and see.

Kane stretched her arms above her head and enjoyed the pampering heat that the sun blanketed
her body with. This was as close to heaven as she was likely to get in the eighteenth century.

Not even a moment later, a tingling sensation made its way down Kane’s spine, telling her without visual
confirmation that she was no longer alone in the clearing of the woods. She didn’t need to open her eyes
to know that a male humanoid was looming in the vicinity. She didn’t need to see the stranger to sense his
presence. Every cell in her body was vividly and innately aware of him. Besides, she had also heard the
man mutter something about having the bloody luck of a cursed heathen on Judgement Day as he fell
unceremoniously to the ground and hit it with a soft thud.

Kane opened her eyes, preparing to dash toward her clothes and the safety provided only by her
laser-c. Damn! She had scouted the place before bathing and found it completely secured.

Being naked in front of a strange man didn’t bother her. After all, it was a common occurrence for men
and women to shower in front of each other in the collapsible sterile chambers provided by NASA while
exploring together off-planet. In situations such as those, there was no room for modesty.

What bothered Kane to the very core of her being was the uncertainty as to whether the
oncoming man was friend or foe. A primitive friend would be interesting, not to mention a fantastic story
to tell her team when she went back to the twenty-fifth century. But a primitive foe? Who could say what
dungeon he’d seek to lock her into?

Kane watched as the man’s large and impressively honed body quickly recovered and jolted to
an upright standing position. He brushed dirt and a few leaves from his breeches then looked over to her
and blushed.

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She relaxed immediately. The man was no enemy. She couldn’t say how she knew it, but she did. Her
instincts had never failed her beforehand and she knew they weren’t failing her now.

The electronic historians had fed her the correct data on eighteenth century men’s clothing she noticed,
so she hoped to Saturn that they had also outfitted her wardrobe properly. Maybe she could get this
man’s opinion. Maybe they could be friends after all. Intoxicated by the idea of it, she stood up to greet
him properly, a genuine smile of welcome enveloping her lips.

Kane cocked her head as she studied him. His blush grew deeper. For what reason she hadn’t a clue,
but the simple act of it left a pleasant feeling in the pit of her stomach. The intimidating physical look of the
giant was out of sync with the obvious gentleness he emitted.

The stranger was a very tall man, taller even than Timal. The primitive was at least five inches over six
feet she surmised. He had wide shoulders and a broad expanse of chest beneath his waistcoat. She could
also tell by the snug fit of his breeches that his legs were long and well-muscled. She grinned. The bulge
between his thighs also looked long and well-muscled. Letting that observation go for the present, she
scanned his face.

The man wasn’t handsome in the classical, beautiful sense in which Timal was, but he was definitely a
work of intriguing masculine art. Much more intriguing than her droid. His face was arresting with its
manly curves and angles, his jaw set and stubborn. His eyes were a deep green, like the sea foam on
Nero, his hair as black as the night. The man exuded power and presence.

Kane was enraptured.

* * * * *

George had never been more embarrassed. The most beautiful, sensual woman he’d ever seen
was lying before him in her naked glory. If he had hoped to impress the siren by subtly mentioning his title
and lands after introducing himself to her in a noble,dignified manner, he could give up on that score. She
would like as not ever forget that her first glimpse of him had been after he fell to the ground while spying
upon her naked person.

George sprang his sorry self to his feet and brushed away the dirt and leaves that had gathered
on the seat and legs of his buckskin breeches. He was determined to walk away from this sad scene with
as much dignity as he could salvage. There was no way he would attempt to approach the siren now. All
was lost.

George couldn’t stop the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that came from the realization that he’d
never be able to make a good impression after this debacle. Never had a woman stirred his blood so.
Yet never was also the length of time it would be before he could make her acquaintance. His thoughts
were so intrusive it never occurred to him to wonder if he’d just compromised her.

George blushed at the lady, preparing to walk away. He would collect Socrates, ride home, and
then resume his solitary life. He took a deep, steadying breath as he planted his right foot away from his
left and contrived to pivot around and be gone. He gazed one last time at the siren, his blush intensifying
from her nakedness in spite of himself.

Before George could bring himself to turn around and walk from the forest, the most wonderful,
amazing, and completely unexpected thing happened.

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She stood up…and she smiled at him.

Chapter 5

Kane strode purposefully toward the stranger and offered him her hand in the universal show of
friendship. She smiled vividly, piqued by the idea of actually speaking to an eighteenth century dweller.
And, she had to admit, especially to this handsome eighteenth century dweller in particular. “Greetings,
fellow humanoid. I am called Kane Edmonds. By what name do you go?”

George smiled down to the siren as he took her proffered hand. He couldn’t be sure what a
humanoid was, but so long as she continued to look at him thusly, he could hardly care. He drew her
elegant fingers to his lips and kissed them chastely, noticing at the same time the color of her remarkable
eyes. Blue. Icy blue.

“My name is George Wyndom, Mistress Kane. I am the Earl of Blackmore.”

Kane visibly grimaced. The Earl of Blackmore? The alleged murderer of his own wife? She
shook her head. She knew a killer when she saw one and this man couldn’t possibly be of their breed.
Physically he was quite capable of seeing such a deed done, but he wouldn’t without cause. Or at least
that’s what her instincts told her.

Although she no longer unquestioningly heeded Linder’s warning that Blackmore was a killer,
Kane still wanted to hear the earl deny the allegation from his own lips. She would know then, without
hesitation, whether or not her instincts had aimed true with this man. “Lordling Blackmore, it is a pleasure
to make your acquaintance. Now please tell me if it is true that you murdered your first wife.”

George blinked a few times in rapid succession. His jaw fell agape. Talk about coming straight to
the point. Of course, a lady who could stand naked in front of a gentleman without so much as a hint of a
blush was a lady who could also be blunt enough to ask him about Nina’s demise.

Not that he minded. Hell, Miss Edmonds was the first person he’d met, male or female, who had
brought the question out in the open and given him the opportunity to deny the charges. Those who
carried on in society never did that. They whispered behind a man’s back instead, never giving him the
chance to clear his good name. George welcomed this change in protocol. He drew himself up to his full
six feet five inches and looked her straight in the eye. “No. I most certainly did not.”

Kane nodded, satisfied. As usual, her instincts had been on target. “I figured as much, lordling. You
hardly look the murdering sort.”

George inclined his head politely, pleased that she had faith in his word without requiring a lengthy
explanation as to the events of that horrid night.

Though he knew it wasn’t proper, George’s gaze ambled down the length of Kane’s body. She stood
so close to him now. It was torture being near her, yet not being able to take her into his arms and love

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her the way he wanted to. His approving stare meandered downward toward her breasts, stopping to
admire them for an over long moment. The tightly erect coral nipples still stood proud, as pebbled as they
had been minutes earlier when the lady had been basking in the sun.

George’s gaze dropped further, to the perfect triangle of hair between Kane’s thighs. He had a sudden
urge to run his fingers through it, to prove to himself that the pelt was as feathery-soft as it looked.

When his shaft began to stir within the confines of his breeches, George realized he had to end this
maddening perusal of the siren’s body. He coughed discreetly into his fist and looked away. What had he
been thinking, ogling her body like that?

Kane rummaged through the eighteenth century data that had been stored in her brain along with the
nineteenth and twentieth century. If only she knew what was what, she would feel more confident
engaging this humanoid in conversation. He fascinated her, for reasons she couldn’t describe, and she
wanted to know more of him.

However, a calculated retreat seemed the better idea at the moment. She could always learn more later.
“Pray forgive me daddy-o,”—there, she would cover her tracks by mixing in a little lingo from each
century—“but I must return to my bachelor pad in posthaste. I have much work to see to this day.”

George snapped out of his reflective state and regarded Kane through curious eyes.Lordling?
Daddy-O? Bachelor pad? The strange words she used could send a man straight to bed with the
headache in an attempt to decipher them. From what land did this lady originally herald?

George scratched his head and sighed. Who cared of her origins? He just didn’t want her to leave. Not
yet. “I understand, Miss Edmonds. Mayhap you will allow me the privilege of escorting you home?”

She shrugged her acquiescence. How much could she possibly mess up in her speech between here and
the primitive cottage? “Thank-you, lordling. It would be welcomed.”

Kane turned around and bent over to retrieve her eighteenth century lady’s gown. George watched her
bend over, then wished he hadn’t. He got a very close up and painfully arousing view of the pink folds of
her womanhood. He gritted his teeth, grinding them together. He would not disgrace himself. He refused
to disgrace himself. He simply would not spill his seed here and now after he had somehow succeeded in
miraculously salvaging his mottled reputation in the lady’s eyes. Damn his penis anyway. The little bastard
had better cooperate.

George closed his eyes and forced himself to visualize Lady Harriet naked and wanting him. He pictured
himself having to lie with her, kissing her on her hairy upper lip. When that worked only partially, he
threw in an image of bedding Lady Jane and her odious mole while watching Lady Irma dig at her
upturned nose.

George sighed in relief when his staff lowered to quarter-mast.

“If you would be so kind as to open your eyes, lordling, I could use your help buttoning up the back of
my gown.”

“Of course, Miss Edmonds.”

George opened his eyes slowly, afraid that she might still be naked. He breathed a sigh of relief when his
gaze shot over a fully clothed body that needed only to be buttoned up in the back. Ten minutes ago he

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would have found buttoning a lady’s dress too scandalous to consider. Odd what seeing a chit naked
could do to a gentleman’s sense of propriety.

George eyed the gown appreciatively. It was fashioned from silk of the first quality. Obviously the siren
was the daughter of a wealthy merchant. He found himself wondering again over her origins. She was
unlike any woman he’d ever known in both speech and mannerisms. Not to mention the only woman
he’d every met of any station in life to walk about naked as though that was the way of it. “Tell me Miss
Edmonds, from what country do you herald?”

“Country?” She mulled over the word for a moment, smiling when recognition finally struck.Colony .
The nearest semantic equivalent to Lordling Blackmore’s word in the twenty-fifth century would be
“colony”. Not that “country” and “colony” carried the same literal meaning, but she sensed that it was as
close to his meaning as she would get. “Houston.”

“Houston?”

“Yes. It is located in what the primit—uh—to what you refer to as America.”

Ah. An American.That explained much. “So tell me,” George asked as he reached for the next tiny
button on the back of Kane’s gown, “what brings you to England? And specifically to Blackmore?”

She thought about her answer for a long moment even though she had mentally rehearsed it at least a
thousand times in case such a situation as this one arose. “I’m here to search for a special plant, a
flower.”

George chuckled, bemused. “You and your family sailed all the way from America to search for an
English flower?”

“Only myself. My, uh,family did not join me on this mission.”

George furrowed his brow as he finished buttoning the last of the miniscule buttons. He shook his head in
disbelief and not a little annoyance. The lady had ventured across the seas alone? He could scarcely
credit such a notion, yet why would she lie over trifles?

Had the Edmonds family gone mad? Americans were known for their primitive outrageousness and their
snubbing of English values, but had the lady’s American family no care at all for her reputation? Naked
bathing escapade aside, it truly would be in tatters by the time she returned home, travelling without
another woman as escort.

Perhaps she had a woman servant with her. George mentally shrugged. It would be easy enough to solve
that riddle once he escorted her to wherever it was she was staying. “Let us go, Miss Edmonds. I shall
walk you safely to your destination at once.”

She nodded. “Thank-you, lordling. I am ready.”

* * * * *

Kane plunked down onto the horribly uncomfortable English chair and winced. It was a nice
change, being able to be stressed to the point of near insanity without having to endure robotic fists

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jabbing at one’s backside, yet the sensory chairs exported by her Houston colony were undeniably more
comfortable. Especially when they worked properly.

Kane smiled at the earl as she regarded him through eyes of savage feminine appreciation. By the
galaxy, he was everything she desired of a humanoid lover! Tall, strapping with muscle, breathtakingly
terrifying, yet gentle all at once. He was yin and yang, night and day, earth and heaven rolled into one.
And he wanted her to accompany him back to his estate.

“My lordling—”

“’Tis lord, sweet Kane. Just lord. But please, do grant me the honor of calling me George as
you’ve allowed me the priviledge of addressing you informally.”

Kane nodded her head in acceptance, while simultaneously filing away the new datum in the
recesses of her brain. It waslord , notlordling . “Very well, George. I thank-you for your extreme
kindness and for your concern regarding my wellbeing and my…uh…what did you call it again?”

“Reputation.”

“Ah yes, myreputation ,” she slowly enunciated, savoring the new word as she spoke it. “As I
said, I appreciate the concern, but I could not possibly impose upon you.”

George held up a silencing hand. “I assure you, mistress, your presence in my home would do
anything but impose upon me. I shall give you a guest chamber far grander than the whole of this cottage.
You’ll have servants at your disposal, a carriage at your beck and call, and access to my private library.
Just think how much faster you can find this flower of yours with all of this at your fingertips.”

George sat up rigidly in the chair opposite Kane’s and waited on needle points for her answer.
He wanted her close at hand. So if he hoped to convince her to stay as a guest at Blackmore, he knew
he had to disabuse her of any counter-arguments.

“And,” he added almost as an after thought, “I shall charge my mother with the caring of your reputation.
I will temporarily move her from the dowager house to the main house for the duration of your stay. No
one will be able to cast aspersions upon your good name if a noble woman is staying at Blackmore as
chaperone.”

George inclined his head with an arrogant nod. A very good argument he’d just given the lady if he did
say so his self. He would have become a barrister had it not been below the station of a nobleman to
seek entrance into the professions.

Kane scarcely understood what the earl was prattling on about. Chaperones? Reputations? And
what in the name of Neptune was adowager ? These foreign words were mind-boggling. She didn’t
grasp the full meaning behind them. But one thing was quite clear: the earl wanted her at his side. She
hugged the knowledge close to her heart, elated and confused by the emotions it engendered in her
breast.

Moving temporarily into the earl’s domicile could produce no end to complications. It would be
difficult for her to contact Linder if she needed to. It would be even more difficult to arrive at his home
with no clothing save the dress on her back, then try to explain how it was that she wore a different
garment every day. She could hardly show George her laser-c and demonstrate the vast amount of uses
that it had. And yet…

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Moving in with George would mean being close to him. It would mean seeing him every morning,
dining with him every evening, strolling with him through his lands and chatting endlessly about everything
and nothing, just as they’d done today on their walk toward her domicile.

Kane had never been so fascinated by a humanoid male before. She’d never met one she would have
chosen to mount her. Until George, there had only been Timal, a beautiful droid who appeared ugly and
ordinary when compared against the virile earl. Her decision was instantly made. “I accept.”

George’s eyebrows shot up. He was surprised by her quick agreement. “You…do?”

Kane nodded. “I do.” She beamed a radiant smile the earl’s way as she stood up and sauntered
toward his chair. “But you must promise me that I will have the joy of spending time alone with you every
day as we did today. Otherwise, I will stay where I am.” She waved her hands about the room,
emphasizing her meaning.

George’s jaw went lax. The beauty had practically demanded his company. As if she needed to make
that a prerequisite of moving into Blackmore. As if he wouldn’t give anything for even one more moment
of her time. He was besotted, instantly besotted and he knew it.

Clearing his throat and swallowing, his Adam’s apple bobbed once up and down as he slowly withdrew
from his seat and rose to tower above Kane. “You’ve my word.”

George reached for her hand, drawing it gently to his mouth. He kissed her delicately upturned palm,
sending shivers of longing rippling through both of their bodies.

Kane grew hot and moist, desiring more, but sensing that she would have to bide her time and wait. She
couldn’t be certain, but she doubted that sex was exchanged as freely between humanoids in the
eighteenth century as it was in the twenty-fifth. She would wait, but for the moment she needed more.
Just a little more.

Kane peered into George’s eyes, her willingness and desire blatant in her gaze. She stood up on tiptoe,
parting her lips slightly, praying to every mating goddess she could name that the earl would kiss her.

George blinked, unable to believe that the lady was suggesting what his incorrigibly aroused mind was
thinking. She couldn’t possibly want for a gigantic brute such as himself to kiss her delicate red mouth.
But she was standing on tiptoe…and her lips were parting…and…

George lowered his head to Kane’s and brought his lips down to meet hers. A wave of fierce longing
coursed through his gut, knocking down his senses with one swift blow, as he experienced the heady
feeling of having her silky lips pliant beneath his own. She sighed becomingly, parting her lips even further,
and it was all the torture he could withstand. He wrapped his arms about her, plucking her from the
ground as if she weighed no more than a trite flower, and plundered her mouth with his own.

Kane slipped her arms around the earl’s neck and held on for dear life. He was kissing away all of her
senses, weakening her of her resolve to not demand an exchange of sex on the spot. And then he thrust
his tongue inside of her welcoming mouth and she didn’t have another complete thought for long minutes.

George swirled his tongue around Kane’s and groaned with need. Never before had he felt an attraction
so primitive, so powerful. They kissed for long minutes, exploring each other’s mouths like curious
animals exploring a new den. Their tongues danced and delved, each velvety touch setting off a new

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tremor of longing.

Need like she’d never experienced at the synthetic hands of Timal coiled tightly in Kane’s belly. It urged
her on, demanding release from the exquisite torture.

And then without warning, the earl broke the kiss.

Panting, she blinked, gazing up into his eyes in an aroused daze of carnal confusion and frustration.

George pressed his forehead against Kane’s and took a series of controlled, steadying breaths. He
lowered her slowly to the ground, savoring the feel of her soft form gliding down his rigid body.

If he didn’t reign in his appetite, he was liable to ravish the lady here and now on the floor of the cottage.
And then what would she think of him? She would no doubt call him for the monster that his size and
reputation made others believe he was. “Pray forgive my impertinence, Miss Edmonds. I will not forget
my manners again.”

Kane frowned with a depraved sense of disappointment. She had a few choice words to say on the
matter of his manners, but decided to hold her tongue. She was moving in with the earl. There was plenty
of time to lure him into her bed, to have him take her to the heights of ecstasy over and over again before
she returned to the twenty-fifth century. Judging by the bulge of the taut erection that was pressed against
her stomach, she figured it wouldn’t take long at all to lure him there. A day? Perhaps two? Kane smiled
up at the earl, placated by that realization.

George scrutinized Kane with approval even as he chided himself for his nefarious lust. He would not
dishonor this woman for giving herself so freely. He refused to further compromise her in such a
loathsome, despicable manner as so many other fops and dandies would have willingly done.

George released his hold on Kane and smiled down at her. He wasn’t altogether certain what to do
about their mutual attraction but realized this wasn’t the time to dwell on it. “I shall take my leave, sweet
Kane. A carriage will be sent around to collect you and your belongings within the hour.”

She readily nodded her agreement. “I will see you again today?” she asked through hopeful eyes.

George’s smile was bemused. So he hadn’t turned her away from him with his improper kisses. And,
just as important, she hadn’t had her fill of his company any more than he had been satiated of his hunger
for her own. He inclined his head politely. “Of course. We shall dine together this eve if it pleases you?”

“It does. Please me, that is.”

George raised Kane’s hand to his lips and kissed it reverently. “I shall think of nothing else all day. Be
quick, sweet Kane.”

Chapter 6

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“Tell me dearest Kane, what do you think of Blackmore?”

Kane looked up from her meal and regarded the woman called the dowager countess. She was
seated across from her at the elegant dining table with George stationed at the head of it to her left.
“Beautiful, wonderful. It is breathtaking, Lady Julia.”

And truly, it was. Kane had scarcely believed her eyes when the carriage first rolled into direct
view of the domicile. Blackmore was a monstrously huge mansion of old that contained hundreds of
chambers within its walls. The grounds were lush with green grass, a rarity in Kane’s time, and manicured
to precision. The inside of Blackmore was laden with shiny gold and beautiful, translucent crystal glass.

Everywhere she looked, something new and provocative waited to be discovered. Aside from real
grass, as if that wasn’t heady enough, there were alsolive animals! Beautiful, powerful beasts that pulled
carriages, singing feathered creatures that glided through the air with wings, and panting, friendly
four-legged ground dwellers that barked and licked at one’s face.

Nature in all its untainted glory lived and breathed in eighteenth century earth. A shudder of sadness
coursed through Kane, knowing that these proud furry and feathered beings would be obliterated in
another few hundred years. Indeed, to see even a blade of grass in the twenty-fifth century, one must
travel out of the entire solar system.

But eighteenth century earth was alive and breathing with a vitality and a grandeur that surpassed even
Nero of the Falon star system. Until her arrival in the earth’s past, Kane had always believed Nero to be
the most beautiful of planets. How wrong she had been.

It was earth, her own beloved home, that had been the grandest. Once upon a time, in a world that had
been splendid beyond her fathoming before seeing it with her own eyes, her planet earth had been the
mightiest of heaven’s creatures, a proud ruling queen of the galaxies.

And then there was Blackmore itself. Tall, solid, and formidable, just like its master, yet also like
George, homey and welcoming at the same time. Domiciles of the future were small, compact, and
utilitarian. There was nothing warm or inviting about them. Very little room was needed per person
because the chambers possessed computerized metamorphosizers that reverted the standard two-room
domiciles into whatever type of chamber was required in the moment at hand.

But the proud, beautiful, eighteenth century Blackmore stood as a giant among domiciles, a relic of a
long ago forgotten past. And Kane was here to see it all, to experience earth at the height of its glory.
These were moments in time she would cherish always, and, as loathe as she was to admit it, hate to
leave behind.

“Did my mother show you around the estate to your satisfaction?” George took a sip from his wine then
set it back down on the polished oak tabletop as he gazed at Kane.

“Yes,” she smiled breathlessly, “it was a wonderful tour provided by wonderful company.”

“Oh do stop,” Lady Julia blushed. “You make an old woman’s heart skip a proud beat, dearest Kane.”

“I mean it sincerely, Lady Julia. You are quite amusing company.” Kane wrinkled her nose as she
looked over to the dowager countess. “But why do you say you are old?”

Lady Julia laughed. “My, but you do know how to flatter a woman, make her feel the young gel again.”

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Lady Julia smiled warmly at Kane. “But I am nearly fifty and five, dearest, quite the useless fossil.”

Kane shrugged, not understanding why the dowager countess considered herself as such. “Forgive me
my ignorance of your beliefs,milady ”—a new word she’d learned today—“but where I come from you
would be considered young and vital, just entering into the peak of your beauty, abilities, and wisdom.”

Lady Julia smiled radiantly at Kane and winked. “Mayhap I will move to the American colonies with you
upon your departure.”

The threesome laughed long and leisurely, enjoying their conversation thoroughly. Kane had never
partaken of such idle banter in the serious world of the twenty-fifth century. It was nice to speak back
and forth on nothing of import, to simply be together and relish the exchange for what it was.

“I’m curious,” Kane admitted a few minutes later when the laughter died down.

“Of what?” George asked.

Kane looked around the dining room at the multitude of liveried servants who stood in the background
as unmoving as statues until called upon to perform a task. “These men who serve us food and drink.
What has happened to their hair to cause it to turn white before their time? Some of them look to be
quite young, yet their hair is that of hundred-year-old men.”

George and Lady Julia threw their heads back and laughed.

“What have I said that is amusing?” Kane inquired.

The dumbfounded look on her face caused mother and son to laugh even louder. “Oh you are quite the
jester,” Lady Julia announced as she wiped tears of laughter from her eyes.

Kane threw her a bewildered glance. “What do you mean?”

“Oh come now,” George smiled, “certainly you are aware of the fact that the servants are sporting
powdered wigs?”

“Wigs? What are wigs?”

The laughter abruptly subsided. “Wigs, dearest,” Lady Julia stated as if reiterating the word would cause
understanding to dawn upon Kane, “are, you know…wigs.”

“Fake hair,” George offered to his mother who was, for once he noted, lacking for descriptive words.

“Fake hair?” Now it was Kane who laughed. “Fake hair!” She grabbed her belly and guffawed. “Now
that is funny!”

Perplexed, George and Lady Julia shook their heads. “What is amusing about that?” Lady Julia asked.

“Well,” Kane smiled as she dabbed at her eyes, “if I were going to wear fake hair, which I would never
do in a thousand earth years mind you, I certainly wouldn’t pick a color of hair that made me look older
than Moses!”

George and Lady Julia sat glued to their chairs, as lacking in motion as the statue-men behind them. And

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then, slowly but surely, they both broke into grins. It was George who laughed first, but his mother soon
followed in step. “’Tis a point,” he chuckled. “I’ve never carried a fondness for the powdered wig even
though they are all the rage.”

“True,” Lady Julia conceded through amused eyes. “I’ve never donned one either, though they are quite
fashionable in George’s court.”

“George?” Kane asked.

“King George,” the dowager countess clarified. “King George III.”

Kane thought a moment on what her new friend had said. She called upon the various data filed away
into her brain and sorted through it. At last, she was able to extract parts of eighteenth century data from
nineteenth and twentieth century!

King George III was an English ruler who was reputed to be insane. In fact, if her blood injectable had
served her unerringly, George III would later be declared incompetent and his son would rule as his
regent for the nine years proceeding his death.

Well, that certainly explained the wig thing, Kane admitted to herself. A man whom the ancients would
have said was “crazier than a loon” had brought them into fashion. She shook her head. Something told
her it was best to keep her observations on the king’s sordid mental state and his fashions to herself. “I
see,” she said simply.

Ten minutes later, George raised his glass and offered a toast to Kane. “To the marvelously
entertainingly, not to mention stunningly beautiful guest of Blackmore,” he boomed out. “May she fall in
love with—” George cleared his throat and blushed—“the English countryside,” he plowed on, “and
never leave us.” The earl smiled toward Kane. “To Miss Edmonds.”

* * * * *

“She’s wonderful, Georgie. Absolutely perfect.”

George could only agree. Not only was Kane charming company and beautiful to boot, he had
gleaned from the conversation he’d had with her while walking her to her cottage when they’d first met
that she hadn’t been espied by any other individuals. In other words, none but George knew of her
bathing escapade. Her reputation was in tact. Not that he particularly cared. None in society would call
themselves surprised if he did something to cause scandal for himself. It was merely expected of him. “A
riveting countess she would make,” he murmured more to himself than his mother. And then the
remainder of what Lady Julia had said dawned on him and his eyebrows snapped together with a grunt.
“And please, by the holy love of God, do not refer to me as Georgie in her presence!”

Lady Julia glided over to the chair across from her son’s desk and sat down. She shot a
surveying glance toward the study door behind her, assuring herself it was shut soundly so that their
private conversation would not be overheard. She leaned closer to George’s desk, whispering in a
conspiratorial manner. “What do you plan?”

“I beg your pardon, madam?”

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“Do keep your voice down!” she whispered urgently. The dowager countess glanced back
toward the door then once more toward her son. “I said what do you plan?” she breathed in a tone yet
further hushed.

George couldn’t be certain as to why his mother was whispering, but it caused him to lower his
own tones and whisper back. He leaned in closer to his mother and breathed, “I’ve no plans to speak of,
madam.”

“How many kinds of fool are you?” Lady Julia bellowed as she surged to her feet.

Apparently she was through with the whispering, George noted wryly. “Fool, mother?”

“Yes fool!” she yelled back. “Forgive me my impertinence, Georgie, but I must speak my mind!”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “When have you ever not?”

Lady Julia ignored her son’s droll wit and continued down the path of her choosing. “The perfect, loving
chit with a warm and gentle heart walks into your life from nowhere, a veritable gift from the heavens if
you will, and you’ve no plans to keep her here?”

“Of course I shall attempt to keep her here!” George countered with a bellow, finding himself as agitated
with his mother as she was with him. The subject of Kane’s leaving was not one he wished to dwell upon
o’er much. “But this is hardly the Middle Ages, madam. I cannot lock her into a tower and force her to
stay here against her will.”

Lady Julia harrumphed. She sensed that she had pushed her son into a temper, so she backed down.
Still, she couldn’t resist adding another thought to the discussion. “It seems to me that our primitive
predecessors had a much better way of doing things,” she muttered.

George smiled. He poured himself a glass of port and saluted his mother as he raised it to his lips for a
drink. He was pleased she approved of Kane and more than a little surprised she’d done so without
knowing anything of her background and connections. Lady Julia had in so many words just given her
consent to his wooing of Kane. He was surprised, definitely, but decided not to question his good
fortune. They agreed on the same woman. Finally. “On that, madam countess, we can agree.”

* * * * *

Kane had never had to urinate so badly in all her life. She searched the room frantically—peering
behind curtains, delving under beds, even looking in corners— anywhere where a waste facility might be
hidden. If she didn’t go soon, she was likely to rupture a kidney.

Practically in tears from the pain of holding her needs in, she shook her head forlornly and threw
disgusted looks at every wall, nook, and cranny in sight. She felt like a caged animal long denied its
freedom.

As unfathomable as it should have been, it was rapidly becoming apparent that there was no waste
facility to be found anywhere within her overly grand chamber. She did another quick scan of the room,
mortified that she might actually be forced to soil her garment.

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She smiled in relief when, a few seconds later, she noticed a potted plant sitting on a table next to the
vanity nearest to the connected bathing chamber. It would have to do.

Kane had always been an avid lover of nature and on any other day she would have taken the
time to notice and properly revere the spectacular display of roses, violets, and baby’s breath that were
arranged so beatifically inside of the gold and crystal vase. Today, however, she didn’t notice, let alone
revere. She savagely ripped the flowers out of their nest and placed the intricately gilded urn beneath her
squatting thighs.

Her eyes rolled back inside of her head.

By Jupiter’s moons this felt heavenly.

* * * * *

“Greetings Humanoid Bessy. How do you fare this fine day?”

The chambermaid squinted her eyes at Kane, a questioning look on her face. She shifted on her
feet, contemplating the mistress’s words. “I can’t say that I know fer certain what yer meanin’ m’um, but
I’m right as rain if that’s what ye be askin’.”

Kane nodded, smiling like an idiot. She had no notion what the woman had just said.

Bessy, an attractive girl of about nineteen, straightened her shoulders and smiled proudly up at
Kane. “Yer needin’ a lady’s maid, m’um, and I be just the one yer lookin’ fer. I will see to ye proper, I
will.” She looked away, hesitant to press the issue much further. “That’s if ye be wantin’ me.”

Kane continued to nod like a marionette, smiling like a crazy man she’d once encountered on
planet Frebula. The man had enjoyed sucking noxious energy from fero-nitrum fueled spacecars then
listen to his voice go high-pitched afterwards. She truly wished she knew what this child was ranting and
raving about.

Apparently the nodding and smiling worked well enough, for Bessy grinned endearingly up to
her, her white teeth in stark contrast to her matronly black attire.

“Good then m’um. Remember, me name is Bessy and if ye be needin’ anything, just pull this
rope.”

Kane understood that last sentence well enough. “Pull the rope? I pull it when I need you?”

“Aye, m’um, that ye do.”

Kane nodded. “And would you be able to tell me where the waste facilities are located within
this domicile?”

“Wastin’ fercileeatees?”

Kane realized that the girl had no idea what she was referring to. She decided that a
demonstration was in order. Thinking quickly, she squatted down toward the floor and let a hissing

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“ssssss” sound escape from her lips like a leaking glide car’s helium tire.

Bessy blushed profusely, but seemed to understand well enough what she meant. She walked
over to the bed, crouched low to fish beneath it, then pulled out what looked to be a big gold bowl.
Smiling hesitantly, she offered the golden bowl to her mistress. When Kane made no move to retrieve the
chamber pot, Bessy thrust it toward her again. “This is what ye make yer business in, m’um.”

Understanding rippled through Kane like the waters of Nero at high tide. She had seen the bowl
last eve, yet hadn’t realized its use. She now understood. She was actually expected to leave her waste
inside of the bowl! Red-faced, she motioned toward this golden joke. “What am I to do with it when I
finish?”

Bessy put the chamber pot down on the floor and turned to face Kane. As people are apt to do
whenever there is a language barrier present, she raised her voice and spoke very slowly,
over-enunciating every word. “Ye make yer business in the chamber pot like so.” Bessy squatted over
the pot and made the same hissing sound Kane had made moments prior.

“Then,”—the maid stood up and placed the chamber pot in the cradle of her arm—“when ye are
finished”—she looked into the gold bowl and smiled theatrically, like a mother would after praising her
child for leaving behind a “present” in a waste facility for the first time—“ye put the chamber pot
down”—she did so on the nearest table—“and ye call me”—she raised her hand to the bell pull,
dramatically over-exaggerating how one might pull it.

“Now,” Bessy asked, slowly and loud enough to wake the dead, “do ye have any more
questions to put to me, m’um?”

Amused at the maid’s game of charades, and flattered that the girl had acted them out sincerely
rather than spitefully, Kane shook her head in the negative. “Thank-you, but no.”

Bessy nodded, inordinately pleased with her ability to communicate with the new mistress. “Very
well then. I will be takin’ me leave now, m’um. His lordship will be expectin’ ye at breakfast right quick
like.”

Kane smiled, thanking her again for helping her figure out how things work in this bizarre world.
“Oh and Bessy,” she added before the maid could quit the chamber.

“Yes, m’um?”

“Could you dispose of this, please?”

Kane handed the soiled vase she’d used last night to the maid. Bessy looked down into the urn,
the very one which the dowager countess had procured at three thousand pounds no less, then blushed
to the roots of her mousy brown hair. She coughed discreetly into her hand, her gaze to the floor. “Of
course, m’um.”

“May the goddesses bless you, Bessy.”

Bessy shook her head as she walked out of the bedchamber, thinking to herself that the wealthy
were the strangest lot of people on the bloody earth. “May the goddesses bless you, m’um.”

* * * * *

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Thirty minutes later, as she sat eating her breakfast in the Blackmore’s formal dining room, Kane
was thinking somewhere along the same lines as Bessy had been.

As she’d learned last evening at dinner, everything in eighteenth century England was regimented,
cordial, and formal. The napkin had to grace a lady’s lap just so, the required eating utensils had to be
picked up thusly. She watched and learned, doing her best to imitate Lady Julia that she might not
embarrass herself.

All but giving up, she stabbed her eggs and shoved them into her mouth with as little ceremony as
possible. Apparently she wasn’t behaving too badly, for the dowager countess hadn’t given her any of
the bemused looks she’d thrown her way last night during the five course dinner. Kane cleared her
throat. “Lady Julia, will George be joining us for breakfast?”

The dowager countess shot her gaze toward Kane, smiling brilliantly with the realization that the young
woman actuallywanted her son’s company rather than fearing it. “I’m afraid not, my dear. He asked me
to send his apologies, as he had intended to be here.” She shrugged her shoulders and waved her elegant
hand through the air nonchalantly. “Problems with the crofters.”

Lady Julia had made that last statement in such a way that Kane assumed she was supposed to know
what it meant. It was obvious that crofter’s problems meant a great deal in eighteenth century England. If
Kane had the first notion what a crofter was, she might have spoke a word or two in return. Instead, she
reverted back to smiling and nodding. Always seemed to work in a pinch.

Thankfully, the conversation between her and the dowager was always amusing, so the two women
soon struck up a lively one. They spoke of everything—from the state of England’s politics to the newest
fashions of the court. Kane asked a lot of questions and Lady Julia thoroughly enjoyed answering them.
So much so that it didn’t dawn on the dowager until much later that she knew virtually nothing of Kane
and her origins.

Still, an old femme fatale such as Lady Julia Blackmore hardly minded being the focus of so much
attention. No, the former vixen didn’t mind at all.

Chapter 7

Kane and George strolled arm-in-arm through the lush gardens of Blackmore. It was the eve of their
second night together, yet still he had made no motion toward mating with her. Kane found herself mildly
discouraged, yet still refusing to give up on the hope she nestled close to her heart.

She had learned enough during the conversations she’d had with Lady Julia to realize that men of this
time were supposed to be the aggressors, not the women. Kane found this odd custom barbaric, not to
mention extremely stifling to her plans, but she bit her tongue and bided her time, doing her best to fit in
with George’s world. She would simply have to wait for the earl to make his move and mount her. A
dizzying sense of desire coursed through her belly at the mere thought of it.

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Kane realized beyond a shadow of a doubt that mating with George would be the headiest, most
galaxy-shattering experience of her twenty-six years. He was a real man, a humanoid chiseled to
perfection of body. And his heart was so big and caring. How any of these eighteenth century dwellers
could believe him a murderer was beyond her reasoning abilities.

“What are you thinking of, my dear?” George squeezed her arm gently as they continued their moonlit
promenade through the gardens and waited for her answer.

Kane darted her eyes up to him and smiled. She searched for a quick lie, knowing she could never admit
that the majority of her thoughts revolved around forcing him to the ground and ravishing his delectably
muscled body until neither of them could walk. “I was, uh, thinking of how much I enjoy your company.”
That much was true .

George’s face lit up at her words. He simply couldn’t believe his good fortune. He knew he’d be the
envy of every gentleman of the ton once he introduced his new and beautiful wife to society. And yet, it
was not her beauty that beckoned to him. It was more. It was everything.

It was the way Kane plopped down into a chair with such vigor, then looked around to the back of it
and smiled, as if she had expected an elk to jump out of it at her, and was pleased when it didn’t. It was
the way she strutted so provocatively in her walk, as if assured that the world was hers to explore and to
conquer. Hell, it was even the manner in which her lips would purse and her finger would tap against her
cheek when she was considering the answer to a question being put to her. Everything about Kane
Edmonds fascinated and beguiled him. “I enjoy your company just as much, my sweet. In fact, I found
myself counting the hours during daylight until dinner was at hand and I could see you once again.”

“Really?” Kane squealed, grinning from ear to ear. “I did the same thing while out searching for the
flower! Isn’t that cosmic?”

“Cosmic?”

“Uh…fated…significant…a sign.”

“Ah.” George grinned again at his good fortune. Her care for his company was like finding the pot of
mythical gold at the end of a rainbow. He was so elated that Kane felt the same way about him that he
felt about her that he all but giggled. He kicked himself mentally, telling his self that earls do not giggle.
Especially not giganticly carved earls with black reputations. He cleared his throat, then spoke in a forced
manly grumble. “It is a sign, I do believe.”

“I’ve got it!” Kane announced as she squeezed George’s huge hand. She drew them both to a halt then
spun around and faced him directly. The earl inclined his head politely, smiling. “Yes, my dear?”

“Why don’t we both take a little time from our work tomorrow afternoon and have what you might call
a…” She racked her brain for the appropriate word, then snapped her fingers together in excitement
when it came to her. “Picnic.”

“Picnic?”

“Yes. I’ve never had a picnic before. Lady Julia told me all about them. It would be a lot of fun! And
just think,” she added as she fanned her eyelashes up to him, “we wouldn’t have to wait until the moon
rises to see each other again.”

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George nodded slowly, won over by her last argument. He had an exhaustive amount of work to
accomplish on the morrow, still settling disputes among the crofters as he was, yet it would be
rejuvenating to partake of a picnic lunch with the woman he hoped to woo into marriage. If Kane could
take time out of her schedule, then so could he. “I can think of nothing I should like more. Shall we meet
in my study at say, one o’clock?”

“Yes. I’ll tell the powdered wig man who answers the door to have lunch ready for us to take.”

George chuckled, bemused by her description of his butler. “Never fear, I shall handle the arrangements
with Stuart.” He fished into his waistcoat and pulled out a pocket watch. The earl sighed, eyeing the
increasingly late hour. “As much as I hate to cut our walk short, I fear I must retire so we can have our
picnic on the morrow.” He shrugged apologetically. “I’ve much work to see to before we eat.”

Seemingly upon its own volition, Kane’s lower lip perched out ever so slightly from underneath the
upper one. She knew she was pouting, but couldn’t seem to help herself. “Oh okay,” she finally relented
with a frown, “I understand.”

George didn’t want to leave her anymore than she wanted to be left, yet he knew it was of necessity that
he rise exceptionally early and delve into his ledgers if he was to lunch with her on the morrow. He raised
Kane’s hand to his mouth, turned it over, and delicately brushed his lips across her palm. Kane gulped,
wide-eyed and very horny. “Until the morrow, sweet Kane.”

“Until the morrow,” she murmured.

George inclined his head politely, then released her hand, preparing to guide his lady back to the
mansion. Before he could manage aught, Kane jumped into the air and flung herself towards him with
amazing speed. She wrapped her arms about his neck and her legs about his middle, then kissed him
demandingly on the lips.

Wide-eyed, George grunted at the impact, but didn’t back away from her ravishment. When his lips
parted slightly on a sound of surprise, Kane wasted no time in slipping her tongue inside of his warm
mouth. George’s eyes rounded with disbelief, then narrowed in a haze of passion.

The earl and the planabotonologist kissed for long moments, exploring and enjoying the taste and feel of
each other. But just as his passion was beginning to override all of his chivalrous senses, Kane released
him, dropping to her feet with a delicate thud.

She gazed up at George, her eyes glittering with desire, her lips puffy with his kisses, and winced. “I
apologize for my uh…impropriety,” she enunciated with a shake of her golden head, “but I highly resent
and dislike your custom of making the woman wait for the man’s advances.” She glared at him, waiting
for him to tell her she had been in the wrong.

But he didn’t.

“I a-agree,” he squeaked out as he held his breath against the agony of his erection. George let out a
deep breath and ran a hand through his hair. He grinned down at Kane, then shrugged. “Please feel free
to do that any time you desire.” He thought on his words a silent moment, then added, “so long as we are
in privacy.”

Kane nodded, giddy with relief. “The same for you, my lord. Any time you desire.” She bit her bottom
lip, then smiled up at him in earnest. “And I don’t care if we’re in privacy or not.”

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Upstairs in his bedchamber a few minutes later, George undressed slowly, paying careful attention not to
cause any injury to his aching and swollen penis. He had dismissed his valet the moment he arrived into
his bedchamber, insisting that he could ready himself for sleeping without aid tonight.

A few minutes later, he lowered himself into the wide, deep Roman tub in his connected bathing
chamber and basked in the heat of the calming water. He closed his eyes and allowed his senses to
unwind, praying his throbbing friend in the nether region of his body would do the same.

It was no use.

The earl sighed, realizing his stiffness was likely to remain. Good heavens above, Kane had all
but thrown herself at him! It was an act of pure and unadulterated wantonness lacking in the finer moral
attributes. It should have turned him off. It should have made him flee as if the hounds of hell were nipping
at his heels. But it didn’t. It only made him want her all the more.

She was the first woman he’d ever met who sawhim , George Wyndom, when she gazed up at him. She
didn’t see the Earl of Blackmore or the future Duke of Browning. She didn’t see a man of tainted
reputation and questionable virtue. She sawhim , the real him. And she wanted what she saw.

George sighed forlornly, realizing that Kane couldn’t possibly be a virgin. He would have liked to
have been her first, as well as her last. He wished that his was the only body that would ever love hers.
Yet her actions clearly stated that she was anything but innocent.

A chilling shudder went through George that wreaked of possessiveness. If he learned the name of any
man who had bedded her, he would issue challenge immediately. He would be honor-bound to do so.
Hell, who was he attempting to jest? He realized smugly that he would take great pleasure in doing so.

George fancied himself amused that he still wanted to wed with Kane, even knowing her to have
no maidenhead. It wouldn’t be enough for his sense of peace to make her his paramour, to dally with her
without giving her his name. He had to have her permanently. He needed the reassurance of knowing that
she would be bound to him by law, unable to leave him.

George took a deep breath and with it he released all of his animosity over her lack of virginity.
Kane was no Nina. She had never made a pretense, batting her eyelashes flirtatiously one moment, then
proclaiming her innocence with deceitful blushes the next. Kane was pure of heart and untainted by
deception. And he was slowly but surely falling in love with her. It was enough. It was all and everything
he needed.

The earl smiled, finally at peace with himself. He glanced down at his jutting member and sighed,
simultaneously amused and annoyed that at least one part of him was not able to find its serenity. He
stared at his erection for a silent moment before surrendering himself to its obvious need. He shook his
head in vexation and grunted, then reached for his cock and clamped his large hand around it. “Bloody
hell,” he muttered as he began to stroke up and down.

The earl realized his hand was a poor substitute for Kane’s silky body, but it would have to do.

* * * * *

The following morning, George sat at his desk and went through each ledger with painstaking
vigilance. Most noble gentleman employed a steward to oversee the books, but George didn’t. He

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couldn’t count on both hands how many times his father had been swindled by lecherous con-men just
waiting for the chance to glean an illegal, stolen profit from the masters coffers. The current Earl of
Blackmore resolutely refused to fall victim to said crime.

When a man stole from his lord, he stole from the whole of the village. Everyone felt it, from the lowest
in the class stratum to the highest. George was far too concerned for his people’s wellbeing to allow such
an event the chance to transpire.

A knock at the study door broke Lord Blackmore out of his accounting work. He raised his
head and bade his butler entrance. Stuart walked stiffly, regally, to his master’s side and bowed. He held
out the silver salver that contained a note that had been left behind for the earl. “Thank-you, Stuart. That
will be all.”

George broke open the wax seal and regarded the parchment in his hands.

My dearest George,

Your mother and I have gone to the heart of the village, as she wishes to show me around. She
has advised me that our mission

Mission?

shall last the whole of the morning, but we shall be back in time to picnic. I look forward to commencing
our picnic and will be in the study sharply at thirteen hundred hours.I have been looking forward to our
afternoon rendezvous all day and can’t wait to be alone with you.

Neither can I, my dear.

Please keep me in your thoughts, as you are always in mine.

May the goddesses bless you,

Kane

George looked down at the note he held in his hand and smiled. He lifted it toward his face again,
noting at once that the parchment still carried Kane’s fragrance. It was an earthy, musky, exotic scent
that would forever belong to only one woman. He grinned broadly, then placed the parchment upon his
desktop and resumed his work with the ledgers.

Two hours later, the earl stretched his back and groaned, the stiffness in his shoulders causing
quite a few aches to linger. He reached into his waistcoat, procured his pocket watch, and eyed the time
wistfully.

He didn’t feel like working today. He felt like seeing Kane. But it was only eleven in the morning. He
disliked the thought of waiting a full two hours to see her. He shot to his feet, fresh and rejuvenated once
he’d made up his mind to call it a day. He dropped the pocket watch into his waistcoat and strode
toward the door whistling.

He wouldn’t wait to see her. He’d find her and his mother in the village.

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* * * * *

“What do you call this, Lady Julia?”

“Why it’s called a kitten, my dear.”

“A kitten. Isn’t it lovely?”

The dowager countess watched through bemused eyes as Kane knelt down and petted the
scruffy-faced little creature they’d followed into an alley between the village’s assorted shops. “Haven’t
you kittens in Houston, my dear?”

Kane shrugged, using the bodily gesture to give her a few seconds to prepare an answer. “No, milady.
We have no pets to speak of there.”

“’Tis odd,” Lady Julia announced thoughtfully as she watched the golden-haired Kane fawn all over the
obviously hungry and badly mauled mutt cat. “It looks as though this particular kitten has sustained an
injury. Mayhap he was in a fight with another beastie.”

Kane frowned as she looked the kitten over. “Yes, he does have an injury.” She turned to the dowager
countess and smiled terrifically. “Let’s take him to Blackmore and care for him there.”

Lady Julia was about to deny her, shuddering at the idea of the filthy creature running about the mansion,
then thought better of it. It was hard to deny Kane anything when she seemed so excited by the notion.
The dowager countess grinned warmly, amused by the fact that Kane showed more enthusiasm over the
urchin cat than she had over the gemstones displayed at the jewelers or the fine cloaks and gowns at the
modiste’s. “I think it a fine plan, dearest.”

Kane inclined her head in gratitude, then picked up the kitten and purred sweet words of comfort to him.
“It’s alright, little one, I shall fix you up in no time at all.”

Intrigued by the wholesomeness and sense of peace that always surrounded Kane, Lady Julia regarded
her son’s intended for a long moment before venturing a quick look around them. She eyed their
surroundings warily. “We really should be going, dearest. It’s hard to say what kind of men one might run
into in an alley of this sort.”

Distracted, Kane glanced over to the dowager countess and wrinkled her nose. “What do you mean?”

Before Lady Julia could respond to her inquiry, two burly, fowl smelling thugs stepped out of the
shadows and directly into the paths of the women. “Good heavens,” the dowager countess muttered as
she drew her hand up to cover her heart.

Kane handed the kitten over to Lady Julia, then eyed her adversaries up and down. The dowager
countess accepted the filthy creature without thinking, clutching it to her body like a talisman.

As innately as Kane had known that George was no enemy from the moment he had first blushed at her,
so too did she realize from the leers of these ogres that they were indeed the enemy. She mentally
shrugged, not upset by that realization in the slightest. “Greetings, fellow humanoids. What business do
you have with me and the dowager countess?”

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The two thugs exchanged perplexed glances, then shrugged off the wench’s foreign words as irrelevant.
The biggest of the men, and the most foul smelling Kane absently noted, stepped forward and grinned.
“Ye have much we be wantin’ miss, yet will we settle for whatever gold ye have on yer person.”

Luckily, he spoke slowly, so she had no trouble deciphering his meaning. “I have much gold on my
person,” Kane admitted, even as Lady Julia gasped her disapproval of the admission, “yet I will give you
none of it.”

The big man beamed with delight, his toothless face showing his excitement at her words. He bowed to
Kane mockingly, removing the cap from his head. “I will be honored to remove the gold fer ye, milady.”

Kane placed her hands on her hips, indignant at his suggestion. “Try and die.”

Lady Julia’s eyelashes fluttered open as she stared wide-eyed and mouth agape at her soon-to-be
daughter-in-law—even if the chit didn’t know her status yet—who she was beginning to fear was as
crazy as a ward of Bedlam. “Dearest Kane,” she muttered as her heartbeat accelerated rapidly. “Give
them the damn money and let us go home.”

Kane took a moment to glower at the dowager before pointing out the obvious. She waved her hand
toward the would-be assailants and frowned. “They wish to steal from us.”

“I know that!” Lady Julia chided with an impressive combination of righteous indignation mixed with
noble exasperation. “We’ve plenty of money. Just give them our purse!”

“Me thinks ye should listen to the old woman,” the smaller man smiled wickedly through his rotting teeth.
“T'would save the deuce of ye much trouble.”

“Aye,” the bigger of the two seconded, “’twill save ye a visit to yon graveyard.”

Lady Julia visibly gulped, unable to move, unable to breathe.

A moment later the thugs bared their blades and circled the two women like birds of prey swooping
down for the kill. Lady Julia clutched the kitten tighter against her, preparing to offer up her last prayers
to the saints above. But before she could think better of it, she watched with rounded eyes as Kane
issued a war cry from the depths of her throat and charged.

“Hiiii yaaa!”

Lady Julia backed herself up against the alley wall and watched in shock—and morbid fascination—as
the angel-faced beauty called Kane kicked both of her legs up to either side of her person and knocked
the blades from the thugs hands.

The dowager countess drew her free hand up to her throat and gurgled unbecomingly while she gasped
in disbelief. Kane was now flipping her person into the air and knocking both men to the ground with a
rounded back kick. If she’d had a full bladder, she was certain she would have emptied it.

The defeated thugs stared open-mouthed at their would-be victim who had turned into their attacker,
then fled in retreat into the shadows. Kane brushed the dirt off of her gown, then turned to face the
dowager countess. She beamed a brilliant smile at her friend, pleased that they were still in one piece,
money intact. “Shall we go now?”

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Lady Julia muttered something imperceptibly, then gave in to an act she’d never before dallied with but
now felt overcome by. She swooned.

Kane rushed to her side, catching her before she fell to the dirty ground. And such was how the Earl of
Blackmore found his mother and his intended not even thirty seconds later.

Chapter 8

“Good heavens! What on earth has happened to mother?”

“George!” Kane beamed, profoundly happy to see him. “She’s surprisingly heavy for one so
small. Can you lift her please?”

Kane grinned in feminine appreciation as the earl hoisted his mother into his arms as though she was
weightless. He was nothing at all like those flabby weaklings who had thought to rob her and the
dowager countess. Her earl was strapping and powerful, a force to be reckoned with. Even she, with all
her training, doubted her ability to bring the gigantic lord down.

George tucked his mother into the fold of his arm as he watched Kane pick up a filthy creature
and coo to it. “What happened here, Kane? Why has my mother fainted?”

Kane shrugged, seemingly not worried. “I cannot say. Perhaps she was frightened by those humanoid
men who tried to rob us.”

“What?”

Kane’s eyes rounded into blue saucers at the sound of George’s temper. She’d never heard him
surly before. “Why are you angry? I defused the situation. You have lost no gold.”

“I could care less for the gold! You could have been killed, young lady!”

Kane frowned. If her data injection served her correctly, “young lady” was a term used when
speaking to a small girl child. Did George believe her a weakling? She raised her chin defiantly into the air
and strutted past the fuming earl. “My kitten and I shall retire to the coach. I will see you later,young
man !”

George’s face turned ten shades of crimson, so angered he was. “You will get back here this
instant,” he commanded through set teeth.

Kane paid him no heed whatsoever until she made her way to the edge of the alley. She then
turned around, stuck out her tongue, and gave him what he would later find out was referred to as the
raspberries .

And then she was gone.

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The vein at George’s temple ticked ferociously as he considered the value of putting the
impertinent little chit over his knee. No one had ever before dared to dismiss the Earl of Blackmore with
such an obscenity. No one had dared dismiss him period.

George admitted to himself that he preferred it that way.

* * * * *

“I’m thinking it would be for the best if you didn’t tell George what I did. He’s already mad
enough at me because of the uh…incident. If he knew that I was the one that attackedthem , he’d lecture
me forever.” Kane paced before Lady Julia’s bed, a worried expression writ across her face.

The dowager countess giggled from her bed, back to her old and formidably mischievous self
once again. “As if he’d believe me. Heavens but where did you acquire such a skill?”

Kane shrugged, uncertain as to how she should answer. She’d never planned on letting anyone here
witness her proficiency in the deadly body arts. “It’s a rough place, Houston.”

Lady Julia nodded, placated. “I should love for you to teach me that flipping thing. And even a punch or
two.” The dowager countess raised her dainty fists into the air and laughed. “Va-voom!” she yelled as
she punched her balled hands into the air.

The door opened before Kane could comment, silencing her at once. George held her gaze, but
said nothing as he strode into the room with a basket in hand.

“What’s that?” Kane asked, pointing.

“Itwas our picnic,” he scolded in return, glowering.

She winced. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled, biting down on her lip and shifting her gaze.

“And what pray tell are you sorry for?” the earl inquired. “For placing yourself in harm’s way? For
bestowing upon my person a case of what you deemed theraspberries ? Or for forgetting our lunch, the
same lunch I set aside all appointments scheduled today to attend? Do enlighten me.”

Lady Julia rolled her eyes heavenward, praying to the saints for patience. “George, we have had
a trying day and you are making it that much worse. Poor Kane did naught to warrant the arrival of the
ruffians. True,” she added, raising her hand to silence her son’s imminent protests, “she did venture into
the alley in search of the kitten she spotted, but is it such a crime to have a tender heart?”

George shifted on his big feet, feeling every inch the ogre Kane must now think him to be. He
was already properly chastised, but his mother was far from letting him off the hook. “Kane isn’t familiar
with the way of things here in England. You cannot fault her for being a trifle naïve.”

George glanced over to Kane and grimaced, seeing how unusually forlorn she appeared. He was about
to apologize when she rushed over to his side and removed the basket from his hand, placing it on the
ground. “I hate the way it makes me feel when we fight,” she beseeched him, grabbing both of his hands
in a gesture of feminine appeasement. “I know now I should never have gone into the alley. Or blown
you theraspberries . Or forgotten of our picnic. Can you find it in your heart to forgive me, George?”

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The earl sighed deeply, feeling sorely vexed with himself. “Of course I can, darling. I did not
mean to upset you. I was just so very worried for you. I—” He shrugged. “I couldn’t bear to lose you,
Kane.”

Oh how I wish I could stay with you forever, George.

“Thank-you for caring so much, my lord. I shall make an effort to keep out of harm’s way if it
pleases you.”

George inclined his head politely, then smiled. “Enough of that.” He released Kane’s hands and
reached down for the basket. “Let us not make waste of the delicious fare that Michel has painstakingly
prepared.” He winked at his intended, then grinned at his mother. “Since neither of us will leave your side
until you are fully recovered, madam, let us picnic in your bedchamber.”

“Nonsense, George. You and Kane go on and—”

The earl raised his hand, silencing her. “Not a word, madam.”

“George is right,” Kane insisted with a nod of her head. “We will not leave you alone this
afternoon. The earl and I will have many more days to picnic together, won’t we, my lord?”

Every day for the rest of our lives if I have any say, my sweet.

“Of course, Kane.”

The threesome picnicked together in the dowager countess’s apartments for almost three solid hours.
They talked and ate and laughed, and Kane couldn’t remember ever feeling more content or more at
home.

The dowager countess told stories about George stretching all the way back into his childhood, amusing
Kane to no end. George was equally wicked, relaying hilarious antidotes of the notorious Lady Julia’s
exploits in English society. Kane sat back, petting the kitten she’d cleaned, mended, fed, and
affectionately named “Sir Scruffy”, listening to George tell his amusing tales and wondering silently if
she’d ever get her fill of doing such.

She studied him intently, taking in every mannerism, every characteristic, and every detail. Kane drank
from his image like a parched desert camel would drink from a cool, liquid stream.

She enjoyed the way he scowled as he told a story about him besting a childhood rival. She relished the
manner in which his green eyes sparkled when he recalled an amusing tale about a cow that had tried to
stampede him and his father. She hungered to kiss his lips when they swelled wryly from laughter after
he’d told of an obnoxiously hilarious incident at university involving him and a cohort.

Being with the earl made Kane long to be with him always. It made her course with desire over the idea
of filing for permanent companionship with him. It made her long to rent a synthetic womb with him for a
child their cells created together, to grow old at his side and love him until they’d both claimed their last
breath.

Kane stiffened as something she suspected had the makings of teardrops formed in her icy blue eyes.
She closed her eyelids briefly, commanding the moisture at bay, then opened them again and regarded

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George.

She was in love with him. She would no longer bother to deny it.

Chapter 9

Kane meandered through the fragrant grassy paths in search of her purpose for being here. The
kabitross plant.

She wandered next to babbling brooks, murky ponds, and clear-blue streams that contained the
plumpest, yummiest looking fish she’d ever seen. She happened upon villages where smithies hammered
out metals that they were fashioning into shoes for horses. She chatted with women, young and old alike,
who were working the fields, churning butter, and fashioning roots into soaps. She trailed through
meadows, heavily laden with forms of plant life and flowers she’d never imagined.

It was fascinating. Completely, utterly, and totally beguiling. Yet she couldn’t find even one trace of the
wispy-headed kabitross plant she so desperately sought. Sore and exhausted, Kane plopped down onto
a flat-topped rock next to a stream and dejectedly considered her next move.This was hopeless .

She had done what no man or woman, to the best of Linder’s knowledge, had ever done before
her—she had traveled through time. Kane had ventured six and a half hundred years into the past to find
a cure for the disease that was killing off humanoid peoples in three known solar systems in her own time.

She would go home defeated. She would go home a failure. Egis would die. Linder would never have
faith in her again.

No! She couldn’t give up. Her people were counting on her. But what was she to do?

The kabitross wassupposed to be growing in the vicinity of Blackmore. It wasn’t. With a sad and heavy
heart, Kane conceded that she was going to have to move on and search other locales for it. There was
no other choice. She thought wistfully of the earl, dreading their eventual parting of company.

George had come to mean so much to Kane in so little time. In the past week they had spent countless
hours together eating, laughing, and conversing. George had taken her all over the estate where she had
vigilantly kept an eye out for the kabitross plant while they enjoyed each other’s company.

They took long, moonlit walks together through the Blackmore gardens. They strolled the hillside
hand-in-hand chatting for hours about their hopes and dreams for the future. They even went riding
together, George having gifted her with a beautiful black mare from his stables.

And they kissed. Oh how they kissed! Each night before they retired to separate chambers within the
domicile, George would pull Kane into a loving embrace that invariably ended as a passionate kiss. He
would tell her of her beauty, speak to her of how wonderful she made him feel, how alive he was on the

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inside.

George’s words were strange to her and yet she understood them. Kane felt the very same way. George
was her first thought when she awoke each morning and the last dream she had each night. He was warm
and wonderful, strong and brave. Furthermore, she was certain she loved him. And now she had to leave
him.

“’Tis a shame indeed when one so beautiful looks so weary.”

Kane’s heart pounded joyously at the familiar voice. “George,” she breathed out, happy to see him
despite her melancholy mood.

George dismounted from Socrates and led him over to the stream to drink. Satisfied that his mount could
see to his own needs, he strolled towards Kane and sat down next to her on the flat rock. He looked
handsome today in his riding clothes, masculine and elegant at the same time. “Kane? You’ve tears in
your eyes. Whatever is the matter, my sweet?”

“Oh George,” she whispered, struggling to regain her composure. “George.” She threw herself into his
arms, feeling every inch the idiot for behaving so weakly, yet not able to keep herself from doing
otherwise.

“What is it, sweet?” he asked, genuinely upset for her. “What has made you cry? Tell me and I will fix
it.” He ran his long, masculine fingers through her golden locks, smoothing tendrils of it away from her
face. He raised her chin to meet his gaze. “Tell me.”

“I have to leave Blackmore,” she whispered.

George’s hand fell from Kane’s chin and plummeted to the ground, along with his stomach. “What?” he
asked in a daze.

Kane withdrew from the earl’s embrace and quickly brushed her tears away. She fumbled nervously
with a lacy ruffle from the gown Lady Julia had commissioned a seamstress to sew for her, unable to
meet George’s stare. “The plant I search for is not in your lands. I must depart Blackmore immediately
and search elsewhere.” She took a deep breath and at last met his gaze. “Time is running out and I
cannot let myself forget why it is I am here.”

“I see.”

George rose to his feet and turned away from Kane. He stood immobile for long minutes, staring at the
stream, but seeing or saying nothing. When she could endure the silence no more, she hesitantly inquired
as to what he was thinking. “George?”

The earl turned around to face Kane again. He looked different. Vastly different. His powerfully
masculine and ominously calm face sent shivers down her spine. The warm, caring man was gone. In his
place was a cold stone statue, a man who would not be hurt by what he perceived to be her desertion of
him. “Good riddance to you then, Mistress Edmonds.”

She sucked in her breath, hurt beyond reason by his callous words. George ignored her anguish, calling
to Socrates as he walked stoically from the stream. “George!” Kane yelled, running behind him. “George
please, let me explain! I don’twant to leave you! I have to!”

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George mounted Socrates before he finally looked down to Kane and spoke. “Miss Edmonds, there are
few things in life that onemust do. We all have choices. I apologize for the cruel words I spoke, but I can
offer you no more solace.”

“But George!”

The earl held up a silencing hand. His eyes narrowed menacingly green, the vein at his temple ticking. “I
would have given you anything you desired or should ever have wanted!” he thundered. “Damn you
Kane, I gave you my heart!”

“And I gave you mine!” she countered just as loudly.

“Then why do you leave me?” he demanded belligerently.

“Because I have no choice!” she yelled, the vein at her own temple ticking just as ferociously. “Because
my people are depending upon me to find that Neptune-forsaken plant!”

“What is so bloody important about a damned plant?”

“It will save millions of lives!”

George shook his head in dismay, realizing that he needed to get away from Kane before he said or did
something unforgivable. In all of his days, he’d never been so close to shaking a woman senseless.
“Kane, I’ve no mind to listen to this prattling. There is no plant in God’s creation that can save millions of
lives. There—”

“Yes there is,” she countered, plowing on recklessly. “Your people just have no idea how to use them.”

George rolled his eyes and shook his head. “And the savage Americansdo ?”

“No.”

“But you said you are an American! Did you lie?”

“No! I didn’t lie. I never once claimed to be an American. I stated that I am a citizen of the Houston
colony.” She took a deep breath, preparing to tell him everything. She might as well. All was lost
between them as it was. “Houston is a colony located in the former Americas.”

George inclined his head toward Kane. He furrowed his brow in confusion. “Theformer Americas?”

Kane shrugged. “In your time it is called America. In my time there are no such boundaries as countries.
We are governed by colony leaders, but each colony falls under the jurisdiction of the supreme ruling
body of the Milky Way Galaxy. These rulers are elected, as they are in the Americas. There are no kings
or queens any longer in the Milky Way.”

George regarded Kane through a haze of amazement, bewilderment, and anger. “Kane!” he bellowed,
now beyond the ability to reign in his infamous Blackmore temper. “Do you stand here and tell me that
you are from the future?”

Kane met his gaze as she drew herself up to her full five feet and six inches. “Yes.”

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“I don’t believe this,” George muttered. “I simply do not believe this.” He laughed, but the sound was far
from humorous. “After all of these years, I at long last fall hopelessly in love. But with whom?”

Kane’s heart soured at the words the earl had thoughtlessly mumbled. He loved her! Just as she loved
him. He had to believe her. She didn’t want him to think she was leaving of her own volition. “George,
you must believe me!”

“What I believe,” he gritted out as his vein began ticking away once again, “is that you, my dear, are as
mad as the daft king!” Without looking back, he shouted a word of prodding to Socrates and rode off
into the dusky remains of daylight, dirt kicking up in his wake.

Kane fell to the ground, morose beyond being consoled, assuming the same dejected pose she had worn
before George’s arrival. She took a deep, steadying breath and allowed a single tear to trickle down her
cheek.

What was she to do? She couldn’t possibly live with herself if she lost sight of her goal. A little boy’s life
was at stake. Not to mention the millions of other humanoids who would die if she didn’t locate and
retrieve the plant. There was no help for it. Whether or not she had succumbed to the seemingly
impossible phenomenon of love, bigger and more important considerations than her heart and libido were
at issue.

Kane groaned in anguish as she worked her fingers through her hair agitatedly. George believed she’d
lost her mind. He’d called her as mad as the king!

She sighed. At least one good thing had come of this horrid confrontation. She realized now, beyond a
shadow of a doubt, that the earl was completely and totally aware of his king’s loony inclinations.

Chapter 10

“And then she actually told me that she’s from the future! Can you believe it, mother? Of all the
hair-brained, half-witted excuses for leaving a man…”

George’s voice trailed off as he plopped back down into the chair behind his study desk. He didn’t want
to speak of the subject any longer. It had been three days since he’d learned of Kane’s imminent
departure and he was as touchy now about the subject as he had been then. Daft or not, he loved the
crazed woman.

George sighed in resignation as he awaited his mother’s remarks. He knew that eventually he’d
have to tell Lady Julia that Kane was leaving, and since that dreaded day was on the morrow, tonight
seemed as good a time as any. “Well?”

Lady Julia pondered everything her son had spent the last half of an hour ranting and raving
about. She considered what she knew of Kane. She took into account the mysterious way she had
appeared into their lives. She thought on the gel’s odd beliefs, mannerisms, and speech. She thought
about her ability to “kick ass”, as she’d appropriately called it. She thought about the lessons she’d been
giving her the last few days. There was no denying the girl was from a place far removed from Georgian
England, but another time? Surely not! And yet…

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“Are you certain she lied, Georgie?”

George snapped his brooding profile around and regarded his mother through narrowed jade
eyes. “Oh come madam, surely you do not believe that the lady is a time traveler?”

Lady Julia shrugged. “How can you or anyone else say with all certainty that she lies?”

“Mother—”

The dowager countess held up a silencing hand. “Hear me out, Georgie. All I say is that I believe
Kane is a good gel. I also know in my heart that she loves you.” She dismissed her son’s adamant denial
and ventured onward. “The chit would not leave you unless she felt she’s no other recourse. Mayhap she
is not of a sound mind, Georgie, but that does not mean that she doesn’t believe the things she’s telling
you. I’ve no doubt but that she believes her words with all of her being.”

George nodded wearily, accepting his mother’s opinion as the truth. “So what do I do?”

“Well, you can hardly breed with a daft woman. Your heirs might inherit her madness.”

“T'would be no worse a lot than inheriting the Lady Jane’s mole, yet still you desired for me to breed
with her.”

His mother laughed. “True enough.” She shook her head absently, marveling still at this latest
development. “Then fight for her, my son. Tell her you love her. Tell her you’ll help her find the plant.
And when she finds it and isn’t able to create a potion that will cure all manner of diseases with it, be
there to support her, to help her find her way back to reality.”

George rubbed his chin as he considered his mother’s words. He did love Kane. He loved her
desperately. More than he’d ever loved anyone or anything in his entire thirty-seven years. He shot to his
feet, too agitated to sit. “You are correct, madam. I will fight for the sanity of the woman I love! I will
stop at nothing to make her mine! Fates be damned, she will become the next Countess of Blackmore!”
he passionately cried.

George sighed deeply as he considered how great of a task that was likely to be. He plopped back
down into the chair and reached for his port. “I will see what I can do,” he qualified under his breath.

* * * * *

Kane plucked a red rose in full bloom from the well-kept Blackmore gardens and marveled at
the beauty of it. Its scent was so fragrant, its skin so silky and delicate. She rubbed the petals across her
face and thought wistfully of George.

She would be leaving him tomorrow, possibly never to see him again. And worse yet, he thought
her a madwoman. He believed her to be no more lucid than the frothing-mouthed victims of BV-3 who,
driven into insanity by too many bad brain downloads, were housed in a roaming satellite off-planet
where they could bring no harm to others.

It was too much to take in. She, Dr. Kane Edmonds, a brilliant scientist respected in star systems from

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here to Vegas, was believed to be a madwoman by the very man she loved. The only man she’d ever
loved. The man she wanted to be breached by.

Damn him! After all the special moments they had shared together, how could he not have faith in her
word? How could he ever consider the possibility that she was insane?

Kane sighed. Who was she kidding? She wouldn’t have believed her story either. How could she expect
George to live up to higher standards than her own?

She stopped walking mid-thought, coming to an abrupt halt. She gritted her teeth in anger. Standards or
no standards, he should believe her! She would not leave Blackmore without making George understand.
She refused to have her heart’s only love think ill of her throughout the rest of his days. She might have
lost him, but he would come to know why. He would understand. She would make sure of it.

Chapter 11

“As much as I appreciate your words of encouragement, I had truly better find Kane, mother. I
do not want to risk losing her.” George rose from his seat and bowed politely over the dowager
countess’s proffered hand.

“Good luck, Georgie,” Lady Julia smiled. “Make her understand how much she means to you.”

George inclined his head respectfully to his mother. “I will.”

The door to the study crashed open a moment later, inducing the earl and dowager countess to
whirl about. “Kane?” George inquired. “What is wrong?”

“See to it that no one comes near this door until all three of us leave, Stuart, or I shall hold you
personally responsible.” Kane shouted her order to the butler then slammed the study door shut behind
her and strode angrily toward the bull-headed man she loved and his equally stubborn mother.

“A little less than three months from now, on July 4, 1776, the United States of America will
emerge from the former English colonies and declare war on its mother country. Furthermore, the
Americans will win, the British will lose, and the people of your country will be so angered that King
George III will eventually be forced from the throne. His son, George IV will rule as regent for the nine
years preceding your insane king’s death.”

George and Lady Julia stared at Kane aghast. After a long, tense moment the dowager countess
spoke up. “We lose?”

“Yes.”

“Damn the incompetent king! I knew—”

“Madam, please,” George protested as he waved an agitated hand tersely through the air.
“Kane,” he began in a tone one would use to soothe a frightened child, “I have come to realize that you
believe these things you say, but—”

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“Spare me, George!” Kane interrupted, angrier than she could ever remember being. “I am not
crazy. I am from the future. I come from the year 2429!”

“Kane!” he bellowed, losing what little hold he’d had on his temper to begin with. “’Tis
preposterous to even suggest that mighty England will lose a war to the Americans. I realize you are a
trifle touched in the head, yet do I love you still. I…”

“Damn it, George! Listen to me!”

The earl was effectively shocked into silence. He arched a raven brow as he regarded the
woman he wished to wed…and put over his knee. “Very well.”

“Have a seat.”

“I do not desire—”

“I said sit!”

George sat. As did the dowager countess. They fell side-by-side into the pillows of the
Elizabethan sofa sprawled across the middle of the study. Kane, on the other hand, paced. She fumed
through glittering eyes and raged against the fates that made it necessary for her to be on the defensive.
She mumbled to herself incoherently as she wore a proverbial hole into the floor from her restless pacing.
She no doubt looked the madwoman they believed her to be.

After long moments, she halted before the Blackmore duo. “In July you will both know that I tell you the
truth.” Kane let go of her anger and regarded George beseechingly. “But it will be too late to offer
apologies, too late to know that I am not insane and that I told you no lies. It will be too late because I
will be gone. Do you want that George?”

George rose slowly from the sofa, his legs unsteady. “No,” he whispered. “My God Kane, I love
you. Please don’t leave me.”

Kane felt as if her heart was being ripped from her chest and torn to tatters. “Oh George, I love
you too. That’s why you must understand that I do not leave of my own will. I leave because I must.”
She shook her head and closed her eyes against the torrent of emotions ripping through her body. “My
people are dying,” she whispered.

Lady Julia rose to her feet. “Dying?”

“Yes,” Kane confirmed, “and I need to find this kabitross plant to make a serum to end the
senseless deaths.”

Kane looked back and forth between the earl and the dowager countess and realized with all
certainty that they were beginning to at least listen to her.Now was the time . She could prove to them
once and for all that she was neither insane nor a liar.

“My lord, my lady,” she began with a polite incline of her head. “I realize that I am asking you to set
aside everything you have ever believed in that you might believe in me. I realize that what I ask is too
much of any humanoid no matter what planet they dwell on, no matter what age they are raised in. So I
offer you indisputable proof of my claims.”

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“Proof?” they repeated in unison.

Kane nodded her head. “Please sit down,” she instructed, though respectfully this time. When the
earl and his mother did as they were bade, Kane crossed the room and picked up a stool. She carried it
in front of the Elizabethan sofa and placed it gently upon the tiled floors.

Kane drew her leg up and set it gracefully upon the stool. She raised one side of her skirts all the
way to her thigh, until she located the laser-c strapped there.

“My goodness,” Lady Julia blushed as she clutched her heart. “I don’t think you should be
sporting quite so much leg in the earl’s presence, dear.”

George, on the other hand, was hoping she’d show more. He lounged on the sofa, semi-erect,
waiting in anticipation for Kane’s next move. She reached for a tiny object strapped to her thigh, secured
it in her grasp, then replaced her skirts in the proper manner. Damn. He’d always had rotten luck.

“This is a laser-c,” Kane explained. “It is, among other things, a very deadly weapon that can
stun a man to unconsciousness or kill him completely. You look skeptical,” she grinned when she noticed
the disbelieving frowns smothering both of their faces.

“Oh, just a trite bit,” George admitted.

“You can say that again,” Lady Julia muttered.

Kane raised the laser-c into position, aiming for the gold-gilded statue of King George III sitting atop the
earl’s desk. She clicked the laser-c into kill mode and pulled the trigger.

The earl and the dowager countess sat spellbound, mouths agape, as they watched the tiny
object in Kane’s hand emit a powerful burst of white light. The light struck the likeness of England’s king,
causing it to burst into thousands of charred pieced. They looked to the fallen statue in bewilderment,
then to each other, and finally to Kane.

“My God,” Lady Julia muttered breathlessly. “You…you…you killed the daft king!”

“Only his likeness,” she assured her.

“But…but…but…” The dowager countess sputtered, unable to form a single coherent thought.
“Oh my,” she relented in a near swoon.

Lady Julia was, George noted amidst his own daze, shocked into speechlessness. That was twice now in
little more than a sennight. Amazing it was the feats his little Kane could accomplish.

Kane glanced at the tongue-tied dowager countess then threw her gaze to the earl. George sat
upon the sofa, his jaw still slack, staring transfixed at Kane. After a long moment that seemed to go on an
eternity, he blinked. Kane smiled at him, bemused. “Do you believe me now, my lord?”

George gulped. He tugged at his cravat, which seemed to be inexplicably tightening of its own
accord. “Yes,” he managed to choke out, “I believe you.”

George broke out of the haze that had blanketed him and stood up to draw Kane into a loving

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embrace. This explained so much. Her bizarre words. The bathing episode. Everything. “Forgive me for
not believing you, my sweet. Your story was just so…so…”

“I know,” she interrupted, smiling up to him warmly. “I wouldn’t have believed me either. Don’t
fret over it, George.”

Lady Julia, apparently the mistress of her mind and body once more, strode to her son’s side a
moment later and patted Kane on the shoulder. “What can we do to help you, dear?”

“I don’t know that you can do anything,” she admitted.

“Come now,” the dowager countess crooned. “Sit down and tell us the whole of your story, from
the beginning. Between the three of us, we’ll work it out.”

Kane shrugged. She’d told them this much. What harm could there be in telling them the rest?

* * * * *

“It’s all so much to comprehend,” Lady Julia admitted in a near whisper. “To think that one day
people will travel to other planets, even dwell within them.” She shook her head dazedly. “Truly
amazing.”

George dismissed his mother’s bewilderment with a nod toward Kane. “But Kane, this kabit
plant you speak of, it—”

“Kabitross,” she corrected.

“This kabitross plant,” he amended, “I’ve never heard of it.”

“Nor have I,” the dowager countess seconded.

Kane shrugged. “I believe that it is here…somewhere.” She ran her fingers through her hair,
squinting her eyes in thought.

The records that had survived the last two world wars were all but scarce. Even the ones that had made
it through the fires were so charred as to be almost unsalvageable. But she had seen a plated picture, a
drawing of this plant she named kabitross. And Linder had informed her that although the electronic
historians hadn’t been able to glean from the charred remains what the plant had been called by the
ancients, they had figured out that the drawing had been of a hillside in Blackmore. “Perhaps you call it
by a different name?”

“Mayhap,” the earl allowed. “Can you describe it?”

“Hmm.” She contemplated the question as she pursed her lips together and tapped her finger
against her cheek. “It’s puffy.”

“Puffy?”

“Yes, puffy.”

George stood up and walked over to his desk. He reached for the bottle of port and poured

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himself his third glass in the last hour. “Forgive me, Kane, but that is hardly descriptive.”

She shrugged. “I’m a planabotonologist, not a poetess.”

“Mayhap you can draw it for us?” Lady Julia inquired. At Kane’s grunt, she dismissed that
option as viable.

“I’ve got it!” the dowager countess beamed a few minutes later. She clapped her hands together. “We
can travel to London, the three of us. ‘Tis still the height of the season, true enough, but we’ve a
townhouse there to stay in.” Lady Julia shot to her feet and smiled eagerly at Kane. “My son and I can
show you the glory of the London season by night and by day we can scour the libraries of botanical and
agricultural societies in search of a book that might contain drawings of the plant your people so covet.”

Kane brightened considerably. Libraries were an excellent idea. And then there was the notion of
remaining at George’s side. She wouldn’t have to say good-bye to him just yet. She turned to the earl,
beaming. “I’m willing if you are.”

George ambled over toward the study’s window and stared pensively out of it. He watched the birds fly
by and the insects buzz around the flowers. Odd that he’d never noticed such things before meeting
Kane. After careful deliberation he turned around to face his mother and his lady, both of whom were
waiting his decision on pins and needles. “On one condition,” he announced.

Kane strode over to where the earl stood and smiled warmly up to him. “Anything, my lord. Name it.”

George gazed down into Kane’s eyes and knew then and there that he couldn’t bear to live a life without
her. “If we go, you go as my wife.”

Chapter 12

His wife.

Kane had difficulty catching onto the full import of many of George’s sentences, but those were
two words she well understood the significance of. He wanted to file for permanent companionship. She
couldn’t believe her ears.

The dowager countess cleared her throat delicately as she glided toward the study door. “I shall
leave you two alone to talk.” She opened the door as gracefully as a queen and sauntered through it. “Oh
and Kane,” she added with an endearing smile. “I shall be upstairs packing. Do not disappoint me in your
answer, dearest.”

The door closed shut.

George mentally chastised himself over and over again.What was he thinking ? As if a woman
so lovely would possibly even consider binding herself legally to a disreputable earl such as he was. Kane
was alive and beautiful, warm and intoxicating. She was perfection. And he was…well…not. And yet, he

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could not seem to close his mouth on the foot that was already dangling from it. “Would it be that
terrible?” he heard himself quietly ask.

Kane whirled around and regarded him through perplexed eyes. “Would what be that terrible?”

“Being my wife.”

“Of course not!” She threw her arms around the earl’s neck and hugged him tightly to her. “I’m
crazy about you, George.”

“Then marry me, my sweet. Become my wife, my countess.”

Kane closed her eyes against the tears that threatened to spill of their own accord. “What
happens when I leave, George? It will be harder on us both, I think.”

George reached for Kane’s chin and drew it up gently to meet his gaze. “I would rather spend
one day with you as my countess than fifty years with another woman in the same role.”

Kane sighed at his words. How could she refuse him after hearing that?

George bent his neck and kissed her softly on the lips. “Couldn’t you come back after you took the
plant to your time?” He brushed his thumbs across the entrance of her mouth and nudged gently,
indicating his desire for her to part her lips and accept his tongue inside.

“I don’t see why not,” she whispered, waiting in anticipation for his invasion. “Egis must remain my first
priority, but once he is cured, my life is my own again.”

“Truly?” he prodded as he licked at her mouth.

“Truly,” she whispered. “I hadn’t thought of the possibility beforehand,” she rasped, “but if you truly
wish to marry me, then by your side is where I choose to be.”

As a reward for her welcomed answer, George plunged his warm tongue into Kane’s welcoming
mouth. She groaned, urging him to take what he would. He kissed her hard and possessively, branding
and claiming her as his own. “Oh George,” she sighed when he released her tongue to nibble at her
throat, “Take me to your bed. I beg you.”

George nearly spilled his seed, so turned on was he by her words. His penis jutted out
demandingly against his breeches, begging for release. “Kane,” he hoarsely protested, “I would not
dishonor you by bedding you before marriage.”

“You do not dishonor that which you love,” she argued breathlessly. Kane reached down
between them and closed her palm around his stiffly erect cock. “I can feel how much you want me,
George. Make me yours.”

The earl sucked in his breath. He wanted nothing more than to claim her, than to ride her hard
and long. The man who had invented the wordchivalry was no doubt the same cad who had invented
the wordgoal . “My love, I cannot in good conscience claim you as mine until we are wed.”

Kane continued to stroke his swollen manhood, determined to share more with her heart this
night than kisses. “Please Kane,” he croaked out hoarsely, “please stop.”

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“No, George. If you will not mate with me this eve, then you will at least go to sleep knowing
more of the pleasures I will bring to your bedchamber each night.”

George’s mind whirled with a million different possible scenarios. Each one was more riveting
and provocative than the last. “What do you mean?” he managed to squeak out.

Kane reached for the buttons on his breeches and undid them faster than a data transfer through
the brain’s synapses. She tugged on them demandingly, giving gentle care to his aroused manhood all the
while. George’s erection sprang free, proving to Kane that her man was big all over.

“What are you going to do, my dear? Why are you dropping to your knees? Surely you cannot presume
to –oh .”

Shedid presume to.

When Kane had first described what it felt like as a brain imploded due to BV-5, George had no
notion of what she was talking about. Suddenly he knew. Suddenly it was if the heavens had opened up
and the answers of the universe had poured forth. George’s brain was going to implode. He was certain
of it. As certain as he was of the fact that Lady Harriet would have benefited vastly from this electrolysis
procedure Kane had advised him of.

“Oh Kane,” he choked out as he allowed the pleasure of her intimate kiss to tremor through his
insides.

Kane swirled her tongue around the head of George’s rigid erection, lapping up the salty taste of
his pre-ejaculate. She parted her lips and urged the whole of him into her mouth, taking him to the root of
his manhood and back, over and over again. She sucked and sucked, growing more and more aroused
herself as she felt him grow tauter, closer to the brink of his completion.

She reached for the delicate sac that lay tightly nestled against his groin in a thatch of dark curls
and massaged it between thumbs and forefingers. She rubbed gently, kneading until George groaned.
“My God Kane,” he muttered as his breathing grew more and more labored. “You best stop. I’m close
to spilling my seed.”

“Do it,” she begged as she took a breath. “Give me all of you, George.” She resumed her
sucking, stroking him back and forth with her throat and mouth.

Kane picked up her speed, taking him in and out, faster and faster. She was relentless with her
sucking, taking George to heights of pleasure he hadn’t thought possible. He wanted to stop. But it had
been so long. Far too long. And never, ever like this.

And then he burst.

“OhKane,” he growled as he shot his hot essence into her mouth.

She continued to suck at the head of his penis, not stopping until he was semi-flaccid, and she was
certain she’d missed nothing. She halted only then, placed a last lingering kiss on the head of his
manhood, and slowly rose to her feet.

Kane gazed into George’s eyes and smiled invitingly. “And that’s only the beginning. Think about that

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tonight in the lonely bed you deprived me of.” She winked mischievously and sauntered away.

George’s eyes widened. He grew immediately erect—again. Through labored breaths, he opened his
mouth to call out to Kane.

But it was too late. She was already heading through the study doors.

The earl scratched his head and smiled contentedly as he watched his future bride take her leave.
Apparently Kane had never made the acquaintance of the cad who had invented the wordchaste .

Thank God for small favors.

* * * * *

The Countess and Dowager Countess of Blackmore sat next to each other in the Blackmore
carriage, the earl sitting morosely across from them. He frowned as he watched his mother and wife
prattle on about something or another. They were conversing of the season awaiting them in London,
carrying on like two school gels off to their coming out.

“We’ll have to stop at the modiste’s upon our arrival to have new gowns cut. I’ve an eye for
fashion, daughter. You’ll be all the rage, what with those long blonde tresses and your fashionably blue
eyes.”

“Do you really think so? I do wish to make a good impression upon George’s friends.”

The earl’s ears perked up at that admission. “Do not concern yourself over it, madam wife. I’ve
no care for what society’s gentlemen think of you.” At Kane’s nod, the earl returned his gaze to the
country road rolling by outside of the carriage’s confines.

Four days.

George and Kane had been wed for four long and agonizingly sexless days. They married the morning
Kane had originally intended to leave Blackmore, then the trio departed for London immediately
thereafter. The earl had thought nothing of it at the time, assuming he would claim what was legally his at
an inn along the way.

But the earl had neglected to take the matter of his wretched luck into consideration. Each and every
night since their journey began, every inn that the trio had stopped at en route to London had been
overcrowded with only a single room to spare. Ever the gentleman, the earl had forsaken his marital
rights and allowed his mother to share the single chamber with his wife. George had slept with the
damned horses.

Tonight, at long last, the earl would take his countess to their bed. They would arrive at the Blackmore
townhouse by mid-morn. And then tonight he would learn all there was to know of his wife’s body. He
would kiss all the places he’d dreamed of kissing since he’d first laid eyes upon her naked glory. He
would ride her slow and soft, then fast and hard. He would make her scream out his name in ecstasy only
to be taken there yet again. He would…

Damn. He was getting hard again. A common and painful occurrence these past four miserable days.

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George stared gloomily out of the carriage window and indulged in an unabashed state of woeful pity for
his sorry self. His attention was currently riveted on two frolicking pups at play in the meadows beyond
the carriage window. One pup, the obvious gentleman, was attempting to mount his lady pup from
behind.

She was having none of that sport.

With each of the gentleman pup’s ill-fated attempts, the hellion lady pup would nip at his heels and throw
him off of her backside. George shook his head in empathy. He knew exactly how the poor whelp felt.

“Don’t you agree, George?”

George blinked, clearing his head of his self-pitying contemplation. “I beg your pardon, madam?”

Lady Julia tssked as she shook her head in disapproval. “Haven’t you been listening to a word I’ve
said?”

“No,” he admitted as he returned his line of vision to the country lane, “I haven’t.”

Lady Julia sighed. She turned to her daughter-in-law and cast her a knowing, woman-to-woman look.
“Pay no heed to your lord husband, Lady Kane. I’m certain he’ll fare better once he’s in his bed and,
uh…” She coughed discreetly. “Rested.”

* * * * *

“Thank-you, Brantly.” George accepted the note the butler of his London townhouse had placed
in the silver salver with a curt nod. Brantly inclined his head politely and made for the library door.

George ripped open the seal and scanned the note’s contents.

Dear George,

The dowager countess and I have gone to London proper to acquire a new wardrobe. Your mother tells
me that we are expected at the Giddings’ ball tonight

“Damn,” George muttered, “I thought I’d been made to endure the last of Lady Irma’s picking of
the nose.”

and so I have made a concession and will not commence my search of the libraries until tomorrow. Lady
Julia expects this shopping business to take up a large part of the day,

George snorted. More like all day knowing his mother.

so we will no doubt have to wait to be alone together until after the ball ends tonight.

Damn. Damn. Damn.

I look forward to our time alone tonight more than I can say.

As do I, my love.

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Though I am unable to be with you until then, know in your heart that you occupy my every thought.

As do you, my sweet.

May the goddesses bless you,

Your Permanent Companion (Wife),

Your damned right it will be permanent.

Kane

P.S. Lady Julia has heard rumors that George III will be in attendance tonight. I’m quite excited, as I’ve
never met a daft king before!

George laughed as he shook his head in humor. Tonight couldn’t possibly arrive soon enough to
suit him.

Chapter 13

“Oh goodness, George,” Lady Julia mumbled in abject horror, “you told the truth on that score,
did you not?”

The Earl, Countess, and Dowager Countess of Blackmore watched from across the ballroom in
fascination, and not a little nausea, as Lady Irma Giddings discreetly delved her glove-clad finger into the
uppermost cavern of her left nostril and dug.

“Heaven have mercy,” Lady Julia mumbled, “the chit is actually inspecting her ill-gotten booty.”

George winced. “I shudder to think what treasures one would have found sticking to the marriage bed
every eve.”

“For the love of Saturn’s rings,” Kane murmured, simultaneously mesmerized and disgusted,
“I’ve never seen anyone do that before. It’s…it’s...”

“Unseemly,” George offered.

“Horrifying,” Lady Julia added.

“And about to make me faint for the first time in my life,” Kane choked out, “if we don’t go take in some
air.”

Ten minutes later, the Earl, Countess, and Dowager Countess of Blackmore returned to the
ballroom, all of them looking better for their wear. The dancing chamber was spectacularly aglow with

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hundreds of lit candles cascading from the walls and overhead. Gold and crystal chandeliers hung
decorously from the ceiling, giving the room a regal air. The liveried servants were donned in their best
finery, strolling throughout the crowded ballroom offering champagne and wine to the hundreds of guests
in attendance.

Kane surveyed the ballroom with a sense of dread, realizing that she hadn’t the slightest notion of how to
proceed. None of the dances she was seeing on display at the Giddings’ ball had been injected into her
memory cells. She felt like a droid without a processing unit, or as George would have said,a lord
without his port .

The earl grabbed three glasses of champagne from the tray of a passing servant and proceeded
to hand two of them over to his wife and mother respectively. “Is something amiss, my sweet? You look
as pale as a ghost.”

“Ah, George!” an unfamiliar male humanoid voice boomed out. “’Tis good indeed to see you
back in London for the season!”

A handsome man, or one who would have been handsome had he not donned one of those insufferably
unattractive powdered wigs Kane loathed, strode toward the earl’s group of three. The man looked to
be roughly her husband’s age, perhaps a year or two younger.

“Alex!” George called back in greeting, “’Tis good to see you again as well.”

Kane decided she would like Alex on the spot, for George obviously liked him and her husband
was a very good judge of character.

“Come Alex, I should like for you to meet my wife,” George boasted.

The handsome man came forward and smiled warmly down to Kane. “Alex, this is my wife,
Kane Blackmore, my new countess. Kane, my oldest and closest friend, Lord Alexander Hamilton, the
Marquess of Asherby.”

Lord Asherby bent over Kane’s hand in greeting, then smiled radiantly down to her once more. “You
are as lovely as the rumors making their way throughout the ballroom have claimed, my lady. Please do
me the honor of calling me Alex.”

Kane nodded, smiling back to George’s friend. “I would be delighted, Alex. Tell me, though, what a
marquess is?”

At Alex’s furrowed brow, George coughed discreetly into his hand. “It is just another of those titles we
spoke in length of, my love.” George turned to his friend and shrugged unapologetically. “She heralds
from a land without aristocracy.”

“Oh really?” Alex inquired, genuinely intrigued. “Where from?”

“Houston,” Kane provided before her husband could say otherwise.

“Houston?”

George coughed again, louder this time. “Do not concern yourself, Alex. ‘Tis in the Americas.”

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Alex shrugged, a twinkle in his eyes. “If you say so, my friend.”

“Lady Julia,” Alex beamed as he turned his attention to the dowager countess and bent chivalrously over
her hand, “you are looking as lovely and as charming as always.”

“My lord,” Lady Julia replied with a blush, “you always did know just exactly what to say to raise a
woman’s spirits.”

Alex winked at the dowager countess, then grinned. “If I were but a few years older, madam…” He
allowed his sentence to trail off suggestively, prompting the earl to roll his eyes in amusement.

“You would be as old as my son,” Lady Julia chuckled, “and therefore still too young to grace this old
girl’s arm, I fear.”

The foursome laughed appreciatively at the dowager countess’s jest. “So tell me,” Lady Julia instructed
as she stood up on tip-toe and glanced around the crowded ballroom, “where is that wily old fox,
Chester?”

Alex grinned. “Looking for you, madam. My uncle bade me to tell you to come introduce your new
daughter within the law to him this eve should I find you. He is near the refreshment table, I presume.”

Lady Julia rolled her eyes heavenward. “Some things never change,” she muttered.

Alex chuckled. “At least one always know where to locate him.”

Lady Julia spotted her quarry not a moment later. She tugged on the sleeve of Kane’s gown in her
excitement. “Come dearest, let me introduce you to my, uh…” she cleared her throat delicately, “male
friend.”

“Your male friend?” Kane inquired.

“Her paramour,” George amended.

Alex burst into a fit of laughter, the corners of his eyes crinkling in amusement. Kane shook her head, not
understanding. “Paramour?”

“Never mind!” George snapped, more harshly than he had intended to.

Kane foraged through the data she had injected, hoping a ray of understanding would shine through. She
tugged on her husband’s sleeve and frowned. “But George, what is a paramour?”

“It’s not a word you’ll ever need to know, my dear.” George frowned at Alex when his friend’s laughter
grew bolder.

Kane grunted. She disliked having her questions dismissed as irrelevant. She was a planabotonologist for
Saturn’s sake. And highborn to boot. Thinking on the matter as she continued to forage through her data,
she smiled slowly. “I’ve got it!” she beamed, delighted when realization dawned.

“Got what, darling?” the earl asked as he sipped from his champagne.

“I just processed the meaning of Mother Julia’s strange word.” Kane turned her attention on the

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dowager countess and smiled proudly at her. “When you say he is yourparamour , you mean that he
exchanges sex with you!”

George choked on the champagne he’d just sipped. Alex hit him on the back to aid him, doing his best
to prevail over his own mirth. “Kane,” the earl sputtered, “We do not speak of such things in public!”
George rapped his knuckles across the marquess’ head when Alex lost control altogether and laughed
with what could only be deemed pandemic proportions.

Kane blushed as she lowered her gaze to the ground. What an idiot she was! She had wanted so much
for George to be proud of her, to impress his friends with her ability to assimilate into their habitat, and
here she was embarrassing him on their first night out as permanent companions. She wanted to crawl
into the nearest black hole and implode immediately.

Lady Julia sensed her daughter-in-law’s discomfort and sought to remedy the situation. “Why do we not
go outside for a bit of air, just you and me Kane. We can meet the viscount later, hm?”

Kane nodded without looking up. George shifted back and forth on his feet as he glanced from Alex to
his wife and back. The marquess nodded knowingly, then proceeded to behave as though nothing out of
the ordinary had just occurred. “Lady Kane,” Alex beseeched as he absently handed his empty
champagne glass over to a passing servant, “would you allow me to lead you in the next set of dances?
After you get your air, of course.”

Kane’s head snapped up. “I, uh, I…”

“What’s this? Turning me down?”

“No, my lord marquess, I just um…” She thought up a plausible excuse quickly. “I injured my leg while
out riding the other day. I’m afraid I cannot dance with you.”

“I see. Next time, mayhap?”

Kane nodded her head emphatically, so elated she was to have received this unexpected reprieve.
“Next time, I promise.”

“Come,” Lady Julia crooned as she took her daughter-in-law by the sleeve. “Let us get our air, my
dear.”

* * * * *

“She cannot dance, can she?” Alex put the question to George as they strolled through the
Giddings’ garden in search of his wife and mother.

“No,” he sighed, “she can’t.”

George had never felt more the cad in all of his days. Heknew his wife had wanted to make a
good impression, yet he hadn’t bothered himself with teaching her how to go about in society. She knew
next to nothing of the gentry’s customs, of how to carry on in their midst. Kane had never had cause to
learn the dances of Georgian England. She didn’t understand what was considered appropriate chit-chat
and what wasn’t. She was like a babe left to fend for itself in the woods.

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And now she felt humiliated.

George mentally berated himself for his lack of foresight for at least the hundredth time. He
wouldn’t blame his wife in the slightest if she left him for the twenty-fifth century this very night. A cold
chill of apprehension swept over the earl, causing him to pick up his pace. Good God, she wouldn’t truly
leave him…would she?

“You’re a fortunate man, George.”

George forced his attention back to his best friend. “What do you mean, Alex?”

Lord Asherby chuckled. “Come, come, my friend. Certainly you took note of all the jealous
stares the men of the ton were throwing your way?” The marquess shook his head in bemused regret. “I
find myself in their company.”

George halted abruptly and turned to face his oldest friend. “What are you saying, Alex?” He
asked the question quietly, his black brow arched menacingly.

“George!” Alex chided, knowing the earl’s temper for what it was. “You know very well I should never
attempt to take your wife from you. We are best friends, man! Besides,” he added, “it’s not as though I
or any other man would stand a chance. Your lady adores you, any fool can see that. What is the matter
with you?”

George sighed as he ran his fingers through his hair in agitation. “I don’t know. She makes me
daft.” He shrugged ruefully. “I tell you true I’ve never felt for a woman like this before.”

Alex chuckled lightly, as he was always apt to do. “Ah,” he grinned as they began to stroll the
gardens once more, “so you are in love.”

“That I am, Asherby. That I am.”

Chapter 14

The earl and the marquess located the ladies next to the refreshment table, chatting it up with
Chester Elliott, Viscount Blake. George noticed at once that his wife had managed to beguile Lord Blake
as readily as she’d beguiled him. In fact, once he took a look around, he realized with much annoyance
that his bride was enrapturing many of the ton’s gentlemen this night. They swarmed about her like bees
drawn to a particularly tempting flower.

George frowned, watching in contempt as society’s men hung on his wife’s every word. They
smiled too warmly at her visage, laughed too loudly at her jests, and annoyed him too mightily to let it
continue. “There you are, madam, I was wondering where you had wandered off to.”

“George!” Kane beamed, vastly relieved to see him. “I’ve been wondering the same about you

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and Alex. Mother Julia and I tried to find the two of you after we took our air.”

George elbowed his way through the crowd and strode possessively to his wife’s side. “It
appears that we missed each other, my dear. Alex and I were just looking for you and mother in the
gardens.”

The earl drew his wife’s hand to his lips and kissed her briefly, his territorialism obvious to any
man in attendance. With a practiced façade of indifference, George then proceeded to chat politely with
each of Kane’s male admirers until the competition for her attention slowly dwindled down to none.
Twenty minutes later, with his mission accomplished, he flexed his fingers and smiled triumphantly toward
a grinning Marquess of Asherby.

“George,” Lady Julia smiled broadly, “Chester here informed your wife and I that he’s added a
first class greenhouse onto his London property. Kane and I should like to call on him on the morrow to
inspect his plants, if you would be so kind as to escort us, my lord son?”

“’Tis a fine greenhouse, Blackmore,” Chester announced with a touch of pride, standing up to his full five
feet and ten inches. “The finest in all of London, if I do say so myself. I understand your lady wife has an
interest in botanical matters as do I?”

“Yes she does,” George agreed. “I’m certain she would love to see your collection of plants.”

“Then by all means, bring the lovely women by on the morrow.”

The earl nodded politely, accepting the viscount’s invitation. “We look forward to it, Blake.”

Kane grinned up at her husband, excitement reeling through her body. George understood why, for it
was possible that the viscount’s greenhouse would contain a kabitross specimen. The earl, unfortunately,
couldn’t help but to feel a little down about that prospect. He couldn’t stomach the thought of his wife
setting off for the future, no matter how noble her cause, no matter if she planned to return. Who could
say that nothing would go wrong and she would be able to find her way back?

“Don’t even think of leaving me out of this one,” Alex chuckled as he strode into the fold of the group.
He winked at George, then announced, “I shall await the arrival of the earl and the countesses with you,
uncle.”

“Since when do you have an interest in botanical matters, nephew?”

“Since never,” Alex admitted wryly. “But I know you, Blake. You’ll show the ladies your greenhouse,
but soon thereafter you’ll be teaching the new Lady Blackmore the finer points of dicing. I never miss out
on a potentially lively game of chance.”

“Now wait just a moment,” George gritted out. “I will not have you two lackwits teaching my gentle wife
to gamble. You two—”

“Oh hush, George,” Lady Julia scolded. “Chester here would never betray a confidence and well you
know it. What is done in the privacy of his parlor would never leave said chamber.”

“True enough,” Alex beamed. “And I haven’t had a go at our dear Lord Blake in nigh to two fortnights.”

“Ohplease George,” Kane whispered, obviously taken with the notion. “I’ve never diced before.Let’s

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just play a round or two, hm? Chester makes it sound so fun!”

“Of course he makes it sound fun,” George replied in annoyance. “Itis fun for him because healways
wins.”

Viscount Blake laughed deep in his belly, his eyes twinkling. “Come, come, my boy. Don’t tell me
you’re still upset over those few hundred pounds you lost to me?”

George grimaced, unwilling to admit as much. That dreadful loss had occurred over two years past after
all. He relented with a sigh, caving into his wife’s desires—again. “Of course I am not upset about
something so mundane,” he lied. “As a matter of fact, I will enjoy winning back my damned money.”

“Then it’s settled,” Alex beamed. “We shall meet at my uncle’s abode on the morrow.”

“Be prepared to lose big, Blackmore.”

“Not on your bloody life, Blake.”

* * * * *

An hour later, the Blackmores were ready to call it a night, George especially. He had plans for his wife
in their bedchamber this eve that had nothing at all to do with dancing, botany, or dicing. He was eager to
claim his bride and make her his wife in truth.

“George, can you slow down? I’m going to fall.”

The earl grimaced, complying readily. “Sorry, darling.” He slowed his gait, but continued to pace he and
his wife toward the doors. He wanted to hurry before someone else stopped them and clambered for
their attention.

“Hello, Blackmore.”

The earl sighed, afraid that he would never manage to sneak Kane out of the ball so early. He drew her
to a halt at his side and turned to face the intercessor.

George frowned intently, realizing who it was. Nina had taken many lovers into her bed after they’d
wed, but only one with regularity so far as he knew. “Montieth.”

“Blackmore,” Montieth frowned back. The man turned his attention on Kane, smiling provocatively at
her. He looked her up and down, eyeing her as though she were a woman for sale. “Are you not going to
introduce me to your new bride, George?”

“No, I’m not. And I never gave you leave to address me with familiarity.”

“George,” Kane whispered, mortified by his behavior.

“Let it go, madam wife,” the earl declared in a tone far from hushed. “This man is a gentleman in title,
mayhap, but certainly not in deed.” He assessed Baron Montieth through disgusted eyes, as though the
mere sight of him was contemptible. “You are not to consort with trash such as the baron.”

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Kane stared at her husband in disbelief. She had never seen him behave anything less than perfectly
cordial to anyone, be they common or titled. She didn’t have the first notion what this Montieth had done
to cause her husband to loathe him so, but she trusted George’s judgment and decided to snub the man.
“As you wish, my lord.” She thrust her chin defiantly upwards, perfecting the air of noble hauteur.

Montieth shook his head and tssked. It was obvious to Kane that the little man was enjoying making her
husband feel uncomfortable. “Is that the only way you can hold on to a woman, Blackmore?” he asked,
his eyes glittering wickedly, “to order her to stay away from the competition?”

Alex approached in time to hear the last comment, stopping at Kane’s other side in a protective manner.

“Enough, Montieth,” George gritted out, the vein at his temple ticking. “You go too far.”

“Not with this wife I haven’t,” he said boldly. “At least not yet.”

George stepped menacingly toward the baron, inducing Alex to step between them. The marquess
gazed down to Montieth disdainfully, letting all and sundry know what he thought of the man. “You best
move on, man. Your words are insulting to the countess.” He shook his head and laughed mockingly.
“And if I were you, I would do itbefore you find yourself challenged by Blackmore.” The marquess
placed a brotherly hand on George’s shoulder and clapped him on the back. “I account myself an
excellent shot, yet even I wouldn’t be foolish enough to challenge Lord Blackmore.”

Sensing that he’d permitted his hatred to show far too soon, Baron Montieth bowed mockingly to the
earl and marquess. “Very well, gentlemen. I shall retreat,” he replied smoothly. Then added, “for now.”
He darted his rabid gaze toward Kane once more, surveying her sinfully. “I look forward to better
making your acquaintance, Lady Blackmore.”

Kane rolled her eyes. She didn’t care for this scene one bit. She also didn’t care for the beady-eyed
little humanoid who was trying to make her husband look the fool in front of the entire ballroom. And
much to her chagrin, she realized that peoplewere watching. She decided to make the most of it. “Sir,”
she spat out, using the most pompous air she could muster, “I have no desire to make your acquaintance,
now or ever.” And when she heard the murmurs of approval rising up from the guests crowded about
them, she added. “If my husband deems you to be unsuitable company, then unsuitable you are.” She
waved her hand about, as if she were trying to rid herself of an unwanted pest. “Be gone.”

The laughter of the ton, coupled with the grin of Alex and the triumphant gleam in the eye of the earl,
caused Baron Montieth to flush red with embarrassment. “I see the new Countess of Blackmore hasn’t
the couth of the last one,” he hissed.

The crowd gathered around them gasped in horror that any man would dare to publicly insult a countess.
Kane didn’t know this was why they gasped and she didn’t particularly care. She loved a good verbal
match. She was about to give him another earful when the verbal war was interrupted, and by a very
unlikely source.

“Sire,” George announced in a startled murmur, shocked from his mind-searing anger. The crowd
parted, making way for the approaching king of England. “I did not hear your arrival.”

King George III chuckled, taking Kane’s hand to bow over it. She curtsied, just as Lady Julia had
shown her how to do. “I’m surprised anyone at all heard my trumpeteers over the din going on in here.
Blackmore, introduce me to your lady wife.”

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“Of course, sire. Your Majesty King George III, I humbly present to you my wife, Lady Kane, the
Countess of Blackmore.”

The king drew her proffered hand to his lips and kissed her chastely. “A pleasure, to be sure.”

Kane was so overcome with excitement to at last meet this daft king that she couldn’t contain it. “Oh
my!” she giggled gleefully, “I can’t believe I’ve finally met you. I was hoping you’d put in an appearance
tonight, Your Majesty!”

The conceited reigning monarch couldn’t help but to like her on the spot. He drew himself up, looking
more pompous and proud than ten noblemen put together. He turned to the baron and frowned, his large
almond-shaped eyes reflecting a deep disdain. “I overheard your comments to the beautiful countess and
I assure you that I do not look kindly upon them. Apologize and apologize now.”

“Of course, sire,” Montieth gritted out, hating that he had to cater to this man’s whims. He turned to
Kane and bowed regally, mentally vowing to make her pay for his humiliation among the ton. “I offer you
my most heartfelt apologies, Lady Blackmore.”

Kane glanced up to the king uncomfortably, uncertain as to what she was expected to do. “You may
forgive him, milady,” he whispered down to her.

Alex grinned, looking away to hide his mirth.

Kane frowned, not feeling very forgiving. She wanted to give the little baron a good taste of the
twenty-fifth century’s deadly body arts, but relented in the end. “Well if you say I must then I do,” she
relented.

The king was amused. “Very noble of you, countess.” He turned to the Earl of Blackmore and nodded.
“A very lucky man you are, George. I insist that you bring your lady wife to court before you retire from
the London season.”

The earl bowed respectfully. “It would be our humble pleasure, sire.”

The king inclined his head, placing Kane’s hand on the earl’s sleeve. “Good day, Lord Blackmore, Lady
Blackmore, Lord Asherby.”

“Good day, sire,” they offered in unison.

The king strolled away with his party, leaving the earl to face his nemesis alone once more. “This isn’t
over,” Montieth announced in grim, hushed tones.

“On that we can agree,” George countered through set teeth.

The baron stalked away, causing the crowd to disperse since they realized there was to be no further
scene to gossip about.

Alex couldn’t stifle the chuckle that had been gnawing at him for a moment longer. “Oh Kane, dearest,
you handled that ass so well.”

George grinned, finding his humor for the first time in fifteen minutes. “Very well, madam. I am quite

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proud to call you mine.”

Kane blushed, suddenly feeling very awkward at the men’s praise. “It was only the truth I spoke.”

“True enough,” Alex winked. “So tell me, where were you two sneaking off to before that fop tried to
ruin your evening?”

George chuckled. “We were attempting to call our carriage and go back to the townhouse. But now that
the king is here, it would be on the outside of rude to leave before he does.”

“True enough. And what of your mother?”

“Blake is seeing her home.”

“Ah.”

George patted Alex on the back, grateful to him for standing by his side as he’d always done.
“Thank-you, Asherby. I appreciate you coming to our defense.”

“Think nothing of it. I shall—good heavens! Look at what the king is about.”

The Earl and Countess of Blackmore turned around to see what the Marquess of Asherby was so
disgusted by. They blanched in unison. Kane gulped, looking up at her husband. “I think I need more
air,” she whispered.

Chapter 15

The carriage ride back to the London townhouse was a reflective one for the earl and countess.
Pensively, they sat across from each other on the posh interior seats, both of them overcome with
disbelief.

Kane shook her head, dazed. “I simply can’t believe it. The man is a king for Saturn’s sake.”

“A daft one, to be sure.” George harrumphed, stretching out his long legs. “I am grateful for his
intercession on your behalf, my love, yet I cannot be grateful for being subjected to that scene.”

“Do you suppose anyone else saw?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. ‘Tis unlikely. He was off in the corner, at an

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angle from the throng.” George frowned, scratching his chin in thought. “He and Lady Irma Giddings
would make a hell of a deuce.”

Kane shuddered. “And to think that he touched my hand with his errant finger.”

“Be thankful you were wearing your gloves, my dear. I just hope His Majesty doesn’t make his
sordid habit fashionable. ‘Tis unseemly.”

“You don’t think that could happen, do you?”

The earl winced at the mere suggestion. “The court always tends to set the rage. But do not fret,
I shall see to it that it doesn’t, darling. I’ve been working on a new piece of legislation to put forth to the
House of Lords. We shall stamp out this deviant behavior immediately,” he vowed.

“Please do.”

“Never fear, dearest. As I live and breath, I pledge to you that the public picking of the nose shall
soon be a nightmare long forgotten.”

Chapter 16

George laid in his bed, hard with lust and restless with anticipation. He sat up, punched the
pillows behind his head to fluff them, then threw himself back down onto the bed. He looked at his
pocket watch, sighing intently. The waiting was going to be the death of him.

It was customary in Georgian England for the bride and groom to have separate bedchambers.
On their wedding night, the husband was to be the one that came to his newly acquired spouse to
consummate their union. But his wife, George sighed, was having none of that. She let him know in no
uncertain terms that in twenty-fifth century Houston, the world was a vastly different place.

She would come to him.

And he was expected to wait patiently. George realized with much chagrin that he preferred to do things
the eighteenth century Georgian way.

“What is taking her so long?” the earl muttered to himself as he fluffed his pillows and checked
his pocket watch for the eighth time in the past twenty minutes. He parted his black silk bed robe for the
briefest of moments, glancing down at his swollen member. “’Tis likely I will die of this condition,” he
mumbled to the bedchamber walls. He began to flip onto his stomach, remembered his rigid condition,
then flipped back over onto his derriere. He fluffed a little more, checking the time again.

Just when George was about to abandon all hope of ever having a sex life again, the connecting door
slowly creaked open. “It’s about time, madam. What were you about? Do you realize how long—” He
gulped, wide eyed.

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Kane strolled through the doorway wearing a red, see through outfit that left very little to the imagination.
It covered her body like a second skin, showcasing all of her body’s attributes. Her large rouge nipples
poked out at the bodice, as if trying to break free for his touch. Her golden mons showed through the red
fabric in shadow, driving him wild.

She smiled provocatively at her husband as she strode to his side of the bed and gazed down at him.
“Wh…wh-what is that you are wearing?” the earl finally gritted out, his cock as hard as a marble statue.

“It is the traditional garment of consummation in my world.”

He nodded. He was amazed he could manage even that small feat. “Wh-what is it made of?”

She smiled slowly, letting George know she was very aware of his reaction to her. “It’s made of a finely
woven hosiery that is easily ripped apart. We call itshepra , a word on planet Kilgore that means ‘first
blood’.”

He gulped, beads of sweat breaking out on his forehead. “First blood?”

Kane placed her hand in her husband’s, drawing him up slowly into a full sitting position. “Yes. First
blood.” She parted the jacket of his bed robe, exposing his chest to her touch. Excitement coiled in her
belly at the mere sight of it. She had waited so long for this moment.

Kane glided her hands across George’s belly and chest, twining her fingers in the curls of black hair. He
sucked in his breath as her fingernails raked his flat male nipples. His eyes narrowed with desire.

“The color red,” she continued in a sexy whisper, “is symbolic of a virgin’s blood. The encasing of the
shepra is symbolic of the tearing of the hymen.”

George closed his eyes briefly, the feel of his wife’s touch sending shocks of passion through his body.
“How is it like a hymen?” he ground out.

Kane discarded the jacket of George’s bed robe to the ground, then worked on removing his pants. He
helped her in her task, uncertain as to how long he could continue their game without exploding.

Kane eyed her husband’s form appreciatively. His legs were thick with muscle. His stomach, taut and
rippled. His chest, hard and powerful. His cock, long and thick. She licked her lips, moistening at the
merest perusal of him.

“Theshepra is like a hymen,” she continued hoarsely, grabbing her husband’s shaft and gently gliding her
fingers up and down his length, “because you must tear it apart and rip it off of my body to mate with
me.” She stroked him harder, inducing the earl to take in a raspy breath of air. “The same way you will
rip through my hymen to claim me as your wife.”

George’s eyes narrowed into hazy slits. He couldn’t believe what his wife had just said. And yet, he
hoped. “Kane,” he whispered thickly, “are you telling me you are a virgin?”

She released his penis and brought herself down to sit on him, straddling his lap. “Yes,” she breathed
out.

The most primitive, savage sense of possessiveness raged through George’s blood. Dear god in heaven,
his lady had never known another. He grabbed his wife by the hips, threw her onto the bed next to him,

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and settled dominantly atop her, between her thighs. “Good.”

George claimed Kane’s mouth harshly. He darted his tongue inside, sweeping and stroking in a haze of
passion. She moaned into his mouth, wrapping her arms around his neck. He groaned in return, heedless
of anything but his need to lay claim.

George released his bride from his kiss and sat up on his knees to look down upon her. She lay on the
bed, legs spread wide and submissive to his every desire, waiting for him to conquer her thoroughly. He
gazed upon her breasts, covered only by the sheershepra , and ran his hands impatiently over them,
feeling everywhere save the nipples.

Kane groaned, her eyelids fluttering shut.

Encouraged by her response, George circled her aureoles with his fingers, watching as her nipples grew
stiff and taut. After what felt an eternity to Kane, he finally ran his large hands across the nipples
themselves, swelling them to even tighter peaks. She moaned, closing her eyes in pleasure.

George could stand no more.

He secured his hands at the neckline of theshepra and with one greedy tug, ripped the garment from her
breasts, exposing her to the waist. He ran his hands over the breasts that now offered no impediment to
his fondling. Her nipples stood erect with excitement, inducing him to grab them between thumbs and
forefingers and clamp down. He stroked them from base to crest, pulling them gently but firmly in an up
and down motion.

Kane moaned, writhing below her husband, seeking immediate release from the torment. Her belly
coiled in longing as sounds of passion continued to erupt from her throat.

George lowered his head and claimed a plumped nipple. His cock swelled further, so excited he was
from sucking at his bride’s chest. She was hot and sweet, her nipples hard and inviting.

And she was his. No man had claimed her. And none save him ever would.

He swirled his tongue around the taut berry-colored nipple, then sucked it long and hard. She sighed
deliciously, shoving his face closer against her chest. She ran her hands through his thick, black hair,
pulling him closer, needing to be a part of him, needing to be one with him.

George raised his head and gazed down into his wife’s eyes as he watched her writhe below him in a fit
of desire. He brought his hands back to her chest, massaging her elongated nipples as he crushed his
mouth against hers. The kiss was heated, savage, and very much a match of his own temperament. “Tell
me now,” he demanded thickly against her lips, “tell me there will be no other. Tell me I am the only man
who will ever touch you.”

He came to his knees, took the remaining part of theshepra between his hands, and tore it completely
from Kane’s aroused body. He splayed her legs wide before him, looking his fill at the slippery folds of
flesh between them. He reached out and ran his callused fingers through the splay of curls, then traveled
downward, rimming her folds with his fingers. “Tell me,” he commanded with a barely controlled savage
need.

Kane could hardly think coherently, let alone speak. But she knew she must. She knew her husband
needed to hear the words. She realized he had to be sure that she would never betray him. “There will

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never be another, George. Never. Only you, my love.”

With a growl of satisfaction, the earl lowered his head possessively downward, claiming her womanhood
with his mouth. Kane arched her back, moaning in ecstasy as his tongue delved in and out of her wet
flesh. Reason escaped her. Thought eluded her. There was only longing. There was only George.

And then he suckled from her clitoris and she all but came off the bed. She growled as savagely as a
beast in heat, clawing and scratching at his shoulders and back.

The smell and taste of his wife intoxicated George’s senses. He would have been content to lie between
her legs for hours, licking and sucking, lapping at her juices like a hungry dog.

But then she came.

“Oh god.” Kane’s body shattered into a million points of pulsating sensation as her orgasm crashed
through her body. Blood rushed to her face, her breathing contracted, her nipples stood up long and stiff,
aching from the tight swell.

It was all George could stand. He raised his head from between his bride’s legs and settled himself
between her thighs to make her his wife in truth. He grabbed her by the buttocks to position her before
his jutting penis, then tore through her hymen with one powerful thrust.

Kane groaned with pleasure-pain.

George growled with the arrogant satisfaction of a conquering warlord.

He released her buttocks and cupped Kane’s face tenderly, staring into the warm icy blue pools of her
eyes. He wanted to tell her he loved her. He wanted to assure her of his feelings. But he couldn’t, so
ensnared with lust he was.

George began to move within her tight opening, slowly at first, allowing her body the time to prepare for
his invasion. When her muscles relaxed and her slick folds began to pulse around his shaft, he picked up
the pace, his gaze never breaking from his wife’s.

Their breathing was choppy, the animalistic sounds they emitted raspy. George picked her up by the hips
and drove into her deeply, faster and faster, over and over. He pounded and grinded as he thrust into her
tight, wet opening. She threw her head back and groaned, her face thrashing against the bed pillows as
her body prepared to unleash the most powerful orgasm of her twenty-six years.

She exploded.

“Oh yes.” Kane groaned loud and long as her climax tore through her, ripping her apart into tendrils of
sensation. Her vagina contracted and pulsated, taking her husband over the edge and causing him to give
in to a powerful feeling he’d never before harbored the likes of. It was love and desire, passion and
caring, greed and possessiveness all merged as one into the form of an orgasm. He growled her name as
he branded her insides with his hot ejaculate, spurting into her over and over until he was drained and
exhausted.

He fell onto his wife, limp.

She clung to him, breathless.

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They fell asleep, sated.

Together.

Chapter 17

“I daresay you appear to be almost chipper this afternoon, Blackmore.” Viscount Blake shook
his head to clear it as if his observation was too bizarre a notion to credit.

“I find myself in agreement, uncle,” Alex teased. He looked across the dining table at the
Countesses of Blackmore and jabbed his fork playfully into the air. “Why, the old fellow isn’t at all his
typically surly self this day. Whatever do you suppose brought about the change, my ladies?”

Lady Kane and Lady Julia giggled becomingly. They both understood that Chester and Alex had
somehow or another figured out that the Blackmore marriage had been consummated last evening.
Neither of the women was embarrassed by the realization in the slightest. The Earl of Blackmore,
however, was blushing profusely.

“George,” Kane laughed, “you look like you’re choking on something your face is so red.” She
grinned.

The earl retaliated with a fulminating glare.

“Truly, my lord son,” Lady Julia quipped, “your person is as scarlet as the gown that courtesan
wore at last night’s affair.”

The room burst into fits of laughter. Even George had to give in to a stifled grin.

“If you can call that a gown,” Kane muttered. She shook her head, vexed with the memory of
how that humanoid called Charlotte had fawned all over her husband, pawing her claws into him at the
Giddings’ ball. Of course, George hadn’t paid the woman a scant bit of attention. He had had eyes only
for his wife.

“’Tis true,” Alex laughed. “There was scarcely enough material to hold up her dress.”

“There rarely is where Charlotte is concerned,” Chester announced, stabbing his fork into a piece of veal
on his plate. “The woman is shameless.”

The meal continued on in companionable conversation for another hour, each of them regaling the table
with differing stories. The atmosphere served to cheer Kane up quite a bit, having felt a sharp pang of
disappointment after the tour of the viscount’s greenhouse proved fruitless. The kabitross plant was
turning out to be as elusive as the legendary pot ofpooshani at the end of every galactic wormhole.

Kane had to admit that she loved her newfound friends dearly. They were a terrific twosome, Chester

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and Alex. Both of them were quick to smile and quick to laugh. And although both men were humanoids,
and therefore susceptible to humanoid shortcomings, they were still as loyal to the Blackmores as
programmed droids would be.

Chester harbored an obvious affection for Lady Julia that went beyond the confines of the boudoir. And
Alex held George in such high esteem that Kane couldn’t help but to be instantly won over by him.

Alex, now that she’d seen him sans the powdered wig, had turned out to be an extremely handsome
man. He was tall and fair-haired, classically chiseled, with voluminous green eyes and a languid grace. He
wasn’t as handsome as George, of course, but then no one was. In Kane’s eyes, her husband embodied
and personified formidable masculine perfection.

Viscount Blake picked up his glass of wine and took a small sip, regarding Kane as he set the glass back
down upon the tabletop. “I wish that my greenhouse could have been of more use to you,” he offered in
the way of an apology.

Kane returned her thoughts to the conversation at hand and smiled at her host graciously. “Think nothing
of it,” she assured him with a wave of her hand. “It was truly amazing, my lord. I’ve never seen so many
different forms of beautiful plant-life collected together like that.”

“True enough,” Lady Julia seconded. “You really have outdone yourself, Chester.”

Viscount Blake sat up straighter in his chair, puffed up with a swell of pride from the Blackmore
women’s approval.

George finished chewing on a piece of venison, then regarded his wife. “What will you do now, my
dear? Search the libraries of the botanical societies for drawings?” He raised his fork to his mouth,
enveloping another helping of the succulent meat into his mouth.

“Yes,” Kane confirmed. “Mother Julia and I are going into downtown London tomorrow to visit the
home of Lady Jane Masters whose deceased husband was a member of the Royal Botanical Society.
Chester says the dead lord has a truly marvelous library in his study.”

“Downtown London?” the earl inquired through narrowed eyes.

“It’s alright, George,” Lady Julia assured him. “We will have footmen with us at all times to see to our
protection.”

Kane frowned, hating that she couldn’t confide her ass kicking abilities to her husband without
thoroughly shocking him. No, that would be too much too soon. She’d bide her time for now, just as
Lady Julia had suggested.

George tapped his fork against his plate as he considered the merit behind his mother’s plan. “I’d rather
you take an escort of the nobility, madam,” he quickly decided. “Alex and I have other pressing matters
to attend to on the morrow. Mayhap Lord Blake can escort you?”

Chester readily complied. “Of course I can. I would be honored to do so.” He turned to the ladies of
Blackmore and smiled. “Truth be told, I was going to ask if I could come along anyway. While the
countess is busy searching for her plant, I can scour the drawings looking for new specimens to add to
my own collection.”

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“A worthy notion,” Lady Julia assured him.

Alex furrowed his brow as he gazed at Kane. “For what reason do you look for this plant, milady?”

Kane darted her eyes toward her plate, then back to the marquess. She decided to tell him the truth and
let him glean from it whatever he would. “It has powerful healing agents in it, my lord. The seeds of the
flower can be used to concoct useful potions.”

“Are you a healer?”

“Of sorts.”

Alex nodded absently, satisfied with her explanation. “’Tis worthy, that.” He turned to the earl and
smiled. “Will you and your lady wife be at the Walcott ball this eve?”

George groaned. The idea of suffering through yet another ball was far from appealing. He’d much
rather spend the eve with his new wife. Yes, a repeat of last night’s performance was definitely in order.

He and Kane had made love hour upon hour. His beautiful, passionate wife had given him three orgasms
before the sun rose. Yet still, he needed more. He seriously wondered if a night would ever pass where
he wouldn’t desire to indulge between her thighs until dawn.

“’Tis up to my lady wife,” he decided in earnest. “Would you like to go to another ball, my dear?”

Kane frowned, turning her stare discreetly toward her plate. “No,” she quietly admitted.

“But why ever not?” Alex asked. “You’re all the rage, you know. Especially after the dressing down the
king gave Montieth on your behalf.” He chuckled, winking at her from the shared memory. “I’m sure the
Walcotts would be elated by your presence, madam. It adds prestige to their affair, you realize.”

George studied his wife’s forlorn expression and knew in a heartbeat why she carried no desire to
attend. “Is it because of the dancing, sweet?”

She nodded her head forlornly, her dejected pose tugging at everyone’s heartstrings.

“Now, now,” Chester soothed as he reached across the table and patted her hand. “The three of us can
teach you. Can we not?”

The lot readily agreed, none of them wishing for Kane to refuse the eve’s social gathering merely
because she didn’t know the fashionable dances that were currently all the rage.

“As point of fact,” Chester decided, “we shall commence immediately after dessert.”

“What’s this, Blake?” George teased. “You would actually forgo dicing to teach my wife to dance?”

Alex grinned. “Amazing, is it not?”

“I don’t see what’s so amazing,” Chester argued. “I can win money from you two fops any time I see
the right of it.”

“Fops?” George laughed. “I would never have labeled myself thusly, Blake. And,” he added as he

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saluted the viscount with his glass of wine, “you shan’t win another shilling from me. Best resign yourself
to that fact.”

Chester rolled his eyes. “I resign myself to nothing, Blackmore.”

Lady Kane and Lady Julia looked at each other and laughed. Alex joined in, bemused by the banter
betwixt the earl and viscount. “Why not put it to the test, gentlemen?”

“Your nephew has a sound point,” George agreed. “Why don’t we? How about here, one week from
this night?”

“Agreed,” Chester readily complied.

“And the stakes?” George asked.

“What do you wish for?”

The earl tapped his fingertips together thoughtfully as he contemplated the matter. He smiled, realizing at
once what he most coveted. “The last painting you acquired in Rome.”

Alex whistled through his teeth, shaking his head in mirth. “The earl must be serious, uncle. That painting
is worth nigh a fortune.”

Chester grinned. “And if I win, I shall demand a fortune as well.”

“What do you wish for?” George asked with leisurely good humor.

“’Tis not a question of what, but whom.”

“Whom?”

Viscount Blake nodded, a cat’s lazy smile smothering his features. “If you win, you get the Italian piece.
If I win, I get the Lady Julia’s hand in marriage.”

At that pronouncement, the dowager countess’s head shot up. She lifted her hand to her bosom and
sighed becomingly. “Oh, Chester. Do you really mean that?”

He winked at his ladylove, then turned to regard her son. “’Tis high time I made an honest woman out of
your mother, my boy.”

* * * * *

Kane closed the fifth book she’d gleaned through in the last hour with a small bang. Breathing
deeply, she closed her eyes and ran her fingers through her hair in agitation. She sat that way for a
moment or two, allowing herself much needed time to relax.

As impressively grand as her husband’s book collection had turned out to be, there wasn’t a
single drawing of the kabitross plant to be found in the entire Blackmore London library. There were tons
of botanical books within, each of them containing drawings of literally hundreds of different types of

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plant specimens.

She had viewed colorful etched plate depictions of flowers that ranged in variety from roses, daffodils,
and chrysanthemums to holly and mistletoe. There were plates of trees, plates of mosses, and plates of
vines. There were even depictions of how best to fertilize them all. She grimaced at that recollection,
remembering a vividly detailed drawing of a smiling cow bending over a garden patch. She could have
done without seeing that one.

She rubbed her tired eyes, deciding to put off any further investigations until later. She could only hope
that her scheduled outing to the Masters’ domicile tomorrow with the viscount and the dowager countess
would prove to be more fruitful than her time in the Blackmore library had been today.

Kane opened her eyes, releasing another deep sigh as she did so. She drummed her fingertips on
the top of the oak desk she was seated at, contemplating the next move she would make if she, Lord
Blake, and Lady Julia met with no luck during tomorrow’s sojourn.

Her thinking was interrupted a moment later by a light rap on the study door, followed by the
dowager countess sashaying into the chamber with a grin on her face that Kane had come to understand
meant that the woman was up to no good. Kane grinned back at her mother-in-law, stretching out her
muscles languidly as she regarded her.

The look on the dowager’s face meant that the two of them were about to become embroiled in some
sort of mischief together. What that mischief was to revolve around, Kane could only speculate. Oh, she
had an idea or two, but one was never entirely certain where Lady Julia was concerned.

“Good evening, Mother Julia,” she drawled. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

The dowager countess glided closer to the desk, removing her gloves as she assumed the seat across
from Kane’s. She plopped down in her typically regal fashion, then gifted her daughter-in-law with a sly,
conspiratorial wink. “I’m ready, my dear.”

“Ready? For what?”

Lady Julia smiled bemusedly at Kane as she flexed her long, elegant fingers before her. “Why for my
next lesson, of course,” she admitted, balling her fingers into fists. The dowager countess inhaled deeply
as she closed her eyes, pulling her right fist back toward her side in the process. Just as Kane had taught
her to do, she let her fist fly forward on an exhale, screeching “hiii-yaaa!” as she did so.

Kane all but tripped over her feet as she shot to a standing position and insisted that her mother-in-law
lower her voice. “Shh!” she chastised, placing a finger to the dowager’s lips. “The servants might
overhear us.”

“Then let us retire to the gardens for a ‘walk’, my dear. We can lose ourselves beyond the shrubbery
within the estate.”

Kane shook her head in mirth, giggling at the sight of such a refined woman eager to master the deadly
body arts. “Fine,” she agreed as she motioned toward the door. “Let us be gone.”

Twenty minutes later, the countess and dowager countess crept quietly through the gardens, losing
themselves in their green and flowery surroundings. They found a secluded area of terrain near a set of
water fountains off the main path and marked it as secure.

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The women quickly helped each other out of their clothing, both of them now wearing nothing save two
black, body-sculpted catsuits made of a shiny, Vegas system nylon. The result was a highly flexible
material that allowed for ease of bodily movement, but with the look of having donned buttery black,
body molded leather.

In the tradition of the high masters of the Beijing colony, whose women were the last humanoids to still
teach the deadly body arts in any known solar system, Lady Kane and Lady Julia wore shiny redmaltas
over their catsuits, which covered both breasts and groin and were made from an armor-like material.

“I feel wanton in this outfit,” Lady Julia muttered red-faced, still as flustered by wearing the warrior suit
as she had been from the first lesson following her data injection.

“For what reason?” Kane inquired, truly not comprehending how any humanoid woman could fail to feel
anything but honored in the traditional warrior’s garb.

“The way this suit and these breast and…and…you know”—she couldn’t bring herself to say “groin” so
she merely pointed downward—“plates mold shamelessly to our figures.” She shook her head and
groaned in embarrassment. “We look like two strumpets headed for a night at the local brothel.”

Kane laughed, thoroughly enjoying her mother-in-law’s discomfit. “In my time, you would feel blessed
wearing this suit. If a man or woman saw you dressed thusly, they would never try to do you a harm for
fear of your retaliation.” She cocked her head as she studied the dowager, immediately growing serious
when she realized Lady Julia was going redder and redder in the face with each passing moment. “Would
it make you feel better if I explained the function of the suit’s plates?”

Lady Julia nodded, but said nothing else. Kane smiled warmly at her, relaying without words that
everything was going to be fine. “First of all,” she began, pointing toward her chest, “I realize you can’t
tell this is armor by looking at it because the material looks as soft and buttery as the rest of the catsuit.”
She waited for her mother-in-law’s nod before continuing. “However, this is indeed armory.” She
banged on her chest, inducing the sound of thumping on hollow metal to rise up from her breast.

“My goodness,” Lady Julia breathed, “I had no notion.” She struck at her own chest, then regarded
Kane with a comically befuddled expression of awe. “It looks like silk. How amazing!”

Kane nodded, then plowed on with her demonstration. “The breasts of a woman are highly sensitive.
Therefore, if your enemy was to strike you in one or both, it could render you witless long enough for the
opponent to gain the advantage over you.” She thumped on her chest again. “This prevents that. They
would break their knuckles trying.”

The dowager countess giggled, thinking she’d love to see the look on the face of a fool man who should
presume too much were she sporting this armor at the time. “I take it then that the uh…uh…”—she
flushed, casting her gaze toward her groin—“I take it this plate serves the same purpose?”

“Exactly.” Kane whirled around, giving the dowager a view of her backside that would have made her
giddy with lust had she been a virile man. “And the reason there is only a small string of garment wedged
in between your buttocks rather than covering them totally is because your muscles here are very tough.”
She patted her left buttock in the spirit of demonstration. She whipped back around, faced her
mother-in-law, and shrugged. “The material between your cheeks merely holds the groin plate together in
the front.”

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Blushing from their bold conversation, but much more at ease, Lady Julia nodded her acceptance of the
foreign garment as legitimate wear. Kane smiled, stroking the dowager countess’s arm. “Besides Mother
Julia, when you become more advanced in your skill, I will teach you the art of weapon fighting.” She
thumped on her groin plate, causing another hollow thud to sound. “Your weapon will be attached to the
top of this plate, off to the side.”

Lady Julia beamed at the notion of fighting with weaponry, suddenly feeling as shy as a sotted tavern
doxy. She had always been the most brazen member of her family whilst growing up, much to her poor
parents, the Duke and Duchess of Browning’s, chagrin. But they had loved her nevertheless, then came
to depend upon her in later years when her only brother died at two and twenty and George became
their new heir. “All right then dear, let us begin. What will we learn today, hm?”

Kane considered that question for a drawn-out moment. She looked around, making certain they were
indeed alone. “How long did you say George would be gone?”

Lady Julia waved her hand casually throughout the air, dismissing the idea of calling a halt to today’s
lesson. “He’ll be gone for the better part of two hours. We can spend at least another hour out here.”

“Fine.” She tapped her finger to her cheek, her eyes squinting in thought. “Let’s see. Between the data
injection I gave you and my instructions, you know all there is to know of the deadly body arts. What
you require now is mere practice.” She lit up like an exploding star, smiling brilliantly at her
mother-in-law. “Today we shall put it all together and spar!”

Chapter 18

George William Frederick Alexander Wyndom, the ninth Earl of Blackmore and the heir
apparent of the Duke of Browning, was in an intolerably bad mood. He stalked up the steps to his
London townhouse, Viscount Blake and the Marquess of Asherby flanking his sides.

“I say, George,” Chester announced as the butler opened the door and gave the noblemen entry
into the hall, “put it from your mind, my boy.”

“My uncle is right,” Alex insisted, shrugging off his gloves as he spoke. “Montieth is a nobody.
Do not concern yourself over his antics.”

George shook his head and pounded down the hall toward his study. He pulled Lord Blake and
Lord Asherby in behind him and closed the door with a bang. “I vow to the both of you that I shall kill
that bloody baron if it’s the very last thing I do,” he gritted out.

The earl stalked over to the study cabinet and produced three glasses and a bottle of port. He poured
without paying attention, causing alcohol to splash over the sides of the glasses. He didn’t care. He was
too furious to consider it. “Who in the hell allowed him entrée into our clubs anyway? He’s hardly of
peerage.” George gulped down three large swallows of port, then refilled his glass as he eyed them with
speculation.

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“I’ve no notion,” Alex admitted, reaching for the glass George had poured him, then handing one to his
uncle. “He must have been given entrance to White’s as a guest, though who should be desirous of being
seen in Montieth’s company after his debacle with the king is beyond my comprehension.”

Chester laughed humorlessly. “Agreed.” He shook his head, trying to sort out the scene that had just
transpired at one of their clubs. “I can’t believe the blackguard’s nerve. His words came dangerously
close to warranting an issue of challenge.”

The earl smirked, then swallowed down the remainder of his port. “The next time he dares to defame my
lady wife, Iwill challenge him. Make no mistake.”

“He didn’t exactly defame her, George,” Alex pointed out pragmatically, hoping to assuage his anger
somewhat. “Though I can’t say I blame you. He did, after all, somehow insinuate that her morality was
less than sound.”

Chester let out a dramatic sigh, shaking his head again. “’Tis amazing, his play on words. He managed to
insinuate without out-and-out saying so. Hell, he managed to insinuate without even insinuating.” The
viscount squinted, looking up at the earl and marquess. “Did what I just said make any sense a’tall?”

George and Alex grunted simultaneously. “Completely,” they agreed in unison.

“That’s the very reason I didn’t call him out just then,” George concurred through narrowed eyes.
“Were I asked what Montieth had said to provoke me, I would be hard-pressed to come up with a
single word.”

Alex nodded. “You did the right thing, my friend.” He patted the earl on the back and smiled. “But never
fear, the scapegrace will eventually foul up and give you enough to issue challenge over.”

“’Tis my only consolation,” George muttered.

A knock on the study door interrupted the trio. George bade the interloper entrance whilst Alex and
Chester helped themselves to more port. “Ah, Brantly,” the earl mumbled, “what can I do for you?”

The butler made his way toward George, silver salver in hand. “This note was left behind for you by the
countess, my lord. She left with your mother.”

“Where the devil did they go off to?” he inquired, finding that the littlest annoyance could set him off this
evening.

Brantly shrugged. “I was not made privy to their destination, my lord. I imagine ‘tis in the contents of the
note.”

George scanned the note quickly, relaxing as he read it. “Ah. They’ve only gone walking in the gardens.”
The earl nodded, placated. “Thank-you, Brantly. That will be all.”

“As you will, my lord.”

“Say now,” Chester beamed as the butler made his exit, “what do the deuce of you say to taking a
stroll? I wish to see my lady.”

Alex rolled his eyes, laughing. “Uncle, you will see Lady Julia at the Walcott soiree this eve. Good God

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you are besotted, man!”

George laughed with Alex, his humor returning. “I’m game for a quick stroll. Alex?”

“Oh very well then,” he smiled. “Let us go find the Countesses of Blackmore.”

* * * * *

“I must confess, dearest Kane, this is a jolly good time.”

Kane drew herself up from the ground and scowled at her wicked mother-in-law. “I’m glad you
so enjoy spilling me on my backside.” She dusted off the black material molded to her buttocks and
shook her head in agitation. “I can’t believe you managed to bring me down,” she muttered. “Hell, grown
men can’t bring me down.”

Lady Julia clapped her hands together in glee, her giggling resembling an evil banshee-like
predator Kane had once encountered on the planet Zyphon. “The data injection and I have taught you
too well,” she complained through set teeth.

“Now, now,” Lady Julia chided in her “your acting like a child” voice that she usually reserved
for her son, “it isn’t at all the thing to get worked up over being brought to heel.”

“Brought to heel?”

The dowager’s eyes narrowed. “Aye. Brought to heel,” she whispered with an unmistakably
underlying menace.

Kane smiled her “I’m going to get you for this” smile that she typically reserved for Commander
Linder. “Shall we spar again, milady mother?”

The dowager assumed a fighting stance and nodded. “Come get me if you can.”

“If I can?If I…ooohhhh !”

Kane assumed a fighting stance and began circling her prey. Both women moved with feline
grace, each of them waiting for the opportunity to strike. At last, Lady Julia found the advantage. She
struck out with her right fist, aiming for Kane’s shoulder blade. Kane blocked the move, dropping
toward the ground for a roundhouse kick. Lady Julia diverted the kick at the last second with a jack
knife to her daughter-in-law’s calf. Both women winced from their various bangs, but continued.

And then they really went at it.

Arms flew, legs knifed, heads butted, and the sound of “hiiiyaaas!” continually coursed through the air.

Three stunned, slack-jawed noblemen took in the scene before them, wide-eyed and speechless.
They watched with growing amazement as two noblewomen seemingly tried to annihilate each other,
oblivious to their audience. Viscount Blake was the first to regain his power of speech, befuddled though
it was.

“I-I say,” Chester sputtered, “I do believe my lady just knocked your wife upside the head,
Blackmore.”

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The trio watched in much fascination and more than a little growing horror as Lady Kane
regained her position, back-flipped four times toward Lady Julia, and charged toward her like a bull in
Pamplona, screeching like a wild animal at the top of her lungs.

George could only stare, dry-mouthed and disbelieving at the sight unraveling before him. Alex
wondered briefly if he was fated to discover what it felt like to swoon for the first time. Chester sputtered
like an old horse, unable to do anything else.

“Prepare to be brought down!” Kane raged at her mother-in-law through gleaming, narrowed
eyes.

“Prepare to feel my foot up your arse!” Lady Julia challenged.

The men gasped.

It was the sound of noble male gasping that drew the women’s attention toward their unwanted
company. They both turned around immediately, halting their spar session at once. It was then that the
gentlemen noticed their scandalous attire.

Kane swallowed harshly as she stared at her husband in morbid fascination. His face had turned
into a throttled shade of purple she’d never before played witness to. His nostrils flamed, his teeth looked
ready to shred her to bits. She was afraid to glance at his ears, for fear she’d see steam rushing from
them. And the damn vein at his temple was ticking again. She decided it would be best to diffuse the
situation immediately.

“Hello George,” she called, waving to him and smiling as though she was pleased by his visitation.
“What brings you here?” She looked pleadingly toward Lady Julia, silently beseeching her for help.

“W-We were just um…,” Lady Julia glanced from her son to her intended—who looked as if
he’d just watched her sprout horns and a tail—then back to her son.

“Yes?” George inquired icily, a hiss escaping from his throat.

“Um, well…”

“Do tell me, mother. What were you and my lady about?” he asked with a distinctive menace.

“We were um…well as to that…” She shifted her gaze toward her daughter-in-law. “Kane?”

Kane didn’t bother to mince words. “Tell me how much the three of you saw and I’ll tell you
what we were doing.”

Apparently her husband didn’t care for that bold answer. Unbelievably, his face grew even more
purplish.

The marquess pointed toward the two women, flipping his hand this way and that. “We saw the
two of you issuing threat to one another. Kicking. Hitting. Charging.” He shook his head in wide-eyed
wonder. “And flipping?” he asked hesitantly as he again imitated the act with his hand.

Kane had the grace to blush.

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“And what of this clothing the deuce of you have donned?” Chester sputtered. “What sort of
outrageous attire is that?”

Kane grew indignant at that last bit. She was tired of defending her people’s ways. “It is the
garment of a Warrior Woman!” she argued, her hands flying indignantly to her hips. “This garment is not
outrageous. It is a badge of honor where I come from.”

“But milady,” Alex whispered, thoroughly scandalized, “’tis indecent. It leaves naught to a
gentleman’s imagination.”

At the marquess’s pronouncement, George regained his faculties long enough to commandeer the
situation. “Where are your dresses?” he raged at his recalcitrant wife and mother.

“By the fountain,” Kane replied with a shrug.

The earl pointed vehemently toward said fountain, his nostrils enlarged to wicked proportions.
“You will both retrieve your proper attire and change into it behind that hedge!And you will do so this
moment !”

Kane darted a glare in the general direction of her husband before grabbing the dowager
countess by the hand. “Come Mother Julia,” she answered furiously, “let us change our clothes. By
Jupiter’s moons, we would not wish to do anything to upset hislordship .” She darted the earl one last
fulminating glare to let him know what she thought of his highhanded behavior, then turned around and
stomped off, the dowager in tow.

It was then that the gentlemen saw the backs of their catsuits, noticing at once the narrow piece
of red garment wedged in between their buttocks that rose upward and was attached to another piece of
red material that clasped around their hips.

George’s jaw dropped.

Alex’s eyes all but popped from their sockets.

Chester sputtered.

All three of them had raging erections.

Chapter 19

George William Frederick Alexander Wyndom, the ninth Earl of Blackmore and the heir
apparent to the Duke of Browning, had the headache. He shut his eyes and rubbed his temples as he sat
behind his study desk and prayed to every god he could name, both Christian and heathen, for patience.
He was taking no chances.

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The onlookers—his hellion wife, his mischief-making mother, the befuddled marquess, and the sputtering
viscount—watched him curiously. Finally, his wife broke the tense silence. “I’m afraid that Alex and
Chester have seen too much, George. I really must tell them the truth of who I am.”

She looked at him beseechingly, wishing she could force him to understand. Unfortunately, he didn’t
open his eyes long enough to fall prey to her “innocent wife beseeching her domineering husband who
should feel ashamed of himself” look. Kane ground her teeth in frustration.

“She’s right, Georgie,” Lady Julia decided. “It’s not as if we can’t trust the gentlemen’s silence on the
matter.” She laughed mischievously. “After all, if they spilled the beans, so to speak, who save the wards
of Bedlam would believe them?”

At that, the earl opened his eyes and regarded his mother. “I did not say I don’t trust them, madam. I
just never expected to be placed in this position by mywife .” He turned to glare at her, hitting her full
force with what he hoped was an effective look of intimidation. “And don’t,” he muttered through gritted
teeth as he darted his eyes back toward his wayward mother, “call meGeorgie .”

Alex cast his eyes to the ground, lest the earl regard his amusement.

“I say,” Chester sputtered, his face still blotchy red, “I am most curious as to your lady wife’s story,
Blackmore. I fear I must insist that she tell it.”

“Agreed uncle,” Alex seconded. “I have never beheld such a sight as the one in the gardens in all of my
days. I fear that I too must insist upon hearing the countess’s explanation.” He crossed his arms over his
chest, showing he would hear no arguments.

The earl ran his long fingers through his mane of black hair. He let out a sigh of defeat. “Of course,
gentlemen.” He shrugged his broad shoulders in acquiescence. “In your position, I would demand the
same.”

“George,” Kane whispered, feeling quite upset for the first time since she and Lady Julia had been
caught sparring, “are you…ashamed of me?” she whispered.

The earl’s head snapped back in his wife’s direction. He noticed at once the sadness harbored in the
depths of her blue eyes and realized that her fear was a real one. He felt immediately contrite. “Of course
not,” he genuinely insisted, frowning as he rose to his feet and strolled toward her. “How could you think
that, madam?”

Kane bit her bottom lip and chewed on it for a thoughtful moment or two. “I can’t help what I am,
George. I can’t help that I’m different.” She took a deep breath and looked away from him before she
added, “and I can’t live a life in which I’m forced to pretend to be someone I’m not twenty-four hours of
the day. In public is one thing, but in my home is quite another.”

“Kane,” George whispered, suddenly afraid that she was thinking of leaving him, “I would not have you
change.”

“Wouldn’t you?”

She didn’t appear to be convinced and George could hardly blame her. “No,” he adamantly insisted, “I
wouldn’t.” He grabbed her chin and forced her to look up at him. “I promise you that you will be given
all manner of privacy in our home from this day forward that you might not feel overburdened whilst in it.

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I do realize, my lady, that you are thoughtful of my position in public. ‘Tis the least I can do for you.”

Kane smiled brilliantly, inducing the earl to release a breath. She wasn’t going to leave him.

She shot her gaze toward the bewildered marquess and viscount and gifted them with the same smile.
“I’m glad this happened, George, for I want them to know. As much time as we spend with them…” She
let the sentence trail off as she turned her eyes beseechingly toward her husband.

“You are correct,” he supplied. He shook his head and chuckled. “I daresay now that I think on it I’m
glad it came to pass as well. I’ve always shared my thoughts with Alex before.” He looked at the
marquess and chuckled again. “It’s been a deuce of a time I’ve had trying to keep my mouth shut to him
for this long. And about a subject so fascinating.”

Alex came closer to the couple and held his hands out in supplication. “I don’t understand any of this,
but I’m ready to hear the full of it.”

“As am I,” Chester concurred with a regal nod. “Let us get on with it.” He turned his regard to his
intended. “And I pray this story will explain my lady’s new found…talent.”

Lady Julia rolled her eyes in exasperation. “I shall ring for refreshments before we begin. This epic shall
take a while.”

* * * * *

Kane stared at Alex and Chester bemusedly as the two gentlemen sat on a late fifteenth century
sofa in the Blackmore’s London study. She could call the thoroughly shocked, totally bewildered
expressions on their gaping jawsdéjà vu , for her husband and mother-in-law had harbored nearly
identical facades a week past on a similar couch in another Blackmore study.

And just as the previous telling had gone, so too had this one. Lord Asherby and Lord Blake had
listened to her story with a look of amused indulgence on their faces, never truly believing her. And again
as before, they had both changed their minds the minute she whipped out her laser-c and discharged an
ominous pulse of light energy that burst apart yet another icon of King George to bits. At the rate she was
going, she secretly wondered if even a single statue of the monarch would be able to be found in all of
England before the year was out.

With a grin, George watched his two friends come to terms with his wife’s future origins. Oh, he
knew and appreciated exactly how the whelps felt. He too had been cast in similar straights a sennight
ago. He found the situation more amusing, however, when he himself was not the one on the receiving
end.

“Are you two going to be all right?” George asked, feeling vastly superior in his fortitude. Of course, he
had had a full week to come to terms with his wife’s revelations, whereas Alex and Chester had been
given but a few minutes. Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling of superiority and didn’t overmuch care to try
to correct it.

“Wh-what?” Alex asked, his wide green eyes landing on the earl’s face. He shook his head to
clear it, forcibly shutting his lax jaw in the process. “Yes, of course. Of course.” He nodded his head up
and down like a marionette. “Of course.”

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George grinned. This was a deuce of a good time.

“And you, Chester,” Lady Julia inquired with a flick of her hand in his direction. “Are you
alright?”

Viscount Blake sputtered a few more times, reminding Kane of the way a spacecar sounds when
running out of energy and needing a fero-nitrum refuel. She glanced at her husband and grinned, then
turned her regard back to Chester. He cleared his throat to speak. “I…I…I…I…I…”

A bb gun from the Houston colony’s Museum of Ancient Weaponry. That’s what he sounded
like now.

“I…I...um…yes.” The viscount nodded up and down emphatically. “Yes, of course.”

George crossed his arms over his chest and smiled in delight. Oh, he knew he shouldn’t find
pleasure at their expense, but it was hard not to. Still, they were his friends. “Gentlemen, I hope my wife
has not overset your delicate sensibilities,” he quipped. “Indeed, I should feel terrible were that the case.”
He grinned unrepentedly, looking much like a cat would after having gulped down a particularly fat
canary.

Alex narrowed his eyes into slits as he shifted on his seat. “I do not possess delicate sensibilities,
Blackmore. Indeed, there is nothing delicate about either my form or my faculties.”

“Quite right,” Chester seconded. “We were just contemplating this situation, that’s all.”

“Uh huh.”

“’Tis true,” Alex insisted. “I’ve never been overset in my life.” He took a deep breath and ran the
fingers from both hands through his wavy blond hair. “So I feel a little faint. ‘Tis probably from lack of
food.”

“But we just ate a snack,” Kane argued without thinking better of it. She then glanced away,
wishing she’d held her tongue, when the Marquess of Asherby shot her a look as deadly as the kill mode
on her laser-c.

George grinned.

Like a true commander on the battlefield, Lady Julia took over and proceeded to reign the gentlemen in
and bring them back down to reality. “I realize this is a lot to take in, my lords. However, you are both
men of the world who have seen and experienced much. Therefore, youwill be able to come to terms
with my daughter-in-law’s origins, I pray?” She gave them a look that clearly stated she would be
unimpressed and disappointed with anything less.

“Of course!” Alex insisted as he shot to his feet and headed straight for the liquor cabinet. Chester
followed on his boot heels, feeling a vast need for a spot or two of drink himself. The marquess looked
up from his pouring and nodded to Kane. “Pray continue, milady, where you left off.”

Kane turned to her husband to gage his reaction. He was amused, giddy almost, and he most certainly
didn’t appear to feel hesitant toward her continuing. Still, she asked. “George?”

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George glanced over to his wife and smiled warmly. He winked down at her, telling her without words
that all would be well with his two close friends. “Pray continue, sweetheart.”

Kane sighed, then dove right back in to where she had left off prior to detonating the light energy beam
from her laser-c. “So as I was saying, I need to find this plant as quickly as possible. The virus lays
dormant with minor symptoms for about a year, but after that it hits full force with zero chance of the
victim’s surviving it.”

Alex swallowed down a snifter full of brandy, poured himself another for good measure, then strolled
back toward the sofa and resumed his seat. “So this is why you are searching all the libraries, madam?
Hoping to find something that can lead you to your kabitrail plant?”

“Kabitross.”

The marquess waved a dismissive hand. Semantics were the least of his concern at the moment.
“Whatever.”

George shook his head and chuckled. He walked over to Alex’s side and patted him on the back, taking
pity on him at last. “It will be alright, Alex. God knows I was feeling worse than you when Kane revealed
herself to me.”

Alex found the first grin he’d been able to summon since he’d watched his king’s image shatter into a
million pieces. “Do tell.”

Lady Julia laughed, remembering the night not so long ago all too well. She opened up her delicate fan
and aired herself becomingly. “Let us just say that my son and I soon discovered what it meant to be truly
overset.”

George smiled at the memory. “I daresay, it was one of the few times I’d ever seen mother at a loss for
words.”

Chester laughed heartily at that recounting. He saluted Kane with his snifter and winked at her. “I should
pay a pretty pound to see that wonder of wonders.”

Lady Julia rapped her fan against the viscount’s chest and frowned. “Are you saying that I talk too
much?”

Chester grabbed his intended viscountess’s hand and drew it to his lips. “Never, my dear.”

The dowager countess blushed, appeased.

“So,” Alex stated, suddenly excited to hear more, “now that my uncle and myself have calmed down a
bit, mayhap you will regale us with more stories of your adventure, milady?”

Kane laughed, shaking her head to and fro in mirth. “I fear there isn’t much else to tell. You know the
majority of it.” She shrugged her shoulders and smiled at her family and friends. “I fear that I must excuse
myself, my lords and lady, for the events of this day have brought to mind the fact that I need to try and
establish contact with the Houston colony. I’ve been out of contact for so long that I fear they will believe
the worst.” She stood up on tiptoe and kissed her husband on the cheek. “If you will excuse me.”

The smile George had entertained for the past hour evaporated at his wife’s words. It was one thing for

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her to recount her stories of her former time, but an entirely new thing when she wished to contact her old
home. It dredged up every fear he’d carried inside of him the last sennight. It was a pointed reminder that
he might still lose the only woman he’d ever truly loved to an unknown future. Indeed, if she returned to
the Houston colony with her kabitross plant, she might not make it back to 1776 again.

George grabbed her hand and held it tightly. “Kane,” he whispered thickly with emotion, “please do
not.”

Kane’s eyes flew up to meet her husband’s gaze. She knew after only a second of perusal what his fear
was. She smiled up to him warmly, needing to dispel him of his faulty notions immediately. “It’s all right,
George,” she promised, stroking his arm as she spoke. “I swear to never leave without you knowing of it.
All I’m going to accomplish tonight is an establishment of contact.”

“Kane please,” he insisted, not able to shrug off the ominous feeling overpowering his constitution. “I beg
you, please do not.”

She wished there was more she could do to assure him, for shehad to make contact. She had put it off
far too long as it was not wishing to waste precious fero-nitrum. “I’m sorry, George, I truly am. But I
have no choice. They must know that I’ve made no progress as of yet. I do not want my commander to
place all his hopes for Egis’s recovery on my mission.” She took his hand and squeezed it gently. “I may
never find the kabitross.”

Alex raised a golden eyebrow as he glanced from wife to husband. “I don’t understand why the fear,
George. How does she establish contact?” He took a sip from his brandy, then muttered, “though I do
shudder to ask.”

“I’ve no notion,” George readily admitted, his earlier megrim coming back like a battering ram. He
closed his eyes for a brief moment as he rubbed his aching temples.

“Oh heavens!” Lady Julia announced with bated breath. “I should love to witness your making contact,
daughter.” She clapped her hands together in glee. “Can we not watch?”

“Is that possible?” Chester inquired, plopping down next to his nephew on the sofa. “If it is, I too should
like to see this.”

Kane bit her lower lip, tapping her finger against her cheek in thought. She studied her husband, hating
how depressed and out of sorts he looked. “Would it make you feel better if I made contact here in the
library, George? That way you’ll be with me the whole time.”

“You can do it right here?” Alex asked, clearly as captivated by the notion as he was confused by it.
“What must you do? Enter into some sort of wicked trance, waiting for the spirits of the future to speak
to you?” It was obvious to all parties present he was hoping it was so.

Kane couldn’t help it. She laughed. “By Saturn’s rings, no!” She giggled uncontrollably, clapping her
hand to her mouth. “The communicator is contained within my laser-c.”

“You can do this in front of us?” George asked wearily, knowing he would have to give in on this issue.
He didn’t want his wife contacting the future at all, but if there was no choice in the matter, then it would
have to be in his presence.

“Certainly.” She glanced around the room, taking in everybody’s varying expressions. “If there aren’t

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any objections?”

“No!” everyone cried, part from fear, part from curiosity, and part from excitement.

She shrugged. “Can everyone take a seat, then?”

Kane had never seen her mother-in-law scurry so quickly—not even in a fighting stance when attempting
to kick ass. She sat down on the sofa next to Chester, George moving himself on the other side of it next
to Alex.

“Now what do we do?” the marquess asked in fascination. “Hold hands and chant?”

George rolled his eyes, his headache forgotten in his exasperation. He rapped Alex upside the head with
his knuckles. “She just said it would be done through her laser-c. My wife isn’t a high priestess of the
Black Arts, you lackwit.”

The marquess appeared to be mildly disappointed by that news, but he took it in stride. “Fine. Let us
begin then, milady.”

“Yes,” Chester beamed, rubbing the palms of his hands together eagerly, “I cannot take the suspense a
moment longer.”

Lady Julia giggled.

Even George was feeling the anticipation.

Kane raised her laser-c, pointing it in the direction of the earl’s desk. She touched a tiny mechanism on
it, inducing a rectangular, mirror-like image to shoot out and form in front of the desk. The group gasped
in awe.

“Communicator, engage.”

At Kane’s command, the area around the mirror-like image lit up, framed by hundreds of pulsating lights
of assorted colors.

“’Tis beautiful,” George whispered, unable to say more.

“Yes,” Alex agreed wide-eyed. “It is.”

“Communicator, this is Dr. Kane Edmonds, planabotonologist of NASA currently in England, planet
Earth, 1776 AD. Scan for Commander Linder, Chief Director of NASA in colony Houston, planet
Earth, 2429 AD.”

After a few moments, a male-like voice spoke back to Kane, causing another round of gasps to rise up
from the audience. “Greetings humanoid Kane. This is droid Farja, assembled in 2320, planet Zyphon.
Scan is negative.”

Kane growled her frustration.

George lifted a brow and regarded his wife. “What’s wrong, my dear? What did the gentleman mean
when he said ‘scan is negative’?”

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“Gentleman?”

The earl pointed toward the mirror-like image, which was rippling like waves of water in the ocean. “The
man who spoke.”

“He’s not a man. He is a droid, which is a machine built by men.”

“Truly?” Lady Julia breathed out. “Men can build other men?”

“Fascinating,” Alex murmured.

“Well what did the machine mean, my love?” George was clearly becoming more and more enthralled.

“He can’t find Linder.” She shook her head. “I know how important this mission is to him. One would
think Linder would be waiting for me to establish contact.” She waved her hand tersely through the air,
not caring to waste any more time pondering that thought. “Droid Farja, scan for Melea, Warrior
Woman of NASA, Houston colony, planet Earth.”

Alex clapped his hands together like a child waiting for a glimpse of Santa Clause on Christmas Eve.
“Oh my, a warrior woman! This grows more intriguing by the moment!”

George rolled his eyes and chuckled, though he had to admit this was exciting business, establishing
contact with future people.

The droid’s voice returned a few minutes later, bearing news. “Humanoid Kane, I have located
humanoid Melea. She wishes to establish visual, audio, and sensory contact. Do you concur?”

“I concur.”

“What is sensory contact?” Chester asked.

Kane glanced over to him briefly, then flicked her gaze back to the image that would soon contain
Melea. “It means that in addition to seeing and hearing her, we’ll also be able to touch her and smell her
scent, as if she were truly here.”

“Truly?” Lady Julia gasped.

Kane nodded in the affirmative.

“Fascinating,” Alex murmured.

A moment later, the figure of a tall, well-formed woman with long, black hair and tawny gold eyes
appeared within the mirror-like image. She was dressed in the same scandalous garment Lady Julia and
Lady Kane had been wearing when happened upon in the gardens. Alex fell instantly in lust.

“Kane, where in Jupiter have you been?” Melea shouted. “I’ve been worried to death I’ll have you
know. And who are those humanoids sitting with you? Are the primitives holding you for ransom?”

“Primitives?” George spat, rising to his feet in agitation. “Now wait one bloody moment!”

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Kane held up a silencing hand. “It’s alright, George, let me handle this.” She turned back to the image
and frowned. “Melea, best friend of mine or not, you will apologize to my husband immediately.”

Melea scowled, crossing her arms over her chest. “What is a ‘husband’ and why should I bother?”

Kane reached out and gently grasped Melea’s hand. “You should because you care for me and a
‘husband’ is this world’s version of a permanent companion.”

Melea’s eyes widened at that announcement. She released Kane’s hand, allowing her own to drop to
her side in amazement. A smile of disbelief and congratulations smothered her face. “I
apologize—George—I believe it was?”

“Yes,” he nodded, accepting her words.

Melea smiled at him, shaking her head. “I never thought I’d live to see the day when a humanoid man
would capture my Kane’s fancy. And to file for permanent companionship no less.” She eyed the earl up
and down, nodding to herself. “You are, however, a prime specimen of humanoid male.”

George blushed pink from the tips of his toes to the roots of his hair.

Kane smiled, nodding her head up and down in agreement. “He is, isn’t he?” She held out her hands and
pointed toward him, showcasing him like a new spacecar on the auction block. “George, twirl around so
Melea can see all of you.”

The earl’s face flushed from pink to red faster than the speed of light raised to the eleventh power. “I do
nottwirl , madam.”

“Oh Georgie,” Lady Julia smiled, stifling a giggle, “do twirl for the gel.”

The earl shot his mother an indignant look meant to make her cower. She simply laughed instead, then
looked back over to Melea.

“Melea, I almost forgot to introduce you to everyone else,” Kane remembered, deciding from the look
on her husband’s face that a shift in topic was probably for the better. “This lovely woman here,”—she
pointed to the dowager—“is my mother within the law, George’s mother, Lady Julia, the Dowager
Countess of Blackmore.”

Melea inclined her head graciously, still grinning from ear to ear.

“And this,” Kane announced as she pointed toward the viscount, “is—hopefully—Julia’s soon-to-be
permanent companion Chester, also known as Viscount Blake.”

“How do you do, milady?” Chester smiled at Melea, bowing his head deferentially.

“Well, thank-you.”

“And lastly,” Kane proceeded, waving her hand in the direction of the marquess, “we have my
husband’s best friend and Chester’s nephew Alex, also known as the Marquess of Asherby.”

Alex rose to his feet, bowing his head toward this woman who had garnered his undivided interest.
“Hello,” he offered in a low, seductive voice that made Kane lift a brow.

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Melea sat up straighter in her sensory chair, as riveted by the marquess as he was by her. “Hello,” she
offered in return, eyeing him up and down in the bold manner she had about her. She turned to Kane and
winked. “Does this one twirl?”

Alex made a strange gurgling sound, accompanied by a swift change in coloring. He and George now
looked like two bright red peas from the same pod. Kane grinned. “Afraid not, Melea. The humanoids of
this world do not speak of intimate things as freely as we do. I’m afraid you’ve shocked the poor man.”

“A pity.”

“Yes.” She sighed. “It took me almost two full weeks to bed my husband. It was exasperating to no
end.”

Now it was the earl’s turn to gurgle. Unfortunately, Alex was still gurgling, so the two of them sounded
like a duo of frogs trying to croak out a word or two.

“But I digress.” Kane sighed deeply, then waved a hand toward Melea. “Where is Linder?”

Melea slouched into her seat once again and folded one leg over the other. “Off planet. When we didn’t
hear from you right away, he had the good sense to go exploring. He’s still hoping to find the kabitross
plant in another solar system.”

Kane nodded her approval.

“Speaking of which,” Melea continued, “have you located it yet?”

Kane shook her head and sighed. “No, but not from lack of trying I assure you. Unfortunately, the
search continues.”

“Do you need assistance?”

“Are you offering?”

“Yes.”

Kane glowed, loving the idea of having her best friend join her in eighteenth century England, if even for
a little while. “There is something you should know, Melea. A couple of things actually.”

“Such as?”

Kane glanced over toward her husband who, thankfully, was gradually returning to his normal coloring.
“I’m returning to the past when this is over.” She looked back to Melea. “I will come back to my
husband.”

Melea nodded, already having arrived at that conclusion on her own. “I figured as much.” She squinted
her eyes as she contemplated the matter further. “Perhaps I should travel to you. That way when we find
the plant, I can be the one to bring it back so you risk nothing.”

George’s ears perked up at that notion. Feeling more upbeat and hopeful than he had in ages, he walked
toward Melea’s image and halted in front of it. “Would you really do that for us? It is much to ask, I

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realize, but I cannot live without…” He looked at his wife and smiled in resignation. He then returned his
gaze to the Warrior Woman. “I would be forever in your debt, Melea.”

Melea smiled warmly at the earl, pleased with Kane’s choice in a mate. “Consider it done, my friend.”

“Melea wait!” Kane exclaimed, her hands wringing together. “I cannot let you do this without knowing
all the facts beforehand.”

Melea arched a black brow, but said nothing. Kane sighed and continued. “We know from my example
that the transport works when going from future to past, but…” she sighed again, regarding her friend in
honesty. “We can’t know until the time comes whether or not it works in reverse.”

George’s gaze shifted toward the ground in despair. It was too much to ask of anyone, facing the
possibility that they might never be able to return to the only world they’d ever known. And yet his
courageous wife had done so. He didn’t think it possible, yet his opinion of her soared to an even greater
height. Still, he could not ask it of Melea. “Mistress Melea, as much as I would like for you to come here,
I cannot in good conscience…”

“I’m thinking, George,” Melea admitted. “Give me a moment.”

His hopes returned. She was still considering! “Of course. And should you decide to come to us I will,
of course, be responsible for you should you find yourself unable to return home.”

She lifted a bemused brow. “Responsible?”

The earl shifted on his feet, afraid he’d offended her when he was trying desperately to gain standing
with her. Lord, but future women were a trial to a gentleman. “All I meant was that I would see to it that
you always lived here in luxury. You should never want for anything.”

Melea nodded, understanding his meaning. “I am grateful.”

“It is I who would be grateful.” George took his wife’s hand and kissed it, smiling lovingly at her all the
while.

Melea knew then and there that she couldn’t and wouldn’t refuse the couple’s chance at happiness. She
sighed in resignation. “Oh alright,” she conceded. “But on one condition.”

George turned on his heel to face Melea, his countenance soaring blessedly. “Anything. You have but to
name it.”

Melea grinned, then touched her tongue to her upper lip mischievously. She pointed to Alex and
nodded. “Make him twirl.”

Chapter 20

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“Of all the indignities!”

Alex plopped down into his chair at his usual table at White’s, seething with mortification. George and
Chester assumed the seats at his either side. The ladies had decided against attending the Walcott's ball
this eve, wanting instead to prepare for Melea’s arrival in a few days. The gentlemen had decided to visit
their clubs and enjoy a game or two of whist in their absence.

“Come, come,” the viscount chuckled, “it wasn’t so bad as that. And the lady did appear to be
impressed with your arse. Even had George hold up your coattails to get a better look.”

Alex merely glared.

“I apologize for forcing you to twirl, Alex, but I was desperate.” George tapped his fingertips
together and grinned. “Truth be told, I’d have done anything to gain the Warrior Woman’s favor. Had
she asked me to paint your face and dress you up as a courtesan whilst you sang a bawdy tavern song,
I’d have seen it through.”

Alex continued to glare, throwing in an indignant grunt lest anyone question his disapproval.

“Come now, my boy,” Chester argued, “you know how important it is to the earl to keep his
lady wife here. Certainly one teensy twirl was worth it?”

Alex relented on that point, but continued to carry on as he had throughout the entire carriage
ride to White’s. “Of course it was worth it! It was quite an indignity for a man of my station to submit to,
however.” He studied his fingernails, blushing to the roots as he spoke. “I felt like a piece of horseflesh at
Tattersall’s being examined by the mistress for purchase.”

George shifted his gaze to the tabletop, lest he laugh. Chester was not so circumspect as that. He
laughed outright. Alex shot him his most surly “I am a marquess and you are not” glare.

“I feel honor bound to warn you, Alex.”

“Of what, George?”

The earl sat up straighter in his seat, lowering his voice to a near whisper. “I know you harbor a
tendre for Melea.”

“So?” Alex shrugged.

“Let us just say that future women have a different way about them. They are shockingly direct in
their affections.”

“So I gathered.”

George shrugged. “I merely wished to forewarn you.”

Chester decided he liked this topic. He couldn’t help himself. He had to know more. “I gather
you are speaking of Kane?”

George flushed, uncomfortable in speaking of his wife in any way intimate. “All I am saying is that
if Melea behaves…well…wantonly toward Alex upon her arrival, he shouldn’t misconstrue the situation.”

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Alex grew semi-erect at the mental picture the earl painted. “Wanton?” he asked with what he
hoped sounded like casual indifference, but probably sounded more like a lecherous pervert sucking his
breath in and out.

“Yes. I will say this and then no more: my wife was as pure as the driven snow when she came to
me on our wedding night, but I never would have believed it from her behavior up until that point.” He
shook his head in earnest. “Do not disgrace my wife’s friend in any way, even if she wants you. Insist
upon marriage and no less if you must, but if you take her to your bed and she is then unable to return to
her own time, she will be stuck here with lack of a maidenhead.” The earl looked at both men pointedly.
“In Melea’s day the maidenhead is meaningless, but we all know that in our day it is everything.”

The men mumbled their agreement.

“Now then,” George beamed, glancing toward the gaming parlor. “Now that we have that sordid
business behind us, who’s ready for a game of whist?”

* * * * *

“You shall truly like her, Mother Julia.” Kane held up the lady’s gown the dowager countess has
scrounged up for Melea and smiled at it. It was a beautiful color of emerald with lovely embroidery work
stitched into the bodice. “And since she is a full-time Warrior Woman, she is far more practiced at her
craft than I. She will make us both an excellent sparring partner.”

Lady Julia clapped her hands together and beamed a brilliant smiled toward her daughter-in-law.
“Excellent!” She then considered the gentlemen’s reactions when she and Kane had been caught sparring
earlier today and her smiled wavered. “Though I do hope my lord son—not to mention Chester and
Alex—don’t think badly upon my person for continuing to engage in our sport.”

“Nonsense!” Kane spat out. “And if they do, I shall have a very long talk with all three of them.”
She placed the lady’s gown on what was to be Melea’s bed, then drew her fists indignantly to her hips.
“You do realize, Mother Julia, that we could have come to a bad end that day in the alley had it not been
for my skill?”

“Of course I realize it!”

“Then we shall make the gentlemen realize it as well.” Kane shook her finger at the dowager as if
scolding her. “Don’t even think of backing down now. There is nothing shameful about your skill! I can’t
be there to watch you always and I…” She sighed, her finger dropping as her shoulders slumped. “By
the power of the goddesses, I couldn’t bear it if anything bad happened to you.” She looked away,
unable to retain eye contact. “You’re the only mother I’ve ever known,” she whispered.

“Oh Kane, darling,” Lady Julia crooned, touched by her daughter-in-law’s words more than she
could say. She reached out and swept a lock of her golden tresses from her forehead and smiled. “I love
you too.”

Kane’s head shot up to meet the dowager countess’s gaze. She nodded, knowing it wasn’t
necessary to say more. She took Lady Julia’s hand and squeezed it. “Thank-you,” she breathed out.

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“No dearest,” the dowager insisted, “thankyou .”

Neither of the women were the types to cry, so they both broke into peels of laughter instead.
“Oh dear,” Lady Julia quipped. “We were dreadfully close to hosting a sinful display of tears!”

Kane giggled. “By Mercury’s noxious gases, I would be ashamed of that!”

They laughed again.

A minute later, Lady Julia bent over and reached into the valise a servant had brought into the
bedchamber. She picked up another gown that would be given to Melea, holding it up for Kane’s
inspection. “What think you of this one?”

Kane nodded her appreciation, her eyes gleaming. “She’ll love it. Red is her favorite color.”

“Excellent.” Lady Julia placed the gown on the bed beside the one Kane had set there a few
minutes past. She reached into the valise again and drew out another. Laughing, she held it up for Kane
to see.

Kane raised an eyebrow, not understanding the humor in the situation. “What is funny about the
gown?”

“Nothing.”

“Then why are you laughing?”

The dowager countess shrugged her dainty shoulders as she broke into a fit of giggles. She wiped
the tears of mirth from her eyes, but continued to grin at her bewildered daughter within the law. “I do
apologize. I was just thinking.”

“About?”

Lady Julia’s grin widened. “The looks on the gentlemen’s faces when they caught us in the act of
sparring.” She proceeded to mimic the trio precisely, theatrically bulging her eyes out and drooping her
jaw toward the ground.

Kane couldn’t help it. She had to laugh with her mother-in-law. “From the looks on their faces, it
would seem to an outside observer that they had caught us in the act of offering up incantations to the
dark gods!”

“Roasting innocent children over a witch’s spit!”

“Shape-shifting into three-eyed trolls!”

The Countesses of Blackmore regarded each other in silence for a long moment. Inevitably, they
burst into laughter.

* * * * *

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George walked into his bedchamber with the purpose of having his valet help him undress. He
had planned to go to his wife’s bedchamber and claim his husband’s rights immediately thereafter. One
glance at the bed told him that plan was unnecessary. His wife was already asleep, in his bed.

Theirbed.

Kane had insisted that the Earl and Countess of Blackmore would not have separate sleeping
chambers, regardless to the eighteenth century nobility’s customs. George smiled at the memory of her
lecture, vastly contented. He’d have it no other way himself.

The earl looked back to his valet and nodded, making certain to block his view of the bed in the
process. “I shall attend myself this eve. You may retire.”

Saying nothing, the valet merely acquiesced with a nod, then quietly made his exit.

George made short work of his clothes, discarding them rapidly and flinging them onto the back
of the nearest chair. He climbed into bed next to his wife, thinking to play the gentleman and allow her to
continue in her deep sleep. When he pulled out the covers to join her in slumber and thereupon realized
her to be as naked as he was, that good intention found a quick death. He reached out for her, needing
her desperately.

Kane rolled over onto her side to face him, still half asleep. “George,” she smiled dreamily,
closing her eyes to fall back into sleep’s clutches.

George watched his wife sleep for long moments, contented to study her as she dozed away. The
merest sight of her never failed to take his breath away. He had never thought to be a man so fortunate,
to find a lady to banish the cobwebs of loneliness and despair that had settled into his brain these past
nine years.

And yet he had. He had found her and he’d be damned if he’d ever let her go. So many
emotions crossed George’s face and tore at his heart as he watched his wife sleep.

Possessiveness.

Hope.

Love.

In the end, it was the need to be one with his mate that tore him from his perusal and urged him
toward his wife’s side of the bed. He drew himself to his knees, then settled his body gently on top of
hers.

Kane’s eyes fluttered open on a sleepy smile. She gazed lovingly into her husband’s eyes as she
drew her arms around his neck. “Welcome home,” she breathed out, still hazy from the effects of
slumbering.

George smiled tenderly as he clutched her buttocks and poised his erection at her entrance.
Kissing her once on the tip of her nose, he slowly entered her, groaning at the exquisite feel of her wet
flesh wrapping around his cock. “My god you feel good,” he rasped.

“Not as good as you,” she breathed out. Wrapping her legs around her husband’s waist, she moaned as

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he began to rock in and out of her.

His fingers digging into the flesh of her hips, George gritted his teeth as he thrust into her, the sound of
her flesh enveloping him mingled with the scent of their lovemaking the most sensate and erotic
experience of his life. He thrust long and hard, over and over again, oblivious to anything but the woman
beneath him and the body she gave to him so willingly.

Some minutes later when he poured his life into her body and gave her his son, he thought back
on his wife’s welcoming words.

Welcome home.

Indeed, he thought, I am finally home.

Chapter 21

The late Lord Masters’ library was, in Kane’s estimation, a royal waste of her time. Just as the
gardens, meadows, and libraries of Blackmore—not to mention Viscount Blake’s greenhouse—had
proved fruitless, so too did the main collection of books for the Royal Botanical Society.

Kane was seriously beginning to question the merit of the research she had done on the ancient plant she
had named “kabitross”. The termkabit referred to a creature native to the marshes of Nero whose
cottony looking exterior resembled the billowy heads of other plants whose seeds were known to be
powerful healers.Ross referred to the plant’s skinny stalk and was named after the humanoids who
dwelled within the synthetic biosphere of Jupiter’s largest moon. The term seemed appropriate, as the
Ross had a tendency to be oddly narrow of form.

And so the namekabitross had been penned into being. Now, however, Kane was beginning to wonder
if she hadn’t inadvertently given a very real name to a very nonexistent plant.

Kane closed the book she’d been browsing through with a small thud. She tapped her fingertips
together, contemplating the wisdom of having Melea brave such a journey as this one for nothing. She
would never forgive herself if her dearest humanoid friend came here only to find herself stuck. And
worse yet, stuck without any hope of success. Stuck without even having located this exasperatingly
elusive plant.

The next evening after dinner, she sought out her husband to discuss her worries with him. Needless to
say, he didn’t agree with her in the least.

“Of course you should have Melea come to us,” he argued. “That will be one more set of eyes that
know what the plant looks like to help you search for it.”

“But what if the plant doesn’t even exist, George? What if it is a make-believe fiction, like fairies and
trolls?”

George tugged at his cravat, tightening it to ready himself for the ball they were scheduled to attend later
this evening. “And what if it isn’t?”

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Kane threw herself onto their bed, dramatically hoisting her arm over her face to shield it. “I would feel
guilty as I don’t know what if Melea got stuck here in vain.”

The earl grimaced at that notion. He would too. “My love, I empathize with your feelings, truly I do.” He
sighed, reaching out to help her from the bed. “It seems you’re in one hell of a quandary.”

“I am.”

He nodded sympathetically. “If she doesn’t come to stay with us, that’s one less woman to search for it.
And if she does…”

“It could be for nothing.”

George pondered that possibility for a long moment. He considered what he knew of Melea, both from
his own conversation with her as well as from his wife’s stories about the Warrior Woman. “Let me ask
you something, my dear.”

“Hm?”

“Do you think you could stop her from coming?”

Kane’s eyes widened in understanding. She thought of her own position and knew that not even the
swamp dwelling predators of planet Zyphon could have kept her from travelling to 1776 in the hopes of
aiding her people. Melea was no different. She was just as obstinate, if not more so. “You’re right,” she
murmured. “It wouldn’t matter what I said to forewarn her. Melea will still do what she believes in her
heart of hearts to be right.”

George drew his wife into a warm embrace, resting his chin atop her head as he breathed in her familiar
scent. “All we can do is hope, my love. Hope that you find the plant you covet and hope that she can
take it back without incident.”

Kane craned her neck, gazing up into her husband’s eyes. “Have I told you lately how much I love
you?”

George pretended to contemplate the question. “Hmm,” he said, arching one arrogant eyebrow, “not
since before dinner.” He grinned down to her. “Madam, but where are your manners?”

She smiled provocatively up to her husband as she undid the buttons on his breeches. Opening the flap
and releasing his erection in the process, she fell to her knees and grinned up at him. “I never meant to
neglect you. Let me make it up to you.”

George groaned as she proceeded to make it up to him in spades.

* * * * *

George William Frederick Alexander Wyndom, the ninth Earl of Blackmore and the heir
apparent to the Duke of browning, was feeling surly. He watched from the balcony of the Emory’s
ballroom as his beautiful wife engaged in a waltz with yet another gentleman admirer. The earl was

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beginning to question the wisdom of having allowed Asherby and Blake to teach his woman to dance.

Like a panther on the prowl, he strolled toward the other side of the balcony where he could get
a better view of the mayhem below. He then proceeded to mentally count the number of gentlemen he
might be obliged to call out on his wife’s behalf. Not that any of them had done anything untoward, but
hell, dancing with her was enough of an insult to his way of thinking.

He watched through narrowed eyes as the lecherous Duke of Weymouth wrapped his hand
about Kane’s arm and led her into the next dancing set. Seething with possessiveness, he made a note to
best the duke at whist the next time they met up at White’s.

“Blackmore? I didn’t realize you had planned to attend. What are you doing up here?”

George didn’t bother to glance Alex’s way as he responded to his question. “Watching that
ladies man down there try to seduce my wife.”

“Seduce your wife?”

Alex searched the dance floor quizzically until he finally located the waltzing Lady Blackmore and
Lord Weymouth. He threw back his head and laughed.

George glared at him. “What’s so damned amusing, Asherby?”

Alex tried to conceal his smile, truly he did. He wasn’t entirely successful, however. “Is the Duke
of Weymouth the ladies man to which you refer?”

“Yesss,” the earl hissed.

Alex shook his head, still smiling. “He’s nigh unto eighty and three and last I heard given toward
confusing his children’s names with that of his horses’.”

“And you’re point, Gossipy Greta?”

Alex arched an amused brow. “You’re behaving like an idiot.”

The earl had the decency to blush, but quickly regrouped. “I haven’t seen you in nigh unto two
days, yet I find it not long enough to miss your presence,” he gritted out irritably.

Alex laughed.

George frowned.

“Oh alright damn it,” he admitted ruefully, “mayhap I am behaving a trifle out of sorts.”

“A trifle?”

George glared at the marquess. “Alright, a bit more than a trifle I’ll grant you.”

Thoroughly bemused, Alex did what any true friend would do. He proceeded to tease the earl
mercilessly. “Oh look,” he said, pointing down toward a country baron who was stuffing his face with
food while waiting his turn to dance with Kane, “best call him out before he dances with the countess.

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God knows if she gets a good look at him, she’ll leave you on the spot, earl or no.”

George frowned. That the baron in question was five feet tall and nearly as round was of no
import. Should he dance with his lady wife, he’d be set in the same grim category of the possibly
challenged as the other gentlemen.

“Ah,” Alex went on relentlessly, “and over there waiting for his dance with your wife to be played is the
dashing Marquis d’Eston.” Alex shook his head with feigned regret. “Once your wife smells the
Frenchman’s charms, ‘tis all over for you, my friend.”

George grunted. True, the French nobleman was not over fond of bathing and hence reeked like
a horse’s leavings, but…

“And we cannot forget the gentleman who is lined up alongside the marquis.” Alex pointed down
to the dance floor toward a rotund man who wore more face paint than most courtesans.

“Oh all right,” George gritted out. “I take your bloody point.”

Alex turned around, grinning wickedly at his best friend. “Come, Blackmore, let us stop all the
ladies’ hearts from beating and twirl a wench or two around the floor.”

Grunting, George followed the marquess down the Emory’s staircase.

* * * * *

Glittering with unadulterated rage, Kane’s eyes narrowed at the humanoid bitch Charlotte who
had managed to gain a dance with her husband at this ball, just as she had at the Giddings’ affair.
Normally, Kane didn’t mind her husband dancing with other women. In fact, she had encouraged him to
do so before they had set out this evening, lest he appear standoffish.

But Charlotte was a different she-beast entirely.

The overly made-up courtesan with the powdered wig and breasts all but spilling from her gown caused
Kane’s blood to boil. The woman wanted George. Anybody could gather that from her demeanor. She
wondered how it was the woman managed to gain entree into all the same parties since class lines were
rigidly drawn in this world.

Kane supposed she was behaving silly, as her husband was merely being polite—that much she could
tell from the overly formal manner in which he behaved toward her—yet she didn’t care for the woman’s
fawning at all. Something about that female all but screamed “trouble”.

“Ah, Lady Blackmore,” a smooth as Vegas silk voice crooned out. “I believe this dance has been
claimed by me.”

Kane mentally sighed, tired of dancing altogether. She pasted on a smile of welcome and turned to greet
the stranger standing behind her. She cocked her head up to regard him and found herself staring into the
face of an angel.

By Jupiter’s moons, he was handsome.

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Chapter 22

“I have missed you, my lord. Pray when will you next call upon me, hm?”

George mentally rolled his eyes to the back of his head, so vexed he was with this inane
conversation Charlotte refused to let go of. “Madam, I have told you repeatedly that I cannot and will not
know another woman’s bed. I am wed now.” He inclined his head solemnly. “And happily so.”

Charlotte let out a shrill ring of mocking laughter. “Ah George, forever the gentleman.” She shook
her head, feigning to care for his presumed naïveté. “I see you are not yet ready to come to terms with
the obvious.”

“The obvious?”

Charlotte smiled up to him sweetly, gazing into the two greenest eyes she’d ever seen. He was all
virile man, the earl. In bed and out of it. “It’s alright, my love. I shall wait until you come to your senses.”

George sighed. Lord, but would this cursed dance never end? “I don’t gather your meaning,
madam.”

Charlotte shook her head daintily, looking to all and sundry as a woman who regretted what it
was she had to tell him. “My lord, when will you come to accept the way of the nobility? I accepted it
long ago.” Her pouty lips curled wryly. “’Tis true I became wealthy from accepting it.”

“Oh? And what way is that?”

She sighed, as if exasperated. “George, husbands and wives of the ton are not faithful to their
spouses. Certainly you discovered as much during your marriage to Lady Nina? I daresay—”

George shook Charlotte by the arms before he thought better of it. “You will not speak that
name to me again. Do you understand?” he gritted out.

Suddenly frightened, his former mistress backed down. “I…I’m sorry, my lord. Truly I am.” She
batted her eyelashes and implored him beseechingly with her worshipful gaze. “I just worry for you,
George. I couldn’t bear it were your heart smashed to pieces yet again.”

Neither could he. Luckily, he could trust Kane where he couldn’t trust Nina.

George relaxed his grip on Charlotte’s arms without missing a step of the dance. He inclined his
head politely down to her. “Madam, you are a lovely and kind woman. I thank you for having a care for
me.” He eyed her sadly, feeling terrible that he must hurt her, but knowing he hadn’t much of a choice in
the matter. “But I love my wife. I could never betray her.”

Charlotte drew herself up to her full five feet nine inches and released an anguished breath. She

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had lost him well and good. She inclined her head in acquiescence. “I accept your decision, my lord. I
pray she is worth it.”

“She is.”

Seething with fury over the earl’s thoughtlessly muttered pronouncement, she tried to think of
some words to best him with, and hopefully to hurt him with as much as he’d managed to hurt her. The
couple dancing not ten feet from them gave her new inspiration. She bit her lip.

Smiling brightly up to George, Charlotte played the role of the graciously jilted superbly. “I’m glad.
You’re a stalwart paragon, my lord. Not every man could be so certain in your situation.”

George’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “And what, pray tell, do you mean by that?”

Feigning innocence, the paramour of half the gentlemen in the ton batted her lashes toward the
left of them. “Certainly you noticed who is partnering your wife, my lord?” She waited with bated breath
to witness his reaction. She wasn’t disappointed.

The earl went stock-still as he watched Viscount Freemont, the heir apparent of the Earl of
Trent, lead his wife about the dance floor. He couldn’t believe it.Stunned didn’t even begin to describe
his raging emotions. Wasn’t the rake satisfied with the last conquest he’d made? Did he have to chase
after this wife as well?

Across the ballroom, Kane was growing quickly intolerant of her company. To think she had thought this
humanoid male carried the visage of an angel! The devil and a few of his sons were more like it. And if
the lecher moved his hands any closer to her breasts, he would soon become acquainted with the deadly
body arts.

“Truly you are the most exquisite woman I have ever laid eyes on, milady.” The devil batted his lashes
and smiled sweetly down to her.

Kane frowned. It was obvious that this man was quite used to having his way with the “gentler sex”, as
eighteenth century males often referred to their female counterparts. Though this devil didn’t possess the
animalistic attraction her husband did, he was fine of face and form in a classical, elegant sort of way. He
was what George would have calledfoppish . Too bad for this Lord Freemont character, there wasn’t a
gentle bone in her body. Nor did she care for “elegant” as a term to describe a potential mating partner.

Not that she would even consider lying with any man but George. She had made her commitment.
Besides, after bedding her husband, no other man stood a chance with her. He was her heaven and her
earth, her dreams and her reality. She smiled just thinking of him.

Viscount Freemont took her smile as a sign that she was warming to him. “’Tis fortunate I am to have
been here to witness such an exquisite smile,” he murmured.

Kane frowned again. If he used the word “exquisite” one more time, she’d throw him a jack knife
punch. Everything with this man was “exquisite”. The food, the wine, the dancing. He’d even used the
word to characterize the liveried servants’ finery. She wasn’t sure why this man’s presence bothered her
so, but it did. Something about him was alarming.

Especially his eyes.

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Golden brown, like the setting sun shining through a forest glen, yet without a hint of warmth in their
mysterious pools. His eyes could be called many things—calculating, assessing, intelligent. They could
never be called warm. A shiver trickled down her spine.

Lord Freemont felt her subtle movement. He smiled to himself, thinking he was that much closer to
snaring his prey.

The music stopped, signaling an end to the dance. He felt like cursing, for it meant he’d have to
relinquish her—for now.

Kane breathed a sigh of relief, elated that this torture was at its close. “I thank you for the dance, my
lord. It was most, uh, entertaining.”

“Please, call me James.”

She nodded, but said nothing.

“Until the next time, my lady…” Viscount Freemont drew her hand up to his lips and placed a kiss on
her upturned palm. He never broke eye contact with her. Releasing her after an improperly drawn out
moment, he smiled his cat’s grin before strolling away.

Kane discarded all thoughts of the Earl of Trent’s son the moment he left her side. She turned around to
locate her husband, only to find him looming over her. She looked up at him and smiled warmly, faltering
only after she took in his expression.

He was furious.

Over what, she hadn’t a clue.

* * * * *

George grimaced as he listened to the reverberating sound of his wife’s bedchamber door
slamming shut. She was furious with him. Not that he could blame her. He had all but accused her of
planning an assignation with Viscount Freemont.

The earl raked punishing fingers through his hair, trying to sort out this sorry state of affairs. What it all
came down to in the end was that he must accept the fact that his Kane was not Nina. Indeed, his
beloved had said as much before storming out of their bedchamber.

And she was right.

Oh aye, he knew in his heart that Kane was not deceitful. Even his instincts had surmised as much long
ago. Unfortunately, his addled brain wasn’t always so quick to agree. It wanted to see betrayal and
disloyalty where his baser faculties did not.

I am not Nina.

Kane had looked him in the eyes and stated that sentence so quietly, yet so forcefully. Her steadfast
gaze had told him where she stood—she wanted him nowhere near her until he quit behaving like an

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untrusting tyrant and starting acting like “her George”. She had told him not to bother coming to her until
he could look her in the eye and tell him what she needed to hear.

I am not Nina.

He unloosed his neckcloth, agitated and restless. It was time to let this madness go. But how?

You want my trust, yet offer none in return.

Not altogether true, but he could certainly understand why she’d said as much. Lud, but she had every
right to think that was the way of it. In actuality, however, he did trust her. It was only those few
green-seeing moments in which he felt a man maddened with jealousy that he lost his powers of reason
altogether and allowed the betrayals of the past to affect the happiness and trust of the present.
Unfortunately, the green monster would come in between he and Kane forever if he didn’t make amends
and correct the ignoble treachery that had earlier manifested itself in his brain.

George undid the ties of his breeches, then slipped them off past his hips. He finished undressing, all the
time thinking on what he could do to set the situation with his wife to rights.

I am not Nina.

Naked, George sat down on his bed and took a pensive breath. He looked at the empty
mattress looming behind him and felt his heart plummet to the ground with its symbolism. For perhaps
fifteen minutes he sat there, allowing his emotions to get the better of him. And then for the first time in
nine years, he let himself think back on his first wife.

He relived the anguish of knowing that Nina had shared her bed with others, and often. He allowed
himself to experience the sorrow and betrayal he had harbored upon finding her naked, lifeless body
bludgeoned to death by a lover. He permitted himself to feel all the feelings he’d denied himself those nine
long years ago. And in the end, George came to two irreversible conclusions.

The first—it was time to let Nina go. In an immature way he had loved her once and because of
that love he owed it to her to let her disloyalty die its death. Fate had seen to it that she’d paid the
ultimate price for her faithlessness. Indeed, it was a higher price than he ever would have extracted.

He knew upon marrying Nina that she had loved another before him. Mayhap she hadn’t been able to
let that love go. Such an all-consuming love had been foreign to George until Kane had ensnared his
heart. If Nina had felt for this man the way George felt for Kane, then he could even understand his first
wife’s betrayal. There was no power in heaven, earth, or hell that could keep him from Kane’s side.

Aye, it was time to let go of Nina. It was time to let the dead rest in peace. And it was past time to bury
all the raging, bitter emotions he’d experienced from her disloyalty of him.

He’d been given a second chance. God had sent him his Kane.

George glanced back toward the empty bed and instantly remembered the second decision he’d arrived
at—he would never, ever, sleep without his wife beside him.

He rose to his feet and walked stealthily toward the door that connected the bedchambers of the lord
and lady of the estate. He opened the door quietly, not knocking lest she was asleep.

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George’s heart pulsed at the sight that greeted him. Kane was sitting on her bed as naked as was he, but
she wasn’t sleeping. She was very awake. And she was crying.

You made her cry, you brute.

Kane’s head shot up upon realizing she was no longer alone. Tear-filled blue eyes met repentant green
ones as wife and husband gazed at each other. George held out his hand, lovingly wiped the remaining
moisture from her cheeks, then repeated the words she had prayed to the goddesses she would hear.
“You are not Nina.”

Quiet, yet powerful. The very sentence she craved. The only words that could make this night of anguish
and heartbreak better. She looked deep into her husband’s eyes and smiled up to him.

George released a worried breath, knowing all would be well. He didn’t deserve her forgiveness, but as
always, she was giving it nonetheless.

Kane held out her arms to her husband, letting him know it was alright to come to her. George wasted
no time. He scooped her up and enveloped her in the cradle of his arms, vowing to himself that he would
never be the cause of so much hurt again.

He held tight to his wife and carried her into their bedchamber. He fell with her onto the bed and entered
her body in one swift thrust. He made love to her and with her, possessive and needful, knowing it was
alright to be vulnerable with this one miraculous woman who had been fashioned as if made for him.

The walls of protection his heart had erected so long ago were no longer necessary. The fortress of his
mind that had resisted penetration was now wide open, naked and vulnerable.

But it was alright. Because he was home.

Chapter 23

“Hiiiiiyaaaa!”

Kane rolled to the ground, somersaulting forward to sideswipe the kick Viscount Blake had
made toward her face. She regained her footing and grinned at him while simultaneously signaling it was
time to call a halt to the spar. “You’re getting better. Isn’t he Mother Julia?”

“Heavens yes!” the dowager countess confirmed. “And after only a deuce of lessons.”

Chester shrugged, his telltale pride given away by the chest that puffed out of its own accord. “I
can’t take all the credit. You’re a wonderful teacher, Kane.”

Kane smiled. “Unfortunately, I can’t take all the credit for that either. The data injectable did
most of the work.”

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Chester scratched his chin as he regarded her. “Bloody useful, that invention. Still can’t say I
understand how it works, but work it does.”

“Indeed,” Lady Julia seconded as she aired herself with her fan.

Kane had to grin. The disparity between the dowager’s warrior garb and the delicacy of the lace
fan she was flicking about her face was vastly amusing. It was like watching a medieval knight in one of
George’s paintings in the grand hall sew a tapestry before the hearth while still sporting his chain mail.

“Let us move on with our lessons,” Chester implored. “I’ve a mind to see my two favorite ladies
to lunch when we’ve finished.” He shook his head. “But I’ve that game of dice with Blackmore tonight to
prepare for, so time is precious.”

Kane’s eyes squinted in confusion. “How does one prepare for a game of chance?”

Lady Julia rolled her eyes. “You can’t. That, however, has never stopped Chester from trying.” She hit
him in the stomach with her fan where hismalta offered no protection. “He treats dicing like a battle.”

“Now see here,” the viscount grumbled, “your son does as well. I need to be prepared.”

Kane waved her hand through the air, ending the argument at once. “Let us begin then.” She nodded to
the dowager and then to the viscount. “Attack me.”

“Both of us?” they screeched in unison.

“Yes. Most thugs hit in groups of two or more. You need to learn how to protect yourself.”

The older couple nodded, then assumed their fighting positions. Grinning, they attacked.

* * * * *

George and Alex strolled through the Blackmores’ London gardens looking for the countess and
dowager countess for different reasons. George wanted to steal a kiss from his wife. The very same wife
he’d been living in heaven with this past week since they had made up after that ridiculous fight about
Lord Freemont.

Alex, on the other hand, wanted to find out when Melea was due to arrive. He knew the time
was upon them and he was much looking forward to the eventuality. Indeed, he’d been semi-erect for
days just thinking about it.

Alex also needed to speak with his uncle, but had no clue as to his whereabouts. Both yesterday
morning and this morning, Viscount Blake had disappeared for hours at a time, his servants having no
notion where he’d gone. Like as not, the dowager countess would know. Chester was always nipping at
her dainty heels.

“There,” George pointed, his voice lowered to a whisper. “Mother and Kane generally spar over
there.”

The marquess nodded, quietly following at the earl’s side off the weathered trail. “I hope Lady Julia

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knows Blake’s whereabouts. I daresay the old fox—”

“God in heaven,” George muttered. “I can tell you Blake’s whereabouts. He is assailing my
wife.”

For the second time in a little over a sennight, the Earl of Blackmore and the Marquess of
Asherby watched with mouths agape as Lady Kane Blackmore made short work of her “attackers”.

Stunned, they then watched Viscount Blake let loose a “hiiiyaaa!” that would chill most villains to
the bone as he sailed through the air and back flipped toward Kane’s person.

“What the devil does he have up his arse?” Alex mumbled.

George shook his head in disbelief, so ludicrous it was to see a man of fifty and eight with a bright
red piece of garment wedged up the cheeks of his bum. He was dressed as the women were in catsuits
of black and sported the same red groin plate that was called amalta . The only difference was Blake
wore no breast plate.

“Where the devil did he learn that flipping thing?” Alex asked incredulously.

“I’ve no notion.” George shrugged. “Mygentle wife, presumably.”

George cleared his throat dramatically, drawing attention to him and Alex. The sparring halted
immediately.

“George!” Kane beamed her beautiful smile his way, running towards him and throwing herself
into his arms for a kiss. He obliged her, of course. Husbandly duty and all. “Hello, my sweet.” He
lowered his head and kissed her soundly on the lips, audience or no.

Alex cleared his throat, drawing an end to their public display of affection. “I came here this
morning looking for my uncle,” he gritted out as he scanned the warrior garbed trio, “only to find him
dressed thusly, flipping his person this way and that, attacking a lady of considerable station no less.” He
scolded the viscount with his eyes, an arrogant brow arched. “What have you to say for yourself, uncle?”

“Come now, my boy,” Chester chided, “you’re too tense.” He flexed his shoulders, rotating the
muscles by winding his arms in a circular motion. “And I attacked Kane because she told me to.”

“I see,” Alex grumbled in his most lecturing tone. “And if Lady Blackmore told you to jump into
the Thames would you do that as well?”

Lady Julia rolled her eyes. She shook her finger at the marquess. “If my Chester wins this night, I
shall become your aunt. As your aunt, I forbid you to speak to your uncle thusly.” She opened her fan
and began airing herself. “There’s nothing wrong at all with learning to protect one’s person.”

“Besides,” Kane added, “it’s good exercise. Keeps you fit and healthy.”

Alex glowered at her. “Fine. I now see that all of you, save George and myself, have taken a
liking toward learning this barbaric sport!”

George shifted uncomfortably on his feet, lowering his gaze to the ground. Alex’s eyes widened.
He knew at once what the lecher had been about. “Et Tu Brute?” he asked grimly.

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“Well,” George admitted, “I knew you wouldn’t consider it a gentlemanly endeavor, so I said
nothing.”

“I don’t believe this,” Alex grumbled.

“Alex,” Kane stated softly, “why are you so upset?”

“Truly nephew,” Chester scolded, “you take this too far.”

“He probably thinks it unseemly to learn something useful from a lady,” the dowager countess
fumed.

“That is untrue, madam! I demand an apology!”

“What will you do?” Lady Julia ridiculed him. “Challenge me?” She aired herself daintily with her
lace fan. “I’d win were it weaponless, I daresay.”

“I know,” Alex admitted forlornly, “and it’s difficult to swallow that.”

Contrite, Lady Julia placed a worried hand on his arm. She would not, however, back down.
“All will be well, Alex, if you let go of your terrible Asherby pride.” She released his arm and fanned her
face again. “At first I thought you objected because sparring is unladylike, but now I realize you object
because it is a skill two ladies and an older gentleman have learned whereas you have not.” She smiled.
“Let it go and learn, my dear.”

Alex nodded. “I don’t wish to appear unmanly to…” His face flushed.

“Melea?” George asked.

“Yes.”

Kane came forward and patted the marquess on the arm. “Where I come from the greatest
teachers of the deadly body arts are women. There is no shame, whatever your people have led you to
believe, in learning from one.”

Alex nodded. “Forgive me my insolence, my lady.” He took a deep breath, expelled it, and
regarded the earl. “Was it terribly difficult to admit your interest and ask your wife to show you the
deadly body arts?”

“Of course,” George laughed. “Terribly.” He shrugged. “But I practice day and night, anytime
I’ve a minute to spare.” He looked at his wife and winked. “I daresay I’ve a surprise or two for her when
next we spar, for she shan’t be winning any longer.”

Kane rolled her eyes, her hands flying indignantly to her hips. “Oh really?”

George eyed her up and down. “Yesss,” he hissed.

“Prove it.”

“I’ve not the garb.”

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Kane motioned toward the valise that Lady Julia was even now picking up. “Extras. Change and
prove it.”

George bowed gracefully to her, then disappeared behind some shrubbery.

Kane swung her gaze over to the marquess. “And you, change and prepare to learn. Actually I’ll
inject you first and then you may change.”

Alex lifted a brow. “Inject me?”

The mention of the injectable set Chester off into a sputtering fit. “Fascinating future invention,
you’ll scarce believe it.”

“What is it?”

“Can’t say as I know.” Chester tapped a finger to his skull. “But it makes you learn fast, my
boy.”

At Alex’s furrowed brow, Kane proceeded to explain how the injectable worked. She warned
him the transfer of the data chips would give him a little head rush as the information rushed through his
gray matter and into what she called his brain’s synapses.

“And so you see,” she finished by saying, “in less than thirty seconds you will understand each
and every move of the deadly body arts. But you must practice them for the knowledge to click in and
make sense.”

He nodded, captivated and eager. “Please, milady, let us begin.”

Kane complied, reaching into her travelling kit to pull out a tiny needle-like capsule that the data
chips were stored in. She looked up at him and grinned. “I knew you’d come around, so I have one
already prepared for you.” She held the capsule to his temple, then at his nod, pushed the trigger-like
mechanism attached to it.

Alex felt the slightest pinch, a little nausea, and very lightheaded. Regaining his composure a few
seconds later he stood there, still as a statue, and allowed the knowledge of the ancient warriors to assail
him.

He knew how to hit, how to kick, how to defend and attack. He knew how to counteract a head-on
ambush and a from-behind assault. He knew it all. It lived and breathed through his body as if he’d
possessed the knowledge all of his life. It was powerful. So very beautiful and powerful.

“Do you feel it?” Kane asked quietly.

“Yes.”

“Are you ready to change your clothes?”

“Yes.”

Lady Julia threw a catsuit at him. “Then do so.”

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* * * * *

George William Frederick Alexander Wyndom, the ninth Earl of Blackmore and the heir
apparent to the Duke of Browning, was what the ancients would have called a “butthead”, Kane thought
grimly. Even now the barbarian was circling her, waiting for just the right moment to strike. And ohhh had
the wicked warlock been practicing.

I’m off to White’s, he would say.

OrI’ve ledgers to see to , he would proclaim.

It was sorely obvious—literally—what he had really been doing.

Kane heard but didn’t listen as the marquess and viscount cheered George on. She heard but
didn’t pay attention as the dowager countess yelled at her to “bring the scamp down”. All her attention
was riveted on her husband. That lying son of a three-eyed swamp dweller that even now was closing in
on her. She threw her head back and wailed her war cry, charging at him like a madwoman.

The earl deflected his wife’s assault, then knocked her to her knees with a jack knife punch. She
quickly rolled to the side, but this day her husband was quicker. Her eyes wide with disbelief, she
screamed in anger as he pinned her to the ground, straddled her hips, and winked down at her. She
wanted to rip every last eyelash of his out that they might never dare to wink at her again.

Alex and Chester let their fists loose into the air, cheering with elation—and much relief—that it
was actually possible for a male student to best his female teacher. It gave Alex hope that he might truly
withstand Melea.

Lady Julia scowled, thinking she’d later lecture Kane that they needed more time each day set
aside for practicing their art.

“Don’t worry, my love,” George whispered down to his raging wife, “I’ll make it up to you later.”
He licked her ear discreetly that no one else might see, then climbed off of her and helped her to her feet.
She swatted the dirt off of her buttocks then looked at Alex and grunted. “Are you ready?”

He grinned unabashedly. “Yes.”

She grunted again.

“How much time do I have before Melea arrives?” he asked.

“Two weeks.”

He shook his head. “I thought she was to arrive days ago?”

“She was. There was a rebellion in the Kalgo Wormhole that she had to stomp out before joining
us.”

Alex had no notion what this wormhole business entailed and didn’t think his sensibilities could

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withstand learning anything else of the future this day. “Ah,” he said, as if he understood her meaning well
and good, “she had matters to attend to.”

Kane nodded then shot her gaze toward her husband and scowled. “As do I.”

George lifted a curious brow. “Oh?”

“Yes!” she screeched, as irate as ever. “From now on I will practice my arts every day!”

Chapter 24

The long awaited nuptials of the Dowager Countess of Blackmore and Viscount Blake were
spoken the following day. Neither the bride nor the groom wished for a big to-do, since they’d both been
subjected to that very thing for their first weddings. The Blackmore-Blake ceremony was eloquent and
classy, taking place at the marquess’s London townhouse with only a small contingent of friends and
family there to bear witness. As it turned out, Chester had already obtained a special license and
whipped it out immediately after besting George at dice.

It was, of course, the talk of the ton, how Viscount Blake had acquired the right to wed his ladylove.
The ladies of the ton thought the situation to be highly romantic. Kane, however, thought it amusing. She
also thought it sweet, on her husband’s behalf that is, because she knew in her heart that he had thrown
that last roll of the dice actuallyhoping for defeat. He wanted his mother’s happiness. Now she had it.

Kane was saddened, grievously so, by Lady Julia’s departure from the Blackmore townhouse. She was
so used to having her mother-in-law in tow that it was hard for her to let her go. Not that the two women
wouldn’t see a lot of each other. They already had a shopping expedition set up for the following day.
Still, it wasn’t easy on the Countess of Blackmore at all. Indeed, it was like losing her very best friend.

The following two weeks went by amazingly fast. Between shopping with Lady Julia, sparring with the
marquess and viscount—and avoiding sparring with one insufferably arrogant earl—Kane was fatigued.
She found herself, more times than not, napping in the afternoon.

She was also starting to worry that she was coming down with some sort of dreaded primitive
disease. In the twenty-fifth century, she had been inoculated against every virus and bacterium known
throughout the galaxies, yet she could no longer deny that she was feeling positively awful as of late.

It was the nausea and lack of being in sync with the moon change that worried her the most.
Were it not for the fact that she knew the last brain download she subjected herself to four years ago was
clean, she’d start to worry that she was showing symptoms of BV-5. The mega-virus was infamous for
starting out with small symptoms, then going into hiding until it was ready to bring death to its host. A
shiver crept down Kane’s spine at the very thought of it.

After dinner on the moon rising before Melea was to arrive, she, George, and Alex took in a
show at London’s premier theatre. Since this particular show had turned out to be a tad boring, and since
the marquess had stepped out of their box to procure some drinks, Kane decided this was the perfect

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time to discuss her worries with her husband. After all, if she was going to be departing beloved earth for
a life in the hereafter unknown, he had a right to know about it.

“George?”

“Hm?”

“We need to talk.”

The earl put down his quizzing glass and eyed his wife with worry. Her voice was strange. “What
is it, sweetheart?” He grabbed her hand and stroked her palm soothingly. “Sweetheart?”

Kane’s wide blue eyes closed briefly in pained regret. She thought of how much she loved
George, how much he loved her, and knew there wasn’t a hereafter glorious enough to match what she
felt right on earth. “I think I’m dying,” she whispered.

George’s hand stilled, along with his heart. And then his pulse picked up rapidly. His wife wasn’t
the type given to dramatics. “What?” he choked out.

Kane nodded morosely. “I’m sorry George, but I believe I’ve contracted some sort of deadly
disease.”

The curtain to their box opened just as Kane spat out those ominous words. Alex rushed inside
and handed the countess a glass of lemonade. “Disease?” he asked, visibly upset. He turned to George.
“What’s this of disease, Blackmore?”

“I’ve no notion,” George admitted. Willing his heartbeat back to an acceptable level of agitation,
he regarded his wife as he lifted the glass of lemonade to her lips and ordered her to drink from it. “Kane,
please tell me what you’ve contracted. Mayhap a physician can cure you, my love.”

Kane swallowed down a goodly portion of the drink, then turned beseeching eyes toward her
husband and good friend. “I don’t know what I have,” she quietly admitted on the verge of tears, “but
I’m certain I must be dying.”

“How can you be certain?” Alex asked.

“Because it is impossible for me to get sick. In my time, I took an injection that made most
illnesses unable to penetrate my system. And yet, here I am, sick every day these past three weeks.” She
reached up and jerked at her husband’s cravat, practically strangling him in the process, then daintily
dabbed at her eyes with it.

“Kane,” George croaked out, trying to breathe as he loosed his wife’s harsh hold on his necktie,
“why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

An ironic statement coming from a woman bent on strangling him, he thought. He made no
comment, however. He couldn’t if he wanted to. His heart was palpitating too rapidly again.

Alex handed Kane his monogrammed kerchief, effecting George’s release. “Why do you not tell
us your symptoms, Kane? Mayhap it’s not as bad as you think, hm?”

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George perked up at Alex’s words. His best friend was right. Mayhap it was a simple case of the
flu or whatnot, but being from the future, his wife didn’t understand what a cold felt like. Still, both of the
men were terrified she might actually have contracted some wicked disease they knew nothing of.

Kane nodded, leaning in closer to the two men. She whispered her words, as if indulging highly
classified information. “I vomit every morning while trying to brush my teeth.”

The men nodded grimly.

“I feel an odd sort of tenderness in my chest.” She shook her head morosely. “It hurts if you
strike me when sparring, Alex. Even while wearing my armor.”

George frowned at Alex. Alex grimaced with guilt. They both looked to her and waited for the
next dreaded symptom.

“My heart burns dreadfully when I eat anything with a little snap to it.”

The men grunted.

“And then there is the worst of all the symptoms.”

The gentlemen leaned in closer, their stomachs clenched in dread.

“I no longer keep in time with the cycle of the moon.”

Kane burst into tears as the earl and marquess looked at each other quizzically. Neither of them
had a clue as to what the woman was talking about. “Cycle of the moon?” Alex asked hesitantly.

She nodded her head up and down, then blew her nose into the kerchief. She proceeded to hand
the soiled hankie back to Alex who looked like he’d rather she kept it. He had the decency, however, to
say nothing. He picked the kerchief up by the corner and dangled it away from himself.

“What do you mean by not being in time with the moon cycle?” George asked. He feared it was
some ghastly thing future peoples would die without having.

“My body should have cleansed itself two weeks ago, yet it didn’t.” She bit her lip and closed
her eyes against the horror of her fears. “I did not cleanse with the change of the moon. I suspected I was
ill the first week, but when my cleansing didn’t come the week after that I knew the situation was
hopeless.”

George and Alex hadn’t the least notion what this cleansing business entailed, but it sounded
ominous. “Kane,” George implored, afraid to ask the very question he knew needed to be answered.

“Yes?”

“What is a cleansing?”

She shrugged her shoulders. “Bleeding.”

“Bleeding?” Alex inquired, figuring this cleansing business was even more horrific than he first

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thought.

“Yes!” Kane snapped as if forced to explain herself to two imbeciles. “I didn’t have my woman’s
monthly flow of cleansing blood!”

She burst into tears.

The gentlemen looked at each other and blushed.

George patted his wife’s knee, visibly relaxing. He wasn’t certain how to broach the subject they
needed to speak of. “My dear, how do women in your time…” His face stained crimson as he coughed
into his free hand. “How do they breed, my love?”

Kane shrugged her shoulders, thinking it an odd time to ask such a question. Here she was dying
and her husband wanted to know the intricacies of twenty-fifth century breeding techniques. She
answered him anyway. “The poorer classes give birth the way women of your time do.”

Alex nodded. “And the women of your class?”

“The same way women of my class have been doing it for centuries,” she answered with a sniffle.
“We go to a lab with our permanent companion and make a baby that is hosted inside of an artificial
womb, where it remains until ready to be birthed.”

The earl and the marquess released their worried breaths simultaneously. Kane had no notion
what pregnancy felt like because no woman she had ever been acquainted with would have experienced
it.

George looked to Alex pleadingly. He wasn’t certain how to tell his wife what she needed to
know about her “disease”. The marquess shook his head in the negative. “She’s your bloody wife,” he
muttered under his breath, his face scorching its heat.

George cleared his throat as he reached out for his wife’s hand. He stroked her soothingly,
uncertain how to begin. “Kane, my dear.”

“Yes?”

“You are not dying.”

“I’m not?”

“No.”

She searched her husband’s face for some indication that he was lying to spare her feelings. She
saw nothing, however. He looked to be telling the truth. “Then what’s wrong with me? Can I be cured?”

Alex cleared his throat, causing Kane to look toward him. “In a little over eight months,” the
marquess choked out.

Kane squinted as she considered that piece of information. Apparently her husband and friend
had experience with this disorder to know exactly how long it would last. “Oh?”

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George lifted her chin up, forcing her to meet his gaze. He was smiling terrifically so she obviously
had contracted something curable. “Kane, my love, your disease is no disease.”

“It’s not?”

“No.”

“Then what is it?”

He kissed her soundly on the lips then gently grabbed her chin once more. “You’re going to have
my baby.”

Chapter 25

“You could have broken the news a bit more gently,” Lady Blake chided her son.

“Your mother’s right, my boy,” Chester added, “gave the poor chit a fright, you did.”

“When do you suppose she’ll wake up?” Alex asked.

The three of them hovered over the Blackmore marriage bed, watching as George tended to his
wife. He wiped her brow down with a cool cloth, then turned to his audience and scowled. “I’ve no
notion when she’ll wake up. My wife isn’t at all the type to succumb to a fit of the vapors.”

“Look what marriage to you does to the gel,” Chester quipped.

George glared at him. He grunted and turned back to face his wife.

The foursome watched the countess intently, cheering up a great deal when her eyelids at last
began to flutter open. “George?” she asked in a whisper, her eyes still half closed.

The earl grabbed her hand and squeezed it gently. “I’m here, darling.”

Kane smiled ever so slightly, then just as quickly began to frown. She was remembering. And if
memory served her correctly…

She bolted upright in the bed, thumping her husband’s jaw in the process. Her eyes flew open
and narrowed into icy blue slits as she accused him through them. “You!” she spat, shaking her finger at
him ominously. “You…you…defiler of the laws of the Milky Way Galaxy!”

“Kane,” George pleaded.

She threw his hand off of her arm. She was in no mood to be consoled. “You impregnator of
high born women!”

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“Kane,” he gritted out between set teeth, “’tis the way of breeding in this world.”

She lost some of her fire at those words, closing her eyes morosely at the thought. She certainly
hadn’t considered this breeding business when she’d jumped at the chance to marry George. “It will
hurt!” she accused him, opening her eyes again.

“Dreadfully so,” Lady Julia agreed.

George spared a brief moment to glare at his mother before trying to make amends to his wife.
“I’m sorry sweetheart,” he implored her. “I thought you understood how it was done here.”

Kane knew he was right. He had no way of knowing. And she should have considered the fact
that her pregnancy inoculation was no good when used in conjunction with mating a non-inoculated male.
It was all her fault. She couldn’t stop pitying herself, however. “Oh George,” she cried, “I’m too small for
such an event.”

George blushed, trying to behave as though her words in front of company were anywhere within
the realm of propriety. “All will be well, my dear.”

“What if I can’t squeeze it out?” She clutched the covers to her chest and gasped. “What is it
tears me apart?”

Chester clapped a hand to his forehead, grimacing at the notion.

“Or what if it likes my belly so much that it never desires to leave it?” She burst into tears.

“That won’t happen,” George assured her as he awkwardly patted her knee.

“Oh? And you’ve had one to know this?” she cried. “Perhaps it will stay in my belly, refusing to
come out. Then it will grow so big that my stomach will burst open and it will jump out at us like a mutant
hybrid from Zyphon’s twin planet Zypher!”

Alex felt faint. The mental picture was not a pretty one.

George shook his weary head in confusion, uncertain as to how he should proceed. He decided
that patting his wife’s knee was as good as he was liable to come up with. “That won’t happen,” he
clumsily offered.

“Do you know this for a fact?”

“Yes, I do,” he stated firmly.

“Your lord husband is correct,” Lady Julia assured Kane as she plopped down on the bed next
to her. She reached for her hand and stroked it. “I promise you that nothing dreadful will happen.”

“Really?” she inquired.

The viscountess nodded forcefully. “Definitely. Oh, I won’t lie, it will hurt like the devil, but it will
pass.” She kissed Kane’s worried forehead, smoothing a few tendrils of hair from her daughter-in-law’s
brow. “But it will be worth it.”

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“How so?”

“You’ll have a baby!” Lady Julia beamed. “My grandchild!” She looked at her son and smiled
warmly. She then proceeded to burst into tears. “My little Georgie’s baby!” she wailed.

Chester and Alex shifted uneasily on their feet. Too many tears they’d been made privy to this
night.

Kane reached out to comfort her mother-in-law, hugging her tightly to her body. “George’s
baby,” she breathed out, as if the notion was now soothing instead of repulsive. She smiled at her
husband while embracing the viscountess. She reached out and took his hand. “Our baby,” she
whispered.

George felt the tears gathering at his own eyes, but refused to let them fall. He smiled at his wife
instead, stroking her hand and feeling vastly contented. “Yes, my love. Our baby.”

* * * * *

After tucking Kane into bed for the night, George escorted his mother, father-in-law, and best
friend into his study for a drink. He had a servant bring a glass of wine in for his mother, then poured a
glass of port for Alex, Chester, and himself.

“She seems to be taking it much better,” Alex offered as soon as the butler closed the door of the
study.

Chester nodded. “Indeed. Got some color back, she did.”

George took a sip of port, then sighed deeply. “Never thought she’d calm down.” He saluted his
guests with a raised glass. “But she did.”

“Praise the heavens,” Lady Julia mumbled, downing her wine.

Alex reclined on the sofa and stretched out his long legs. He shook his head as he contemplated
some of the horrific things the countess had said up in her bedchamber.

George raised a quizzical brow. “What’s the matter, Alex?”

The marquess shrugged as he took a sip of his port. “I was just thinking, is all.”

“About?”

Alex frowned. “Zypher. That planet sounds a dreadful place.”

Chester grimaced. “Imagine that. Mutant hybrids bursting forth from one’s person.” He shivered.
“I’ve no notion what a mutant hybrid is, but it sounds a trite wicked.”

* * * * *

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An hour later, George crawled into bed and drew his wife into the fold of his arms. For the first
night since they consummated their marriage, he was too exhausted to claim his privileges. Simply holding
her against his chest was enough.

And she did deserve the rest, poor woman. Finding out she was breeding had knocked the wind clear
out of her sails.

Breeding.

His baby.

Their baby.

George tucked his wife’s head underneath his chin and fell into a peaceful sleep. He was the luckiest
man in the world.

Chapter 26

The worries associated with pregnancy and the subsequent birthing were put aside to prepare for
Melea’s pending arrival. She was scheduled to attempt the transferring process in precisely five minutes.
After much deliberation on both sides, the consensus was that the Warrior Woman would transfer into
the Blackmore London gardens, off the beaten path, where the Blackmores, Blakes, and the Marquess
of Asherby often practiced their sparring.

Kane paced frantically, clutching her laser-c tightly to her chest. George and Alex watched her
wear a brisk indentation into the grass, choosing wisely to remain silent.

Chester and Julia had wanted to be present for the transferring, but the viscountess came down
with a megrim before the duo could set out this morning. Her new husband forced her abed, staying with
her to look after his wife. Vexed, Lady Julia relented in the end, but sent a servant over with notes to the
Blackmore and Asherby estates demanding their presence at dinner this evening at the Blake townhouse.

In all actuality, Kane planned to visit her mother-in-law directly after Melea’s transfer. She winced with
guilt knowing she could have prevented the viscountess’s headache had she but inoculated her long ago.
The first item on her agenda was to inoculate everyone dear to her so they shouldn’t suffer needlessly.
The second item was finding the damned kabitross. Once she had Melea, it was all she planned to do
with her time.

“Kane dearest,” George chastised, deciding he could hold his tongue for only so long, “you shouldn’t be
pacing about so recklessly in your condition.” He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her,
daring his wife to say otherwise.

She did.

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“George dearest,” she gritted back, “you are the one who got me in this ‘condition’, as you so aptly
named it.” She scowled at him, wagging her finger. “I have decided that I am much looking forward to
having your child, but carrying him or her doesn’t make me an invalid.” She straightened her shoulders,
throwing her hands protectively toward her belly. “You will leave us alone.”

George smiled. He knew he should have been angered by her insolent words, but he was too pleased in
realizing that mother and child were already bonding to be bothered by the proprieties. Kane would
make a most delightful mama.

Alex pulled his pocket watch from his waistcoat and checked the time. He glanced sharply at Kane and
nodded. “We’ve but two minutes left, my lady.”

Kane rubbed her belly absently as she took a deep breath. Patience had never been one of her virtues.
Apparently it still wasn’t. She wanted this business over and done with already.

A minute later the air around them began to grow fuzzy and tense. There was a charge of energy about
them that neither George nor Alex could give a name to. It was similar to an electrical current, like one
emitted in a lightning storm, yet vastly different. The energy was calmer, more controlled. It was called
fero-nitrum, but of course, neither of the gentlemen would have known that.

Kane smiled, knowing the time was at hand. Any minute now she would be reunited with her closest
female friend. Any second and she would finally be in the presence of—

“Melea.”

A smiling twenty-fifth century woman carrying her travelling kit and laser-c stepped out of the energy
emission and hugged Kane tightly against her. “I have missed you!” she declared.

“And I you!”

The women hugged each other for a few moments as the energy surrounding them faded, speaking
rapidly in their own dialect. George noted at once that their words were English, yet they weren’t. They
spoke close enough to the king’s English for him to make out most of what they were saying, yet there
was a definite difference to their speech in both pattern and phraseology.

Remembering their audience, Kane grabbed Melea’s hand and steered her toward her husband. Smiling
broadly, she introduced them. “Melea, my permanent companion and husband, George. George, my best
friend, Melea.”

The earl took Melea’s hand and kissed her chastely on the palm. “Mistress Melea. It is a pleasure.”

Melea inclined her head hesitantly, unsure as to what was expected of her. Shrugging her shoulders in
the universal symbolism of “ah, what the hell”, she picked up the earl’s palm and kissed him back.
George sputtered, looking to his wife for aid, uncertain as to how he should go on. Melea ignored that.
“It is a pleasure to meet you this fine day, daddy-o.”

George and Alex raised a brow.

Kane winced. It was obvious that Melea had undergone the same useless data injection that she had
before coming to 1776. “Melea,” she informed her, “for the most part it is wise to forget what you have
learned from your injectable.” She clapped her hand over her mouth and giggled. “Women do not kiss

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men’s palms here. Nor is a gentleman referred to as ‘daddy-o’!”

Melea frowned. She made a mental note to kill Linder when she returned. She grunted, turning to face
the marquess. Her eyes lit up, twinkling their mischief as recognition struck. “Ah,” she teased, “I’d know
this humanoid anywhere.” She squinted her eyes together as if seriously pondering the matter, then
snapped her fingers in faux deliberation. “But I have to be sure.” She circled him slowly, mischievously.
Winking at the earl and countess from behind Alex’s back, she then pulled up his coattails and nodded.
“Yes, definitely the same man.”

Alex’s face turned crimson, a curious mix of embarrassment and indignation. “Mistress,” he gritted out,
“we do not subject noblemen to such treatment here.”

Melea nodded, completely unperturbed. She stood up on tiptoe, grabbed the marquess by the back of
the neck, and kissed him soundly on the lips. “Is that better, humanoid?” she breathed out.

His face bright purple, he still managed to nod. “Of the two, yes, it is preferable.”

George studied his boots. Interesting shade of black.

Kane giggled. By Saturn’s rings, it was fun to see Melea make all the same mistakes she had made
when first joining 1776!

Melea patted Alex playfully on the rump, causing the marquess to expel an undignified yelp. “Well,” the
Warrior Woman announced, totally unaware of the fact that she’d just made another blunder, “let us
make haste to the bachelor pad.”

* * * * *

Dinner at the Blake townhouse that night was decidedly noteworthy. Indeed, George was certain
it would be commented upon for many years to come by all parties involved, servants included.

His wife’s friend Melea was, well,unique . The earl thought it wouldn’t be understating the issue to say
that she would have a lot more difficulty fitting into Georgian England than Kane had had. He glanced
over toward the harridan in question, enjoying every moment of Alex’s discomfit at the Warrior
Woman’s capable hands.

“I rather like the color black on you, Alex,” Melea stated after sipping from her wine. “I desire
for you to wear nothing else in my presence. Unless, of course, you’re naked.” She inclined her head
regally, stating without words that the subject was closed and no arguments to the contrary would be
permitted.

Alex narrowed his eyes into menacing green slits.

Kane clapped her hand over her mouth and giggled.

George studied his wine glass. Interesting specimen of crystal.

Viscount Blake cleared his throat. He tried desperately to think of a way to turn the topic. “I, uh,
I’m partial to black myself, Melea,” he sputtered. “Interesting color, that.”

Smoooooth, George thought wryly.

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“Why yes,” Lady Julia added, her aristocratic cheekbones stained scarlet, “I daresay black
should be all the rage.”

Alex grunted, downing the remainder of his wine in one swallow. Annoyed by Melea’s boldness,
and even more annoyed by his aunt and uncle’s attempt at saving face on her behalf, he cocked an
arrogant eyebrow and regarded his quarry. “I’m rather partial to the color of flesh myself.”

Lady Julia gasped. She retrieved her fan from only the goddesses know where and began
whipping it about her face. Her husband rolled his eyes and ripped the delicate lace contraption out of
her grip, but then, thinking better of it, began fanning both of their heated faces with it.

George studied the paintings on the wall above Alex’s head. Interesting. Vastly interesting.

Melea flushed, looking away from the marquess.

Kane arched a golden brow. It was at that moment that she became aware of her best friend’s game.
She would keep her secret, of course.For now .

Alex smiled predatorily, feeling every inch the victor in this round of the Battle of Words. He
straightened in his chair, leaning into the table with a casual air of pompousness. He winked at the earl
while motioning for a servant to refill his glass of wine.

* * * * *

Over the course of the next few weeks, Kane and Melea became intimately acquainted with every
known collection of books in London. They searched the private libraries of a variety of Britain’s
reputable (and not so reputable) households.

They hunted everywhere, from logical starting points such Lord Ames’ collection of books, which he
housed for his work within the Agrarian Society, to less logical domiciles, such as Lord Smith’s collection
revolving around his passion for the London Antiquities Society. And yet, weeks later, the women were
still no closer to finding the damned plant than Kane had been on her own.

The ever-elusive kabitross wore more and more on Kane’s mind with each passing day. She
didn’t know what to think anymore. Had she been wrong in her research? Had the kabitross ever grown
on planet earth?

There were many moments of late when she feared the answer was no, it had never been here. More
often than not, however, she worried that the kabitross had indeed dwelled within the earth’s boundaries,
but in a different millenium altogether. Not that she could be sorry for the error she’d perhaps made,
otherwise she never would have met George. But for Linder she was sorry, and for Egis more than
anyone.

On her better days, Kane still held high hopes for finding the plant in Georgian England. Something deep
inside of herself—the gut instinct she’d always relied upon in the past—told her not to give up. She had
to have faith. And she had to keep searching.

One conclusion, however, was inescapable: she needed to search the land again and forgo any more
library-hopping. The books she’d scoured through with Melea had been filled with a lot of interesting
drawings of many a notable flower, but none wasthe flower, the kabitross.

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After arriving home late in the day from viewing Lord Smith’s collection of books on antiquities with
Melea and George, Kane vowed to herself that it was the last library they would search—ever. For one
thing, she was down to grasping at straws. For another, she realized it was a lot of work on her
husband’s behalf having to set up viewings in the individual homes of London’s nobility. On top of that
one unavoidable reality, there was also the fact that it took too much time away from George’s other
duties to escort Kane and Melea all over London every day.

England being English, “gentlewomen”, which outsiders presumed Kane and Melea to be, could not
enter into the home of a non-family male without escort. Because of that particularly annoying aspect of
eighteenth century life, the duty of escorting the women about had fallen into George’s already
overworked hands.

On occasion Chester was able to properly relieve the earl that he might get some of his own affairs in
order. More often than not, though, the burden was George’s. Kane understood that it wasn’t fair to him
or to the countless people of Blackmore who depended upon him to continue on in this manner.

Kane rose up from the chair opposite George’s in his study, knowing she needed to leave the poor man
to his ledgers. What a good sport her husband was. She circled the desk to stand beside his seat, then
leaned down and kissed him on the forehead. He smiled.

“Where are you off to, my love?”

“I’m pretty tired, George. I’m going to take a walk in the gardens with Melea to relax a bit, then I’m off
to bed.”

He nodded his approval. “Don’t wait up for me, my dear. I’ve much work to see to.” He picked up a
quill and began writing in a ledger.

Kane flushed guiltily on her feet. She frowned, feeling as wicked as a witch for being responsible for her
husband’s increasingly late hours. “George?”

“Hm?” he asked without taking his eyes from the book he was recording into.

“I’m sorry.”

He looked up, curious. “Whatever for?”

She sighed deeply. “For your lack of sleep. For the amount of time you’ve taken away from your work
to help me find the kabitross.”

The earl smiled at his wife, bedazzling her with the laugh lines around his light green eyes that always
made her heart flutter. “Do not concern yourself.”

“But I do.” She leaned over and planted kisses on said laugh lines. “You will never have to repeat today
again,” she promised.

“Mmmm,” he purred, delighted by the unexpected show of affection. “And why not?”

She kissed the tip of his handsome aquiline nose. “It’s a waste of time.”

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He pulled his wife down onto his lap to love her properly. “Then what will you do?” he asked, stroking
her thigh and buttocks.

She cupped his erection through the fabric of his breeches, glorying in the sound of his sucked in breath.
“I want to return to the country to hunt the lands.”

He straddled her across his lap and pushed her skirts up to her waist. Finding her clitoris, he rubbed the
center of her through her silken undergarments. “How soon?” he asked hoarsely.

She released her husband’s rigid erection from his breeches, then stroked up and down the length of
him. “The sooner the better.”

“Mmmm.” He tore his wife’s underpants off, thankful she’d never seen fit to don eighteenth century
women’s under things that were difficult to get into. “And miss the last few balls of the season?”

She glided her husband’s thick cock to her entrance, rubbing the tip around her wet folds. “We’re too
tired from the long days of library searching to go to them now.”

He grabbed her hips and lurched upward, entering her body smoothly with one thrust. “Then it’s settled.
We go home the soonest,” he gritted out.

She moaned. “Praise the goddesses.” Her hips began to rotate, gliding up and down on his shaft.

He groaned. “Prraiseyoouurueemmy.”

She grinned. He was beyond words. Just the way the countess liked her earl.

Chapter 27

“By Jupiter’s fifth moon, Kane, this place is lovely.”

Kane nodded her agreement as she and Melea strolled through the gardens of the Blackmore London
estate. Fresh from her husband’s lovemaking, she was feeling much more invigorated than she had upon
returning home this evening. “I’m glad you’ll be here long enough to see our country home. It puts this
place to shame.” She smiled whimsically, remembering all of the wildlife and plants in the various country
hamlets and shires that comprise Blackmore. “Hard to believe this is the same earth we’ve lived in all of
our lives.”

Melea snorted, disgusted more so than ever by the warring factions of the past that had obliterated it all.
“Agreed.”

The two women walked quietly for several minutes, neither of them feeling particularly pressed to speak.
As is always the case between two close friends, silence was never the enemy. Finally, however, it was
Melea who felt compelled to break the quiet. “I have to admit that I understand now why you wish to
stay here.”

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Kane grinned, her blue eyes twinkling. “For all of the technology the eighteenth century lacks, the beauty
of the environment more than compensates.”

Melea nodded. “True, but that wasn’t what I referred to.”

“Oh?”

“I was referring to George.”

“Ah.”

“It’s obvious he loves you deeply.”

“Yes. And I him.”

Kane bit her lip, worrying about whether or not it was too soon to tell Melea of her impending
motherhood. Had the babe been implanted in a synthetic womb, she knew her dear friend would be
elated for her. Since that wasn’t the case, however, she didn’t want to worry her needlessly. She was
worried enough herself. Still, she needed her friend’s support. Her decision was made. “Melea?”

“Yes?”

“George and I are to have a child.”

The Warrior Woman shot her gaze in Kane’s direction, shocked yet grinning broadly. “Excellent! I
would be Guardianne to the babe, would I not?”

“Of course.”

She clapped her long time friend on the back in congratulations. “In which chamber does the babe’s
womb dwell? I’ve a mind to see the growing little one.”

Kane cast her gaze to the ground, nervously clearing her throat. “Well, uh, as to that...uh…”

“Yes?”

“There is no synthetic womb.”

Melea arched a black brow, grinning terrifically. She assumed her friend was jesting. “Want it to be a
surprise, eh?”

Kane said nothing. She sighed, looking up to the surrounding trees for nature’s support. Melea’s smile
faltered somewhat at her friend’s odd demeanor. “Kane, what is it? What do you hide?”

Kane impaled the Warrior Woman with her blue eyes, all meaning contained within their depths. “We
are to have a babe. And there are no synthetic wombs in the eighteenth century.”

Melea lost her footing, scrambling quickly to regain it lest she tumble to the ground. She drew herself to
an immediate halt, whipping Kane around to face her. “Wh-what?”

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“I said—”

“By Nuba’s twin moons, I take your meaning!” She slashed her hand vehemently through the air, her
tendency to try and dominate situations she found distressing resurfacing. “I won’t have it!”

“Melea—”

“No!” She shook her head. “It’s too dangerous!What were you thinking ?”

“I didn’t plan to get impregnated!” Kane countered, her own voice now rising shrilly. “But I did! And I
shall carry and bear it!”

Melea groaned. She ran her fingers through her hair and shook her head in disbelief. “It will hurt, you
know.”

“I know.”

“And yet you will birth it? You, a high born woman?”

“Yes.”

The sigh of the Warrior Woman wafted in the breeze. She took in a deep breath, resigning herself to the
fact that the choice was not hers to make. She nodded, giving Kane a non-verbal show of support.

The two friends resumed their trek through the gardens, each of them lost in their respective thoughts.
Unbeknownst to Melea, Kane was thinking of the same matter she was. Both women were
contemplating what this news would mean to Melea’s not yet existent physical relationship with the
marquess.

Melea nudged Kane on the shoulder, garnering her attention. “I take it you cannot mount a
non-inoculated male in this world without chancing pregnancy?”

Kane’s gaze considered her suspiciously. “Why do you ask?”

Melea looked swiftly away, her expression unreadable. “I’ve my reasons.”

“Ah.” Kane grinned, knowing her reason was called “Alex”. It was ridiculously evident to her that the
Warrior Woman was trying desperately to keep Asherby at arm’s length. She’d been studiously avoiding
the man since her arrival three weeks past.

Kane thought Melea’s overt attempts at dodging Alex, then insulting him whenever they did happen
upon the other, were unfortunate, for she believed he was just what her friend needed in her life. Still, it
wasn’t right to lie. Any relationship she was to have with Alex was Melea’s own affair. “No. You cannot
mount a non-inoculated male without chancing impregnation.”

Melea’s shoulders drooped in defeat. “I see.”

“As do I,” Kane voiced softly.

Melea frowned, grunting at her dearest friend’s words. “What mean you, woman?”

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Kane bit her lip and grinned. “Nothing.” She shook her head playfully. “Nothing at all.”

* * * * *

Two of the loveliest bitches in creation, the resentful one thought morosely. Envious eyes watched from a
distance as Lady Blackmore made her way from the main gardens and headed back toward the
townhouse with her friend in tow.

The dark-haired woman was of no consequence to the earl. She was, therefore, of no
consequence to the one who watched her stroll alongside the countess.

It was the light-haired bitch, the second wife of Lord Blackmore, who was to become the focal
point of the ensuing battle.

The slighted one had taken action once. Action would be taken again.

Chapter 28

“No way. Forget it. It won’t happen. Uh-uh.” Kane shook her head vigorously in the negative,
her arms crossed over her ample chest. A chest, the earl noted with lusty appreciation, that was much
riper since his seed took plant six weeks past.

“Darling, we’ve no say in the matter. We cannot ignore a royal summons.”

“Fine!” she spat, her blue eyes burning hotly. “I will go to the Neptune-cursed court, but I flatly
refuse to wear one of those unattractive powdered wigs!” She picked up her fork and shoved a piece of
breakfast sausage into her mouth. “And furthermore,” she added, jabbing her fork in the general vicinity
of the liveried servants standing behind them, “I thought we agreed to let these men have their dignity.
Why do they still sport those wigs?”

If one looked closely, shimmers of amusement could be seen in each of the servants’ eyes. They
remained as unmoved as statues, however.

Lady Julia laughed at her daughter-in-law’s indignation. She winked at a grinning Melea, who
along with Chester, was partaking of the Blackmores' Saturday morning breakfast invitation with them.
“I’m one with Kane, my lord son. I’ve no desire to don one of those oddities either.”

“Madam,” George gritted out, turning his exasperation onto his mother, “from Kane I expect this.
From you, however, I do not.” He placed his fork on the table and picked up a glass of juice to sip from.
“You’ve lived here all of your days and know the way of it in court.” He raised his eyebrows in silent
challenge, then downed his drink.

“My son-in-law has the right of it, love,” Chester argued. “You know the king will be grave

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insulted if the countess don’t show up in the courtly fashions.”

George inclined his head to his father-in-law. “Thank-you, Blake. At least some one still harbors
a modicum of sensibility around here.”

Melea, still smiling at the banter she’d grown to enjoy amongst the Blackmores and Blakes,
shook her head in confusion. She must have missed something in the beginning of the conversation for she
didn’t grasp what the commotion was about. “I do not understand, my lord. What is the difficulty? What
must we dress like tonight?”

George turned his attentions to Melea. He’d truly come to like the tawny-eyed, vivacious woman
over the past three weeks. Especially since Kane explained to him why Melea had been acting the bold
way she had toward Alex since her arrival in 1776. Like his wife, he would keep the Warrior Woman’s
secret. For now. “We’ve been sent a royal summons by the king’s emissary. We must go to court
tonight, the lot of us.”

Melea shrugged her shoulders, still not understanding what one had to do with the other. “So?”

George sighed. A common occurrence for him since he’d entered the wedded state. “So in
England, the royal house dictates fashion.” He shrugged his broad shoulders. “The king might find fault
with the lot of us if we don’t bow to his dictate and dress accordingly.”

Melea nodded. “I see. So how then must we dress?”

“You don’t want to know,” Kane mumbled dejectedly.

George pointed toward the servants surrounding the table at a distance. “We must all don the
powdered wig this eve.”

Melea took one look at the liveried servants heads and gawked. “You jest!”

“Afraid not,” Chester muttered. “King George III has a love for the wig.”

“King George III?” Melea asked.

“Yes,” Kane confirmed.

“The insane one?” Melea inquired incredulously.

“Yes,” Lady Julia confirmed.

“That explains the wig thing,” Melea muttered.

Kane snorted her agreement.

The earl clapped a weary hand to his forehead. ‘Twas going to be a long night.

* * * * *

Kane and Melea reclined across from one another in the Blackmore travelling carriage, both of them
scowling their displeasure. Kane was dressed in a lovely silk gown of blue trimmed with black lace and

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delicate embroideries. The gown displayed an ample amount of bosom and hugged her still trim waistline.

Melea was outfitted in red, the crimson garment relieved only by the white lace garnishing it. Like
Kane, her bosom was well exposed, her waist cinched together.

Atop both of their heads sat garishly unattractive powdered wigs, which matched their garishly
powdered and rouged faces.

They hated it.

Kane flicked open the fan she’d purchased during one of her many shopping excursions with her
mother-in-law and began airing her face agitatedly. “I wish my husband would hurry,” she mumbled.

Melea narrowed her eyes. “What’s the difference? Whether we leave now or an hour from now,
we still look like ten kinds of fool.”

Kane clucked her tongue. “I don’t think we look like fools. I think we look as insane as the king
is,” she mumbled, “but I don’t think we look like fools.”

“Alright,” Melea allowed, “then we look like insane fools.”

Kane grimaced, not caring to ponder the truth behind that statement. She patted Melea on the
knee, deciding it would be best to put their embarrassment behind them. “You don’t look so bad.” She
averted her gaze, not quite able to make eye contact at that bold lie.

“Oh?” Melea asked, not believing her outrageous claim for a Nero-second.

“Truly,” Kane replied, nodding her head, but still avoiding her best friend’s gaze.

“Well,” Melea huffed, smiling wickedly, “you don’t look so bad either.”

Kane met her eyes then—and frowned. “You don’t have to make fun of me.”

“I’m not making fun of you. I’m merely giving you the same back-assed compliment you gave
me.”

“Fine!” Kane shrieked. “Do you want me to say it?!”

Melea waved her hand dismissively, no longer caring to explore the subject. “Never mind.”

“Oh no.” Kane shook her head adamantly in the negative. “Let’s have the truth. Let’s just say it.”

Melea snorted. “And which truth might that be? That we look like fools? That we have the same
crazed appearance as a couple of frothing-mouthed escapees from the nearest roaming satellite asylum?”

“There is that,” Kane muttered.

“That these hideous wigs make us look so unappealing that not even a one-eyedzilch in the peak
of his heat would wish to mate with us?”

“Hadn’t thought of that.” Kane frowned.

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“That our faces are so painted with white and red—not to mention these stupid fake black moles
we each have on our cheek—that we could pass for the actress in that ancient movie implanted into our
memory cells from the data injection?” Melea squinted her eyes, tapping her powdered and rouged
cheek, pursing her reddened lips. “What was her name again?”

Kane shrugged. “My memory cells don’t recall. The name of the show wasWhatever Happened
to Baby Jane .”

“That’s right,” Melea muttered. “Baby Jane.”

Kane glowered at her friend, though out of sympathy over their shared plight instead of anger. “I
can tell you exactly what happened to Baby Jane,” she hissed. “She went as insane as we look!”

The door to the carriage opened before Melea could respond to that claim. A few moments
later, George hopped into the conveyance and took the seat beside his wife. He took one gander at her
bemused expression, then narrowed his eyes in silent challenge, daring her to comment on his hairpiece.
Kane looked away, the corners of her lips twitching against her will.

Melea scanned the earl’s outfit from his gleaming black boots to his attractively tailored breeches
and waistcoat, to his ridiculously gaudy powdered wig. She too felt the need to look away.

George crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his wife and her friend. “I shouldn’t laugh
were I either of you.”

“I, uh, I’m n-not laughing, dear.”

George frowned at his wife’s back. “Oh? Then why are your shoulders shaking up and down?
Have you some bizarre disease I’ve never heard mention of?”

The movement of her shoulders eased somewhat. “I’m a b-bit chilly.”

“In the middle of June?”

“Yes.”

“If you’re not laughing, then turn to face me. Both of you.”

The women inhaled deeply, steadying themselves against the upcoming battle of mirth. Kane
faced him first and then Melea, both of them seemingly composed.

Then the countess made a serious tactical error—she dared to look from her husband’s face up to the
white wig sitting atop his head like a nesting place for some species of deranged bird. She burst out
laughing. Melea followed in suit.

George sighed, clapping his hand to his forehead. He felt another megrim coming on.

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Chapter 29

George William Frederick Alexander Wyndom, the ninth Earl of Blackmore and heir apparent to the
Duke of Browning, felt like a ninny. His wife, insufferable wench that she was, managed to look ravishing
even with her face painted and her hair powdered the color of fallen snow. He, on the other hand,
believed he looked as awkward as he felt.

This was why he never came to court. He couldn’t stand all the fuss that was made in regard to painting
one’s person over like a garish peacock. And that’s precisely how he felt—like an overgrown, six foot
five inch peacock with white hair.

His peahen was even now dancing with the king while he, her lord husband, was forced to stand on the
sidelines attempting not to spill his glass of bubbly on Lady Trumdale’s foot tall powdered pink wig. In
fact, if the daft woman didn’t get her hair out from under his nose, he was like as not going to spill it
apurpose.

George fished his pocket watch out of his waistcoat and eyed the time. His mother and Blake managed
to escape well over an hour ago. He wanted to do the same. George sighed his relief as he took in the
time, knowing the king was apt to early hours and would no doubt wish to retire soon. He searched out
his wife on the dance floor, watching her laugh uproariously at some comment His Majesty had just
made. His peahen appeared to be enjoying herself.

“There you are Blackmore. Didn’t think I’d find you in this crush.”

George turned on his heel and came eye to eye with Alex. He frowned. “I don’t want to be here, if the
truth be known. No choice in the matter.” He shrugged his shoulders, grinning. “You know the way of it.”

Alex snorted. “Ah yes, the way of the royal summons.” He cleared his throat as he did a thorough scan
of the ballroom. In a voice he hoped was nonchalant, he asked for Melea’s whereabouts. “Did she join
you and the countess this evening?”

“Yes she did. Unhappily so.”

The marquess raised a curious brow but said nothing. George shook his head and grinned. “She and my
wife both had to be forced, manipulated, and otherwise coerced into donning their powdered wigs. They
both hate them with a passion.”

“Can’t say I blame them,” Alex muttered.

“Nor I.”

“Ever since Kane pointed out the fact that I look like a man whose seen one hundred earth years when I
sport the wig, I haven’t been able to look at one in quite the same light.”

George laughed, saluting his best friend with his glass of champagne. “Nor I.”

The earl and the marquess were interrupted a moment later when the countess in question strolled up to
their sides. “Greetings Alex!” Kane beamed. “I’ve missed you terribly! Where have you kept yourself
these past two weeks?”

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Alex took Kane’s hand and kissed her upturned palm chastely in greeting. “And I have missed you and
the old man here as well.” He winked at her mischievously when he heard George’s grunt. “I had some
problems with a couple of my estates that I had to attend to at once,” he replied on a serious note. “But
that is over now. Tell me,” he inquired smoothly as he peered over the countess’s shoulder, “where is
Melea?”

“Looking for you.”

Alex arched a brow. “Oh? I’d been given the impression I was the last man on earth she wanted to see.”

Kane smiled warmly at him. “Impressions can be deceiving,” she answered cryptically.

Alex grinned. “Let us hope so.”

“So tell me,” George interrupted, placing his hand on his wife’s arm. “Did you enjoy your dance with the
king?”

“Yes!” Kane nodded her head up and down vigorously. “Insane or not, he’s quite funny, actually. And a
great dancer. Wore me out, he did.”

George smiled lecherously, thinking of all the ways he’d wear his lady wife out this evening. Kane
blushed, knowing that familiar smile all too well. “Oh!” she retorted, remembering what it was she wanted
to tell her husband. “I forgot to mention what the king told me.”

“What was that?”

She leaned in closer to George and Alex, lowering her voice to a controlled hush. “His Majesty banned
Baron Montieth from court for three years as a punishment for offending me.”

“Really?” George inquired, pleased with the king’s interference.

“Yes.”

“Excellent!” Alex patted George on the back, as pleased as the earl was.

Kane retrieved her fan from her reticule and began airing herself. “I should have realized earlier that
Montieth had been banned.”

“What do you mean?” Alex asked.

She shrugged her shoulders dismissively. “Nothing much. It’s just that the Earl of Trent gave me a
warning earlier in the evening when he and I danced. I should have figured out myself what it was about.”

“A warning?” George retorted.

Kane shook her head in the affirmative. “Yes. He said his son—Viscount Freemont—was, and I quote,
‘present when Montieth received his reprimand’, and that his heir insisted he, quote, ‘overheard the
baron mutter something about exacting his revenge for the slight’.” She lifted her shoulders and sighed. “It
didn’t dawn on me what the earl was referring to until the king mentioned Montieth’s banishment.”

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“Interesting,” George mumbled. He crossed his arms over his chest and scowled at nothing in particular
as his mind began furrowing through the information his wife had innocently passed on. The fact that
Viscount Freemont had been with Baron Montieth when he was castigated made no sense to him. And it
didn’t sit well with him either. There was more to this story than what met the eye. He decided he would
have to pay the Earl of Trent’s heir a visit before he and his wife made their way to the country on the
morrow.

Kane, oblivious to the goings on in her husband’s mind, tugged at the sleeve of his waistcoat and smiled.
“I want to get some air. This fan doesn’t seem to be doing the trick.”

He nodded his ascent. “Would you care to join us, Alex?”

“Certain—”

“No,” Kane answered for him. She winked at the marquess, imploring him to look behind himself.

He did. “Ah,” Alex grinned. “There’s my little shrew now.” He located her near the refreshment table,
chatting it up with Lady Brimmel. The marquess turned back to the earl and countess and inclined his
head politely. “If you will excuse me?”

George chuckled. “But of course.”

“Come on, George,” Kane giggled. “We know when we’re not wanted.” She dragged her husband off
toward the balcony doors.

Alex strolled toward Melea leisurely like a panther waiting to pounce. He could easily surmise that she
was growing bored listening to Lady Brimmel prattle on about something or another. He felt a momentary
sense of sympathy for his little harridan, realizing all too well how much the viscountess enjoyed hearing
her own voice, grating though it was.

When he met up with his quarry, Alex arched a challenging eyebrow down to the Warrior Woman. He
inclined his head toward Lady Brimmel. “Good evening, my lady.”

“My lord,” Lady Brimmel replied, batting her gauche eyelashes up to him.

“If you will excuse the two of us,” Alex pompously announced, “I believe Melea has agreed to join me
for a walk in the royal gardens.” He grinned down at her, waiting for her to naysay him.

Melea wanted to smack the powdered wig off of the impossibly handsome and arrogant humanoid’s
head. If she declined his offer, she would be stuck listening to boring Lady Brimmel rattle on about her
refined sensibilities—whatever in the galaxies those were. But if she agreed to walk with him, which she
very much wanted to do, she was afraid one thing would lead to another and…

By Nero’s moons. The things that walk might lead to!

Throwing caution to the wind, Melea inclined her head to the marquess. “Yes. I believe I did.” She
placed her hand on his arm and allowed Alex to lead her through the fray and toward the balcony doors.

“At last I have you to myself, my little shrew,” Alex breathed near her ear as they walked through the
doors and into the night air. “Now whatever will I do with you?” he whispered thickly.

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Melea gulped. She could think of a dozen things off the top of her head, none of them pure, all of them
more enticingly wicked than the last. “I, uh, I—”

Alex squeezed her arm, effectively silencing her. “I find that your words rarely please me, my tempting
little harridan. So do us both a favor and don’t speak.” He picked up his pace, all but dragging her
behind a secluded bush.

When they reached their destination, Melea whipped herself around and scowled up at the marquess,
her hands fisted on her hips. “My words rarely please you?”

Alex leaned in closer to the Warrior Woman. He traced the outline of her jaw with his large hand. “’Tis
what I said,” he breathed.

Melea gulped—again. “W-Why?”

Alex chuckled, shaking his head in mirth. “As if I need answer that. When you’re not avoiding me
altogether,” he instructed her as he traced his index finger over the contour of her lips, “you’re either
harping at me or offending me.”

Melea closed her eyes against the pleasure. She didn’t want to mount a non-inoculated male. Okay, she
did want to mount him, she mentally corrected herself, but it was too much to risk. “I see,” she
whispered hoarsely.

As if her mouth had a mind of its own, she parted her lips slightly and drew the tip of Alex’s finger to her
tongue. She suckled it slowly, wantonly, as she opened her tawny eyes and gazed into the marquess’s
green ones.

Alex sucked in his breath. He shuttered with need. “You, my little shrew,” he growled as he used his
other hand to grab the back of her head, “have just sealed your fate.”

He removed his finger from the Warrior Woman’s mouth and replaced it with his tongue.

* * * * *

George tucked his wife in for the night with the explanation that he needed to visit his clubs and
would join her in their bed later that evening. He implored her not to wait up for him, insisting that the
babe needed the rest.

Twenty minutes later, the Earl of Blackmore emerged from his carriage in front of White’s. He
pounded up the steps and made his way inside, wasting no time to acknowledge the “hullos” he’d been
sent en route.

He readily located Viscount Freemont, the heir apparent of the Earl of Trent, sitting alone and
drinking port in his customary chair. He approached him slowly, strategically. “James.”

Lord Freemont looked up, slightly startled to see his old university rival standing before him. He
recovered quickly, inclining his head in recognition. “George.”

“I desire to have a word with you.”

Viscount Freemont raised an imperious brow. “I can’t imagine what you and I should have to say

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to one another.”

George reclined into the seat next to James’. “Plenty, the way I see it.”

James waved his hand arrogantly through the air. “Say your piece then, man.”

The earl had never been one to dance around a subject. He came straight to the point. “Stay
away from my wife.”

Lord Freemont shifted his weight in the chair. The corners of his mouth turned up in humorless
mirth. “That’s the countess’s choice. Not yours,” he added challengingly.

George told himself it wasn’t worth spending the rest of his life in Newgate to kill the arrogant
beast. His wife would never forgive him. Still, his hands clenched unconsciously into fists as if preparing
for battle. “Kane is not Nina,” he iterated succinctly. “She would never betray me.”

The viscount snorted, shaking his head in disbelief at the earl’s audacity. “As if Nina would have
either.”

“Oh but she did. Many times I might add. And with you, no doubt.”

James’ head shot up at those words. He gritted his teeth in irritation. “I never once touched Lady
Nina. And how dare you malign her good name!” He downed the rest of his port in one swallow. “She
was good and pure and would have become my wife if I’d already succeeded my father before her
season ended!”

George crossed his arms over his chest. He glared at the viscount. “So it was you,” he stated
softy.

Lord Freemont shook his head, not comprehending the question. “Me?”

The earl nodded. “It was you who took her virginity before she came to the marriage bed.”

“How dare you imply such a thing, let alone accuse me of it outright!”

George arched a formidable brow. “Then you deny it?”

“Of course I deny it!” James slammed his empty glass down onto the tabletop. “I wanted to
marry the lady, not ruin her.” Then the earl’s words sank in. “She was not…not virgin?” he asked
incredulously.

George shook his head in the negative.

Viscount Freemont laughed without amusement. “I don’t believe it,” he muttered. “I simply don’t
believe it.”

“What don’t you believe?”

James shook his head as if to clear it. “All these years I’ve hated you for taking what I thought
should have been mine.” He frowned. “I never realized all her lies about wanting me were just that, lies.”

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George harrumphed. “I doubt ‘twas a lie. The woman wanted all men.”

The viscount made a deep sighing sound. His light brown eyes grazed the earl as he mulled over
something of import in his mind. He made his decision. “Then I suppose I truly do owe you an apology
and mayhap your wife as well.” He inclined his head to the earl. “Please tell her as much.”

George nodded. He studied the viscount curiously. “We were friends once, you and I. Rivals
always, but still good friends. I’m sorry to learn it was because of Nina that we no longer are.”

James closed his eyes against the small stab of pain he couldn’t help but to feel at that recalling.
“So am I,” he whispered. “More than I can say.”

George clapped him on the shoulder. “Do not concern yourself o’er much. She was a hell of a
liar, Nina.”

“I’m sorry, George.” The guilt he now felt for trying to take the current Countess of Blackmore
to bed as revenge, as unsuccessful as it might have been, was intolerable. “For everything.”

The earl nodded knowingly. “I believe you, James.”

The two gentlemen grew pensive in their silence as a servant hurried over to offer Lord
Blackmore a glass of port. When he departed, James broke the silence. “Did my father warn you about
Montieth?”

George sipped from his drink then set it aside. “That, actually, is why I sought you out tonight. I
didn’t know you and the baron were on friendly terms.”

“We’re not.”

“Then how was it you came to be with him when he was banished from George’s court?”

James brushed the icy undertone in George’s words aside, knowing the earl had every right to be
suspicious of him after trying to seduce Lady Kane. “He wasn’t with me, that I can tell you.” He
shrugged, adding an air of triviality to his story. “The king’s emissary met up with Montieth at Tattersall’s.
I was only one amongst at least twelve other of the peerage who overheard His Majesty’s proclamation.”

George nodded, oddly relieved that a man he had once called friend was not in league with the
baron. “Your father told my wife that Montieth swore his vengeance against me and mine. Is that true?”

“Quite true.” James lifted his replenished glass of port to his lips and sipped thoughtfully. “He
hates you. I mean really and truly hates you. Have you any idea why?”

“Of course.”

“Oh?”

“Same reason you did. Lady Nina.”

Viscount Freemont had the wherewithal to flush at that statement. “I wouldn’t say I ever hated
you,” he muttered. “Not likethat .”

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George grunted. “Where you were innocent, Montieth was definitely not.”

James arched a questioning brow. “I don’t understand.”

The earl sighed. “The baron was definitely Nina’s lover after we were wed. Mayhap even
before.” He shrugged his shoulders, no longer particularly caring.

“Good God!” James exclaimed, wide-eyed. And then another thought came to him. “Do you
think he…that is to say do you suppose it’s possible that the baron…” He sighed, uncertain how to
broach the topic.

George sipped from his port. “Killed Nina?” he asked almost casually.

The viscount nodded.

“I’m surprised you don’t think I did it. Everyone else does.”

James scoffed at the earl’s words. “I may have believed you took Nina away from me and I may
have considered trying to, shall we say, even up the score a bit, but I never once believed the rumors that
Nina met her end at your hands.” He burned the earl with his glare, daring him to say otherwise.

George actually smiled at his old friend. He was pleased beyond reason that he’d never
entertained the notion. “Thank-you, James.”

The viscount inclined his head, but said nothing.

“I suppose it’s possible that Montieth killed her.” George gulped down a significant portion of his
port, then sighed as he felt the burn of the alcohol course down his throat. “Though we’ll never truly
know the answer to that riddle.”

“A shame, that.”

“Yes. For all Nina’s faults—and they were considerable, she was still my wife.”

The earl and the viscount spoke of other inconsequential matters for a few minutes, turning away
entirely from the topic of Nina and Montieth. When George finally made his apologies, announcing that
he had to leave to prepare for his family’s return to the country on the morrow, James rose to his feet and
clapped him on the back. “I would thank you, George.”

“For what?”

“For forgiving me, despite everything.”

George smiled. “You’re welcome.”

“Oh and one more thing.”

“Yes?”

James flushed on his feet. His cheeks were stained crimson. “Please do extend my apologies to
your lady wife on my behalf.”

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George crossed his arms over his chest and considered the viscount in silence for a long moment.
His old friend no longer carried that vindictive, calculating look about him. “I tell you what. Why don’t
you extend them to her yourself?”

James’ forehead wrinkled, not understanding. “And how do I set out to do that? You just
informed me that the deuce of you are leaving for Blackmore on the morrow.”

George chuckled, his good humor toward Lord Freemont at long last restored. “We are
throwing an end of summer party in the country the first week of harvest.” He patted his old friend
robustly on the back. “Be there.”

Astonished and humbled by the earl’s generosity, James gave his agreement. “I shouldn’t miss it
for all the world.”

George inclined his head as he shrugged himself into his greatcoat. “May the goddesses bless
you, James.”

James’ face scrunched up ridiculously. “Eh?”

George grinned, as surprised by the thoughtlessly uttered sentiment as the viscount was. “It’s the
way people say good-bye in my wife’s homeland. I fear I’m catching her fever from hearing her say it too
often.”

James chuckled bemusedly. “Then may the goddesses bless you as well.”

Chapter 30

“Mother Julia and Father Chester will be joining us at Blackmore next week.” Kane directed her
words toward Melea, who was seated next to her, but was responded to by her husband.

“I thought they were travelling only a day behind us?”

“The viscountess changed her mind. She decided to stay behind another three days to have
gowns made for myself, Melea, and her.” Kane fanned herself with yet another French lace contraption
bought while shopping in London with her mother-in-law. “She wants us to look our best for that party
we’re hosting.”

The Blackmore travelling coach rambled along the country roads, carrying their party of four.
Alex had decided, after kissing Melea in the royal gardens no doubt, that he desired to tag along with the
Blackmores and the Warrior Woman. Indeed, he had informed them that he wouldn’t let his little shrew
escape him so easily again.

Said shrew was even now whipping the fan Lady Julia had gifted her with violently around her
face. “By thezilch’s one eye,” Melea complained for at least the eleventh time in as many minutes, “it’s

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hotter than a bubbling sun spot in here.”

Alex grinned at the woman sitting directly across from him in the carriage. “You’ve said that
already, my little harridan.”

Melea scowled at the exasperating marquess. “I have no clue what a harridan is, but I suspect I
wouldn’t care for the answer very much.”

“A harridan,” George informed her, very much looking forward to her reaction, “is a scolding,
vicious woman.”

The Warrior Woman didn’t disappoint him. She raised her fan and thumped a speechless
marquess over the head.

“Ouch!” he bellowed, rubbing himself where a knot was sure to form. “What possessed you to do that?”

“I was showing you vicious!”

“Now I know why I called y—”

“Enough.” Kane rebuked them as she slashed her hand through the air. “You two have been
bickering for the past three days. I can’t bear it a moment longer!” She impaled them both with her
heated blue gaze.

Alex and Melea harrumphed, both of them properly chastised.

George grinned.

“And you!” Kane challenged, shaking her finger ominously at her husband.

“Me?” he asked with affronted innocence, pointing his hand in the vicinity of his chest.

“Yes,you ,” she spat out indignantly. “You’ve been coaxing them to battle since the morning we
first entered this hellish contraption. You will stop it this instant!”

George crossed his arms over his chest formidably and scowled at his own shrew. “Who’s going
to make me?”

Kane gasped with outrage, realizing he referred to her inability to spar because of her pregnancy.
She wielded her fan like a laser-c and thumped her impossible husband over the head with it. “I am!” she
shrieked.

“Yeeow!” he wailed when the wooden part of the damned French contraption made contact with
his skull.

“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Alex mumbled, still frowning at Melea and rubbing his head.

“Deserved it, didn’t he?” Melea inquired of Kane. Whether she referred to Alex or to George,
no one was certain.

“Madam,” George gritted out, the vein at his temple ticking, “you will never strike your lord

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husband aga—”

He bellowed his outrage when the fan again came down over his person. “Have you the need of
a good spanking?” he shouted, tearing the makeshift weapon from her grasp.

“A spanking?” Kane screeched. “A spanking?” Her face red with rage, she reached to the floor
of the carriage, pulled off her shoe, and thumped her dastardly husband over the head again. “Try and
die!”

The vein at George’s temple threatened to tick right out of his skin. His face was mottled purple
with fury aimed lethally at his wife.

Alex studied his shoes, trying desperately not to laugh.

Melea, never known for her subtle ways, laughed outright.

“That’s it!” the earl wailed with the considerable indignation a man of his station could readily
summon. “The deuce of you have pushed me too far!” He pointed his finger ominously at the women.
“You are both being sent to your bedchambers without supper this eve!”

The women gasped, neither of them able to believe he was inflicting a child’s punishment on
them. “Like hell we will!” Kane shouted back. “I’m pregnant, remember!”

George shook his finger at his recalcitrant wife, stammering for another way to punish her. “Fine!
Then to your bedchamberwith supper!”

“I am not a child!”

“I cannot tell as much!”

Kane stood up and pounded on the top of the carriage, ordering the driver to bring the hell-box
on wheels to a halt.

“People, people,” Alex chided, raising his voice to be heard above the din, “I believe we should
all get some air and use the time to calm ourselves.”

For once Melea agreed with him. “He’s right. Between the heat and the bumping up and down
from the pits in the road, it’s obvious that this never ending journey is getting to all of us.”

George calmed down a great deal at Melea’s insight. It was true. The heat was very unbearable.
Kane, while somewhat calmer, was still fuming. When a footman at last opened up the carriage door, she
alighted from the inside, but spun around to confront her husband once again. “I cannot believe you
threatened me with those ridiculous punishments,” she gritted out.

The earl lifted a negligent brow. “I believe when one behaves as a child by thumping their
husbands over the head with inanimate objects, one deserves a like reprimand.”

“Oh?” Kane mocked him, her hands perched on her hips. “And it was so very grown up of you
to start fights between Melea and Alex these past three days until they bickered enough to drive me to
the brink of insanity?”

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George grimaced, not caring o’er much for having the tables of reason turned on him. He
glowered at his wife, refusing to back down.

“Fine!” she huffed, her feelings genuinely hurt by what she perceived to be a trivialization of her
emotions. “See no error in your ways – as usual.” She drew her chin up haughtily. “I’m going for a walk,
you…you…frit-foo!” She turned on her heel and stalked off.

George turned to Melea. “What the devil is afrit-foo ?”

Melea blushed, averting her gaze to the carriage floor.

George set his teeth to seething. “I repeat, what is afrit-foo ?”

Melea shrugged her shoulders as she darted her eyes back toward the earl. “It’s a type of animal
found on planet Frebula.”

“And?” George bellowed.

She flushed. “It has a man’s part where its forehead should be.”

The bellowing wail of George William Frederick Alexander Wyndom, the ninth Earl of
Blackmore and heir apparent to the Duke of Browning, could be heard from as far away as the eye
could see. Melea and Alex clapped hands over their ears, both afraid they’d suffered hearing losses.
They then proceeded to follow on George’s heel as he jumped from the carriage and stomped off toward
his wife.

Kane stood her ground, chin defiantly arched, as she watched herfrit-foo of a husband hound
toward her. He looked magnificent when outraged, she thought grouchily. For some reason, that fact only
further annoyed her. “I will not apologize!” she informed him forebodingly as he reached her side and
towered over her.

“Will the deuce of you stop this!” Alex shouted as he and Melea joined them.

“Really,” Melea lectured, “this goes too far!”

George spared a moment to shoot them both a warning glance. “When she apologizes,” he
announced as calmly as possible, his jaw rigid, “this will be over.”

Kane rolled her eyes to the galaxies. “Don’t hold your breath.”

“Oh really?” George replied icily. “Mayhap you still need that spanking, hm?”

Kane shook her head out of both irritation and disbelief. “I can’t believe you,” she mumbled, her
gaze drifting to the ground. She looked back up at her husband and shook a finger at him. “I think that
you—”

She stopped. Eyes wide, she shot her gaze back toward the ground. “By the goddesses,” she
reverently breathed.

“Kane, what is it?” George demanded. He feared that all the fighting had made her take ill. “I’m
sorry, my love, for everything. I should never have goaded our friends to fighting as a way to pass the

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time.”

Alex crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. He’d had no idea his actions had been so
manipulated.

Oblivious to anything but Kane, George grabbed his wife’s chin and tilted her face up for his perusal.
“Are you alright?”

There were tears in her eyes. George didn’t know what to make of that. And then she began
laughing—joyously, triumphantly—and he truly didn’t know what to make of that. “What the devil is so
funny?” he asked, his hand dropping back to his side.

Kane threw her arms up to the heavens and laughed as she twirled herself around and around in
a dizzying circle.

Alex and Melea eyed her curiously. Pregnancy must be making her daft. “Uh, Kane dear,”
Melea sputtered, “what precisely are you doing?”

Kane smiled brilliantly at her puzzled audience. She waved her hands around her, encompassing
the field in which they all stood. “Look around you, Melea!” she shouted exuberantly. “Look around you
and tell me what you see!”

Melea did—and she gasped as recognition struck. “By Jupiter’s moons,” she muttered, awed in
spite of herself.

George placed his fists indignantly on his hips, the muscles in his bicepts flexing visibly beneath his
waistcoat. “Will someone please tell me just what in the bloody hell is going on?”

“Really,” Alex seconded. “The deuce of you are behaving a trite bizarre.”

Kane plucked a single flower from the grass she stood upon. She lifted it to meet her husband’s
attention, and smiled warmly up to him. “This,” she informed him, “is the kabitross.”

Alex and George looked to the flower and then to each other. “The dandelion?” they screeched
in unison.

“Is that what you call it?” Kane asked.

“Yes,” they responded as one.

“Dandelion,” Alex announced, “comes from the Old French word ‘dentdelion’, or ‘lion’s tooth’.”

She grinned. “My people do not know what lions are. Therefore, to us, it will always be the
kabitross.”

George found his humor for the first time in many minutes. He smiled at his wife. “You mean to
tell me this really is what you’ve been searching for all this time? This bloody troublesomeweed ?”

She nodded vigorously.

George threw his head back and laughed.

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* * * * *

Kane and Melea outlined their plans all the way back to Blackmore. Having been assured by
both the earl and the marquess that kabitross plants would be in full bloom and therefore readily found all
over the countryside this time of the year, the women’s new mission was to collect as many of the
lifesaving beauties as possible. Specifically, the fragile, billowy heads of the flowers needed to be
retained.

Kane rolled the stem of the kabitross back and forth between her palms as she considered it.
She shoved the flower toward George and Alex, pointing out the part of it that was so crucial to saving
her people from BV-5.

Sitting side by side in the Blackmore travelling coach, the gentlemen leaned in closer to get a better look.
“Do you see how wispy the head is?” she asked. They nodded. “The head contains the flower’s
life-giving seeds, which is why it reproduces in your land so quickly. The seeds are carried by the winds
and transported all over the countryside, making the fragile bloom thrive.”

“What is it about the seeds that makes them able to cure this disease you have spoken of?” Alex
asked, genuinely intrigued.

“I never realized a bloody seed could wield so much power,” George muttered.

Kane grinned. “Amazing, isn’t it?”

“To answer your question,” Melea cut in, directing her gaze toward Alex, “Kane told me that the
seeds contain potent healers. Healers, unfortunate as it is, that machines were not sophisticated enough to
read until well after this dandelion, this kabitross, was rendered extinct by the last two world wars.”

George shook his head in resignation. “A pity, that.”

“Yes.” Kane sighed her despair. She directed her gaze toward George and Alex. “What the two
of you take for granted, assuming it will always be, our people live without, never realizing fully what
they’ve lost.”

“Neptune-cursed wars,” Melea muttered. Her expression turned thoughtful. “It’s why I became a
fighter. I stamp out any signs of power hungry men with designs on galactic domination before they gather
a following of disciples large enough to see it through.”

George and Alex flushed at that. Her remark hit too close to home as both their thoughts turned
to England’s never ending trouble with its colonies. “I see nothing wrong with Britain conquering the
world,” Alex sputtered, his chin jutted out and tilted up. “Indeed, our way of life is superior.”

Kane shook her head morosely. “If you saw the earth Melea and I herald from, the earth that
resulted from that very logic, you wouldn’t agree with that statement, Alex. You would no longer think it
was worth the price that will be paid by your progeny.”

A sense of foreboding stole over George. “What do you mean?” he asked hesitantly.

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Kane and Melea looked to each other. At Melea’s shrug, Kane told the gentlemen everything
there was to know. She pointed to the countryside out the carriage window. “Do you see those trees out
there? Do you see the animals, the grasses, the flowers? Do you see the glory of nature?”

They muttered something unintelligible.

Kane sighed. “A few hundred years from now devastating wars will come. Wars that result from
your way of thinking,” she added, frowning at Alex.

He squirmed in his seat.

“What is the result?” George asked quietly.

“It’s gone,” Kane stated without inflection. She waved a meaningful hand toward the world
outside the carriage. “All of it. Gone.”

Alex stilled. “All of it?”

“Yes.”

A charged silence engulfed the Blackmore coach. The earl and the marquess appeared to be lost
in their own thoughts. George ran a beleaguered hand tersely through his hair. “Is there a way to stop
this?” he asked hopefully.

Sadly, Kane shook her head no. “The people of our worlds have two disparate life views,
George. The ways of this world will not be altered merely by what we in this carriage believe.”

“What do you mean?” Alex questioned her despairingly. “What is this notion of life views?”

Melea shrugged her shoulders. “The people of your world have times of peace that they might
gather the resources needed to plunge back into war. The people of our time go to war only that they
might have peace.” She smiled humorlessly. “Those two life views can never be reconciled.”

As ominous a prediction as the Warrior Woman’s insight was, both men understood her point as
valid. George breathed in deeply as he studied his wife’s profile. “When you told me you needed to
come to this time because the kab—that is to say the dandelion—was extinct in yours, I had no notion
everything had suffered a similar fate.”

Kane snorted. “The state of affairs is so bad in 2429 that people are forced to dwell within
colonies made up of synthetic biospheres.”

“Trees are imported from earth-like planets to keep us from being completely dependent upon
machines to breathe,” Melea expounded.

“Why we bother is beyond me,” Kane muttered. “It’s not like we could continue on without the
machines. Although the trees help somewhat, we need the machines to protect us from the sun’s—” She
noted the looks of increasing horror on the gentlemen’s faces and drew her ranting to a halt. “Never
mind.”

George released the breath he’d been holding for the past minute. “I thank-you, my dear. My
gentleman’s constitution can take but so much at one telling.” He rapped his fingertips on the empty

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cushion seat between Alex and him. “You can tell me some more ghastly stories when I’ve recovered
fully from this one.”

The carriage rambled along the country roads for another two hours before it finally drew to a
halt in front of the Blackmore mansion. Kane and Melea alighted from the coach, ear-to-ear grins
enveloping their faces as they breathed in the fresh country air.

George and Alex watched their women, shamefaced that they’d never taken the time to do the
same. They looked at each other knowingly. Then they breathed.

Chapter 31

“I’m happy to finally be of service to ye after all theselong months, m’um.” Bessy unbuttoned the
back of Kane’s travelling gown with growing agitation. “Indeed,” she harped, “I never had a job so easy
as being lady’s maid to a lady that doesn’t see fit to take her maid about town with her.” Bessy shook
her head in vexation. “I see the way of it now, m’um. Never fear,” she sniffed, “ye must have got yerself
a fancy lady’s maid whilst in London.”

She released Kane’s dress and placed her hands into balled fists at her sides. Kane whipped around to
confront her. “Huh?”

Bessy straightened up, thrusting her chin indignantly upwards. “Ye tol’ me I was to be yer lady’s maid,
m’um, yet a lady’s maid travels with her mistress at all times.” She perched her thin bottom lip slightly
outward. “I know I don’t be havin’ all the sophistication of them London maids, m’um.” Her gaze
wavered. “But I thought ye liked me,” she whispered softly.

Though she still sometimes had trouble making out the English of people raised in the underprivileged
classes of 1776, understanding soon dawned. Kane had hurt the girl’s feelings without realizing it. She felt
immediately contrite. “Oh Bessy.” She shook her head sorrowfully. “You have to forgive me. You know
I am not from England, so I don’t always understand the way of things.” She took the girl’s hand and
squeezed it gently. “From now on you will travel with me always. I swear it by Jupiter’s moons.”

Bessy scrunched her eyes up, not having the least idea what this Jupiter business was. One thing was
vividly clear, however: she reallywas lady’s maid to a full-fledged, honest-to-goodness countess. She
smiled brilliantly, wishing she could run into the village to tell her papa this very minute. “Thank ye, m’um.
Thank ye ever so much!”

Kane patted her hand. “It’s I who should thank you.” She tried to think of a way to make up for the
slight she’d inadvertently handed the girl, then smiled at her own brilliance when a thunderbolt of an idea
struck. “As a matter-of-fact, you are the best lady’s maid I’ve ever encountered. So good,” she went on,
“that I’m giving you a raise in your wages.”

Bessy’s eyes widened. She gasped. “A raise?”

Kane thought of her replicator built into her laser-c. Even if George couldn’t foot the bill, which she

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knew he easily could, she had the necessary means to reproduce all the money she wanted to. “Yes,” she
insisted. “Starting today, your salary has just been doubled.” She nodded firmly, underlining the
conviction of her words.

Bessy paled. “D-Double, m’um?”

“Yes.”

“Ye don’t say,” she mumbled. She looked up at Kane, smiled faintly, clutched her chest, and passed out
cold.

* * * * *

Aron MacAllister had come to England in search of steady work. Life in the Highlands was
rugged at best these days and downright poverty-stricken at worst. He’d watched in growing desolation
as the clansmen he’d grown up with all of his life turned on each other—even on their own
families—trying to simply keep food in their mouths. ‘Twas like watching ravenous animals fight over
bones.

Aron could stand to see no more. So he did what any sensible man with a family to feed would do. He
took his new bride and he left Scotland.

In Blackmore, Aron had found what he’d sought. The work was ever needed, the income was fair—and
definitely more than the pittance most English paid—and the way of life was good. All said, he should be
thriving. Yet he wasn’t.

Of course, Aron hadn’t expected the woman he’d loved with all his heart to up and abandon him and
the five children she’d birthed him to run off with an actor. He especially hadn’t anticipated Mary cleaning
out the family coffers before she hightailed it for only god knows where, leaving her shattered family
behind to pick up the pieces.

His two eldest sons, William and Hamish, were farmers now with families of their own to see to. His
oldest girl Bessy still lived in their cottage, but she had taken a job cleaning up at the big house on her
twelfth birthday, so wasn’t a burden. His two youngest, Megan and Francy, were a different story
altogether.

At sixteen years, Megan was old enough to find work, but hadn’t been able to secure any. The big
house had all the servants it needed and she was too young to head to the cities to look for work on her
own. At seven, Francy was too young to work at all except at home.

And now, after being sent notification that the wife who had abandoned him and his children so many
years ago had died, Aron had wed with the good widow Alice. Alice birthed him his infant twin sons,
Michael and Dugald, a fortnight past.

He didn’t know what he was going to do.

Aron listened with half an ear to the conversations taking place around him. He shared common soil with
a few other families, so the men worked the fields together daily. Jack Turgot, who was even now tilling
the ground next to him, fancied himself in love with his Bessy girl.

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Knowing the precarious financial straights the MacAllister family was in, Jack’s overbearing, pompous
mother refused to let her son make an offer for his girl’s hand. Aron’s inability to provide anything at all in
the way of a dowry for his daughter struck him mightily. Not that he’d ever let on as much to the old
Turgot witch who thought herself to be of so much better blood than the Scots family.

“Papa!”

Aron looked up from his work at the sound of the sweet, familiar voice. Using his hoe to support his
weight, he smiled warmly at his daughter as he watched his Bessy run excitedly through the fields toward
him. It didn’t escape his attention that Jack Turgot was watching her just as intently. “Guid day me Bessy
girl. Why are ye no’ workin’?”

Bessy ran up to his side, all smiles, stopping directly in front of him. She glanced quickly to Jack, blushed
at his lack of shirt, then turned back to her father. She had noticed that the other four farmers working
with her papa and Jack were waiting to hear what she had to say. Well, she for one couldn’t wait to tell
the lot of them. “The countess gave me the rest o’ the day off fer all me hard work,” she said, pride
making her back go ramrod straight.

Aron winked at his daughter. “That was guid a her tae do. And ye deserve it, tae, Bessy girl.”

Bessy grinned from ear to ear. She basked in her father’s praise, just as she always had. “Papa, I have
much more fer ye to know.”

Aron arched a brow. Bessy beamed. “Milady tol’ me this very day that I’m to be her very own lady’s
maid.” She lifted her chin an arrogant notch.

James Barrett whisteled through his teeth. “Yer lady’s maid to the countess herself, Bessy girl?”

Aron smiled proudly. He ruffled the hair on his daughter’s head with loving affection. “Ye dinna say.”

Bessy nodded up and down emphatically. “And that’s not the whole of it, papa.”

“Oh?”

“Aye.” She grinned. “The countess doubled me wages!”

Jack and the other farmers sucked in their breath. Aron felt dizzy. It was too much good fortune to hope
for. “D-doubled them?”

Bessy threw her head back and laughed. She bounded into her father’s arms and hugged him soundly.
After she drew back, she told him the rest. “And what’s more, she gave me a chamber in the big house
me very own.” She waved her arms about dramatically. “Bigger even than the cottage, papa.”

Aron’s face split into an ear-to-ear grin. “Bigger than the cottage?”

“Aye.” Her chin raised another notch. “And what’s more, she tol’ me I was to come to the village and
collect me sister Megan. Megan’s to be lady’s maid to the countess’s best friend at almost the same
wage as me own.”

Aron shook his head in disbelief of his family’s good fortune. “How did ye ever manage this, Bessy girl?”

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Bessy straightened up so regally Aron feared her backbone would break from the strain of it. “She said I
am the best lady’s maid she ever did meet.”

Aron nodded. A father couldn’t be prouder. He cast a meaningful glance toward Jack Turgot’s father,
Marshall. “Ye dinna say,” he said ever so quietly.

Chapter 32

By summer’s end, George was mightily sick of the dandelion. Dandelions were packed up in
bags, sealed off, and stored in ten different chambers within the estate. Even after more than four months
of pregnancy, his wife still hunted, picked, and packed the flowers up from morning until night. Oh, he
always made certain that Bessy kept a keen eye on her mistress, never allowing her to do more than an
enceinte woman should attempt to do, but still he worried.

The villeins had noticed their countess’s predilection toward the dandelion right off. Indeed, Lady
Blackmore traipsing about the meadows collecting flowers with Melea, Bessy, and Megan in tow, was
now a common sight for the villagers. She never showed interest in any flower save the dandelion, and
the villagers—ever wanting to please the mistress—pitched in where they could.

And then there were the gifts brought up from the village to the estate on a daily basis. Dandelion
soups at luncheon, dandelion wines at supper, and dandelion dolls for the yet to be birthed heir—in case
Kane had a girl obviously, for he refused to turn his son into a girlish lad. There were dandelions
everywhere. It was driving him daft.

George looked up from his dandelion tart and scowled across the dinner table at his wife. “How
many more flowers must you pick?”

Kane pushed the dandelion crown little Jamie McClure had made for her out of her eyes and
back to its original resting place around her forehead. “Tomorrow is the last day.” Grinning, she picked
up her glass of dandelion-spiced mead and saluted Melea with it. “To a mission almost accomplished.”

Melea raised her glass of dandelion ale in response, smiling victoriously. “It’s hard to believe
we’re almost finished.”

Lady Julia chuckled. “I daresay it’s a good thing the deuce of you will be done in time to make
ready for the party a sennight hence.”

George grunted. “I am in agreement, madam. No use having the ladies and gentlemen of the ton
think we’ve gone as daft over dandelions as the king has over the powdered wig.”

Chester held his quizzing glass up to study the concoction on his plate that looked suspiciously
like dandelion cheese. He grimaced, deciding it was best not to question just how such a monstrosity had
been made in the first. He looked up, eyeballing his son-in-law through the quizzing glass. “A gentleman
can only hope that the menu will be a trite more tempting at the soiree you’re throwin’.”

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George frowned. He stabbed his fork into his dandelion tart, splitting it into two halves. He said
nothing.

Alex harrumphed. “We haven’t had a decent bite to eat here for over a month. I’m bloody sick
of these dandelion delicacies.”

Kane set her glass down and glared at the gentlemen in the room in turn. “The three of you are
terrible,” she scolded. “The people of this village work hard to put these dishes on our table and all you
can do is complain like spoiled children.”

Melea snorted her agreement. Lady Julia clapped an elegant hand over her giggling mouth. Alex
and Chester grumbled, but didn’t naysay the countess.

George lifted a raven brow in challenge. “Very well, my dear. Then on the morrow whilst you are
breaking your fast, I expect to hear no complaints about the dandelion scrambled eggs.”

Kane visibly winced. “That’s different,” she mumbled.

“Oh?” he asked incredulously. “How so?”

She crossed her arms over her chest and glowered at her husband. “Because its awful.”

* * * * *

The last of the kabitross was gathered and sealed off the following day. An hour later, Kane and
Melea contacted Linder and informed him that the mission was complete and that Melea would prepare
to transport back to 2429 the morning following the Blackmore house party. Even though many of the
guests scheduled to attend would be staying on for a week or more, since they would be travelling such a
great distance to get there in the first, George had assured the women that the majority of them would
leave after the third night. Melea could transport on the fourth morning.

On the eve before the guests were scheduled to arrive, Kane and Melea took a brisk walk
through the Blackmore country gardens. Just like in London, the ambiance provided by the fragrant trees
and the deliciously scented flowers was too much to pass up. When the women happened upon a
stone-carved bench in the middle of the palatial gardens, Kane drew them to a halt and asked Melea to
have a seat.

Melea grinned. “Getting tired these days from the growing one?”

Kane didn’t smile back, or even attempt to make light of her best friend’s jest.

Melea’s smile faltered. “What is it Kane? By the blessed Star Systems, please don’t drop
anything new on my lap! You’ve a bad tendency as of late to ask me to go walking with you whenever
you want to impart some frightening news.”

Kane’s lips curled up wryly. She had to smile, if even a little, at that. “No. No frightening news. I
just. I just…” She looked away, sighing.

“What?”

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“I don’t want you to leave, Melea. I wish you would reconsider staying.”

Melea drew in a deep, dramatic breath. “What would I do here, Kane?” She shrugged. “It
would not be enough for me to be a wife. I need to make a difference in whatever world I live in.”

“It seems to me our very presence here makes a difference.”

“How so?”

Kane took a drawn out moment of silence to try and put into words what she felt. It wasn’t easy.
As she had told her husband on several occasions, she was a planabotonologist, not a poetess. “This is a
world where women have few rights. Yet here I am, practicing my healing arts amongst the villagers
daily. Indeed, they now ask for me before going to a male physician, even though it has been firmly
ingrained in them that woman healers are useful for nothing save birthings.

“Every time I cure a headache, every time I concoct a potion that will relieve an old man of the
ache in his bones brought on by old age, I know I am making a difference. I am helping to bring about
the very changes that will eventually give women gain in this society.”

Melea nodded thoughtfully. She said nothing.

“And you,” Kane pressed on, “are a Warrior Woman. It’s true the vast majority of people in this
time would never accept a woman fighter, yet they fight for a cause you do not accept, so why should
you care?” She fluttered her hand through the air in a dismissive gesture.

“It seems to me, Melea, that you have the power within you to find your own way. As Alex’s
wife, as aggravating as it is that a woman can only wield power through her position in life to a man here,
the fact remains that the power would still be yours.

“Use that power to effect hope. Use that station to bring about a change of heart in these
people.”

She gazed into Melea’s eyes and smiled wistfully. “In 2429 we sit back and take for granted all
of the benefits that were produced through years of blood, sweat, and tears of the first Women Warriors
such as the suffragettes and the education reformists, or the feminists yet to come. To me it seems an
honor, not a disgrace or even a matter of ‘settling’, to become one of them.”

Melea inclined her head thoughtfully. No words could be more true, or, oddly enough, more
poetic. It gave her much to consider. “I take your meaning, Kane.” She smiled warmly at her best friend,
patting her affectionately on the knee. “Please give me time to think on the matter more thoroughly,” she
asked quietly.

“Take all the time you need. But consider one thing.”

“Yes?”

“You’re scheduled to leave in less than a week. Think quickly.”

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Chapter 33

Charlotte simply couldn’t remove her sights from George. The earl was all she’d been able to
think about for over two years, since the moment he had broken off their relationship. Even when he’d
called a halt to their affair, she had always assumed that Blackmore would come back to her.

Mayhap ‘twas because their sex life had been so enjoyable.

Mayhap ‘twas because the earl was a man, and men, married or no, eventually strayed back to
whoever it was that gave them their pleasures.

Mayhap ‘twas because George was the only of her patrons who had ever made her feel
respectable, like she mattered. Like she was a person and not just a body.

Charlotte sighed. With the exception of that unfortunate incident at the Emory ball, the earl had
never once showed her even a hint of temper. He was always kind, generous, and caring to a fault.

And she had to have him back. No matter what it took, she needed him.

Charlotte felt the tiniest pang of guilt assail her once she reached her decision. She quickly
brushed it aside, assuring herself that it was best for both she and George in the long run.

She would help the gentleman as he had requested she do when he’d agreed to get her into the
same parties George had been attending. She would now do as he asked. And she would get the earl
back.

Charlotte retrieved her reticule from the shabby chair provided by the inn and made her way for
the doors.

Chapter 34

The first house party thrown by Kane in her debut as the Countess of Blackmore was a smashing
success. The estate, mansion that it was, was filled to overflowing with noble guests and their entourages.
There wasn’t a chamber not spoken for in the whole of the house. From duke to baron, duchess to
baroness, they were all here. And, what’s more, they were having a grand time.

“I thank you for inviting us, Lady Blackmore. Indeed, I cannot recall the last time I’ve laughed
quite so much.” The Countess of Trent giggled deliciously, then threw back yet another glass of
champagne.

Kane grinned. “I’m glad you’re having an excellent time, my lady. And I’m glad to have finally
met you. Your husband has told me much about you.”

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The countess clapped an elegant hand to her chest. “All good I hope.”

“Of course.”

The conversation between the two countesses was interrupted a few moments later by Lady
Trent’s son, Viscount Freemont. “Oh Kane dearest,” the elder countess glowed, “I should like to
introduce you to my dear son, James. Have you made his acquaintance yet?”

Kane peered into the blushing face of Lord Freemont. She remembered him and his overt
attempt to seduce her all too well. Fortunately for the viscount, George had explained quite a few things
to Kane in the interim. “No, my lady.” She shook her head regretfully. “I have never metthis son,” she
said pointedly.

James inclined his head gracefully, thankful for the silent message of forgiveness the countess had
just given him. “I should love an introduction.”

The introductions were given and the three of them then proceeded to engage in delightful
conversation. Kane, mother hen to the villagers that she was, couldn’t help but throw in a casual
statement or two of the wares that could be purchased from her people on the third day of the party. It
would bring a lot of added revenue to their pockets. Pockets that would be filled to overflowing if a
woman of Lady Trent’s rank spread the word.

“How interesting,” she marveled. “They are setting up booths on the grounds just like the actual
ones used in fairs back in Old England?”

“Yes!” Kane beamed. “It was my lady’s maid’s idea. When I told her Lord Blackmore wanted
to have a reenactment of a medieval banquet on the last night, Bessy suggested the idea of having the fair
prior to it.”

James smiled. “It really is a splendid notion. What sorts of booths will there be?”

Kane ticked off the different varieties with her fingers. “We have food—including sweet treats
popular in the old days, authentic clothing—including a smithy who pounded out actual chain mail for the
gentlemen to sport around in, tapestries of assorted battle scenes sewn by the women, authentic looking
jewelry from the Elizabethan Age, and those are to name but a few.

“Then amidst all that, we also have jugglers, minstrels, and fortune tellers making their way
through the crowds, all of them in medieval dress of course.”

Lady Trent looked speechless. She smiled bemusedly at Kane. “My, but you have outdone
yourself. I’ve never heard of a country party so grand in theme down to the last detail.” She tapped her
son on the shoulder, laughing. “I can hardly wait to lighten your father’s coffers.”

James grinned. “I’m certain father will enjoy every moment of the lightening, madam.”

Lady Trent stood on tiptoe as she scanned the crowd with her quizzing glass. “Ah!” she said
triumphantly a moment later. “There’s the Duchess of York.” She turned back to Kane and her son and
inclined her head politely. “If the deuce of you will excuse me, I want to be the first to regale Her Grace
with news of the fair.”

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Kane grinned. “Of course.”

James acknowledged his mother’s departure with a genteel nod, then offered his arm to Kane.
“Shall we dance, my lady?”

“But of course, my lord.”

Not too far from where Lady Blackmore and Lord Freemont were dancing, Melea and Alex
were doing the same. The marquess’s typically cheerful façade was noticeably wavering tonight. He
looked to be in agony. Of course, only a select few knew why.

“Melea, please consider staying on. You know how badly I want to wed with you.”

She smiled. “Don’t think for a moment that I don’t feel the same, Alex.” She shrugged her
shoulders and sighed. “But there’s more to it than that and well you know it.”

“No, I damn well don’t know it,” he gritted out. “Mayhap you should enlighten me and my
ignorant self.”

Melea lifted a brow. “There’s no call for sarcasm.”

“The hell there’s not! Here I am pouring out my heart to you in a way I’ve never offered myself
to another, and all you can say is ‘there’s more to consider’. Well consider this, my love. Consider the
fact that—”

The Warrior Woman’s quick intake of breath prompted a halt to the marquess’s tirade.
“Wh-what is it?”

She grabbed him by the hand, leading him off the dance floor, and through the main set of double
doors toward the western balcony. She inclined her head in silent thanks to the stoic footmen—sans the
powdered wigs she noted—who held open the doors. Once outside and certain they were alone, she
whirled around and confronted a bewildered Alex. “Did you just call me ‘my love’?”

“Well y-yes,” he sputtered. “Is there an alternative future meaning to the term?” He crossed his
arms over his chest and eyed her wearily. “I didn’t per chance just call you something wicked, did I?”

The corners of her mouth curled in humor. “No. It means the same.”

“Then what is the matter?”

“Am I your love?” she asked softly. “Do you really love me, Alex?”

“Good god woman, is that what this is about?” He sighed deeply as he took his favorite shrew
into his arms. “How can you think I feel anything less?” Green eyes met tawny ones. “I love you
desperately, Melea.”

Melea bit her lip, averting her gaze. Then she growled. And scowled.

“Now what have I done?” Alex fumed in exasperation.

“You’ve sealed my fate, damn it!”

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“Eh?”

Melea thumped her surly marquess soundly on the chest. “I love you too, you son of a
seven-eyed swamp dweller.”

Alex placed his hand over his heart in mock horror. And mock was all it was since he realized
he’d just won his harridan’s hand. “You wound me, Melea fair.”

She grumbled something imperceptibly.

He grinned. “So I take it youwill be returning after you drop off the supply of dandelions?”

“Yes.” She grunted. “I will become your marching-ette.”

“That’s marchioness.”

She waved her hand dismissively. “Whatever.”

* * * * *

George sought out and captured his wife after he saw her all but dance the entire night away with
other men. It couldn’t be good for the babe, all that moving about, he told himself. He shepherded his
wayward countess into a corner, preparing to lecture her mightily. Lord, but the woman was a constant
trial.

He wasn’t but a sentence into his reprimand when his “gentle” wife thumped him soundly on the
arm. “I am not a weak sort, George. I am used to grueling exercise as you well know. Surely I can
handle a bit of dancing.”

George frowned. He clapped his hand to his forehead and sighed deeply.

“Stop that!” Kane hissed so none save him could hear.

“Stop what?”

She frowned, waving her hand toward his head in agitation. “Faking another of your megrims just
so I’ll give in and do what you want.” She furrowed her brow at him, agitated as she was. “You can’t
have megrims anymore. You’re inoculated, remember?”

George harrumphed. “Then it’s stress I tell you! Or some new debilitating disease altogether.” He
rolled his eyes to the back of his head and moaned.

Kane’s balled fists flew indignantly to her hips. “For the love of the goddesses, you are a child
sometimes!”

That got him to quit moaning and to do a little frowning himself. “A child?”

“Yes. It’s encouraging indeed to know our offspring will have someone of their own age group to

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play with.”

“Now wait one bloody moment! I—”

Kane held up a silencing hand. “We have guests. Now be a good earl and see to them. I promise
I shall see to your needs later, as I am not so stupid that I haven’t figured out that that is what your
‘megrim’ is all about to begin with.”

George had the grace to blush. He averted his gaze to the ground, and whined in a low voice,
“will you do the Frebula bedding dance for me?”

“Yes.”

“And the feather thing?”

“Yes.”

“Can we play the game of the innocent maiden who’s ravished at sea by Captain Long Cock?”

Kane considered that for a moment, then nodded. “It’s a particular favorite of mine as well.”

George shuffled on his feet, awkwardly kicking the toe of his boot against the wall. With the
dignity usually reserved for eight-year-old boys instead of thirty-seven-year-old earls, he relented. “Oh all
right, damn it. But I expect your ravished maiden role to be worthy of the stage tonight.”

Kane licked her lips provocatively. “Isn’t it always, my love?”

George gritted his teeth. His shaft certainly thought so. It was now painfully erect.

* * * * *

News of the engagement of the Marquess of Asherby to the best friend of the Countess of
Blackmore only served to heighten an already gay affair. For once, George was glad his beautiful wife
hadn’t fallen for the old megrim trick, for if she had, they both would have missed out on the joyous
toasts of congratulations to the newly betrothed couple.

The Earl of Blackmore offered the first round of toasts, followed immediately by another from
Viscount Freemont. The three of them had been getting on quite well since James’ arrival at the estate
earlier this morning. In truth, it felt much like old times, the way the trio of lords had bandied about
together back at university.

Kane stood at George’s right side radiantly exultant, her parents within the law next to her.
Chester and Julia couldn’t have been happier for their nephew. Never had they thought to see the
scoundrel wed.

Viscount Blake offered up the last round of toasts, beaming from ear to ear with pride. “To my
nephew’s beautiful bride-to-be, Mistress Melea. I despaired of ever seeing the rogue marry…now make
the scamp regret it every day for the rest of his life.”

After a round of boisterous laughter ensued, the throng of witnesses clanged their glasses together and
downed the last of their bubbly. Following the announcement of Alex and Melea’s betrothal, the party

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winded up instead of down. Glasses were refilled, dancing resumed, and the atmosphere livened.

Outside in the dark, a man filled with resentment and hate watched the revelry through the
candle-lit crystal windows. He clenched his fists in an effort to control his murderous compulsion. The
time was almost upon him. He had but another two nights and then he could see to his revenge well and
good.

Baron Montieth seized Charlotte roughly by the shoulder and led her away from the estate. He
was taking no more chances that either of them might be seen. The night of the banquet was soon
enough.

Chapter 35

Kane couldn’t have asked the goddesses for a better day for the fair to be had in. The sun was
shining brightly—not a rain cloud in sight—and a light breeze wafted through the air, serving to keep the
temperature for outside activities simply perfect.

She took her husband’s arm and, walking between George and James, pointed out different
booths along the way to the men. “Girty O’Malley is making some sweet Irish concoction over there.
I’ve been dying to try it out.”

“Nothing with dandelion in it, I pray,” George grumbled.

James smiled. “Dandelion?”

“Forget it, Freemont. You don’t want to know.”

James chuckled. “I’ll take you at your word, Blackmore.”

The outfit of a gypsy standing not even a yard away snagged Kane’s attention. The woman was
watching her closely, far too closely to her way of thinking. There was something vaguely familiar about
the villager, but she couldn’t exactly say what it was. Shrugging it off as inconsequential, Kane led the
gentlemen over to Girty’s booth.

“Greetings, Girty. How is the gout?”

The plump villager, decked out splendidly in medieval garb, nodded her head up and down.
“Right as rain, milady, right as rain.”

Bemused, George inclined his head to his wife. “I didn’t realize you and Mrs. O’Malley were
acquainted, my dear.”

“I’ve met her many a time,” Kane insisted, wondering idly if her husband thought she never
would have bothered to get to know her own people. Especially when they’d all helped out so much in
the collecting of the kabitross. That notion bothered her sorely, but she let it go and said no more,

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assuming it was another bizarre, pompous glitch of his first wife’s that George needed to work through on
his own.

“’Ere now, milord,” Girty informed him with a nod, much to Kane’s satisfaction, “yer lady wife
done gave me a potion that knocked me gout clean out.”

George smiled warmly at his wife, touched more than he could say.

“What’s that your making, Mrs. O’Malley?” James leaned in closer to get a stronger whiff of the
sweet-smelling candy.

Old Girty cackled like a witch. “The men in me family call it a jezebel’s tit.”

James’ face reddened considerably. That only made Girty cackle all the more.

Amused, George pointed toward the candy. “Why do they call it thusly, madam?”

Girty picked up three pieces of the sugary stuff and handed them over to the trio. The countess,
whose eyes were even now rolling to the back of her head, was the first to comment. “Mmm…by
Saturn’s rings, this is outrageously splendid, Girty.”

“Divine,” George agreed, popping another into his mouth for good measure.

James had the appearance of a man in bliss. “Mrs. O’Malley, this is sinfully delicious. It’s better
than a…a…”

She raised a bushy gray eyebrow. “Jezebel’s tit?” she finished for him.

James practically choked on his candy. Kane clapped a hand over her mouth and giggled.
George, laughing uproariously at the old woman’s jest, pounded on Viscount Freemont’s back to keep
him from coming to a bad end. Wiping the tears of mirth from his eyes, the earl threw a few shillings
Girty’s way. She grinned toothlessly, the coins disappearing down her well-endowed chest.

“’Ere now, milord,” Girty offered James in the way of amends making, “drink this down and it
will fix ye up right quick like.”

Warily, Lord Freemont accepted the tankard and sipped from the honeyed mead. He nodded his
head in appreciation, then complimented her on a delicious brew.

Girty inclined her head, then shoved another tankard full the viscount’s way. “Drink up, milord.
This mead not only tastes divine, but it will straighten yer poker right up as well.”

James began choking again. Kane and George laughed. After bestowing the Blackmores with a
reproving glare, the viscount turned his crimson gaze the old woman’s way. “There is nothing wrong with
my poker, madam,” he gritted out. “It’s a fine, uh, poker.” He crossed his arms over his chest and
scowled. “Areall of your foodstuffs and drinks made with the aim of bedding a man?”

Old Girty wiggled her eyebrows. “I’ve twelve sons and three daughters. Now ye answer that
question fer me.”

James and George threw their heads back and laughed. Kane grinned and shook her head.

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Half an hour later, while assessing Old Man Wessel’s collection of jewelry, the laughing trio was
interrupted by Jack Turgot, the young man Bessy was sweet on but wouldn’t quite admit to it yet.
“Pardon me fer the interruption, milord, but I’m needin’ to see ye right quick like.”

“Oh hello there, Jack!” Kane called out. “Are you enjoying your new position overseeing the
stables?”

Jack removed his cap and bowed to the countess. “That I am, milady. I cannot thank ye enough
fer thinkin’ of me when the job came open on the count of Old Man Willy dyin’ and all.”

Kane evaded any more praise with a wave of her hand. “Think nothing of it. I saw how gentle
mannered you were with my own mare.”

George inclined his head toward his wife and James. “If the two of you will excuse me, I will be
but a moment.”

“Of course,” they murmured.

Once alone and well out of hearing distance, the earl motioned for Jack to speak with a swift nod
of his head. The young stable master wasted no time. “It’s just as ye suspected, milord. The baron was
spotted on the estate both last night and earlier this morn.”

“Damn.” George ran a hand tersely through his hair. “I had a feeling all along. Damn the man!”

Jack nodded. “What are ye wantin’ me to do, milord?”

The earl thought on that for a moment. “I want you to send men out to watch him like a hawk.
Report anything and everything to me.”

Jack nodded, eager and excited to help. “And if’n the lecher becomes violent?”

George didn’t even have to ponder the answer to that question. “Spare him if you can, but if it
comes down to your life or his, make it your own, please.”

Jack bowed to the earl, then made his way quickly through the crowds.

George realized he needed to keep Alex abreast of the situation, so he set out to find him on the estate.
Returning first to his wife and James to inform them he had business to see to, he gave James a look that
clearly stated he would explain things later and to keep a damn bloody good eye on his lady wife.
George kissed his wife’s palm hurriedly, then disappeared into the throng of fairgoers.

Kane crossed her arms over her breasts and gave James a look that said she hadn’t missed the
nonverbal communication between he and her husband. James held his hands out in surrender, laughing.
“Kane, I promise you I have no notion what that was about.”

“Truly?”

“Truly.”

She nodded. “Fine.” She turned about, this way and that, scanning the booths to see where she wanted

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to go next. “Let’s see, we’ve eaten sweets, bought jewelry, picked you out a piece of chain mail to don
tonight, now what should we do?”

He shrugged. Everything looked to be a good time to him. “Get our fortunes read?”

Kane smiled from ear to ear. “Yes!”

James chuckled at her child-like excitement, but had to admit he was having as glorious a time as was
she. He offered Kane his arm, inclining his head toward the tent a few feet off. “Shall we, my lady?”

“But of course, my lord.”

* * * * *

“Girty is that you?”

“No it ain’t,” the seer rasped out in a false baritone, “me name is Haggis, the all seein’ gypsy chit.”

James looked over to Kane, who sat in the tent at his right, and gave her his “I don’t believe this for a
moment” look. “Haggis is the name of a Scottish dish, madam. And you haven’t been a chit in at least
three score of years.”

“’Tis also the name of this gypsy,” she rasped out. “And ye must be mistaken fer I ain’t seen but
nineteen virgin summers.”

Kane clapped her hand over her mouth and giggled.

“Give it up, Girty,” James forewarned, “we’re on to your game.”

“’Ere now,” Girty frowned, falling back into her own shrewish voice, “ain’t nothing wrong with making a
bit more blunt.” She sat up straighter in her chair and pushed the gypsy veil out of her face. “Besides that,
the women in me family have been seers fer as many generations back as I can remember.”

“Fine,” Kane chuckled, “read us our fortunes then.”

Old Girty harrumphed. “I thought ye would see the right of it.” She took out her tea leaves and runes
and splayed them on the table set up before them. She grinned up to the viscount, displaying her
winsomely gummy smile. “’Ere now, milord, let us see what kinds of trouble yer poker will be getting ye
into.”

Kane burst out laughing.

James buried his face in his hands and shook his head.

* * * * *

Bessy twirled around, showing off her new gown of green silk and white lace ruffles to her dad and

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stepmother who had a minute or two to rest in between the nonstop flow of patrons they’d had to their
booth. The MacAllister booth boasted both silk tapestries and dolls made of knotty pine, horse hair, and
dried leaves. Both of which were turning out to be quite popular as keepsakes amongst the visiting
aristocracy. Aron was grateful indeed that his daughters and wife had talked him into emptying the family
coffers to buy the supplies.

He surveyed his twirling daughter and her garment. “’Tis almost as beautiful as ye,” Aron told her
proudly.

“Aye,” Alice seconded, grinning broadly as she rocked their twin sons back and forth in the cradle Aron
had carved by hand, “yer beautiful, Bessy girl.”

Bessy blushed. “’Twas a gift from the countess fer coming up with the idea of the fair.”

“This was yer idea, Bessy girl?”

“Aye, papa.”

He clapped her on the back. “I dinna know. I should be the one buyin’ ye a new dress then, fer me and
yer mum are making quite a showin’ today.”

“Hullo Bessy.”

Bessy spun on her heel and smiled breathlessly at…

“Jack.”

Jack Turgot took of his cap and bowed low to the lady’s maid. Aron looked at his grinning wife and
winked. “I heard ye ha’ become stable master tae Himself. Is it true, lad?”

“Aye.” Jack puffed out his chest arrogantly. “Amongst other things.”

Aron nodded, clearly impressed.

Bessy rolled her eyes, clearly not. “And yer point, Jack Turgot?”

“I’m good enough fer ye now.”

Bessy cocked her head and squinted her eyes, not understanding. “Whoever said ye wasn’t?”

He shrugged.

Bessy sighed. “’Twasyer mum who thought I wasn’t good enough fer the likes o’ ye, Jack Turgot. Not
the other way around.”

Jack grunted. “Me mum is as crazed as the day is long. Her opinion didn’t matter a lick to me then, and
it don’t be matterin’ to me now, Bessy MacAllister.” He gave her a reproving glare. “I’m me own man,
don’t ye know?”

Bessy straightened up, her hands flying to her hips in perfect imitation of the countess. “Are ye wantin’ to
court me proper then, Jack Turgot?”

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He blushed, but nodded.

“Then ye better ask me papa fer his blessin’.”

Red-faced, Jack turned on his heel and made eye contact with the extremely tall Highlander known for
his possessiveness of what was his. He shoved those thoughts aside, determined to win his Bessy. “Sir, I
am making a right good livin’ now and can take care of yer Bessy well and good.” He eyed him
hesitantly, wondering over his thoughts. “May I formally court yer daughter, Mister MacAllister?”

Aron scratched his chin as if to consider it. He could feel the whelp sweating under his gaze and allowed
himself to enjoy every moment of it. “A guid livin’, ye say?”

“Aye.”

“Yer intentions are honorable?”

“Aye.”

Aron drew out his decision for as long as possible before relenting in the end with a grin and a nod.
“Then aye, ye may court me Bessy girl.”

Jack released a breath he’d been holding. He nodded to Aron, bowed to Alice, then turned to face
Bessy. “Can I buy ye a cup of honeyed mead at yon table, Bessy?”

Bessy smiled brilliantly, all but knocking the stable master to his feet. “Aye, Jack. Ye can.”

Just as the giddy couple was about to take their leave, Kane and James halted their departure. Bessy
bowed quickly. “Good day, milord, milady. I was just about to get a cup o’ mead with Jack Turgot.
Unless yer needin’ me m’um?”

Kane shook her head, smiling at her maid. “By Jupiter’s moons, no! You’ve earned the day off a
thousand times over. This was all your idea, so go enjoy it.” She tapped her cheek and nibbled on her
lower lip as she considered something she hadn’t before. Fishing into her pockets, she thrust some coins
into Bessy’s hands.

“What’s this fer, m’um?” the maid asked hesitantly.

“Just pocket money. Go buy yourself something pretty.”

Bessy’s eyes widened. “But ye have givin’ me so much already.” She tried to hand her the money back,
but the countess refused it.

James laughed. “You might as well give it up, Bessy. You know how stubborn your lady is.”

Bessy blushed, but relented with a grin. “Aye, milord. And thank ye, m’um.” She turned to Jack, smiling
brightly. He grinned and led her through the crowds to get some mead from Old Girty.

Kane introduced Viscount Freemont to Bessy’s parents. That accomplished, she smiled up hesitantly to
the very tall Aron MacAllister. “Sir, I have a request to make of you, but if you haven’t the time I
understand.” She held her hands out in supplication. “Please do not feel obligated.”

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Aron smiled down to the countess, shaking his head in confusion. “I canna imagine what a mon like me
can do fer ye, but I promise ye that if I can I will.”

She bit her lip and pointed to the MacAllister twins’ cradle. “Could you carve one for my unborn child?”
Before he could deny her request, she quickly added, “I would pay you well, of course.”

His chest puffed out with pride, he regarded his beaming wife for a moment before answering the
countess. “T’would be an honor, milady.”

“Are you sure you have the time?”

“Aye.”

“Because I could—”

“Kane!” James chuckled. “The man said he’d be honored to.”

She chewed on her lip as her gaze met the viscount’s. Turning back to Aron, she nodded. She pulled a
sheet of parchment out of her reticule and handed it to him. “It’s the Blackmore Coat of Arms. Would it
be too much trouble to engrave this into the sides or something?”

Aron accepted the sheet of parchment and studied it a moment or two before shaking his head. “No
trouble a’tall. I daresay I’m guid with me hands, milady, and I ha’ a knack fer carvin’ and whatnot.”

“I’ve noticed.” Kane grinned. “On the few occasions I’ve been to your domicile with herbal remedies I
saw how well done a lot of your work is.”

He blushed, but nodded.

“And I think,” she went on, “you should consider opening up your own shop in the village one day.” She
tapped her foot as she contemplated the best way to say her piece, not wanting to underline the fact that
she knew more about the future than one should. She shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly and smiled.
“Times are changing, Mister MacAllister. The number of farmers will lessen over the years, but skills like
yours will always be in high demand.”

Having accomplished what she’d set out to do, she pulled out a burlap sack and thrust it into the
bewildered farmer’s hands. “Here’s a payment on the cradle. Should you require more, let Bessy know
and I’ll send her around with it.”

Aron smiled at her. “I thank ye, milady.”

Kane smiled back to him, nodded and waved to his wife, then spun around to face James. “Shall we?”

He took her arm and led her away, acknowledging the MacAllisters with a nod to his head as they made
their way toward the next booth.

Aron opened the burlap sack, took one look at its contents, and had to sit down. Alice rushed over to
tend to him. “Aron, yer pale. What’s wrong, lovie?”

He handed the sack over to his wife. She opened it up and gasped. “Good Lord in heaven, Aron, it

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looks to be about fifty pounds!”

He nodded.

Alice laughed. “Mayhap the countess is right. Between yer carvin’ and me sewin’, not to mention all this
blunt, I think we can afford to open a shop our very own!”

Aron crossed his arms over his chest while he mulled over that possibility. “I ha’ always wanted tae
carve fer a livin’. Do ye really think we can do it, Alice mine?”

“With yer first sale goin’ to the Countess of Blackmore? Aye, Aron me love, Iknow we can.”

Chapter 36

Kane took one look at her gigantic husband in his medieval warrior’s garb as he strolled into her
dressing chamber and got as horny as a one-eyedzilch in the peak of its heat. Since zilches were known
for their amorous ways as it was, that was saying a lot.

By the galaxies, he was magnificent!

He sported a green silk and black velvet tunic that didn’t bother to cover his bared, muscular arms. His
naked biceps were clasped about the middle with thick gold arm bands she had paid the smithy and
jeweler a pretty pound to fashion. In the middle of one band was a ruby dragon. In the middle of the
other, an amber dandelion. She couldn’t resist when the smithy and jeweler had suggested the dandelion
as an ornament. It was too cute an inside joke to let pass by.

Her husband’s black hose matched the jade green tunic to perfection. His muscular thighs could not go
unnoticed in such an outfit.

The earl sported rings on every finger, which in the days of old would have signified his great wealth. He
wore a sword and scabbard, and an eating dagger had been secured to his hip.

She licked her lips in anticipation.

George was doing a little lusting of his own, eyeing his lady wife through glazed over eyes. Kane’s
ankle-length, curve-hugging maiden’s gown was wickedly provocative. It was fashioned of green velvet
so their outfits matched in coloring, and the gorgeous garment teased every last one of his erotic senses.

A rope of gold about the hips drew the eye to her slightly rounded belly, then was taken even lower to
the enticing amulet of an amber dandelion and ruby center that clasped together just above her mons.

Best of all, his wife’s hair was unbound, secured only at the forehead by a ring of gold, amber, and
rubies. The back of her hair flowed past her shapely arse in rivulets of seductive curls.

George frowned. On second thought, he didn’t care o’er much to have other men ogling her hair in such

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a state. Aside from him, no other gentleman of this time had been given the pleasure of witnessing it
unbound because it was only done so within their private bedchamber.

That thought only led to others. Specifically of the way in which Kane would oft times wrap her hair
about his—

“Why are you frowning?” Kane spun around, enticing her husband with a full view of her sinful curves.
“Did I forget something?”

George was about to demand that she bind her hair, then snapped his jaw shut before he could do so. It
would be unfair of him to ruin his beloved’s night merely because he was feeling jealous. Besides, she
was his. All of her belonged to him.

So instead the earl made light of his feelings. He sauntered up to Kane’s side where she stood by her
dressing table and grabbed a fistful of her glorious blonde hair. Wrapping it about his large hand, he
turned his voice into a false rasp. “Be warned, ye virgin maiden. I am a knight of the realm. They call me
Sir Long Cock and I’ve me eyes on ye, wench.”

Kane giggled. “Ooohhh Sir Long Cock, whatever do you plan to do with me you wicked man?” She
batted her eyelashes becomingly.

The earl kissed his wife soundly on the lips, then proceeded to nibble on her throat. “I’m going to ravish
ye, Lady Kane.” He picked her up off of the floor and began to rub his wife’s body up and down the
length of his aching arousal.

It quickly became more than just a game.

Kane moaned into her husband’s ear, causing his undoing. He placed her carefully on the edge of the
raised bed, noticing as he spread her legs apart that the wicked wench hadn’t donned any
undergarments. He pulled his hose down to his knees, preparing to give her a little taste of his battering
ram. “Can yer fortress withstand this assault, wench?”

“Mmm…why don’t we find out?”

Standing between her splayed thighs, he gripped her hips and thrust into her wet flesh in one powerful
thrust. Gritting his teeth, he moved in and out of her tight opening, pounding her fast and hard.

“Oh George.” Moaning, Kane gave into the carnal contractions that seized her quicker than they ever
had before. There was something wild and dangerous about her husband tonight, making her orgasm that
much better.

“Christ.” Gritting his teeth, George continued to thrust as he felt his wife’s vagina contract around his
cock. Biceps bulging as he leaned over her, he pounded into her harder, his muscles corded as he thrust.
“Christ you feel good.”

Kane reared up and met his thrusts. “Do you like the way I wrap around you?” she asked in a seductive
murmur. “Do you like the way my swollen flesh sucks you in each time you pull back?”

“Yes.” George’s jaw clenched as he raised her hips a bit higher and pummeled harder. The deep
sensations set his wife to moaning again, bringing him closer to his own release. “Come for me again,” he
growled. “I want to feel this sweet pussy contract around me again.”

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“Oh yes George.”

And when she did it was more sensate temptation than he could stand. Clutching a silky buttock in either
hand, he rammed into her with as much force as he could muster, stroking in and out of her pulsing vagina
in a series of deep, long strokes before throwing his head back and shouting out his orgasm.

His breathing raspy, he collapsed on top of her, mindful of her belly. He sounded like a man who’d gone
to battle. “What think ye of that assault, wench?”

Kane giggled. She waited for her exhausted husband to make eye contact then treated him to another
round of batting eyelashes. “Why Sir Long Cock, my fortress has been breached well and good.”

He sucked on her bottom lip, chuckling at the same time.

* * * * *

“Good god, Kane,” Viscount Blake sputtered, “is that truly your real hair, gel?” Chester did a circle
about his daughter-in-law, admiring her long pale tresses.

George grinned. “Yes, ‘tis. I, her lord husband, can vouch for that fact.”

Viscount Freemont whistled through his teeth. “Goodness, me. That hair is…is…” He stopped
mid tirade at George’s scowl. “Nice enough,” he finished. Grinning, he winked at Kane.

She shook her head, laughing. “Where on earth is Melea?” Kane asked, effectively changing the
subject once she noted the possessive gleam in her husband’s eyes.

Chester, moving his sword and scabbard out of his way and mumbling something incoherent
about “bothersome chain mail”, pointed toward the table of refreshments. “Over yon with my lady wife.
The deuce of them couldn’t seem to wait for the banquet before eating.”

Seeing this as a perfect opportunity to bring James and Chester up to date on the Montieth
situation, he encouraged her to join her best friend. “Go on, my dear. Don’t worry for me. In fact, it
would be wonderful if you’d be so kind as to send Bessy to cook to find out when our medieval feast
shall be served.”

Kane nodded her agreement. Smiling prettily at her husband, she bade the gentlemen good
evening and made a beeline for the refreshment table.

“Alright,” James said, “we might have only renewed our acquaintance three days ago, but I
remember that look well and good from university. What’s the matter?”

George sighed. Seeing no point in mincing words, he came straight to the point. “My man Jack
spotted Montieth on the grounds a few times.”

“The devil you say!” Chester crossed his arms over his chest and scowled. “Damn me but I hate
that troll in gentleman’s clothing.”

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Bemused at Blake’s analogy, James shook his head. He then turned to George. “What do you
think the baron is about?”

“I think he’s going to try something tonight, but I’ve no idea what.” The earl glanced at his wife
who was laughing at some jest his mother apparently made, then turned back to the viscounts. “I want
the deuce of you to watch my wife at all times. One of us always needs to make certain she’s within our
notice.”

“Of course,” Chester agreed.

Lord Freemont nodded grimly. It occurred to him that the earl was placing a great deal of trust in
their renewed friendship. He wouldn’t let him down. “Of course.” He scanned the room, trying to locate
the marquess. “And what of Alex?”

“He’s aware. Even now he’s in the courtyard gaining a report from his footmen whom he sent out
scouting.”

“His footmen?”

George shrugged. “A least four of them have had the misfortune of meeting the baron whilst
accompanying the marquess to his clubs.”

James snorted. “Misfortune for the footmen, mayhap. Fortune for us.”

George chuckled. “Agreed.”

“Unless there’s more to tell, I’m going to go do a little chaperoning,” Chester informed his
son-in-law.

George shook his head. “No more. Go on, man.”

Viscount Blake inclined his head to his companions, then sauntered off.

George turned toward Viscount Freemont and grinned. “I see my wife managed to talk you into
the chain mail purchase.”

James laughed. “Aye.” He shook his head in amusement. “I was wearing a visor earlier but the
bloody thing was too damned annoying, constantly clapping closed over my eyes whilst I was doing my
best to try and woo a few wenches.”

George clapped him on the back. “Mayhap ‘twas for the best. Laying siege to fortresses is tiring
work.”

* * * * *

The banquet was a smashing success. Lit up by hundreds and hundreds of beeswax candles, the
courtyard had been turned into a picture perfect reenactment of a medieval feast. Making their way
through the tables were jugglers, acrobats, and minstrels, all vying for praise and tossed coins.

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Each table was loaded down with salted pork, legs of mutton and grouse, assorted cheeses and
breads, ales, wines, and mead, plus plump tarts in a variety of tastes. There were also fruits and honeyed
figs, pheasants and fish. There was so much of everything. It was a gluttonous good time for all
concerned.

When the feast drew to a close, the guests were ushered into the second floor ballroom that had
been sumptuously decked out with tapestries and suits of armor to add ambiance to the grand occasion.

Some of the guests, such as the Duchess of York and the Countess of Trent, wore not only their
medieval costumes, but also sported dominos to try and conceal their identities. Kane thought that highly
amusing. Seeing as how the duchess’s hair was as black as night and had a telltale single streak of silver
running through it like a skunk’s main, and seeing as how the Countess of Trent was never far from her
side, Kane wondered how any could mistake them for others.

If the gentlemen noticed, however, they said nothing. They played up the noblewomen’s charade
of being ladies of mystery to the hilt, inducing the older women to giggle with delicious recklessness.

George watched the goings on from the sidelines, careful not to appear that he was doing so. His
mother and Chester were out on the balcony chatting it up with a couple of visiting Italian nobles and their
wives. Alex and Melea were outside, checking the perimeter for any signs of Baron Montieth. James was
leading yet another besotted young lady in a set of dances. And Kane, the one he’d been keeping track
of like a watchdog, was dancing with James’ father, the Earl of Trent.

His wife had told him on numerous occasions that the vibrant sixty-two-year-old Earl of Trent could
dance longer and better than any gentleman of the ton. Aside from her doting husband, of course. At
least, that’s the story she always gave said doting husband.

George’s attention was then garnered by a woman dressed in a gypsy costume who obviously
wanted him to dance. Seeing it as a perfect excuse to get closer to his wife on the dance floor, he obliged
her.

All thoughts of Kane flew out of the proverbial window the minute George realized who the
gypsy was. “Charlotte! For the love of God, what are you doing here?”

Charlotte’s heart sank a notch or two, for his voice was angry instead of welcoming. She shoved
that feeling aside and concentrated on the earl’s light green eyes instead. “I couldn’t stay away, George.
I’m going mad without you!”

“Charlotte, are you crazed?” He shook his head in vexation. “What am I saying? You all but
admitted as much. How did you ever get in?”

“Never mind that, George.” She drew her body closer to the earl’s. “I just needed to be with
you. I needed to feel you this way one more time.”

George studied the courtesan’s gaze and understood then and there that she meant every word
she was saying. He sighed deeply. He hadn’t realized the extent of her feelings. “Charlotte, we need to
talk.” At her excited intake of breath, he shook his head sadly. “Not about what I fear you’re thinking.”

George continued to dance with his former mistress as he searched for a way to put what needed
to be said into the best possible light. He never wished to hurt her. “Charlotte, you are a beautiful,
wonderful, vivacious woman. I mean that, I truly do.” He looked into her eyes and smiled wistfully. “But

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you are not the woman for me. There is none for me save my wife.”

“But George—”

He held up a hand. “Please hear me out.” He took a deep breath and regarded the woman he’d
given six months of his sex life to. He hadn’t known she’d thought it more than a patronage, but
apparently she had, and therefore deserved to be let down gently. “You deserve more than another
woman’s leavings, Charlotte. Much more. You deserve a man all your own.”

She closed her eyes against the truth. Leavings was all she could ever have of the earl, it was
true. And that was assuming he would give her eventhat much. She was beginning to realize he wouldn’t.
“I can understand why you wouldn’t want me. I am lowly born,” she whispered, “while you are an earl.”
She sighed. “And not just any earl, but an earl in line to become the next Duke of Browning when your
mother’s father passes on.” She laughed humorlessly. “You can trace your roots back to the Middle
Ages, back to the first earls of Kintane and Clannock, whilst I can trace mine back to no more than a
tavern doxy and a sailor.”

“Charlotte,” he said gently, “this has nothing to do with birthrank. It has to do with the heart. And
Kane,” he said softly, “has mine.” He smiled. “You deserve no less.”

“But what man wouldn’t know of my past?” she whispered dejectedly. “To the ton, I will always be just
a gentleman’s whore.” She wiped a tear from her cheek.

George drew her up by the chin, forcing her to meet his gaze. “If ever you want to begin again,
you have but to inform my man of affairs. He will contact me and I will set you up in another town.
You’ve my word.”

Charlotte bit her lip and nodded gratefully. “You really love her, don’t you?”

He inclined his head. “I do.”

Charlotte closed her eyes against the stab of guilt. “I can’t do this. You’re too good a man to do
this to.”

George furrowed his brow. “I don’t understand.”

Charlotte quit dancing. “Go to your wife. Now! Before Montieth does. You’ve no time for
further explanations at the moment. Now go!”

Understanding dawned. She had thought to betray him, but wasn’t able to see it through.
“Thank-you, Charlotte.” He kissed her on the cheek and took off into the crowd.

George’s heart stopped when he caught up with the Earl of Trent and saw that his wife was
nowhere in the vicinity. “Lord Trent, do you know where my wife has gone?” he asked him anxiously.

The earl turned on his boot heel and smiled fondly. “Off to the powder room, my boy. Said she’d
be back in a Nero-second, whatever in the blazes that is.”

George smiled. “I thank you. If you will excuse me.”

George all but ran from the ballroom. He stopped outside the powder rooms and noticed the

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lines that had formed waiting for their use. “Lady Cheval, have you seen my wife?”

The French countess nodded. “She said she did no’ want to wait for zees line. And can you
blame zuh girl? She went to zuh first floor powder room.”

George inclined his head. “Thank-you, madam.” And with that, he high-tailed it below stairs.
After checking all three powder rooms and declaring them empty, he ran his hand through his hair, ready
to pull it out. He experienced a slight amount of relief upon seeing Alex and Melea stroll inside.

“George,” Alex called out, “afraid we haven’t seen—”

“Kane’s missing,” he cut in.

“What?” Melea screeched.

His eyes wide with worry, he related to the two of them the events that had transpired with
Charlotte, as well as what his former mistress had informed him of concerning Montieth’s plan. Which,
albeit, wasn’t much.

“She isn’t wearing her laser-c,” Melea whispered.

“Christ,” George muttered.

“Never mind.” Melea slashed her hand through the air. “We haven’t the time to contemplate that.
“Alex, you go find James, Chester, and Julia. Tell them to break up and search the east and west wings.
George, you and I will search the grounds. Let’s move!”

Ten minutes later, a winded Alex caught up with George and Melea. “Chester and Julia are
searching the house. And I can’t find James.”

George raised a brow. “God in heaven, tell me I haven’t been played the fool. Tell me Freemont
is not one of Montieth’s cronies.”

Alex shook his head, still panting. “We can’t be certain, of course, but my instincts say nay to
that notion.”

George breathed easier. “As do mine.”

“He’s probably with Kane. Mayhap dead,” he mumbled, “but with her no less.”

George whimpered.

“Alex stop that talk!” Melea scolded. “We can’t think like that!” She tapped her foot on the
ground, trying desperately to think, but worrying as much as George and Alex were. “Alright, here goes.
George—you said Jack Turgot spotted Montieth on the grounds. Correct?”

“Yes.”

“Where?”

George waved his hand toward the village. “South.”

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Melea mumbled something or another about being as helpful to her as defective droid. She took
a deep breath. “Where, would Jack have been most likely to see him?”

George and Alex looked at each other. They smiled. “The stables,” they said in unison.

Chapter 37

“He’s bleeding, youfrit-foo . You best let us go before you force my hand to kill you.” Kane
glowered at Baron Montieth before bending down to fuss over James. The same James who had taken
the knife in his stomach that had been meant for her heart.

Montieth sniffed disdainfully. “He’ll be dead in a few hours anyway. Gut wounds are fatal. Best
leave him his dignity.” He pointed his pistol at her and smiled. “As will you. After I delight in your
pleasures, of course.”

Kane rolled her eyes. What chance he’d had of killing her died when his surprise attack ended
up in James’ belly. Now the scrawny baron was as good as dead. Shaking her head, she reached for her
laser-c and discovered, much to her chagrin, that she had forgotten to put it on.

Damn! Damn! Damn!

This meant her deadly body arts would have to be used on yet another victim who had no notion
of her skill. It also meant she had to get him to lower his gun. When James moaned in pain, she realized
she had to act now. She had to get the littlefrit-foo to talk. “What is this all about, baron? Why do you
wish harm on my family?”

Montieth peered at her as though she were a simpleton. “How easy life comes to some of us.”

“What do you mean?”

The baron snorted. “As if that needs explaining. Yourhusband ,”—he spat out the word
maliciously—“has had his bloody life handed over to him on a silver salver. All this has been given to him
whilst others of us have been granted so little.”

Kane raised an eyebrow. This didn’t seem to be the time to point out the fact that George
worked harder than any man she’d ever met. Or the fact that this baron, who probably didn’t work at all,
had been given so much more than the average eighteenth century person. “So why my husband?” She
shrugged her shoulders. “Why not single out another man of peerage for your vindictiveness?”

The baron was quickly losing his patience. “Because,” he huffed, “if your husband dies and our
mutual,heirless cousin Hershel joins him, all this is mine.” He waved his hands about the place lest she
mistook his meaning.

Kane decided to goad the little troll. “The stables are yours?”

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“No you bloody idiot!” His face twisted with fury. “Blackmore! All of Blackmore is mine!”

Well, that certainly explained things well enough. But there was one more thing she wanted to
know before she turned the littlefrit-foo into a dream that once was. “Did you kill Nina?”

He smiled. Actually smiled. She wanted to kill him right then and there. “She was pregnant. Of
course I did. Just as I’ll kill you.”

James growled. “Y-You b-bastard.” His breathing was becoming more and more labored. Kane
noticed with a pang of worry that he was also becoming less and less lucid. She sat down on the ground
and wiped his sweaty brow. “Calm yourself,” she whispered. “All will be well. I promise you won’t die.”

Kane regarded the baron. “Why bother killing her? Any babe she carried might have been yours,
you know.”

He shrugged. “Possession is nine tenths of the law, madam. And Blackmore possessed her
legally. Couldn’t chance it.”

Kane couldn’t believe her ears. The man was more than hateful. He was a full-fledged
frothing-mouthed lunatic. What humanoid could murder his own lover and potential child?

Before she could ponder that discovery further, Montieth trained his pistol toward her chest. “We’ve
wasted too much time. Forget the fuck. I just want you dead.”

Preparing to roll and assail the baron, she was surprised when a shovel came down on his head
instead. Surprise soon turned to shock, however, when she realized who she owed her thanks to.
“Charlotte?”

Panting heavily, the courtesan dropped the shovel in front of the slumped over baron. She turned
to Kane and smiled tentatively. “I owed you one.”

Kane shook her head. This was all too much to comprehend in one sitting. James’ wound,
Montieth’s vile admission, and now Charlotte’s aid. “Why?”

She sighed. “I love George, but he loves you. It would hurt him if anything bad should happen to
you.”

“You saved me…for him?”

Charlotte nodded.

Kane’s eyes widened. All she could say was “wow.”

Charlotte ambled over and helped Kane tend to a now unconscious James. “It’s too bad I didn’t
find you before…before…”

Kane placed her hand on the courtesan’s arm. “Do not concern yourself. He will live.”

“He will?”

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“Yes.”

Charlotte bit her lip and nodded. Eyeing Kane up and down, she got her first good look at the
countess. She shook her head, laughing at herself in the process. “How I ever thought to lure George
from a woman that looks like you is beyond me.” She pointed to herself and sighed dejectedly. “You are
far grander.”

Kane took Charlotte’s hand in her own. “That is not true. You are quite beautiful.”

“No I’m not.”

“Yes you are, but that isn’t the issue.”

“Then what is?”

Kane sighed deeply. She knew a few women in her own time that suffered from Charlotte’s low
sense of self-worth. “The issue of love has nothing to do with beauty. It has to do with the heart.” She
smiled. “Not every woman—or man—would have had the courage to do what you just did. You’ll find
the right man. I know you will. But use your heart to lure him instead of your breasts. Then how can he
resist you?”

A single tear slid down Charlotte’s pale, lovely cheek. “Do you really think so?”

“I know so.”

She sniffled. “Thank-you.”

Kane pulled her into an embrace. “It’s I who should thank you.”

And such was the scene that the Earl of Blackmore walked in upon, with Alex and Melea right
behind him. Disconcerted to find his wife and former mistress hugging like two old school chums, he
cleared his throat, blushing profusely.

“George!” Kane wailed. “Charlotte saved my life!” She pointed to the fallen body of Montieth
lying off to her husband’s right.

“Good god!” George bellowed. He ran outside and instructed Jack Turgot to get rope to tie up
the baron with and to then summon the constable.

When he returned, it was to find Alex slinging an unconscious James over his shoulder. “Will he
be alright?”

Kane nodded. “I’m going off with Alex to work on him. Melea will stay with the baron. Please
make certain Charlotte gets home safely.”

She turned around and smiled at her husband’s former mistress. “Thanks again. And don’t forget
the things that I told you now.”

Charlotte shook her head. “I won’t. Not ever.”

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* * * * *

“Well I for one feel a hell of a lot better.” James shook his head, marveling over the fact that he
was not only alive, but his wound was practically healed.

George grinned. “My wife is one hell of a healer.” He inclined his head formally, turning the topic
in a serious tone. “By the by, I won’t soon forget what you did out there. Were it not for you, my wife
and unborn child would be dead.”

James’ cheeks stained scarlet. “Think nothing of it.”

“Like bloody hell. That was no small feat, man!”

James nodded, still blushing.

Kane plopped down on the edge of James’ bed. She grinned up at Alex, Melea, and her
husband. “What a night. We’ve managed to throw a sensational party, made all the more memorable
when James saved me from thefrit-foo , not to mention my husband’s old lover jumping in at the last
moment, and on top of it,”—she turned more serious—“we know what became of Nina.”

George handed James a glass of spirits. “The man was daft. Completely, undeniably insane.”

James snorted.

Melea sat down on James’ other side. “What you did was so heroic. Thank-you for saving my
best friend’s life, my lord.”

James’ red face turned purple with embarrassment. “It was nothing, really. I just managed to
throw myself in front of the blade.

Kane grinned. “You’ve become a romantic legend already, you know. The ladies downstairs are
swooning over your good deed.”

George laughed. Clutching his breast dramatically, he turned his voice into a mimic of a school gel
coming into her first season on the marriage mart. “Oh mummy, you simply must get the viscount to make
an offer for my hand.” He batted his eyelashes. “I will go mad if I can’t have him.” His performance came
to an end as he fell to the bed in a faux fit of the vapors.

The audience went wild, clapping their hands and laughing uproariously, until the earl stood up
and took a bow.

James threw a book at him. Half laughing and half groaning, he looked at Alex. “Is it really that
bad down there?”

Alex grinned. “In a word, yes.”

The viscount groaned for real.

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Chapter 38

The following morning, Kane and Melea were so busy saying their good-byes to the departing
guests that they realized it would be well into the afternoon before Melea could transport the kabitross to
2429.

James had planned to stay on for another week or two, but ended up leaving with his parents, having
received word of troubles at one of his estates by courier. He departed with the vow that he would return
for the marquess’s nuptials, as well as for the Blackmore heir’s christening. He didn’t know it yet, but he,
along with Alex, was to be named godfather.

The Blakes were the last ones to make their leave. Lady Julia hugged Melea fondly and thanked her
profusely for all the great sparring she’d given her. She made her promise to return the soonest. After
embracing Kane and chiding her soundly on the topic of giving her grandchild his rest, she made her way
toward the Blake coach, the viscount at her heels.

The remaining four—Kane, George, Alex, and Melea—shared a leisurely luncheon together. Alex tried
to put on a good face, to act as though he wasn’t the least bit frightened, but everyone knew that he was.
He told Melea he had a special license in his pocket and made her swear they’d marry the moment she
returned. She almost cried when he admitted he’d had the license since the day after they had met.

When the foursome gathered together all of the sealed packages of dandelions and managed to sneak
them from the mansion and into the clearing of the forest, they knew the time was at hand. Kane took out
her laser-c and established contact with Commander Linder. She looked at the Warrior Woman and
nodded.

Melea took her place amidst the dandelions. She smiled at Alex, who was almost in tears. George
patted him on the back. He couldn’t begin to imagine how he felt.

Kane forced her gaze from Alex to Melea. She kissed her best friend on the cheek, silently thanking her
before continuing. At Melea’s nod, she spoke into the communicator, having established only auditory
contact at Linder’s command. He said it was necessary to reserve as much fero-nitrum as possible.
“Linder, we are ready to engage.”

His voice came through the laser-c. “Commander Linder, Chief NASA Director, Colony Houston,
preparing to transport Melea, Warrior Woman of NASA, Colony Houston. Standby for transport.”

Alex closed his eyes for a brief moment against the sense of loss gnawing at his belly. He opened them
to a series of whirling, bell-like sounds accompanying a charge of energy he’d come to recognize.
George laid his hand on his shoulder.

And then it happened.

Or more to the point, nothing happened.

“What the hell is going on?” Melea growled. “I’ve prepared myself emotionally to transport, now do it
Linder!”

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“By the goddesses!” the male voice in the communicator wailed. “It’s blown some sort of circuitry.
Disengaging transport, Melea. Kane! Don’t go anywhere—we need to talk!”

Alex let out his breath. George listened intently.

Kane stepped into the dandelion ring and gave Melea her hand, telling her without words to leave it and
follow. “Yes, Linder, what is it?”

“By mighty Vegas, I’ve no idea how long it will take to fix this goddamned mess!”

“How long does Egis have?”

“Several months still. There are no signs of deterioration.”

Kane nodded, though her commander couldn’t see her to know it. Realizing that, she spoke aloud.
“Linder, we cannot risk another blown attempt. If we run out of fero-nitrum, the kabitross will never get
there. I will check in with you once a week until you’re certain the technicians have fixed it. But by the
moons of Jupitor, makecertain it is fixed before we attempt another transport!”

“What is your reading?”

Kane checked her fero-nitrum level before responding. “Thirtykalis .”

“Christ.”

Melea spoke next. “Mine is less than that since we’ve been using my laser-c to make contact with you
these past months. Linder, Kane is right. The next attempt is all or nothing.”

“All or nothing,” he repeated, a man in anguish of losing a grandson. “All or nothing.”

“I better disengage the communicator, Linder.” Kane kept her voice forceful to pull him from self-pity
and worry and to get him to refocus. “I will check in every two weeks instead of every week. Until
then…”

“Yes,” Linder said forlornly. “May the goddesses bless you both.”

“May the goddesses bless you,” they repeated.

Kane disengaged. She took a deep breath, then turned to her husband. “What now?”

George cleared his throat. He hadn’t expected this hitch in their well-formed plans. “For starters we take
the dandelions back to the estate.”

“And then?”

George turned to Alex. He lifted a brow questioningly. Alex wasted no time.

Swinging Melea up into his arms, the marquess kissed her soundly on the lips. “You, my love, promised
me a marriage the moment you returned. So far as I’m concerned, that moment is now. What have you
to say to that my little shrew?”

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She thumped him on the chest. “Fine. Let us file for permanent companionship then.” She kissed the tip
of his nose. “I’m ready to become your marching-ette.”

“Marchioness,” he growled.

She waved a hand dismissively. “Whatever.”

* * * * *

Two hours later, the Marquess and Marchioness of Asherby said their goodbyes and set off for their
two week honeymoon at one of Alex’s estates not even a day’s full drive away.

Tired and weary from the wide range of emotions he’d been forced to experience this past sennight,
Alex plopped onto his bed and sighed.

Then he smiled.

He might be exhausted, but he couldn’t possibly be too tired to have a hell of a good wedding night,
three o’clock in the morning or no. He bolted upright, discarded his attire in record speed, then jumped
on the bed and waited, fully erect, for his marchioness to join him.

She did.

Alex thought he’d died and gone to a lecherous pervert’s heaven. Eyes round and cock nigh to bursting,
he stammered out, “Wh-What’s th-that?”

Melea climbed on top of him with that cat-that-ate-the-canary smile he’d come to adore. “We call it
shepra… ”

* * * * *

Kane handed her cat over to a passing maid with instructions to feed and bathe Sir Scruffy. Exhausted,
she closed the door and joined her husband in their bed. She kissed him lightly on the lips, then laid her
head on his chest and purred her contentment.

George ran his large fingers through his wife’s hair as he contemplated all the outrageous things that had
happened these past two days. It was enough to give a man a megrim. Not that he could have megrims
anymore. Damn, but he was going to have to come up with a new trick or two. Luckily, he was ever a
resourceful man.

“Kane,” he rasped out, “I am in pain.”

She took him serious for a moment. She raised her head to look at him. “What’s wrong, my love?”

He shook his head as if the matter was grave indeed. “Swelling of the extremities.”

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“Eh?”

He pulled the bedcovers down and proceeded to show his wife the swollen extremity in question. She
clutched her hand to her naked bosom with faux concern. Batting her eyelashes, she regarded her
husband. A husband whose lusty appetites could put azilch to shame. “Oh Sir Long Cock, whatever can
I do to lessen your agony?”

He grabbed the back of her head and nudged her gently toward his painfully erect manhood. “Kiss him
and make him feel better, wench.”

She did.

George put his hands behind his back and enjoyed every moment of her pampering. He sucked in his
breath as she sucked on his scrotum. “Oh Kane that feels wonderful.”

Kane massaged his sac with her lips and tongue for a few moments more, then raised her head and took
the length of his cock into her mouth. She took him all the way in, deep-throating him with a powerful
downward sucking motion.

“Christ.”George twined his fingers through her hair and guided her face up and down the length of him.
“You’re so good at this,” he said thickly. “Remove your chemise. I want to fondle you whilst you suck on
me.”

Kane threw him a seductive look as she obeyed. George raised his hands and played with her nipples
while his wife resumed her sucking, quickening her pace to enable his orgasm.

George gritted his teeth, loving it. “Take all of him into your mouth, sweetheart. Suck on all of him.”

Kane deep-throated him again, over and over, knowing how partial her husband was to the sensation.
She grew more aroused when she watched his head drop back onto the pillows, his eyes closed as his
taut stomach muscles contracted and his impressively large cock stood up stiffly, wanting more.

“Kane,” he murmured without opening his eyes.

She picked up the pace again, knowing he was ready to orgasm, wanting to feel his release. She sucked
him faster and faster, glorying in the sounds of his labored breathing, loving her power over him.

“Oh god.” George’s body went rigid as he palmed the back of Kane’s head and held her securely while
she sucked on him. Rearing his muscle-hard buttocks upward, he slammed home three more times, then
growled in satisfaction as he climaxed in her mouth.

It occurred to George somewhere in the back of his mind that he had thought to bring his wife to the
same heights she had taken him to. He had thought to lick her slippery folds, taste of her flesh, then make
love to her all night long.

The last thought he entertained before falling into a deep, sated sleep was that he’d make it up to her
tomorrow.

Kane looked down at her snoring husband and grinned. Poor baby. He’d had an eventful two days.

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Chapter 39

The next few months were the happiest of George’s life. He hadn’t thought it possible to improve
upon perfection, but he grew to love his wife and cherish their ever-growing friendship more and more
with each passing day. The days rolled into weeks, the weeks into months, and before George realized it,
his wife was due to deliver his child at any time. And still, the transport had not been fixed.

At the beginning of December, they had celebrated his thirty-eighth birthday. Kane’s
twenty-seventh had followed on the eve of Christmas. Neither of them had wanted a major fuss, so they
merely spent the time making love, albeit carefully, and enjoying their last few days of pre-parenthood
together.

Christmas had been an event George wouldn’t soon forget. The villagers had decked out
Blackmore with holly, mistletoe, and a few preserved dandelions. Trees were decorated, eggnog was
served, and an all around cheerful mood prevailed.

Much to the family’s surprise and delight, Kane had managed her pregnancy extremely well.
There had been only a single incident, however brief, that had caused any concern at all. Sometime in
September when the babe began to kick, Kane had become convinced that she was enceinte with a
mutant hybrid that wanted to rip her apart. A visit from Lady Julia, Lady Melea, and Old Girty O’Malley
had set her to rights, assuring her all was well.

On the twentieth of January, in the year of our Lord 1777, Girty O’Malley delivered Kane of a
healthy baby boy, later christened Alexander James William George Wyndom, the fifth Viscount Brent,
heir apparent to the earldom of Blackmore and the dukedom of Browning.

The people of Blackmore were elated by the news and threw together a celebratory feast in the
village the day after his christening to welcome their new lord into their love and safe-keeping. Fearing the
cold and wanting to protect his month old son from the elements, the earl opened up his three grand
ballrooms to his people, urging them to move the feast inside of the estate where it was warm and snug.

The liveried servants took turns serving and being served, joining in on the feasting with as much
enjoyment as those who lived outside of the mansion. Games were played and dancing served to lighten
up an already festive occasion. When George and Old Girty danced an Irish jig together, there wasn’t a
dry eye left in the estate. The tears came from laughter, of course, watching the toothless midwife lead the
gigantic earl around the floor.

Aron and Alice MacAllister brought a gift of welcome to little Alexander James, and made
certain they again thanked the countess for all she’d done for their own family. Aron had set up shop in
the village almost two months past. His finely carved cradles and rocking chairs were quickly becoming
all the rage amongst the aristocracy from places as far away as Paris. Alice’s medieval tapestries now
donned the walls of many a nobleman’s estate.

Toward the end of April, Kane announced to a bewildered earl that she was expecting another
babe in seven months time. Since Alex and Melea were currently visiting, they were there for the glorious
announcement. “That’s wonderful news!” Melea laughed. “We can go through this one together!”

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Kane looked up from the floor where she and her son were sitting on a blanket together and
grinned. “You are with child?”

Melea nodded.

“Congratulations!”

George handed Alex a glass of wine and thumped him on the back. “As my wife said,
congratulations.”

Alex smiled broadly, accepting the wine. “I can’t wait. We’ve already ordered a cradle from
Aron MacAllister.”

George nodded thoughtfully. “He does excellent work.”

Alexander James had his nappy changed by his mummy and papa and was then ushered into the
nursery by Bessy for a nap. They had yet to find a governess who George deemed suitable. That two of
the applicants had been nuns, never having sinned a day in their lives no doubt, didn’t go unnoticed by
Kane. She had teased him mercilessly about it, but George had adamantly defended his actions, stating
that he didn’t care to have a holier-than-thou nun about the estate anyway.

The foursome settled in for a quiet luncheon, during which they discussed the topic the Asherbys
had come to speak of. “I won’t have it,” Alex stated matter-of-factly. “It was hard enough on me the first
time, but now that Melea is enceinte, I shan’t risk her traveling to the future.”

Kane spooned a helping of mushroom soup up to her lips, nodding thoughtfully. “I don’t blame
you. It’s much to risk.”

Melea sighed. “Then what do we do?”

“I don’t see any particular reason why we can’t transport the flowers without you going along.”

Melea nibbled on her bottom lip. “I don’t either. But without a living body to focus on, what if the
transport doesn’t work? We’ll be out of fero-nitrum with no way to save Egis.”

Kane thought on that for a moment. “Not true. The transport doesn’t require a body, it requires
energy, life force if you will.”

Melea shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

George made eye contact with his wife. “I believe I do.” He raised an eyebrow. “Are you
referring to the second laser-c, per chance?”

Kane nodded. “I don’t know why I never thought of it before.”

Melea smiled as comprehension dawned. “Of course!”

Alex folded his arms over his chest. “Call me an idiot, but I still don’t get it. Explain, please.”

Kane shrugged. “We can place Melea’s laser-c in the middle of the dandelion ring in engaged

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mode. It will produce the needed energy to allow the transport to focus on something.”

Alex sat up straighter. He fidgeted in his seat. “That will work?”

“I don’t see why not. It stands as much chance of being transported as a human body does.”

He expelled a puff of air, then smiled broadly. “Excellent. Now it’s just a question of when.”

George sighed. “Not any longer.”

Melea’s eyes grew wide. “You spoke to Linder today?”

“Yesterday,” Kane corrected her.

She waved her hand. “And?”

Kane picked up her cup of tea and sipped from it. Placing it back down, she regarded her best
friend. “We attempt to transport tomorrow.”

* * * * *

On the day of reckoning, the same foursome gathered the sealed off dandelions together,
secreted them from the mansion, and made their way to the same clearing on the outskirts of the village
forest.

Kane placed Melea’s laser-c in the midst of the ring and turned it on engaged mode. She
stepped back, away from the ring, and proceeded to engage her own communicator. “Linder, all is in
readiness. Do it just like we said now.”

“Affirmative. Commander Linder, Chief NASA Director, Houston Colony, preparing to
transport kabitross specimen. Standby for transport.”

George felt knots in his belly clench. He wanted this to work so badly. He wanted this whole
bloody business behind them so they’d never have to look back, never have to have this mission looming
over their heads and happiness again.

A moment later, the familiar whirling sounds rose up from Melea’s communicator. A charge of
energy was emitted and he knew the time was at hand. Just when he thought it was over and everything
was about to be set to rights, he heard the faint sound of his wife’s voice calling out to him. It was a
sound he would never forget as long as he had a breath left to breathe. In agony, he looked toward
Kane’s standing position.

The pulsating lights of energy had a lasso around his wife the same as they did the ring of
dandelions. He held out his hand. “Kane, no!”

A single tear slipped down her cheek. She held out her hand to him. “I love you, George.”

He ran toward her only to be stopped by Melea. “No! You’ll kill her and you both! Do nothing!”

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He kept going.

Melea whirled him around and forced him to face her. “George, listen to me, goddamn it! If you interrupt
the transport once its made a fix you will cause the balance of energy to shift and you will both die!” She
grabbed both of his arms and pleased with him. “She’ll find a way home, George. Let her go!”

Closing his eyes, he nodded his compliance. His heart wrenching painfully, he turned to his wife.
“I love you damn it! Come back to me!”

She smiled wistfully. And then she was gone.

An eerie quiet ensued.

George stumbled over to the ring of dandelions and sat down where only a moment ago his wife
had been. Laying on the ground was a single flower, a dandelion that must have somehow escaped its
sealed container.

He picked it up and brushed it across his cheek. In that instant, a Pandora’s box of agonizing
thoughts were unleashed. What if the transport broke and she couldn’t get back? What if he never saw
his wife and unborn child again? What if he was forced to live out the rest of his days as lonely as he’d
been before Kane had swept into his life?

Not able to endure the pain, George threw his head back like a fatally wounded animal and growled, “
No!”

Alex rushed to George’s side and crouched down next to him. Patting him on the back, he
offered him the only solace he could think of. “It’s all right, my friend. She’ll come back. I know she
will.”

George looked to his best friend, his eyes bloodshot. And then he did something he’d never
before done in his life. He pulled Alex into his arms. And he wept.

Chapter 40

“What in the bluidy hell was that, mon?” Still panting from the mad dash he and Marshall Turgot
had made from the forest, Aron MacAllister leaned over and rested his hands on his knees to steady his
breathing.

Marshall shook his head. “’Twas a devilry, fer certain.”

“Who orwhat took our lady, mon?”

“I’ve no notion.” Marshall gasped for air, then clapped Aron on the back. “Did ye see the look

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on Himself’s face? He looked like he was wantin’ to die, he did.”

Aron nodded. “That I did.” He straightened himself up and considered the frightening events
they’d just witnessed. “The Blackmores ha’ done much fer this village. I wish there was more what we
could do.”

“As do I.”

Aron gazed thoughtfully into the forest clearing. An idea struck him. “Yer sons – they can manage
the fields fer ye?”

Marshall shrugged. “Aye.”

Aron nodded. “Go pack yer bags, mon. Tell yer shrewish wife we will be gone fer a fortnight or
tae.”

Marshall scrunched up his face. “Why? Where are we goin’?”

“I was thinkin’. We both believe it was devilry, right?”

“Aye.”

“Well, me thinks it takes a devil tae fight a devil.” Aron clapped Marshall on the back. “I’ll
explain on the way, mon. Go on now! Pack yer bags. We leave within the hour!”

Chapter 41

“Kane now that you’re here, I’d like you to consider staying on long enough to press the flowers
and help to plant the left-over seeds into the synthetic gardens.”

Kane placed her indignantly balled hands on her hips. “Forget it, Linder. My husband is probably
beside himself with grief as it is. I can’t prolong that needlessly.”

“Needlessly?”

Kane squirmed. “Don’t make me feel guilty, Linder. Damn it, stop looking at me like that!”

“Like what?”

“You know like what. Like I’m the only person in the galaxies that can save Egis. Anyone can
press the flowers!”

Linder rubbed his haggard chin wearily. “Difference is, you’re the only one I trust.”

Defeated, Kane closed her eyes. “How long?”

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“What do you mean—”

She held up a silencing hand. “No games, Linder. Not when it concerns my husband and son.
Not when both communicators are here and I’ve no method of letting them know all will be well. You
know what I mean. How long must I remain?”

He nodded, realizing she would put up with no delaying tactics. “It could take as long as six
months.”

“By the goddesses.” She took a deep breath and considered her options.

“Kane, I don’t wish to cause you any further heartache, but I would consider it a personal favor
if you’d grant me this request.” He took her hand in his and pleaded with her. “Just this once. Just one
more time.”

Kane was about to deny him when a picture popped into her head. A picture of her son. A
picture of how it felt to hold him, of how her heart skipped every time she looked into his shining eyes.
For the first time since this mission began, she truly understood the agony it would be to lose a son. Or in
Linder’s case, a grandson. She inclined her head. “All right, Linder. Just this once.”

* * * * *

The next two weeks were a blur of sorrow mixed with grief for George. Were it not for the son
he’d made with Kane to remind him of their love, he was certain he’d have gone daft long ago.

The sign of a weakling? Mayhap.

But lunacy seemed the only way to make the pain stop. To not feel anything anymore. To not go
to sleep every night weeping and wake up every morning wishing death would claim you.

On the third week, Alex sat him down and had a man-to-man chat with him. The long and the
short of it was, George’s melancholia couldn’t possibly be healthy for Alexander James. He had to go on
living, with or without Kane, just as she would have wanted him to.

Would Kane want his tears?No .

His grief?No .

His apathy?No .

Knowing what she’d want didn’t make it any easier. But he knew Alex was right. He knew he
had to resume living, for Alexander James’ sake if not for his own.

Toward the end of the third week, George found himself wandering down the halls toward the
nursery. It was the middle of the night, so all were abed, including Alex and Melea who had refused to
leave Blackmore until Kane returned.

His mother and Chester still didn’t know about her “disappearance” and he decided not to tell

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them unless it became necessary to do so.

George closed the nursery doors quietly behind him, careful not to wake up Old Girty who had
turned out to be one hell of a good governess. Setting his candlestick down on a table next to his son’s
cradle, he picked up Alexander James and hugged him tightly. “I’m beginning to fear that your mum has
been lost to us, my son.” He kissed him lightly on the forehead. “Do you know how much she loved you?
Will you ever know how much?”

He sat down in the chair nearest the cradle and began to rock back and forth, ever so slowly.
“She wouldn’t want us to be depressed, you know. She’d want us to have faith.” He kissed his son’s
fuzzy black head. “But if she’s coming back to us, I certainly wouldn’t mind a sign or two.”

George rocked Alexander James back and forth in the chair for long minutes. When fatigue
finally claimed him, he stood up and prepared to place his son back in the cradle. Before he did so, the
little one cooed. Smiling, George’s light green eyes gazed into the babe’s newborn blue ones.

Only, they weren’t so blue anymore.

His heart beating rapidly, George sat back down with his son and looked at his eyes from under
the waning candlelight. “My God.”

Alexander James’ eyes of newborn blue had changed. Now both eyes contained a ring of green
like his own, a ring of blue like Kane’s, and a fleck of gold in the center of each that looked amazingly
like…a tiny dandelion.

George smiled broadly for the first time in three weeks. He kissed his son affectionately on the
forehead. “Thank-you my boy. I asked you for a sign and you gave me one.”

Alexander James cooed, as if to say, “O’ ye of little faith.”

* * * * *

During the middle of George’s fourth week apart from Kane, Viscount Freemont returned to
Blackmore to visit his godson. The first question he had, of course, revolved around Lady Blackmore’s
obvious absence.

Realizing they could entrust James with their lives let alone their secret, George and Alex proceeded to
tell the viscount everything. They started with Kane’s arrival over a year ago and ended with her
“disappearance” a month ago.

Luckily, and George thought it lucky indeed since Melea was without a laser-c to prove anything,
James believed him. Without question, he believed him. Without proof, he believed him. His faith in the
viscount increased tenfold after that.

Toward the end of the fourth week, George invited James and the Asherbys into his private study
for a game of cards. It was high time to go on living, as he’d promised himself he would a week ago.

“Prepare to lose big,” Alex teased, shuffling the cards while James poured the gentlemen a glass
of port.

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Melea snorted. “He’s all talk and no action,” she mused. “I wouldn’t fret over it too much,
George.”

The earl chuckled. “I’ll take your word for it, madam.”

The playing ensued and George won the first two hands. James took the next one and Melea the
next. Clearly frustrated, Alex threw down his cards. “A bloody bother, this game.”

Melea snorted. “And then he acts the babe when he loses.”

George and James laughed.

James stood up to replenish his glass of port when a knock on the study door interrupted him.
Since he was up as it was, he answered it. “Yes?”

Stuart, the Blackmore butler, and a breathless Bessy rushed into the study. Bessy bowed before
the earl before saying her piece. “Ye best come to the forest, milord, where the villagers have gathered.
Me father awaits ye there.”

George rose, lifting a curious brow as he did. “Whatever for?”

“They want to get me lady back. Beyond that, I’m not at liberty to say.” She bowed her head
respectfully. “Ye best come now.” And then she added, “all of ye.”

Chapter 42

He couldn’t believe it.

Everywhere George looked there were villagers gathered about. Young, old, male, female, Scot,
English, and Irish—it mattered not. From liveried servants to stable hands to smithies to former
courtesans (was that Charlotte?), they were all here.

They all wanted Kane to come home.

George took a deep breath, so overcome he was by this show of solidarity amongst his people,
amongst even his former mistress. It touched a part of him that had been encased in ice during these past
two fortnights without his wife by his side.

Alex and Melea walked stoically toward the crowd at the earl’s right, James and Bessy at his
left. A huge bonfire had been lit and was being danced around by the merrymakers. The crowd couldn’t
contain its revelry. George smiled tentatively toward Charlotte as he made his way through the throng of
supporters. When she smiled back, he turned to his wife’s lady’s maid for some answers. “What’s going
on?” he asked dazedly.

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Bessy merely grinned. “Me dad is a Highlander, milord,” she said simply, as if that explained everything.
When the earl furrowed his brow, she added, “he and the Turgot men—me Jack included—have gone
reavin’ fer ye.”

James lifted a brow. “Reavin’?” he inquired in disbelief. “As in thieving?”

“Aye. That be the way of it, milord.”

“What could your father possibly have stolen that can help bring the countess back?” Alex asked
incredulously.

“Ye will see, milord.”

George was about to press Bessy for an answer to the marquess’s question when he spotted her
father in the crowd. The boisterous gathering opened up, allowing their party entrance, closer to the
bonfire that burned through the darkness of the night skies. “Aron!” the earl greeted him, vying to be
heard above the din. “What goes on here, man?”

Aron MacAllister spun on his heel and turned toward George. His face lit up upon seeing him.
He held up his hands, commanding silence down upon the gathering. It took a suspended moment before
all was quiet. “We, the people of Blackmore, ha’ all come here this night tae give ye our support.”

The crowd went wild with thunderous applause and raucous cheers. Aron held up his hands
again. “We also gather this night tae bring Herself, the countess, back home.”

More applause. Louder cheers.

George was touched. And stunned.

Aron smiled. “Me and the Turgots ha’ just come back from the borders, milord. We brought ye
a present.” Aron turned to the right, offering the earl his profile. “Marshal! Jack!” he shouted, waving
them to come closer. “Bring Himself our booty.”

“What have you stolen?” Melea asked, remembering Bessy’s earlier reference to “reavin’”.

“What in the bloody hell is in that sack?” Alex murmured to James.

James shrugged. “Color me curious, but I cannot wait to find out.”

Alex grinned. Neither could he.

George watched, his arms crossed over his chest, as a large sack of cloth was deposited at his
feet. No, a large,squirming , sack of cloth, he amended. And worse yet, the bag contained a shrill,
obviously angry voice muffled inside of it, calling the assembly what he could only assume was all manner
of vile names.

George snapped his gaping jaws shut as he proceeded to watch Jack Turgot slice through the
bag with his knife and pull a bound and gagged woman with burgundy hair out of it. He picked her up,
placed her on her feet, and stood her before the earl.

She was exotically beautiful, George admitted. Long burgundy tresses, silvery iced eyes, and

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creamy skin. She wore a white tee-shirt and tight fitting blue breeches made of an odd material he’d
never before seen.

Melea arched a brow. The breeches triggered an injected memory cell…but of what?

James smiled slowly. The wench was the most enticing woman he’d ever laid eyes upon.

George frowned. The girl was winsome, but… “Aron, what is the meaning of this, man? Surely
you cannot think I wish to replace my beloved wife with another?”

The girl in question squeaked. Frightened, she looked over her shoulder in the vicinity of her
captors to hear what they had to say to that.

“We dinna bring her to ye fer the bedsport, milord,” Aron assured him.

“Aye,” Jack seconded. “Comely she is, but her shrewish tongue could shrivel a man’s staff to
nigh a nub.”

The girl squealed indignantly. She stomped on Jack’s foot in retaliation, causing him to howl in
pain. He grabbed her around the middle and wrapped his other arm around her throat. Wide-eyed, she
stilled.

James’ eyes narrowed, ready to pounce. He had an itch to tear the comely woman from the
stable master’s hands, but decided wisely to wait and see how this scene would play out. Besides, Jack
was a good lad. The girl he held captive squinted her eyes at the viscount as if reading his thoughts,
wondering faintly why the stranger cared at all.

George shook his head to clear it. He felt one of his infamous megrims he could no longer get fast
approaching. “I don’t understand, Aron. Why then did you steal this woman?”

Aron grinned. “The lassie is going tae bring Lady Blackmore home tae ye.”

“Oh? And how will she accomplish that feat, pray tell?”

Aron shrugged his broad shoulders. “However her kind goes aboot it. A spell. An incantation.
Mayhap an animal sacrifice.”

The crowd gasped in horror.

George’s face scrunched up in confusion. “Her kind?”

“Aye.” Aron beamed from ear to ear. “She is a witch.”

* * * * *

“Well Linder, it looks as if everything is at last in order. The kabitross has been cultivated within
the synthetic gardens of the colony, the majority of the seeds have already been pressed into drug form,
Egis is alive and well, hell—I even found Timal a mistress eager to file for permanent companionship
status with him.” Kane stretched her arms up and out, yawning widely. She darted her gaze the

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commander’s way and grinned. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m ready to go back to my life.”

Linder winced. He felt damn guilty that she’d been detained this long. “I know you must miss
your permanent companion and son.”

“Miss? Ha!” She shook her head nostalgically. “By Saturn’s rings,miss doesn’t begin to describe
how terribly lonely I am for my two favorite humanoids.” She glanced down at her ripened belly, heavy
with George’s daughter, and sighed. “It has been seven months, Linder. I can’t imagine how upset
George must be by now. He probably thinks I’m never coming back.”

Linder clapped her affectionately on the back. “Not true. Wedo have a time travelling program
here at NASA, Dr.”

“Your point?”

“I could stand here and waste more of your precious time explaining the technical intricacies
NASA has learned as a result of your mission, but the long and the short of it is this: only one month will
have passed in your permanent companion’s time when you arrive.”

She grinned. “Really? Truly?”

He smiled. “Yes.”

“Oh Linder that’s wonderful! I hate to think of George and my son having suffered as horrifically
from my absence as I have from theirs!”

He said nothing to that. “Well then, shall we be off?”

Kane arched a brow. “We?”

Linder grinned. “Well I was thinking…since we know for a fact that the program works in
reverse, I don’t see any reason why I can’t take you home.” He shuffled on his feet excitedly. “By the tit
of thezilch , I want to see this glorious earth that has caused two of Houston’s finest women to leave us
for it!”

Kane threw her head back and laughed. “Then by all means, come!” She took Linder by the arm
and led him toward the door. “Let us find a clothing droid to whip us up some eighteenth century outfits.”

* * * * *

“A witch?” George inquired bemusedly.

“Aye,” Aron boasted. “We know fer a fact that this wench is familiar with the dark arts.”

Marshall Turgot nodded. “We caught the witch in her shape-shiftin’ form—appearin’ out of thin
air as it were.”

The assembly gasped.

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George clapped a hand to his forehead. This was just too much. Were it not for the fact that the
men had gone to such great lengths to try and bring his wife back, he would have reprimanded them
mightily for stealing the chit. He looked over to Melea as if to saywhat do you think ?.

Melea shrugged her shoulders as if to answer him,by Jupitor’s moons, anything is worth a try
at this point!

Nevertheless, George was about to deny the villagers the right to perform the pagan ritual when
Old Girty O’Malley waddled up—his son in her arms—to speak her piece. “We know ‘twas a witch
who took our lady in the first, milord. Aron and Marshall here saw the black deed done.”

Surprised, George said nothing. He hadn’t realized any save Alex and Melea had been witness to
Kane’s unwilling departure. The very departure that had torn his heart out and ripped it to shreds. Were
it not for the son Old Girty was holding to her breast, he wasn’t certain he would have been able to go on
this long without her.

“That’s right,” Jack insisted, maintaining a tight control of the captive, “and it will take another
witch to bring her back to all of us.”

The crowd cheered.

“But why?” George asked, practically speechless. “Why should any of you care?”

Girty O’Malley eyed him up and down frowning. “By Saturn’s rings!” she cried.

Saturn’s rings?

“Don’t ye know how much the countess has done fer the lot of us?” Girty finished.

Feeling he should know the answer, and ashamed because he didn’t, the earl slowly shook his
head no.

“She cured me gout,” Girty insisted, inclining her head to confirm her words.

“She cured the ache in me bones,” an older man called out.

“She spent time with me after me husband died, helped chase away the tears she did,” yet
another cried out.

“She gave me self-respect,” Charlotte announced.

“She gave me Bessy and me Megan guid work and guid wages,” Aron added.

The crowd broke into a sea of roars, each of them trying to be heard above the others to
enumerate the countess’s good works to the earl. Finally, after long moments, it was little Jamie
McClure, the very same lad who fashioned Kane a new crown of dandelions every day, who stepped
forward and called the gathering down to silence. “We could stand here all night and still not say enough
what’s good about our lady. The point is, me lord, we are wantin’ her back and we are getting’ her back
this very night.”

Alex and Melea grinned and hugged each other affectionately as the crowd once again thundered

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their applause.

James looked to the witch. The beautiful woman appeared to be shaken by the villagers’ speeches. Was
she considering it? Was she truly a witch? Could she bring Lady Blackmore back?

Jack Turgot cut the witch’s binds from her hands and ankles then removed her gag and let it drop to the
ground. Aron nodded to his soon to be son-in-law, then shouted to the crowd. “Everyone form a circle
aboot the bonfire and join yer hands!”

Dazed, George and the others did as instructed. The earl reached for Bessy’s hand and held it securely
in his own. He looked down at her and winked, inducing the girl to blush prettily.

As the lords, lady, and commoners constructed their pagan circle, little Jamie McClure handed out
dandelion crowns to everyone in the assembled group. “Put them on, all of ye!” the lad shouted. “We
best take no chances!”

Amused, George took a quick gander about him, admiring the dandelion crowns one and all—himself
included—were now wearing. It was humorous, and infinitely touching, to seeeveryone , even his liveried
servants with their finely tailored garments, sporting these ridiculous flower talismans.

Little Jamie McClure handed a dandelion crown to the witch, who accepted it with wide eyes, then ran
to the edge of the ring and took his place. “Do yer magic!” Aron called out to the witch. “Bring her
back!” another yelled.

The witch bit her lip and tapped her foot distractedly, as if trying to reach some inner decision.
Apparently having reached one, she took a deep breath, shoved the circlet of flowers onto her head,
rubbed the palms of her hands together, and took a deep breath.

The crowd went still.

Chapter 43

“Are you certain we should enter on the outskirts of the village rather than in the mansion itself,
Kane?”

“I’m positive, Linder. One of the servants might see us if we materialize out of thin air within the
grounds. At least this way we won’t make a scene.”

“Okay. Then let us walk to the platform to engage.”

* * * * *

The witch bit her lip, looking up to the heavens as if seeking divine intervention. She should be

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looking toward the ground for the help of the wicked demon beasties her kind no doubt called upon in
these situations, Jack Turgot thought grimly as he watched her. Well, mayhap she was a good witch.
‘Twas possible. Or so his mum had always claimed whilst in her cups.

The witch clapped her hands together, apparently having received the inspiration she had been
looking for. She foisted her arms dramatically into the air, clearing her throat to speak. She darted her
eyes this way and that, no doubt sizing the lot of them up for their potential as pagan sacrifices to the dark
spirits. Or so some of the onlookers believed as they shifted on their feet and averted their gazes, fearing
their fates if they dared to make eye contact with the silver-eyed witch.

George watched her curiously, wondering absently what was going through the mind of the
woman with the burgundy tresses. He had never precisely believed in witchcraft before, but then again,
he hadn’t believed in time travel until he’d fallen in love with a woman who’d been born centuries later
than he had. Anything was possible. He wanted to believe it. And if this silver-eyed chit told him to stand
on one foot and meow like Sir Scruffy, he’d give it a shot if it meant being reunited with Kane. Why the
bloody hell not?

Alex and Melea clasped onto the hand of the other like lifelines. She had a good feeling about
this. There were many worlds in the known galaxies of the twenty-fifth century that relied upon magic and
mystique to accomplish the same feats that technology-based societies such as earth did. Witches were
real. Sorcery was a reality of life. Perhaps this woman was of their breed.

James took in the scene around him feeling oddly charged. He knew this had to be the workings
of overactive villein imaginings, yet the very air about him felt static. He watched the comely wench’s
every move, his heart picking up a beat when she flailed her arms into the air.

The witch widened her eyes as if telling a particularly frightening ghost story to a group of easily
spooked children. She spoke her incantations with a theatrical air usually reserved for the stage. “Roses
are red, the night is black, the Countess of Blackmore we all want back.”

She chanted her words over and over, inducing the crowd with hand gestures to repeat the ritual
with her. At first, no one spoke a word. And then, as if breaking the spell that held the gathering’s
collective tongue, Melea began to chant with the witch. “Roses are red, the night is black, the Countess
of Blackmore we all want back.”

And then George joined in. And then Alex and James. Aron and Bessy. Jack and Marshall.
Megan and Girty. And then the others. All of them, young and old, male and female, English, Irish, and
Scottish, noble and common. They chanted in unison, their words like a chorus offered up to the fates:

Roses are red, the night is black, the Countess of Blackmore we all want back.

Roses are red, the night is black, the Countess of Blackmore we all want back.

Roses are red, the night is black, the Countess of Blackmore we all want back.

The chanting picked up from soft to loud to fever pitched.

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Roses are red, the night is black, the Countess of Blackmore we all want back!

Roses are red, the night is black, the Countess of Blackmore we all want back!

Roses are red, the night is black, the Countess of Blackmore we all want back!

The air encircling the gathering grew fuzzy and tense. There was a charge about it that none save Melea,
George, and Alex could give a name to. It was fero-nitrum, they were certain. It was witchery, the others
believed.

A huge puff of smoke materialized out of the mist, inducing the crowd to disband hands and cross
themselves in disbelief at what they were all witnessing. Aron MacAllister dropped to the ground and
said a Hail Mary, praying to the saints that they hadn’t inadvertently conjured up some heathen god of the
dark arts who would devour the lot of them whole.

From the mist and the smoke, stepped a regally dressed and very pregnant Lady Blackmore. She was
accompanied by a nobleman whom none save Melea recognized. All at once, the crowd broke into a fit
of cheers. George’s heart palpitated rapidly, his jaw agape.

Bewildered, Kane and Linder looked around them. The commander felt for his laser-c, preparing to
draw it if any of the primitives sought to hurt them. Before he could even think to do anything about it, a
gorgeous brunette caught his eye. The vixen did things to his heart he hadn’t realized a heart could still do
at fifty earth years. She smiled demurely at him and he knew then and there that he wouldn’t leave this
place without her. Later, he would find out her name was Charlotte. For now, he turned back to his
companion. “So much for appearing where none might see us,” Linder muttered to Kane.

Kane, on the other hand, was paying her commander no attention. She was looking for George.

As if from a dream, or more like a fantasy, her earl materialized from the belly of the cheering crowd and
walked slowly toward her. Her heart pumping out blood damn near faster than it could pump it back in,
she smiled at him tentatively, waddling toward him as she did so.

George felt the tears gathering in his eyes, but didn’t care. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.
Everything about him felt surreal. He knew the crowd was cheering, yet he heard nothing save his own
breathing. He saw that his wife, a woman barely pregnant when fate had snatched her so cruelly away
one month ago, was now close to the end of her confinement. He saw it, knew it made no sense, yet he
didn’t care. He just needed her. He needed to touch her, to know she was really here.

She waddled up to him, tears streaming down her face. Smiling so brightly it hurt his eyes and squeezed
his heart, she repeated the first words she’d ever spoken to him, though this time with a different
surname: “Greetings humanoid. I am called Lady Kane Blackmore. By what name do you go?”

He couldn’t help it then. The tears came. They came and they came and they came and they came. And
what’s more, he cared not a lick. He removed the crown of dandelions from around his forehead, placed
it atop his wife’s shimmering blonde hair, and pulled her into his arms.

The crowd went wild.

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The witch fainted.

* * * * *

“Absolutely amazing.”

“Fascinating.”

“Even I didn’t realize that was possible.” Melea released her husband’s hand and strolled over to where
Kane sat, securely ensconced on George’s lap in the Blackmore study, cooing to the son she hadn’t held
in seven months.

“Did you miss your mummy, Alexander James?” She clucked her tongue and nuzzled his face until the
tiny viscount gurgled and cooed for her. Sir Scruffy meowed from his place atop the earl’s chair.

Satisfied her son remembered her well and good, she turned her attentions to Alex, Melea, and George.
“I wasn’t aware of it either. Here I was, gone seven dreadfully long months,”—she reached behind her
and stroked her husband’s cheek—“and then Linder informs me that only a month would have passed in
this time.” She smiled up to George. “If being apart was anywhere near as awful for you as it was for me,
I’m glad you endured only a month and not seven as I had to.”

George grasped Kane’s hand tightly, then kissed it. “I’d have been mad by the time you returned, my
love.”

Alex poured himself a glass of port. “We’re just lucky that the villagers were present when you
made your miraculous reappearance, Kane. Otherwise, I have no notion how the deuce of you would
have went about explaining away your advanced state of pregnancy to everyone’s satisfaction.”

George laughed. “I don’t care to speculate.” He shook his head in awe, unable to fathom how it
was possible to become a father twice within three months, and by the same woman no less. “You’re
due any time, you say?”

Kane nodded.

He shook his head, chuckling.

Melea took Alexander James, the young Viscount Brent, from Kane’s arms and held him up
before her. “I hope I have one just like him. His eyes are sinfully beautiful. He’s going to break many a
woman’s heart, this one.”

Alex smiled, walking toward his wife to join her. “Amazing, is it not? My godson has eyes both
green and blue with a chip of gold in the middle of each that looks suspiciously like a dandelion.” He
turned to Kane and grinned, the talk of dandelions having brought another subject to mind. “By the by,
where is your commander?”

Kane chuckled. “He’s fallen in love and has determined to take his prey back to the twenty-fifth
century with him.”

“Who’s his quarry?” George asked.

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“Charlotte.”

He threw his head back and laughed.

“Speaking of love, or at least lust,” Alex remarked dryly as he rubbed his wife’s back, “did the lot of
you see James fawning over the witch?”

Melea giggled.

Alex released his wife’s back and placed his hand over his chest in mock horror. “What’s this? Did my
domineering, shrewish, harridan of a marchioness just do something feminine like giggle?”

Kane couldn’t help it. She clapped her hand over her mouth and did a little giggling herself. A sound that
George had missed so very much.

Melea frowned. She thumped her impossible husband over the head with her free hand, but couldn’t
stifle the grin that tugged at the corners of her mouth. “He did look moonstruck, didn’t he?”

“Too bad the witch disappeared after he helped her up from her swoon,” George noted.

Alex grinned. “James will find her, doubt it not.”

“Who was she anyway?” Kane inquired softly, genuinely intrigued to discover the answer after hearing
the entire story.

Melea contemplated that question for a Nuba-second before responding. “To be honest, I think she is
one of us.”

“What?” George sat up straighter in his seat, careful not to do an injury to his wife’s pregnant form.

“Really?” Alex asked.

Melea nodded. “I don’t think she was from the twenty-fifth century or even remotely thereabout, but her
clothing triggered a memory from our injectable, Kane. I think she heralds from another time.”

Kane squinted her eyes as she considered the matter. “You may be right. Nineteenth century?
Twentieth?”

Melea grinned. “One of the two.”

Chapter 44

Four months later

“Come sit with your granddad you wily little rascal.” Viscount Blake took Viscount Brent’s

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chubby little hand into his own. He pulled the too-curious toddler down into his lap, forcing him to picnic
with the rest of the family on the barge floating down the Thames.

George chuckled. “My little miscreant is always getting into mischief. Mayhap ‘tis best if we
didn’t let him wander the boat.” He handed his daughter a chunk of dandelion cheese—which she
actually seemed to like—from the picnic basket and allowed her to slobber on it. He then placed a kiss
lovingly atop the tiny blonde head sitting in his lap.

Lady Julia scooped Lady Emeline Blackmore out of her son’s embrace and placed her
granddaughter in her own lap. “Grandmummy has missed you, precious. My but we get bigger and
bigger every day.”

Emma giggled, her green-blue eyes with their dandelion gold flecks sparkling, then showered her
beloved grandmother’s cheek with kisses.

“You two spoil the children rotten.” Kane softened her rebuke with a heart-stopping smile aimed
toward her parents within the law. She, Melea, and Alex had just come from the other side of the boat
where the marquess had been busy pointing out landmarks such as Oxford as the barge continued its
promenade down the Thames.

“I say,” Chester sputtered, “it’s a granddad’s right.”

“And a grandmum’s,” Lady Julia added haughtily. She turned her regal gaze toward the
Asherbys and informed them in no uncertain terms that they could expect the same when Melea’s time
was at hand. Which was in two months now, to be precise.

George laughed. He helped his thrice-pregnant wife down to the floor of the barge that she might
partake of some sustenance. “Eat this, my sweet. You need the nourishment.”

Lady Julia laughed. “Goodness, but I should say she does. You really need to give the poor gel a
break after this birthing, Georgie.”

“The old man can’t help it if he’s all the stud,” Alex quipped.

“Good luck prying those two apart,” Melea grinned.

“Come come, my dear,” Chester teased his wife, “you know how it is to be a lady so in love you
can’t seem to help yourself.”

At everyone’s laugh, Lady Julia picked up her fan and swatted her exasperating husband over
the head, albeit lightly.

Kane laced her fingers through her husband’s as she popped a piece of dandelion bread into her
mouth and gobbled it down. Grinning widely, she wiggled her eyebrows at her husband. He chuckled.
“Oh! I almost forgot!” Kane added excitedly.

“What’s that, my love?”

“Before Linder and his permanent companion Charlotte left for the twenty-fifth century, the
commander ran a pregnancy screen on me.”

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“And?” the group asked as one.

“I’m having twins.”

“Twins?” they screeched in unison.

She shook her head in the affirmative. “Another boy and another girl.”

The clan of family, through marriages, bloodlines, and emotions, expelled a series of “awwws” at
the announcement made by the woman who had brought them all together in the first.

“I say,” Chester sputtered, “the deuce of you breed like rabbits.”

“Like zilches,” Melea giggled. Realizing she’d giggled yet again, she glared at her husband to
make certain he said nothing of it. Alex winked, clasping her hand in his own.

George laughed. He kissed his wife affectionately on the cheek, the wind from the Thames
wafting through their hair. A man couldn’t possibly be happier than he, he thought sentimentally. “Mayhap
‘twas a gift from the witch.”

The group chuckled at his jest.

Kane looked at her children sitting contentedly in the laps of their grandparents and smiled. She
picked up a piece of dandelion cheese and popped it into her mouth. Life before the wars, before the
fire, was bliss indeed. She squeezed her husband’s hand and declared after swallowing, “or mayhap it’s
because of the dandelions.”

Epilogue

“And that, my love, is the story of the ninth Earl and Countess of Blackmore, later to become the
Duke and Duchess of Browning.” She smiled. “I’ll tell you another night the tale about George’s
grandmother many generations removed, Elizabeth MacGregor, the third Duchess of Browning.” Mrs.
Jones closed the storybook, leaned over from where she was seated next to her daughter Maya’s bed,
and kissed her on the forehead.

Her daughter’s green-blue eyes, a fleck of gold in each, widened in awe of her mother’s tale. She
asked the same question every time her mother read this fable to her. “Do you weelly think Wady
Bwackmore was a time twaveler?”

Maya’s mother looked indulgently thoughtful. “That was one of the stories about her. Some in the village
believed the countess to be a time traveler, others said she was a powerful sorceress.” She smiled at her
daughter, ruffling her golden curls affectionately. “And all of them agreed she was a great healer,
regardless to her origins.”

Maya nibbled on her lower lip, pondering the possibilities. And then, with the astute conviction that only

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a five-year-old child can have, she nodded her head in the affirmative, decision made. “Yep. Wady
Bwackmore was a time twaveler.”

Her mother laughed. “Oh was she now?”

“Yep.”

“And why do you say that?”

“According to Einstein, time twavel can weelly happen. Einstein bewieved it was most wikely if—”

“Maya Jones!” her mother laughed. “You are five-years-old and already have the mind of a scientist and
the vocabulary of a grown woman! Where on earth did you pick up such information?”

Maya arched her chin haughtily. “I wed it in one of your simotific books.”

“Scientific,” her mother corrected her bemusedly. She shook her head, not quite sure whether to be
amused or a tad frightened by her child’s obvious brilliance. Mothers being mothers, she settled for
amused. “And what else do you know, smarty pants?” She reached over and tickled her daughter under
the ribs.

Maya giggled. “I know I am five-years-old. I know that the pwesident of the United States is Jimmy
Cawtaw. I know he wikes to eat peanuts.”

Her mother chuckled. “So they say. And what else do you know, hotshot?”

The little girl squinted her eyes as she tapped her cheek and contemplated the question for a long
moment. Her sparkling tri-colored gaze glowed beatifically when the answer struck her. “I’m going to be
a time twaveler one day, mommy.” She shook her head definitively. “Yep, I am.”

Her mother grinned. “Just like Lady Blackmore?”

“Yep.”

Her mother chuckled, figuring she’d say as much. “And where would you like to travel to?”

Maya thought that over for a moment. “Maybe Scotwand. I heard all about it fwom Aunt Celia.”

Her mother grinned. “Going to meet yourself a handsome lord and live happily ever after?”

At five years of age Maya already understood that a happy marriage was never to be for the woman she
loved so much. She was far too young to understand why, but knew in her heart that her mother would
want her to have what she didn’t. “Yes, mommy.” She grinned, displaying two missing teeth.

Mrs. Jones hugged her tightly for a long moment. Standing, she bent over and kissed her daughter
goodnight. She paused at the door as she flicked off the light switch and smiled at her little girl.
“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Goodnight, mommy.”

“I love you.”

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“I wuv you too.”

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