Page 3 of A Kiss For All Time (For All Time #2)

Fable opened her eyes and saw a man turning away from her.

She didn’t scream because her throat was on fire–and also because of his words, spoken in the softest of masculine voices, still echoed around her ears.

His desire to protect her? That wasn’t something a guy who chased you through time said.

It seemed to be something no one said in 1718.

She’d been here four days now or was it five? Alone and impoverished–running from a man who was trying to catch or kill her, stuck in the eighteenth century.

No one would believe her if she made it back.

But worse was the hunger.

She was starving.

Literally.

She couldn’t sell the pocket watch since she’d hidden it in the wall of a church in Ipswich.

She was sure it was the only way to get back home, and whoever was chasing her wanted it.

She led him away from it and she knew how to defend herself but he wasn’t some homeless, hungry guy on the street.

He carried around a bloody sword and Fable had no doubt he could use it.She also wasn’t sure if she could actually kill him once she got him down.

So she did what she did best.

She ran.

She didn’t know how far she’d gone.

Someone told her she was in Colchester but how far was that from Ipswich? She had no idea.

She’d needed to get her stalker off her back and then, once she was well again and her feet could withstand it, she’d get back to that church.

But the first thing Fable needed was food.

No one had helped her.

No one had even looked at her since she arrived.

No one but this man.

She wanted to reach out and stop him from moving away.

But the only thing she caught was a glimpse of his profile, his strong, square jaw and raven brow low over his eye.

He was going to stay away.

That was fine with her.

She just needed food to feel better and then she would be on her way.

She was used to being alone.

No big deal.

Sleeping outside on the streets of New York City had prepared her for the worst, but at least at home people offered a hand to help her eat.

Here, everyone was basically as poor as she was.

Everyone except this man.

Was she safe here? Was the man chasing her close by? Were those apples she smelled?

She didn’t open her eyes again for the next two days.

When she did, a thin shaft of sunlight streamed through a narrow window to her right, providing light for her to see the bundles of apples stacked behind her head.

She was hungry.

She looked around.

Where was she? Did she dream of the man’s voice telling her he had to resist his desire to protect her and stay away.

She almost laughed out loud at herself.

Of course it was a dream. Who had ever wanted to protect her?

“Oh, my lady, you’re awake!”

A short older woman with pink cheeks and graying hair hurried toward her.

“His Grace will be pleased.

How are you feeling? I’m Edith.

I’m here to serve you.

Don’t try to get up.

Just stay right where you are and I’ll bring you some soup.”

Before Fable had a chance to respond, the woman left her sight.

Fable could hear her busying herself preparing her soup beyond the storeroom.

What did the woman mean by “serve her”? Who told her to do so? Fable’s belly gave a loud growl.

She wasn’t sure soup would be enough.

Then again, the thought of actually eating turned her stomach.

“Thank you,”

she said when the woman returned to her beside carrying a tray with a bowl on top.

“May I ask…you mentioned His Grace.

Is there a man…a lord here?”

“Yes, the duke,”

the woman told her and spooned some soup into her mouth.

“He’s away in Ardleigh, but he should be returning today.

I think he’ll be pleased to see you awake.

He was concerned for you.”

“Me?”

Fable asked, and then closed her eyes to stop her tears from pouring out.

She never tasted anything as good as the carrot soup Edith was feeding her.

“Yes,”

Edith confided with a sly smile.

“I have never seen His Grace give a fretful thought to anything.

He even paid the physician to come see you.”

“I don’t remember him too much,”

Fable told her, though the foggy image of a man cradling her in his arms invaded her thoughts.

“You were quite ill, lady.

His Grace ordered Stephen and I to feed you clear soup so you wouldn’t die of starvation.

It was quite difficult since you were asleep.”

Fable wasn’t sure what to say.

She’d never met anyone with such a kind heart as this “His Grace” guy.

Everything was going fine until another woman came forward and eyed her as if Fable were the filthiest creature she’d ever seen.

Fable agreed that she probably was.

But it wasn’t easy staying clean while being chased down dirt paths, getting struck by another woman on the street with three missing teeth and an even dirtier face than Fable’s.

Oh yes, and she’d never forget the guy who had promised her a bowl of stew and then tried to capture and sell her as a slave.

“So, you’ve decided to wake up,”

the woman breathed in disgust.

She was dressed in a pretty, dark brown gown.

She would have appeared plain, especially in the candlelit space where they were, if not for the gold earrings dangling from her delicate lobes and the pearl encrusted choker around her neck.

Fable thought they would be worth a pretty penny on the streets.

“Will you eat all our food now?”

Fable turned away from the spoon Edith held up to her.

She hated imposing on these people.

This woman was probably the wife of the guy who had helped her.

She obviously didn’t want Fable here.

“Prudence,”

a man’s voice said, his husky pitch reverberating in Fable’s blood.

"Will you leave on your own or should I have you removed again?”

Fable stared at the man striding toward them.

He was tall and lean and dressed completely in black.

He reminded Fable of a wild stallion.

Guys didn’t look like him unless they were in the movies.

And she knew after walking from Ipswich for four straight days and not seeing any cars, trains, or planes that this wasn’t a movie.

“How are you feeling?”

he asked, taking a step closer to her and then stopping himself.

She was tempted to smile at him, though he offered her an aloof scowl.

She didn’t think he would hurt her–and she had no other choice but to be friendly.

“Hungry, and very displaced and disoriented.”

The woman in the pearl choker glared at Fable first, and then at the man standing between them.

He stood as straight as an arrow, with quiet power, and didn’t seem to mind her.

“Benjamin, how can you treat me with such contempt because of someone you just met?”

His name was Benjamin.

Fable thought it was a manly name.

He looked like what she imagined a Benjamin would look like.

Tall, dark, and handsome.

Who was the villainess? His wife? They had money if this was their house.

She needed money to live until she could get home.

She would hate to rob him since he helped her out but one of the many things she had not learned to be when she was growing up on the streets, was loyal.

She wondered if it was rude or gluttonous of her to ask for a third bowl of soup.

“My lord–”

Fable began.

“You’ll address him as Your Grace,”

the evil villainess of Fable’s Harrowing Adventure Into the Past snapped at her.

“I will?”

“That’s correct.

He’s the Duke of Colchester, His Grace Benjamin West.”

“Wow, that’s a mouthful,”

Fable let her know, glancing off to the side, doubtful that she’d remember it all.

“Your Grace will suffice,”

the duke told her in a gruff voice.

A duke.

Wasn’t that pretty high on the social ladder? Fable smiled at him.

He didn’t smile back.

“I’m Lady Prudence West, His Grace’s sister.

Who are you?”

Oh, good.

Not his wife.

“Fable Ramsey.”

“Ramsey? The duke’s sister hissed.

“You’re a Jacobite?”

“A what?”

“Supporters of the Stuart Pretender,”

she went on.

“A wild, rebellious lot that should be dealt with with more force.”

Oh, Fable thought wryly while the villainess spewed.

She really was lovely then, wasn’t she.

“No, I’m not one of those.

I’m on the same side as you.”

The duke’s sister folded her arms across her chest and glared at her.

“And what side is that?”

Fable tried desperately but she came to the same pathetic conclusion she’d been arriving at for at least four days.

She didn’t know anything about British history.

“Prudence, that’s enough questions,”

the duke said in his sorcerer’s voice.

“The physician wants her to rest, and so do I.”

“What about where she–”

“Leave,”

he said with a low, warning thread that moved his sister’s feet.

“Miss Ramsey.”

He moved closer to the bed when his sister left.

“If you’re here to cause any trouble, you’ll make an enemy of me.”

A cold thread trickled down her spine, cooling her blood.

She doubted this man didn’t mean what he said.

Maybe he wasn’t such a nice guy.

“I’m not here to start any trouble,”

she assured him.

“But just so you know, I’m also a pretty scary enemy to have.”

He said nothing but stared at her good and long, then he finally turned away.

Fable thought she saw the slightest trace of a smile on his lips.

She felt Edith take her hand and then slip it into the duke’s hand.

“She feels warm now, Your Grace.”

Fable thought she should pull back, but she wouldn’t reject the hand that fed her.

Besides, her heart was pounding too much for her to move without him seeing her trembling.

His hand was large, his fingers, broad and elegant.

“You’re warm,”

she told him while he cupped her hand in his.

He lifted his eyes to her.

Were they dark blue or black? “So are you,”

he said without giving away a clue about how he felt about his conclusion.

“Edith, continue to see to her,”

he ordered then pivoted on his heel leaving the alluring scent of sandalwood with hints of papyrus and violet behind.

“When she’s well enough,”

he called out, turning at the door to set Fable’s blood on fire with his gaze.

“Send her on her way.”

“Yes, Your Grace,”

Edith responded.

“But…”

Fable murmured when he left.

“I have nowhere to go.”

She wished he wouldn’t throw her out, but in case he did, she should fill up on food to keep her going.

“Umm, Edith?”

“Yes, my lady?”

“Is there any chicken? Umm, what kind of meat do you eat here? Venison? Pork? No.”

She shook her head when Edith scrunched up her face.

“Any kind of meat, really.

I need protein.

Eggs are good.”

“Yes, my lady.

But the physician said–”

“I have an iron stomach and that was two days ago.

I’ll be fine,”

she assured with a smile.

“Please, I’m starving.

And also, don’t call me my lady.

My name is Fable.”

The older woman tilted her head at her “Are you a servant?”

“No.

Of course not.”

“Then ‘my lady’ it is.”

“Is there nothing else to be then?”

Fable asked her.

“Either you’re a lady or a servant? There’s nothing in between?”

Edith looked her over, knowing what she wore under the blankets.

“A prostitute, or a thief.”

Fable laughed.

“A prostitute or a thief.

That’s a terrible ‘in-between’.

I should be insulted.

I don’t give myself to anyone.”

When Edith waited for more, Fable remained quiet.

Then, “I won’t steal from him.”

“See that you don’t, Miss.”

Fable looked away, hating who she was for the zillionth time in her life.

Actually, she was lower than a servant, not higher.

Even servants had roofs over their heads.

Even servants were loved by someone.

Edith left her alone but returned a little later with two whole roasted chickens, a braised duck, three cooked fish, and six hard-boiled eggs.

“Where have you traveled from, Miss?”

Edith asked her while she ate.

Fable remembered where she’d ‘touched down’ in the eighteenth century because she must have asked fifty people where she was.

“Belstead.”

Edith drew back with her hand on her chest.

“In Ipswich?”

Fable nodded and bit into a hard-boiled egg.

She realized her torn tights and boots had been removed.

She’d taken a look at her feet while Edith was getting her food.

She wasn’t going to be walking anytime soon.

“You have a strange accent though,”

Edith pressed on.

“It doesn’t sound like anything from Ipswich or anywhere I’ve heard.”

Fable took a bite of a drumstick and then licked her fingers.

“Oh really? I thought I sounded like everyone in Belstead.”

Edith and shrugged her shoulders.

“Why did you walk here?”

“My father.”

“Your father? Did he mistreat you?”

Edith asked.

“Were you escaping him?”

Fable stopped eating and held the serviette Edith had given her to her dry eyes.

She sniffed and nodded.

She didn’t feel guilty for lying.

Her father had run off before she was born.

He deserved to be made out to be a monster.

“It’s difficult to talk about, Edith.”

“Of course.

Oh, there, there,”

the older woman comforted.

It was nice to be comforted.

Her mother hadn’t been the comforting type.

Fable didn’t know how to react to such physical contact as embracing and broke away first.

“I’m fine.”

“Yes,”

Edith said softly.

“Of course.”

She smoothed out her apron and smiled at Fable.

It seemed she no longer mistrusted the thief .

“Well, the duke won’t allow your father to hurt you again.”

“Oh?”

Fable looked up from a bowl of fowl.

“What will he do? Is he very powerful?”

“Oh, yes,”

Edith let her know.

“He merely has to ask the king for a favor and it will be granted.”

“Really?”

Fable asked.

The king? Could he bring her to visit the king’s castle? She wondered if the walls were really made of gold as believed amongst the poor. If so–

“The king is in his debt.

The duke saved his life three times.”

“What? Wow! Is the duke a soldier?”

Edith nodded proudly as if it were her son she was bragging about.

“The people of Belstead have an odd way of speaking.”

Fable agreed and they both laughed.

Fable continued to eat while Edith told her all about the striking Duke of Colchester and his mean sister, Lady Prudence.

“Miss?”

“Hmm?”

Fable’s eyelids felt heavy and her stomach felt on the verge of eruption.

“You don’t look well.”

Edith said and pressed her palm to Fable’s forehead.

“Oh my, you’re burning up.”

“I need the toilet….the…um…a bucket.

Edith, hurry, please.”

Edith disappeared for an instant then returned with a bucket and shoved it in front of Fable’s face.

And just in time.

Later, after Edith washed her down and cleaned her up behind a curtain.

Fable fell into a deep sleep.

She dreamed that her rescuer, the duke, came to the kitchen and lifted her from the thin bed.

She even dreamed that he held her close to his chest, cradled in his arms while he climbed the stairs.She’d never felt so safe in her life.

When he entered through a few doors and set her down on a bed of clouds, she knew he was going to let her go.

She clutched his coat.

“Don’t leave me,”

she whispered into his shirt.

She woke several hours later, more disoriented than before.

Where was she now? She pushed herself up on her elbows and looked around the room lit by hearth fire and candles scattered about on wooden tables.

She was no longer in the kitchen, but someone’s…bedroom.

And oh my, what a bed it was! It was at least queen-sized with four thick wooden posts and a wooden frame around the top.

She saw loops to hang curtains, but the loops were empty.

There were layers of wool blankets covering her, along with a fur skin.

There were three wardrobes in polished walnut. Paintings hung on walls that were lined with bookshelves. It was very cozy. Was it the duke’s room? More like one of the royal rooms in the king’s castle. She’d never seen anything like it. She’d certainly never slept in such a majestic bed.

Her dream flashed in her mind.

Had it been a dream? She was still trying to decide when the duke stepped into the room with his nose in a book.

Earlier, he’d worn a coat, waistcoat and cravat.

Now, absent of all three, with his shirt unbuttoned at the throat, he looked more like a brainy rogue than a duke.

When he looked up from what he was reading, his gaze, eclipsed by his inky hair, went immediately to her and his feet stopped moving.

“You’re awake,”

he said, his voice like a rumbling drum in her ears, through her blood.

She nodded and sat up.

“How long have I been asleep?”

“Seven hours,”

he told her, closing his book.

“The physician had ordered no solid food.

Do you remember him saying that?”

Oh no! She’d eaten a lot! He looked angry–which was only slightly different than his impassive resting face.

There was nothing warm or soft in his eyes–which were black as coal, by the way.

“No.

I’m sorry I don’t remember that.”

He raised a doubtful eyebrow.

His lusciously full lower lip needed very little provocation to pout.

“Well, I can understand that.

Your mind wasn’t in the right state to follow instructions.

It was Edith’s respon–”

“It’s not her fault.

I convinced her to feed me.”

“Two whole chickens, a duck, and a fish?”

he asked incredulously.

“Three fish…and six eggs,”

she corrected quietly, looking at her fingers.

Why lie to him? He seemed like a decent guy.

He hadn’t left her, after all.

“I wanted to stock up on protein,”

she told him, still not looking up, “so that after I left here, I wouldn’t starve so quickly.”

He didn’t say anything for a few torturous seconds.

She glanced up to find him looking at her, his book forgotten in his hand at his side.

“You don’t know how to take care of your body,”

he pointed out in a dispassionate drawl.

“Your assumption made you very ill.

You said you weren’t here to start trouble.”

She let out a little laugh of disbelief.

“I wasn’t trying to start any trouble.”

“But you did.

You troubled the physician, Edith, and the cooks.

Are you a liar as well as a troublemaker?”

She ground her jaw and her hands balled into fists on the bed.

“Why are you trying to push my buttons?”

For the briefest of instants, she thought he looked amused.

He took a step closer to the bed and the chair beside it.

“What does that mean? What buttons? And why would I try to push them?”

He certainly knew how to insult her.

He took enjoyment in it.

Well, let him.

She was quickly beginning to form a new opinion of him.

“Forget my buttons, and forget what happened in the kitchen.

I was simply trying to look out for myself before you see me out.”

He stepped around the chair and sat in it, keeping his eyes on her. “Stay.”

“What?”

“Are you on your way somewhere?”

“I’m trying to live.

Same as always.”

He bent forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees, his gaze boring into her.

She felt as if she were exposed on a mountain cloaked in foreboding clouds.

He appeared to be fighting some kind of battle in his head, tightening his jaw, thinning his lips.

“I won’t have you starving on the streets of Colchester.

Stay here.

Serve me.”

For a fleeting instant, her blood ran scalding through her veins.

Serve him? What exactly would that entail? Would she still sleep in his bed? “Thank you, Your Grace, but I’m not a servant.”

“Then you must enjoy striving to live,”

he concluded, rising from his chair.

“Must I serve you to stay?”

He nodded and scoffed.

“You want everything for nothing at all? Even a wife wouldn’t ask that of me.”

A wife? It was all she could think while she watched him leave the room.

With his long, straight legs and breeches that hugged his backside perfectly, along with the beguiling flare of his shoulders, the back of him clouded her thoughts as much as the front of him did.

So then, he wasn’t married.

How in the world had women let him slip by? Was his personality really that bad? Was she just as foolish to let an opportunity slip by her?

“Your Grace?”

she called out as the door was closing.

He popped his head back inside the room and set his gaze on her.

“I’ll stay.”

“And serve me?”

She rolled her eyes heavenward as if she were sparing him her last shred of patience. “Fine.”