Page 15 of A Touch for All Time (For All Time #3)

A ria stepped out of the marquess’ rooms and shut the door behind her. He wasn’t prepared to see her go. What was she supposed to do with that? He liked her. Her hands shook. He didn’t like many but…he liked her. For an instant she started to smile, but how could she when she was about to go searching for the door home? And why weren’t her feet moving? She needed to go. She couldn’t let him sway her. Connall needed her. Her parents needed her.

Finally, she stepped away from his door and set off to find Will.

She found Harper instead. “I left the marquess in his bed. He said he wanted to sleep. I think it’s alright that he’s sleepy. We were up for most of the night. But…well, you know the symptoms of a concussion, right?” Before Harper could answer, she went on. “Watch out for headache, dizziness, light sensitivity, lack of energy, nausea or vomiting. If he’s more irritable than usual, that could mean a concussion, any kind of confusion, loss of memory, lack of coordination—”

“Miss Darling,” Harper offered her a warm smile. “I know about concussions. I’ve already informed Sarah and the rest of the maids to be mindful of the symptoms if they’re called to see to him for the next few days. But…you sound as if you’re going somewhere.”

“Home. Well. Maybe, if the door for my key is in the castle. The marquess and I have already checked fifty-eight doors. Will agreed to help me check the rest.”

“I see,” Harper said, sounding as if she saw more than what she meant.

Aria narrowed her eyes on her. “How did you get here from the future?”

“You shouldn’t have told William Gable and his sister. It’s a matter that could get us killed.”

“Yes,” Aria said with a repentant nod. “I haven’t mentioned it to anyone else. When I was flung into the past without any explanation, I asked Will and Sarah what year it was and told them when I was from. I wasn’t thinking of being burned at the stake.”

“I understand,” Harper said. “I can’t travel on my own. I was sent here by someone—”

“Mrs. Hester, I mean Tessa Blagden?” Aria asked.

Harper looked around the empty hall, then pulled her into a nearby room. It was one of the rooms built high above the roaring waves. It was furnished with two carved chairs in front of the crackling hearth-fire built into the wall. There was a green velvet settee and a cushioned bench, along with a few tables.

“Tessa Blagden,” Harper said, motioning for her to sit in one of the chairs. “She’s my great, great…” She looked up as if the answer was there, then shrugged.… “something grandmother.”

Aria stared at her, her eyes wide with shock. “How…”

“She’s a time-traveler. She can travel at will.”

“Mrs. B. is a time-traveler,” Aria echoed, trying to take it all in. “Mrs. B. was also the marquess’ grandmother. You’re related to him?”

Harper nodded. “I’m his aunt. His mother’s sister.”

Why was she telling Aria this? Hadn’t she refused to speak to Aria about it because of Will Gable? Now, here they were before a roaring fire like two besties and Will waiting for her. “Does the marquess know you’re his aunt?”

“Not yet, but I’ll make sure he knows everything.”

“What else is there?” Why was she sitting here finding out the family secrets of some magical family? She had nothing to do with it. She had her reality, which was responsibility and dependability.

“Do you want the short version? I know Mr. Gable is waiting for you.”

Her family was waiting for her. “Yes, the short version is fine.”

Harper wiggled in her seat, getting settled in. “When Grayson’s last son is born, he’ll break the curse placed on the Ashmore sons. Josiah Ashmore’s six brothers were all killed in one night, but my grandmother and her sister figured out how to reset time and the brothers all lived again. But the curse remained, and they all died violent deaths. Grayson is the last male. He shares the same fate if he doesn’t have those sons. When the last male dies, no more will be born and the Ashmore/Blagden name will cease. But the last son—Grayson—if he lives—will have a son who will break the curse.

“Why were they cursed and who did it?” Aria asked, immersed in the story.

“They were cursed by a higher force than we understand. It was placed on them when their mother took the lives of seven others.

“Because the Ashmores share Blagden blood, my family—Grayson’s family, will see that the Ashmore name lives on. Grayson needs to have sons. Elizabeth Black, my great aunt, give or take six greats, is a seer and when she looked for Grayson’s sons, she found three possible mothers. You’re one of them. You could give him seven sons. Lady Rose Planc de’Vere—”

“What?” Aria gaped at her. “Seven? Seven sons. Are you insane? You are! You must be if you think I’d have seven kids in 1795. Sure.” She laughed, but she felt like throwing up.

“Then there’s Sarah Gable—”

“Hmm? Sarah Gable?” For a moment, Aria was happy for Sarah. For a moment. In the next, she glared at the door separating her from the hall, and his room, somewhere out there. That rat! She’d been right about him. He was a pretty boy playboy! Sarah? Seven sons with Sarah? Aria’s blood boiled. It was going to happen. Sarah would be up for it for sure. She was in love with him. If Aria left, it was going to happen.

“That’s…that’s not my concern,” Aria managed. She had to go home. She had to go home. “I’m sure Sarah will be very happy.”

“Yes,” Harper agreed, “but what about Grayson? He won’t be happy.”

“That’s not my—”

“My grandmother gave you the key. That means it is your concern, Miss Darling. He’s happy with you. He hasn’t left your side since you came to the castle. I know you both spent some time together before that. You must understand, Grayson has never—since before I ever got here—spent more than an hour with anyone. He’s untrusting, unfriendly, and uncooperative. But he seems different when he’s with you. I’ve seen him smile.”

Yes, he smiled, crinkling nose smiles, genuine amusement that even made him laugh. No. It was better not to think of it.

“I came here to help raise him and over the years I’ve come to love him as my own child. I’m not still here because of his future sons. I’m here because I can’t leave until he’s happy.”

Aria had to be strong. Yes, she liked the marquess. She thought he was the most talented dancer she’d seen in years…but to abandon her family to stay and have seven sons with a man she barely knew. She stood from her seat. “I’m sorry. I can’t stay, so it’s better if I go now. Do you know where my door is?”

Harper looked up at her with a somber gaze. “I really have no idea. I was told nothing about you.”

Aria nodded and started to leave but then turned back to Harper. “You’ll look after him, won’t you?”

“Of course.” Harper offered her a kind smile. “That’s what I’m trying to do.”

She didn’t try to stop Aria when she left. Aria was glad. She hurried to the main sitting room, where she found Will and apologized for taking so long.

“Is everything well?” he asked, concern marring his brow.

“Yes, of course,” she assured him, but she felt anything but okay. She might find the door that leads back to her family, her future—and never see Grayson Barrington again. She would never see him dance again. It stunned her to imagine that she was regretful of never being able to dance with him. She remembered his promise, his voice while he spoke it. I’ll catch you. After a broken tibia and a couple of bones she broke again by landing from a grand jeté, she wasn’t about to go leaping and let just anyone catch her. Would Grayson Barrington catch her? She would never know.

“Which door should we begin with?”

Aria blinked and turned to Will. She’d forgotten he was there. “I’m not sure,” she told him. “I don’t know all the doors here.”

“Are you feeling poorly?” Will asked her. “You seem distracted, and you are a bit pale.”

She brought her palm to her forehead and patted it. She felt clammy to her own hand and scowled. Maybe she shouldn’t have gone to Will’s in the cold. She did have a headache that was threatening to become something to write home about. If she could write home. All at once, she felt the need to cry. She’d lost everything. Well, she didn’t have much. She lost her family.

So how could she feel so melancholy over never seeing the marquess again? She shook her head. This had to stop. Yes, she was attracted to him. If she could have dreamed up her perfect partner, her perfect man, he would be the marquess. What did he mean when he said he could communicate with animals and now I know why I wanted to forget it . Was it because he remembered asking them to kill Will’s father? A chill ran up her spine. Okay, so he wasn’t perfect. Who was?

“Miss Darling?” Will broke through her thoughts again, and images of the marquess’ beautiful, stoic face shattered.

“I feel fine,” she assured her friend, shaking her head free of foolish notions. “We already checked all the upper floors, including the second landing. We should start at the bott—” Her words fled at the sight of the marquess coming down the wide staircase.

He was dressed casually in breeches and boots, a long bed coat, open down the center and a silk shirt barely concealing his lithe muscles beneath. His hair was free of any coloring and as black as Harry Gable proclaimed his heart to be. He looked especially dangerous when, for just an instant or two, his eye caught hers from under his disheveled raven locks and a smile curled his lips. He reminded Aria of a wolf, feral, hungry, and satisfied that he found her. He swept his fingers through his hair, clearing his vision, and in an instant just as deadly to her logic, his entire expression changed into one more pleasant, if not bored.

“What are you doing out of bed?” And why did he look so vital and healthy for one with a possible concussion?

“Why haven’t you started your search?” he asked, not answering her question.

She didn’t want to tell him that Harper wanted to open up to her about things. He would want to know what things. Things that weren’t her place to tell him. “Do you realize how dangerous it can be for you if your head is…broken and you don’t rest? You could die.”

He smoothed back his hair to see her better and set his powerful gaze on hers. She shifted in place and turned to Will just to break contact.

“Miss Darling,” he said like a siren, calling for her attention again.

Why did he say her name as if he were using it as an intimate endearment?

“Your concern should be in getting home, not if I live or die.”

She would have told him he was right and headed to the cellar with Will if something completely different wasn’t already spilling out of her mouth. “How can I just leave when I don’t know if you’re too stubborn to stay in bed? Of course, I’m concerned for you. What do you take me for? I’m not heartless.”

The slightest trace of his smile didn’t escape Aria’s notice.

“I can’t rest knowing you’re looking for a way out,” he confessed.

“Out? You mean home.”

He cocked one corner of his mouth and shrugged.

“My lord,” Will tried to intervene. That was as far as he got when the marquess turned his glare on him. He didn’t try to say another word but backed down.

Aria bristled and she turned on the marquess. “You’re as bad as Harry Gable.”

The marquess wore the expression of a man who had been unfairly struck.

“You’re over there pushing your weight around. You know Will won’t retort for fear of losing his property.”

“What?” Gray balked—partially pouting his lips that already looked luscious and needed no prompting. He turned his gleaming gaze on poor Will. “Tell her now how many times I have threatened to take your property.”

“None, my lord.”

Aria stepped in front of Will and tilted her neck to stare at the marquess. “How many times has he disobeyed you and given you a reason to do it?”

“Very often!” the marquess said, raising his voice an octave. “Even more since you arrived!”

“Are you raising your voice to me?” She let her tone do the threatening.

He tightened his lips but kept them shut and blew out a little extra breath through his nostrils. When she folded her arms across her chest, he wrinkled his nose slightly, but he wasn’t smiling. It looked more like he was…snarling.

She swallowed and looked away first. Just how dangerous was he really?

I can communicate with animals.

Or, as that first dance she’d seen him perform atop his castle rooftop had suggested, was he truly mad?

“I’ll come with you to check the doors.”

She stopped breathing and looked at him again. “That isn’t wise. Go to bed. I won’t go anywhere tonight.”

He looked so surprised, she almost smiled. “You won’t go tonight?

“No.”

“For me?”

He was so much more transparent than the men of 2024. She thought honesty and naivety were very attractive.

She nodded. “Now we’re even. You shoveled the front of Will’s property for me. I’m not checking the doors tonight for you.”

He smiled, then turned stoic again when he looked at Will. But Aria had seen it. It was genuine. Not just something given to shock or beguile.

“I’m sorry that you came all the way here with me, Will,” she said, genuinely sorry for dragging him out of his warm home only to send him out again.

“It was nothing,” Will assured, keeping one eye on the marquess. Will had seen him smile too and risked much. “I hope to see you again tomorrow.”

The marquess parted his lips, then shut them when he caught Aria watching him. He let her bid Will a peaceful night without saying anything mean or worthy of another Harry remark. She knew that would prick him and she felt a little guilty for using his enemy’s worst trait against him.

“Where are you going?” She hurried to cut him off when he turned for his dance hall instead of his bedroom.

“I need to move.”

“Move to your bed, you stubborn—” she stopped when he looked at her. “You aren’t dancing. I won’t let you.”

She realized what she said and who she sounded like the second after she said it. “I don’t want you to get very sick. It’s just for a couple of days. I know it’s hard,” she said standing in front of him, blocking his path, “but please, stay safe and rest.”

He stared into her eyes and then finally nodded. She was about to smile… “Stay with me until I can dance. If you go while I can’t, I’ll go madder than I already am.”

“Blackmail?”

“Only if it works.”

She hated herself for it, but she smiled. He smiled back.

The more time she spent with him, the more she began to realize that he didn’t always mean what he said, and when she thought he was being serious, he wasn’t. It wasn’t always easy to tell because his expression remained unchanged.

She insisted on walking him back to his room. On the way, they met Timothy Cavendish.

“Ah, the boy who could talk to animals,” the marquess’ stepbrother said with a sneer. “Word is spreading fast about how the birds did your bidding today. Tell me, do you always use birds to fight for you? Did you do so in the army as well?”

“Excuse me,” Aria said with a polite smile. “I don’t know how to address you. You’re not the lord of anywhere, are you?”

“Not yet.” His sneer darkened when it left her and turned on the marquess, who was smirking at what she said.

“Well, Mr. Cavendish,” she continued, still smiling politely. “The marquess had been knocked out cold. I was there. Whichever of your friends is spreading that rumor, they are dishonest, and to trust them would be foolish.”

“Are you calling me a fool?” His sneer faded into something more serious.

“Only if you believe them,” she replied.

The instant Mr. Cavendish drew his next breath—or perhaps before then, the marquess stepped in front of her.

“I’m warning you now,” he said, sounding more like a snarling animal than a man, “speak to her again and I’ll show you why I don’t need birds to do my bidding. For addressing her without my permission, I may have a thousand armies of fleas make your life an unbearable living hell.” He stared level into his stepbrother’s eyes and then smiled—chuckled even.

Aria didn’t say a word when he took hold of her hand and led her away from a sputtering Mr. Cavendish.

“Why did you defend me when I told you that I can communicate with animals?” he asked Aria, growing serious—or at least appearing serious—as they neared the door to his rooms.

“If you wanted him to know the truth, you would have told him. Seeing how you made yourself forget, I’m sure it’s something you don’t want him to find out.”

He looked at her with a surprised smile and something else in his eyes. She wasn’t sure what it was, but if a man in the future had ever looked at her the same way, she would be married by now.

He turned to the door, and then returned his attention to her, the residue of his smile evident in his eyes. “Come have a cup of wine with me in my private solar.”

Drinking alone with him was the last thing she should do. She shouldn’t. But instead of refusing, she nodded her head and followed him as one hypnotized. She realized miserably that deep down, she didn’t want their time together to be over so quickly. And even though it was best over now, she clung to something that may have been possible in another time and place.

His private solar ended up being below stairs. She knew where to find it since it was one of the first of over fifty doors he’d allowed her to open—in the cellars, close to where dozens of casks of wine were stored.

“I thought solars were usually situated on the upper floors,” she remarked as they reached the door.

“I prefer the unusual,” he remarked. He lifted his arm over her head and pushed the door open. Aria looked up at him, so close she could make out flecks of gold in his cerulean eyes.

When he dipped his gaze to hers after a moment without her moving, she cleared her throat and stepped inside. The interior was bathed in the light of a slow burning tallow candle and a low hearth fire instead of sunshine from a world two-hundred and twenty-nine years in the future. He moved past her and entered the room.

Unlike the large sitting room above the cliffs where she had sat with Harper, the marquess’ solar was a small, cozy sanctuary for one. One oversized, cushioned chair with a woolen blanket thrown over the top was set before the carved-out hearth. A full bookcase lined another wall, and a small, polished walnut writing desk was set against another wall with a window.

“You come here alone,” she ventured.

“Yes.” He poured her a drink from a decanter on a small table near the chair, then poured a cup for himself as well. Aria watched him, wondering how far she should go with her questions. She wasn’t one to hold back. “My lord—”

“Gray. Call me Gray,” he offered along with the chair.

Would speaking his name make it that much harder to forget him?

“I—” he sealed his lips and then began again. “Harry killed Abigail. He told me that he planned to eat her and warned me to dig her up from where I buried her. We fought. I asked for help. I—I asked the animals to avenge me and Abigail. They did. Not because they obey. They came because I was their friend. Abigail was their friend. George Gable died because he shot Davith, a black wolf, whose fur lines my hood. He died because of my call. By the next morning, most of my friends were dead. The villagers hunted the rest and on the second day, nearly every one of them was dead.”

He lowered his head for a moment as if looking at her was too difficult. A moment later he lifted his macabre grin and wide eyes and pointed to his head.

That time must have been unbearable for a boy of ten. He’d gotten all his friends killed. He couldn’t live with it. Aria could tell by his red, glassy eyes. He wouldn’t let any tears fall though.

Aria didn’t know why he was confessing all this to her. Was she the first to hear it?

“You were just a child,” she said softly. “That experience shaped your life. I’m sorry it was so difficult for you, Gray.”

“Not all my friends perished though,” he said, more to himself than to her. It was as if he was remembering everything as the moments passed.

“The raven that follows you,” she guessed.

He nodded. “Toric.”

Aria wiped her eyes. “I’m sorry about the coffee house,” she said quietly, remembering birds smashing into the window. “My determination not to be unfairly excluded cost a lot of birds their lives.”

A trace of his warmest smile shone on his face. “You did the right thing. Those men chose violence against me. That’s what caused everything. It was nothing you did.”

The birds protected him, some giving their lives to do so.

Who was he that he had such a powerful gift to be able to communicate with animals? And why had Mrs. B. sent her, of all people, back to him? Was it because they both loved dancing? Or was she sent back to have his sons? Would the key work on any of the doors, or would Mrs. B. close the way to ensure the marquess’ sons were born? Knowing now the powers the marquess possessed, she understood why his heirs would be so important. She didn’t believe she was the one to give him his sons. She had a mountain of responsibility to her family. She wouldn’t let them down. But could she let Gray die an early death if he didn’t have sons with Sarah Gable?

The thought of Sarah Gable having his children made her blood boil.

“Tell me what it’s like—your home.”

She nodded, happy to change the subject.

They didn’t hear Timothy Cavendish creeping around outside the solar door.