Page 8 of A Touch for All Time (For All Time #3)

A ria followed the marquess to a small terrace on the third landing. At his insistence she sat in one of the two delicate wooden chairs overlooking the crashing waves below. The heavy woolen blanket the marquess spread over her didn’t warm her as much as the blood rushing through her veins at his closeness when he leaned down to tuck her in. She worried that he could hear her heartbeat through her flesh and bone. It was all his dancing. It had gone straight to her head.

She looked up at Will to get her thoughts off the marquess above her against the backdrop of a starry, velvety sky. There was room for a third chair to be carried in for Will. But no offer was made by the marquess.

“Again, I would caution you not to speak of this so freely—and especially don’t go running around the halls checking doors or I might not be able to save you from the stake.”

The stake? Aria ran the back of her hand across her forehead. Did he mean, like, her burning at the stake? Oh, she really didn’t like the eighteenth century.

“You can speak freely to me out here,” the marquess offered.

Could she? What choice did she have? From the beginning, he claimed to have seen her arrival.

“Was there a door on your side?” he asked. It didn’t take a brain surgeon to put that together since she’d been checking doors for a way back. But in all the days she’d known Will, he hadn’t asked her. In fact, he didn’t ask her anything about the future or how she’d gone back through time. Because he didn’t believe her? Could she blame him?

“Yes,” she answered. “The door to the building. I was locking it.”

“So, there’s a key?” he asked.

Did he really believe her? It was such a huge relief that she relaxed in her chair, despite the turbulent waters below.

“Yes,” she told him. Then caught her breath at the magnificent beauty before her. The marquess was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. She wasn’t usually moved by such a thing, but she remembered the myriad expressions that painted him into masterpieces when he danced. He was trained in ballet. Yes, it showed. She hadn’t lied, she’d watched him spin and perform the immensely difficult grand jeté three times in the ballroom downstairs. In her future, he’d get every audition and would wind up on Broadway in no time.

“Miss Darling would like to keep the key in her possession, my lord,” Gable said.

“Who is discussing taking it from her?” the marquess asked coolly, sparing him a glance. Without waiting for an answer, he returned his attention to her. “I have no intention of taking your key, Miss Darling.”

She nodded, believing him and pulled the key from a pocket in her sleeve. “It’s one of those—”

“Master keys,” he finished for her, not remembering where he had heard the term. He reached for it.

“I’m told it’s made of real gold,” she told him while he examined it.

He blinked his somber gaze from the key to her. “Who told you that?”

Aria looked at him. His tone had changed. He sounded slicker, more doubtful. “The owner of the key, Mrs. B…Blagden, my—”

“Blagden?” His voice shook, his eyebrows rose over his cerulean eyes and revealed such innocence, such…betrayal, Aria almost recoiled. His expression had changed in an instant from some kind of revelation. “She sent you here,” he breathed out. He turned to Gable. “Go find Harper and bring her to me.”

“With respect, my lord, I think I should remain with—”

“You’re insulting me by not trusting me with her. Do you really want to make me your enemy as your brother has?”

Will didn’t protest again but turned and hurried off the terrace in search of Harper.

“Why are you so nasty to people?”

The marquess stared at her and then at the key. “People deserve it.”

Goodness, something had really broken him and changed his life. She’d seen hints of it in his dances. Had it been the death of Will and Sarah’s father, or was it something else? The loss of his mother? Wait. He’d fallen apart before her eyes when she mentioned Mrs. B. Or more specifically, the name Blagden. But it didn’t pardon him from being mean.

“Why does Will deserve it?” she asked him.

“Because he’s a Gable.”

“Ridiculous!” She tried to snatch the key from his hand, but he held it over his shoulder, about to hurl it into the sea.

“No!” She stepped up on her chair and leaped at him to grab his wrist. “Please! Please, I need it to go home.”

He looked into her eyes level with his as he caught her in one arm. “I’m a puppet.”

It was more like a groan than a statement. They were close enough to share breath. He hadn’t moved to give her the key so that she would back off, so she didn’t. “Please don’t throw it away.”

Finally, he lowered his arm and handed her the key. “Try the front doors on your way out.”

He left her alone on the terrace and disappeared inside the castle. Did he just throw her out…again? She was almost glad that he didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve when he wasn’t dancing. His sadness was too palpable. He was angry, as well. The kind of anger that seeps deep into your bones and begins to shape you. Aria sat back down and looked at the key in her hand. This stupid thing caused more trouble than it was worth. What did it have to do with him? Why had he looked as if he recognized it? How would that be possible? Why had he wanted to hurl it into the estuary?

I’m a puppet.

Images of him dancing with his elbows up and his forearms dangling, a mad gleam in his eyes, and a macabre grin on his lips, assailed her. No. This really wasn’t her problem.

Aria rose to her feet to leave. She would check the main castle doors as the marquess suggested. He probably hoped she disappeared the way she’d come. Why would he want her around? He didn’t seem to like her very much—or anyone else for that matter.

She took a step toward the door when Will returned. The woman who was playing the violin earlier was with him. She looked around, scowling when she didn’t see the marquees. This was the woman he believed also came from the future and the woman who raised him after his mother disappeared.

“He left,” Aria let her know. “He was angry,” she told her quickly when the woman turned to leave them.

The woman returned her attention to Aria. “What happened? Why was he angry?”

“He said he was a puppet.”

The woman—Harper—looked as if Aria had slapped her. She stumbled into one of the chairs. Will hurried to her aid, but she waved him away. “I don’t know why they don’t just explain things to him.”

“Explain what?” Aria asked, taking the seat beside her. “Who do you mean?”

Harper stared at her. She was pretty, Aria thought, mid to late thirties.

“Tell me about yourself,” Harper invited in a suddenly curious tone.

“Since the marquess mentioned that you’re from my future,” Aria informed, “why don’t you tell me about yourself instead?”

“He told you… I see. Just how close are you to him? I know you’ve spent time with him.”

“How do I get home?” Aria asked her. “That’s all I care about.”

“How did you get here?”

“A key. A gold skeleton-type key. What do I do with it? How do I get it to take me home? I believe him about you coming from the future. You speak differently than the others. So does he. None of this is a coincidence—and he knows it.”

“He spent eight years in my care before he joined the fight against the French.”

“Eight years of being forbidden to dance?”

Harper raised an eyebrow at her. “That’s right. As for the key, you must find the right door.”

Obviously, Aria scoffed to herself while her teeth chattered.

“Why don’t we go inside where it’s warm,” Will suggested.

Aria thought about a burning stake with her tied to it. “A few more minutes, Will,” she said and turned back to Harper. It was cold up here above the sea. She’d have to hurry. “Do you have any idea why the surname Blagden would affect him?”

Harper’s pretty features froze up before she slipped her gaze to Will. “I’m afraid I won’t be able to answer your questions if we aren’t alone.”

Aria tried to protest. She trusted Will not to betray her. He’d done a lot for her, and she wouldn’t stand by while he was mistreated. “But he’s—”

“He’s unfortunately the brother of Gray—the marquess’ worst enemy,” the woman who raised the marquess said. “He would consider it a betrayal if I were to speak of him to a Gable.” She shook her head and sucked her teeth. “It’s really a pity that you met a Gable first—and the kind brother, no less. Now, I can’t confide in you because you’ll confide—” She flicked her gaze to Will—“in him.”

Aria gaped at her as Harper spoke and then headed for the castle door. Did everyone here specialize in rudeness?

She’d forgotten that there was a reason that the marquess didn’t like the Gables—and a reason the Gables didn’t like the marquess. No matter what Will said to the contrary, she knew it would have been hard—maybe impossible—to forgive the person accused of being responsible for his father’s death. She imagined that every time Will witnessed his mother with less than enough on the table, he hated the marquess as much as his brother did.

She followed Will inside and back downstairs. While he was helping her into her coat, the castle doors opened, and Harry Gable stepped inside bringing the cold with him. “Ahh, Miss Darling,” he drawled, heading for her. Will tried to head him off but was too late. The marquess was not.

“Show Harry Gable out,” he called to the guards who hurried to his side.

“No need,” Harry chuckled. “I have come to bring my brother and his guest home. She insisted on attending to see you dance. Well, lady, what did you think of the spectacle?”

Aria could feel the marquess’ piercing eyes on her. He stared so obviously at her, not caring about the whispers around them. Aria knew what Harry was doing here. They’d made a deal. She was supposed to laugh at the marquess’ dancing abilities or risk being thrown out of Mrs. Gable’s warm house.

She turned her head to meet his seafoam gaze. She smiled, but she couldn’t laugh—not at something so important in someone’s life.

“I think he’s quite astounding and original,” she said truthfully, then shared a hint of a smile with him. “In fact, he’s Romeo in every girl’s dreams.”

She closed her eyes and swallowed when Harry’s face went red, all except his scars. She hoped Will defended her and kept her from sleeping outside.

“Miss Darling,” Harry ground out through clenched teeth. “I’m afraid a wild animal broke through your window and tore your bed to shreds for some strange reason. Who knows why stupid animals do what they do, eh?” He set his disgusted expression on the marquess.

“Miss Darling can stay here until she returns home.” The marquess stunned the crowd and seemingly himself when he spoke. “I have many beds.”

“My lord,” Will seemed the most surprised, “for the good of Miss Darling’s reputation, I cannot agree to her remaining here with you without any escort.”

“Very well,” the marquess allowed. “Your sister, Sarah may stay and see to her and make certain I remain an honorable man.”

“I can see to that myself,” Aria huffed, “But I’ll stay if Sarah can stay with me.” She looked around for the Gable’s sister.

The marquess nodded, then motioned for his guards to escort Harry out. Will reluctantly followed his brother, looking over his shoulder at Aria while he went.

“He cares for you,” the marquess stated, turning to her.

“No.” She leaned in closer to him and lifted her lips to his ear. “He’d be a fool to lose his heart to me. He knows I’m not staying in this time.”

The marquess stared sedately at her. “What if he makes you want to stay?”

She gave the short laugh his suggestion deserved. But…when her gaze met his, she saw something in their blue-green fathoms. A great disturbance in the depths. Turmoil so deeply ingrained that it was almost impossible to read on his face. She’d only seen it two other times. When he danced, and when she mentioned the name Blagden.

Why was he asking her such a question? What did he care if Will tried to change her mind about staying? What did he care about? What could stir his guarded emotions? Suddenly she wanted to know.

“What’s wrong?” she asked him, all traces of humor gone from her face.

He blinked. “What?”

“Something’s bothering you.”

He offered her a practiced smile, but then pushed his tongue into his cheek and looked away. Was he uncomfortable because she’d looked so deep? Or was this one of his ways of seducing women? Hit her with an adorable, boyish charm?

“What did Harry Gable want from you?” he asked her.

She wouldn’t lie to him. “He wanted me to laugh at your dancing in front of everyone.”

Instead of getting angry, he smiled at her, then started walking away.

“Why do you hate him?” she asked, following him. Will had told her the marquess and Harry hated each other. She knew why Harry Gable would hate the marquess, but what reason did the marquess have for hating Harry?

“The Gables didn’t tell you, then?”

“What really happened?”

“I commanded the forest animals to kill their father and maul their brother.”

She shook her head, then scoffed. “Surely no one believed that.”

“They all did,” he countered. “My mother had been rumored to be a witch; they thought I was the same.”

“I thought they burned witches at the stake.”

“Twice, they tried to burn her. Twice, she disappeared from her bindings—and two men on the council disappeared with her. When she returned alone days later, I saw her appear from the air, as you had. After that, the rest of the council was too afraid of her to approach her again. No one knew exactly what she had done or if she was in any way responsible for the disappearance of men who had tried to burn her. I think I know now.” He bowed his head and chuckled. Then he shook his head, as if it was all too difficult to relive.

“You think your mother took those men to the future?”

He nodded.

“You believe me then.”

“Yes.”

“So, your mother—were you there when they—”

“I was four and then five years the last time they tried.”

“I’m sorry you went through that. It must have been extremely difficult.”

He stopped and turned to look at her. She almost tripped over her feet. He didn’t move to catch her. She held herself up, though she wasn’t sure how she did while his eyes searched hers, probed like a soft breath, reaching…everywhere, until she felt utterly consumed by him. But as he assailed her senses, she saw him stripped of his own guard.

“It wasn’t,” he confessed softly and without concern, “extremely difficult.”

He was lying. It was part of his armor.

“How old were you when she disappeared for good?”

“Seven,” he said, pulling at his backward collar. “After she left, my father kept me locked behind the castle’s walls until I escaped to the Royal Army. I returned to find him and his new family living here, in the castle he’d given me. I took ownership of Dartmouth and moved in with them. When my father dies, I can throw the Cavendishes out.”

He sounded completely unaffected by speaking of his father’s death or of throwing out a mother and her son. But he didn’t look at her.

She followed him up the stairs and down the long corridor to one of the seven doors in the hall. She didn’t know where her chaperone, Sarah Gable was, or what was behind that door. Did she trust this stranger to follow him into his—he opened the door— dance studio? It was huge! Twice the size of hers at the school. The floor was made of wood and there were wooden horizontal bars around the perimeter. Perfect for someone studying ballet.

“It’s quiet here,” he said.

She spun around to find his eyes closed and breathing the place in. “Is this where you practice?”

“Yes, or other places.”

Like on the roof of the castle. “You said you escaped and went into the army.” She wanted to know what made him dance the way he did. “What did you escape?”

He looked at her, then laughed softly. “You say what you’re thinking.”

“Not always,” she countered cryptically, then smiled. “But really, what did you escape? Can you talk about it? We can talk about something else. I don’t know why I’m acting so comfortably with you. I don’t usually intrude on people’s private lives. You don’t have—”

“I escaped the defenses that kept me alive, like my father’s power when words like magic, witch, and murderer were being flung around, and Harper’s temper against bullies who left me as a pile of broken bones. If I had the animals at my command,” he mumbled under his breath. “Harry Gable, Timothy Cavendish, and the others would find living very difficult.”

Wasn’t Timothy Cavendish his stepbrother?

Wait—“What do you mean you escaped the defenses that kept you alive? Are you saying that you went away to fight so that…” she paled and felt ill. “So, you would die?

“It didn’t work out that way,” he laughed and pulled off his boots.

He left the protection of his hell, seeking…

Aria folded her legs, sat on the floor, and covered her mouth with her hands.

He’d wanted to die. It had been so bad he had wanted to die. And now, he lived with some of them who’d made him feel that way.

“What do you think of living now?” she asked, watching him sit on the floor beside her.

He turned his head to look at her and she was sure he was smiling—it was slight, hardly noticeable. But she noticed.

“It’s much better with dancing in it.”

Yes, it was a way to let all that steam out. Better than to take revenge on the people who hurt him. When she sighed though, he turned to face her. “What is a car?” She smiled at him. “What?”

“You said a car accident caused you to break your bones. What does that mean?” Did she want to talk about this with him? She hadn’t spoken to anyone but Mrs. B. And really, was this the time? She looked around at the soft golden candle lit studio…er, hall, with the aroma of polished wood soothing her nerves. This was a place to dance, to be free, and she was sitting here with a man who felt every instant of music and became one with it. There was no better place to open up than here. Before she could stop herself, she opened up to him.

First, she captivated him with descriptions of cars and how they operate, then she told him about her family’s celebration and the car crashing. Twice, when he asked her what it was like to crash, her explanation drained his face of color.

“My mother walked away unscathed. She insisted on sitting in the rear seats with me so my brother could sit near my dad in the passenger seat. She blamed herself for Connall losing his legs instead of it happening to her.”

“Your brother lost his legs?” he asked, horrified with her.

She nodded and wiped her eyes but kept going. “He was so active. He was always camping or hiking or practicing self-defense. He was a black belt—”

He put his arm around her while she wept silently.

“My dad never woke up, but he was alive. Maybe he heard them saying that the accident was all his fault, that he destroyed his children’s lives. But my mother never blamed him. I don’t know about Conn. He stopped speaking to anyone.”

After a while, when the marquess spoke again, it was to tell her that he understood now why she wanted to get back home so urgently.

“You do understand?” she asked, unable to stop her smile from forming.

“Of course.”

And here she had thought he tried to shirk his responsibilities. She was wrong about him.

“But dancing helps.”

She slipped him a repentant side-glance. “Do you want to dance right now?”

He didn’t laugh, but a sound came out of him, and he stared at her with shining eyes. “No, I don’t want to. I was hoping you would.”

Her eyes filled with tears yet again. She wished she could. She wanted to dance every day. Not a single day passed when she wasn’t wishing she was dancing. “I can’t. If I fall the wrong way, I could shatter my ankle and then I won’t even be able to practice.”

“You won’t fall, Miss Darling,” he promised.

She scoffed lightly. “How do you know that?”

“Because I’ll catch you.”