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Failure was not an option. He must find a way to save his family, and he must act now, or it would be too late.

‘May I serve you, my lord?’ asked an impish looking lad emerging from the shadows. He was scrawny, but George guessed he must be at least nine years of age. He had wise eyes which belied his years.

George was startled. ‘How do you know who I am?’

‘My eldest brother is in your service in York, Sir: he’s a stable boy. Never seen him so content. He sings your praises. He said you run a fine household and treat your servants fair.’

The boy doffed his cap and inclined his head towards him.

Possible plans flitted about George’s tired brain, but options were limited with the trial due to take place early tomorrow morning.

‘That’s very kind of you. I may need your help. What’s your name, boy?’

‘Everyone calls me Swifty on account of my being so quick.’

‘I see,’ said George, smiling at the boy and instantly liking him.

He sensed he could trust him.

‘I can help you to escape, my lord. I’ve been locked in here before and escaped through the secret cellar. The night guard is a drunk and sleeps like the dead once he’s down. I’m planning to make a run for it tonight.’

‘If you truly can help us to escape before the trial, we’ll take you with us, and you will be well rewarded for your efforts. Now tell me, how on earth do we get out of this hellhole?’

Swifty held up one grubby finger and pressed it tightly against his lips, urging George to be quiet. He turned and beckoned George to follow him and then darted towards the other side of the long, dimly lit cell.

‘Here, my lord, do you see over there?’ the boy pointed to the bottom section of the filthy wall. ‘If it’s the same as last time I was in the clink, we can squeeze through. It’s stinky and dangerous though. I don’t know if my lady will be able to get down there. It ain’t no place for a lady.’

‘Don’t worry about that. She’s no ordinary lady. Show me exactly what you mean.’

They knelt next to the wall, and George saw what the boy meant.

He could hear a gurgle below and the stench accosted his nostrils as he lowered his head.

It was a long shot, but he believed they could squeeze through the narrow opening and enter the putrid underworld of Newgate.

From there, Swifty assured him, they would be able to make a dash for it before daylight.

‘There’s something I haven’t told you though, my lord.’

‘Oh dear, I thought it sounded too simple. What may that be then?’

‘Others have tried to escape this way and been ambushed by prison guards as they came out. It all depends who’s on duty at the exit.’

George ran his hand through his hair and shot a rueful look at the boy. ‘We take the risk of being slaughtered by crossbow or being hauled before the court with a high probability of facing the hangman by dusk tomorrow. I fancy our chances against the crossbow.’

George and Swifty huddled in the corner and began planning the details of their escape from Newgate Prison.

York, present day

Cara opened her eyes and realised she was back in the bookshop.

She didn’t understand what had just happened.

One thing was for sure; the prison had seemed so real that she could still smell the damp cell.

The vision must have been caused by blacking out.

She tried to recall the details, but they were fading fast.

She gawped at the man who towered above her.

Confusion engulfed her normally rational mind as their eyes locked. A jolt ran through her like a current of electricity.

‘I’m George Cavendish.’

She accepted his outstretched hand, and he helped her up. Cara’s heart pounded, and she feared he must surely hear it.

‘May I get you something? Let me see if I can bring you a glass of water. Perhaps you’re dehydrated; it’s a hot morning.’

He dashed off before she could reply. Cara stared after him and patted her messy hair.

What a state she must look.

She stood in the same spot, feeling awkward, uncertain what to do. She contemplated dashing downstairs, but it would be rude to leave without saying thank you, and she would probably bump into him on the way out, anyway. A few minutes later, he reappeared, smiling as he walked towards her.

As she sipped the water, she attempted to come up with something sensible to say.

‘I wish I’d been able to catch you,’ he said, ‘I just missed you as you toppled off the stepladder.’

‘Oh no, really, it was all my fault. I was clumsy.’

Her cheeks flushed, and she shuffled from one foot to the other.

‘How’s your head?’

He seemed truly concerned and in no hurry to leave.

‘It’s fine. I must get going. Thanks for the water. I’m so sorry for the inconvenience.’

Cara was reluctant to tear herself away, but she couldn’t think of a good reason to stay. She tried not to stare at him, but she was mesmerised. A force beyond her had taken over her senses, and she was drawn to him.

‘Are you sure your head’s okay? May I call someone for you, or drop you home? I could get my car.’

His smile caused her stomach to flutter.

‘No really, thank you, I’m absolutely fine. I was only out for a second. I can drive home, no problem.’

Cara looked towards the stairs, torn between making a quick exit and an ominous foreboding that she might never see him again.

‘Well, it was lovely to meet you,’ he said, looking into her eyes.

She stared back at him: neither of them broke eye contact.

‘How about I take your number? That way, I can check in to make sure you’re okay. It’s the least I can do if you won’t let me drive you home.’

His charm was irresistible. She rummaged through her handbag for a business card but couldn’t find one, so she scribbled her number on to the back of a crumpled receipt and passed it to him.

As he held out his hand, their fingers brushed.

His skin was smooth and warm. Cara’s hand tingled, and a fierce sensation surged through her.

She had trouble breathing and maintaining an appearance of normalcy.

Her lips moved in an unsuccessful attempt at a smile, she croaked a quick goodbye, rushed towards the stairs and then turned to give him a quick wave.

To her relief, the proprietor was nowhere in sight, and she spotted her textbook on the counter. An assistant took her payment and didn’t try to engage her in conversation other than a brief, perfunctory exchange.

What a fool she’d made of herself.

She made her way along the cobbled street towards the car park. She couldn’t have handled the situation with less grace.

Cara pulled a face as she turned the key in the ignition and joined the lane of heavy traffic moving in the direction of her cottage in the suburbs of York.

She drove straight home; she’d suffered enough turmoil for one day and had lost her enthusiasm to go to the office and tackle her project. Her head was still spinning from the encounter with the enigmatic man in the bookshop. She needed some time alone to make sense of events.

Cara pushed the cottage door open, relieved to be home.

How could an ordinary visit to the bookshop have such a monumental effect?

Nothing much had happened. She’d banged her head, briefly lost consciousness, and then met a gorgeous stranger.

What was the big deal? The thought that her life had been turned upside down and would never be the same again flashed through her mind.

She sipped her tea and tapped her nails rhythmically on the pale china cup.

Physically she was present at the oak table in her favourite room; the cosy kitchen in the old Tudor cottage.

Mentally she was miles away. Anxious thoughts collided into one another and jostled for attention.

Cara’s brain yearned for a logical explanation for the morning’s events so that she could move on.

It seemed like nonsense, but she knew in her bones she’d experienced something pivotal.

She flipped open her laptop and typed ‘love at first sight’ into the search engine.

A long thread of results appeared. She clicked on one at random and scanned the article.

“Love at first sight is a rare experience of instantly recognising someone on a soul level. You feel as though you already know this person, even though you’ve never met them before in this lifetime. It’s a feeling of deja-vu: like coming home.”

Cara scrolled down, trying to make sense of the words. Irritated and tired, she pushed her cup across the table.

Dr Cara Bailey PhD, award-winning Tudor expert, researching love at first sight. Whatever next?

The phone rang and interrupted her reverie. She recounted a severely edited version of the morning to her fiancé, Daniel, carefully avoiding any mention of George. Daniel would think she’d lost her mind if she told him what had happened.

‘Are you sure you’re okay, darling? I don’t like the sound of you blacking out. How about I give Doctor Fitzgerald a call to see if he can fit you in for a quick check-up this afternoon?’

‘No, really. Thank you. I’m absolutely fine. I was probably dehydrated. I’ll stay at home and take it easy for the rest of the day.’

‘Well, if you’re certain. I know better than to try to push you, so I’ll give you a call later to check in. Promise you’ll call me if you need anything or you feel unwell. I’m worried about you.’

The phone rang again almost immediately. It was an unknown number.

‘Cara? This is George, from the bookshop,’ she heard the warmth in his voice.

‘Oh, hello. How are you?’

‘You’ve been on my mind, the way you blacked out like that. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. . .’ His words trailed off.

Cara melted. There was something magnetic about their connection.

After a moment, she replied, ‘I’m fine. Thank you. I don’t know what came over me. I’m sorry for causing such a fuss.’

‘I’m so relieved to hear you’re feeling better.’

‘It’s thoughtful of you to call to check up on me.’

‘Perhaps we’ll bump into each other again in the city without such dramatic consequences,’ said George.

‘Yes, that would be nice.’ Cara paused but couldn’t think of anything to say to prolong the conversation. ‘Bye for now, then.’

‘Bye, Cara. It was lovely meeting you.’

Violent feelings of loss flooded through her and snatched at her breath.

She stood for a moment, as she clutched her phone, surprised at the intense emotions that gripped her.

Cara didn’t move for several minutes. Then she rose abruptly, shook her head and resolved to put George out of her mind. Hoping for a good night’s sleep, she muted her phone and went upstairs to bed.

At three in the morning, she awoke. Her heart beat fast and a sob caught in her throat.

Her nightshirt clung to her sweat-drenched body.

It had been an awful dream; as vivid as the vision in the bookshop.

She was with George. Again. This time he’d been arrested.

In the dream, she had looked on as one of the soldiers charged him with treason, by order of King Henry VIII.

What were these terrifying visions?

One thought crashed into the next until her head throbbed.

Cara walked into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water.

Her hand shook. She plucked a fresh T-shirt from a pile of neatly folded clothes in the airing cupboard and threw the drenched nightshirt into the wicker laundry basket.

Her pale face stared back at her in the mirror; she looked as if she’d seen Anne Boleyn herself.

She sank down on to her bed and within moments, sleep mercifully transported her far away.

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“Really enjoyed this book I couldn't put it down. Brilliant storyline and loved the characters would definitely recommend this book.”

“I enjoyed reading this book the timelines were very vivid and I could imagine myself being in that time.”

“Love this time travel book! It is so good that I couldn’t put it down !Such an interesting story and gives you so much detail on the history of our monarchs. Now reading the second book in this journey and loving it.”