Forever Mine Read online

  “Are you calling me a liar?” She wanted to kick herself. Of course he was.

  “I’m simply stating the obvious. Your acting abilities have improved considerably, but this is a bit much, even for you.”

  “Look, this is crazy. I was in an art gallery in London. I think there was some kind of explosion. The next thing I knew, I woke up here.” Her words instantly made her head hurt, and she winced.

  “I’m a patient man, Vickie, but this charade is growing tiresome.” Anger tightened his sensual mouth. The fact that she was even thinking about his mouth annoyed her as much as his refusal to call her Victoria.

  “So help me God, if you call me Vickie one more time…” She gritted her teeth and suppressed her anger. It wasn’t going to help things if she lost her temper. “I’m not your wife. My name is Victoria Ashton. I don’t know how I got here, and at the moment I don’t really care. If you’ll just give me my clothes back, I’ll get out of your hair.”

  “Enough.” The barely controlled fury in the command made her flinch. “If you continue with this farce, I’ll be forced to have you examined by a physician from the county asylum.”

  “Don’t you dare threaten me,” she said fiercely as she returned his glare.

  “It’s not a threat, Vickie. You’re clearly unwell.”

  There was something about his icy demeanor that sent a shiver down her spine. He was dead serious. Fear slithered through Victoria. The man was clearly off his rocker, her clothes were missing, and no one knew where she was. Hell, she didn’t even know where she was. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the door and lunged toward it.

  With the advantage of surprise, she was slamming the door behind her before the stranger could stop her. Victoria heard him utter a violent curse, but didn’t wait to hear more. A cramped stairwell was only a couple feet away, and she plunged her way down the steep, narrow steps.

  As she reached the last step, she stopped and stared. The large room looked like a historical exhibit. The woman who’d cleaned the cut on her head stood bent at a huge open fireplace stirring something in a kettle. Victoria hadn’t paid much attention to the woman’s apparel earlier, but now she realized Bessie was a walking advertisement for a tourist attraction. The rotund woman wore a brown dress that almost brushed the floor with a white apron tied around her waist. Victoria looked around the room in the hope her clothes might be close by, but they were nowhere in sight.

  “God damn it, Vickie. Stop.”

  The stranger’s voice held a dark and dangerous edge to it, and Bessie looked up from her kettle to stare at Victoria in astonishment. Not about to let the woman stop her, Victoria threw open the only door in the room and bolted outside. The cold air and patches of snow on the ground stunned her. It was the middle of May. Did England have snow as late as this? She squinted against the sunshine and paused to let her eyes adjust to the light. Behind her, the door to the small house swung open.

  “Bloody hell, Vickie. Don’t be a fool. You’re not dressed.”

  Victoria ignored his harsh words as she fled. Rough stones bit at her bare feet as she sprinted along the dirt path leading away from him. In front of her was a large pond, and at the water’s edge, the trail split to follow the shoreline all around the pond. Behind her, she heard her jailor call out a man’s name. A responding shout echoed out of the woods surrounding the water. Horrified, she saw men emerge from the forest on each side of the pond.

  With a glance over her shoulder, she saw her delusional interrogator gaining on her. For a man with a limp, he moved quickly. Frantic, she realized the water was her only hope of escape. She was a fast swimmer. If she swam to the opposite end of the pond, she might be able to escape. Self-preservation drove her forward, and she ran the last two steps to the water and dived in head first.

  Cold fire engulfed her the instant she hit the water. The shock of it sent her up to the surface with a loud gasp. The icy water sucked the air out of her forcing her to fight hard to draw air back into her lungs. The fire feeding on her skin was almost as intense as the pain she’d endured when she’d woken up in this terrible dream. She was a strong swimmer, but the frigid water stole every ounce of strength she had. Desperately she fought to breathe as her legs gave way, and she sank beneath the water.

  Come back to me.

  The whisper echoed in her head, and she recognized it. But from where? Victoria stretched her hand out toward the sound. Strong fingers gripped her hand and pulled her back from the brink. Air filled her lungs as she sputtered and coughed violently. A moment later, a steely grasp encircled her waist to pull her upright.

  Panic sailed through her again as she looked into a pair of green eyes, blazing with anger and something else. Although she was exhausted and horribly cold, she found the strength to struggle against his grasp.

  “Damn it to hell, Vicki. No one’s going to hurt you. Stop fighting me,” he growled as he swung her up into his arms and carried her out of the water.

  The sincerity in his voice pierced the fear twisting through her as his heat pushed its way into the icy cold layer of her skin. When they reached the shore, he set her down. Deprived of his warmth, a shudder whipped through her followed by another until she was shaking like a piece of paper dancing in the wind. A second later his riding coat covered her shoulders.

  “Come, Bessie will get you out of this wet garment,” he said.

  Before she could protest, he swung her up into his arms again and started back toward the cottage. She didn’t want to go back, but she was so damn cold. Worse, she didn’t know where to run to. Despite his warmth, she continued to shiver. The sound of his boots crunching against a small patch of snow on the trail made her wince.

  “Why is there…snow on…the ground?” she asked through her chattering teeth.

  “It’s not unusual for snow to fall in October, you know that.”

  “October.” Victoria looked up at him in horror. Her teeth still clicking rapidly, she shook her head. “It can’t…be…October. It’s…May.”

  “I can assure you, my dear, it is October.”

  “The…date?”

  “I believe it’s the thirtieth.”

  “October… thir… thirtieth.” Something deep inside prompted her to ask what she didn’t want an answer to. “The…year?”

  “The year is eighteen ninety-seven, my dear,” he said quietly as he came to a halt.

  “Not…possible,” she chattered as shock rippled through her. Her stomach began to churn savagely, and she pushed at his shoulder. “Please…I’m…throw up.”

  Without hesitating he lowered her until her feet rested on his boots in an apparent attempt to keep her bare feet off the ground. Bile rose in her throat, and she violently twisted free of his grasp then stumbled into the snow-patched grass lining the path. A moment later, she threw up as if she’d been out drinking all night.

  Cool hands gently pulled her hair away from her face, holding it out of the way as she threw up whatever was in her stomach. As her heaves abated, he offered her a linen handkerchief lightly scented with the crisp odor of mint. Victoria wiped her mouth with the white square and closed her eyes.

  “It’s a dream. Just a really bad dream,” she mumbled to herself. Screw Einstein’s theory of relatively. It wasn’t possible to travel through time. “Wake up Victoria. It’s just a nightmare.”

  Victoria slowly opened her eyes and sucked in a quiet breath of despair. She was still here. Silently, she stared at the cottage in front of her. It looked so familiar, but she couldn’t remember where she’d seen it. Snow dusted the roof, and brightly colored leaves clung with desperation to tree branches hanging over the small house. She drew in a sharp breath. The art gallery. She’d been about to buy a painting of this cottage.

  A shudder hammered through her, and she pulled the stranger’s riding jacket close around her. He uttered something harsh under his breath then swooped her up into his arms again. In silence, he carried her toward the cottage. Scared, exhausted, and
confused, she didn’t have the energy to protest. She closed her eyes again as she struggled to accept her situation.

  “You recognize the cottage.” The quiet statement made her glance up at him, and she nodded.

  “I saw it in a painting,” she answered hoarsely. “At the art gallery in London.”

  “And yet you still maintain you don’t know me.” There was a hard note of skepticism in his voice. “Perhaps your head injury is more serious than Bessie suspected.”

  “What? Oh, yes, my head.” She probed the swelling cut at her temple. She instantly regretted it as her head throbbed with pain again.

  “I believe the first order of business is to get you into dry clothes. At the moment, your appearance is in a sad state of disrepair, and I have no wish to see my wife bounding about the countryside in a nightdress.”

  “I’m not your wife.” With her chattering teeth, it was impossible to sound convincing.

  “I believe we should have Dr. Bertram call on us. I’m sure he would find this unusual story of yours quite interesting.”

  The threat of a doctor made Victoria flinch, and she looked away from him. Whether this was a dream or reality, she needed to bite her tongue. Mental health had only just come out of the dark ages in her own time. If she really was in the past, the last thing she wanted was a ticket to an insane asylum.

  “I don’t need a doctor.” Her quiet response appeared to satisfy him. Several seconds later, he carried her into the cottage where Bessie greeted her like a mother hen would a lost chick.

  “Bessie, I believe it’s time the countess was dressed properly,” he said as he kept his gaze on Victoria. “I’ll wait for her here.”

  “Aye, my lord.”

  “My coat, madam, if you please. It’s a bit chilly today.” Victoria’s shudder was more out of regret than her frozen state. He’d been cold because of her.

  “I’m sorry. I was scared.”

  She still was, but she wasn’t about to admit it to him. With a grimace, Victoria removed his coat and handed it back to him. Surprise flashed across his face before he masked the emotion with indifference. He bowed slightly.

  “I’ll leave you in Bessie’s capable hands. When you’re dressed, I’ll take you home.”

  “But…I don’t even know who you are.” Her cheeks grew warm with embarrassment at the look of disbelief he directed at her.

  “So you’ve said,” he said dryly as he arched his brow in icy disdain. “Very well. I’m Nicholas Thornhill, Earl of Guildford. And you, madam wife, are Victoria Brentwood Thornhill, Countess of Guildford.”

  With that introduction, he turned and limped away to stand in front of the fireplace with his hands outstretched to warm them. Something about his posture made Victoria long to run to him and reassure him that everything would be all right. She blinked at the crazy thought. She had enough to worry about. She shivered.

  “Come along, my lady. We’ll get you warm and dry in a moment.” Half-hearing Bessie’s chatter, Victoria allowed the woman to lead her up the stairs to the room she’d fled a short time ago. After a few minutes in front of the fire, Victoria was feeling less frozen.

  “Here you are, my lady.” Bessie held up a royal blue dress. “I’m afraid the gown’s ruined, my lady. Thomas found you lying by the pond.”

  Huge patches of caked mud declared the silk gown had seen better days. As she stared at the dress, her shivering returned. Ice sluiced over her skin as if she were drowning in the pond again. A shadowy image flashed in front of her eyes, and she jerked in surprise. More images streaked through her head in a wild whirlwind of incomprehensible events. A singular, horrifying sound accompanied the pictures swirling in her mind. It was the distinct sound of a shovel hitting the ground with a sickening thud before earth scraped across the metal. Fear lodged in her throat as she saw part of a blue gown disappear beneath clumps of soil. It was the same gown Bessie was holding. Victoria’s stomach lurched violently.

  “My lady, are you all right?” Bessie exclaimed. “You’re white as a sheet.”

  “I’m fine,” she focused her gaze on the older woman as the images faded into oblivion.

  “Now don’t you worry about how it looks, my lady. As soon as you get back to the manor you’ll have dozens of gowns to choose from,” the woman murmured soothingly. The motherly clucks of dismay returned, as Bessie helped Victoria change out of her wet nightgown. In need of more information about the countess to help her navigate the minefield she was in, Victoria cleared her throat.

  “Bessie, do you know anything about the…my disappearance?”

  “Well, as I heard it, you left Guildford House for a fancy ball, but never arrived. His lordship searched high and low for you, he did. But you’d just upped and disappeared.” As the woman rattled on with her tale, Victoria dried off in front of the fire. “Of course, Lord Darby didn’t help matters none when you went missing. Thomas’ brother, George, works for the man. George says Lord Darby was running about all crazed like. He said Lord Darby accused his lordship of doing you in. And right there in front of the Prince of Wales himself, no less.”

  When Victoria was dry, the servant woman threw a white, lacey undergarment over her head. Engrossed in the tale, Victoria didn’t protest as Bessie helped put a corset on. It was more like a bustier, and she was surprised it fit her full-figured curves so well. As Bessie reached for the muddied gown, the woman shook her head.

  “Bless me if it wasn’t a scandal. There was talk of a magistrate and all sorts of doings. Right glad I am that you’re back, my lady. Lord Guildford is a good man. He don’t deserve to be treated like a criminal. He’d never hurt anyone.”

  Victoria didn’t respond as she tried to process everything Bessie had shared. A murder accusation. No wonder the man was furious. The real question to ask was since she wasn’t Lady Guildford, exactly where was the earl’s wife? The memory of the dark images she’d seen made Victoria shiver. What if…no, she wasn’t going down that road. Wherever Lady Guildford was, Victoria didn’t like thinking the woman was in a shallow grave somewhere. Deep in the back of her mind, a voice argued with her, but she ignored it.

  As Bessie slipped the gown’s soft, blue silk over her head, Victoria prepared herself for more unpleasant imagery. When nothing happened, she exhaled a sigh of relief and stood still as Bessie buttoned the dress the earl’s wife had worn. What was her connection to the earl or his wife? With everyone mistaking her for the countess, did she actually look like the woman? What if she didn’t look like herself. A shaft of panic shot through her.

  “Bessie, do you have a mirror?” she rasped.

  “But of course, my lady. It’s just a hand mirror, but it should do well enough. Let me fetch it.”

  Bessie hurried from the room leaving Victoria to stare down at the mud on her dress. No, the countess’ dress. Where had the woman been to get so dirty? Dark images fluttered through her mind again, and Victoria pushed them out of her head. A moment later, Bessie returned and handed her a mirror. With a trembling hand, she lifted the hand-held mirror. Relief streamed through her as she recognized the reflection.

  “Thank God.” A split second later she inhaled a sharp breath of fear. Her voice was different. Oh God, what she’d thought was laryngitis wasn’t that at all. A crisp, aristocratic accent had replaced her American one.

  Chapter 3

  Present Day

  Nick paced the floor of the hospital waiting room. It had been almost an hour since he’d been ordered out of the trauma room filled with doctors bent over Victoria. Where his CPR skills had failed, the paramedics had succeeded, but she’d failed to regain consciousness. God, if he lost her again. Again?

  Why in the hell would he think he’d gone through this before? He shoved a hand through his hair and stopped his pacing. What the fuck was happening to him? He was beginning to think he’d lost his mind. He’d just met the woman, and yet deep down in his soul, he knew his life would never be the same if she didn’t survive. The sound of feminine
heels clicking against the floor made him turn around. As Nora entered the small visitors’ lounge, Nick closed the distance between them and gave her a hug.

  “You okay?” he said huskily as he stepped back and inspected her face for any injuries.

  “Just shaken up a bit. I was still upstairs when the explosion hit.”

  “Christ, the shop—”

  “It’s fine, just minor damage. I left Robert in charge,” Nora said in her practical manner that was at odds with her personal beliefs. “He’s making arrangements for security and repairs.”

  “What the fuck happened? A gas leak?” Nick eyed his sister with disbelief.

  “No. A bomb.” Anger darkened Nora’s features. “Some environmental extremists targeted the ad agency across the street for a recent campaign the agency did for an oil company.”

  “Christ almighty,” he said with a shake of his head.

  “I hope they catch the bastards and put their balls and heads on the Tower’s spikes,” Nora snapped viciously then eyed him with a look of worry. “Have you seen a doctor about this cut?”

  “Cut?” He reached up to touch his face, and Nora immediately smacked his hand aside.

  “Don’t be an idiot. You need to have a doctor look at this. It might need sutures.” Nora’s gaze swept over him then gasped in horror. “Oh my God, your leg.”

  “My leg?” Nick looked downward to see his pants leg was split open and a long, deep gash that ran the length of his calf.

  “Aren’t you in pain?” Nora asked, her face pasty white.

  “No,” he said as he realized that wasn’t quite true. His leg had been aching from all the pacing he’d done. “It must be deep enough to have cut off the nerve endings. And stop looking at the damn thing before you pass out.

  “You need to get that leg looked at, now,” his sister said firmly despite the sick look on her face.

  “I’m not doing anything until I know Victoria’s all right.”

  “Victoria?” His sister arched her eyebrow at him in a silent demand for an explanation.