Part 15 (1/2)

Unless...unless she did something about that.

Vaguely remembering something about changing history, how it would lead to catastrophe, fluttered through her mind. But that was from the movies. This was-what had the muses called it? Her glimpse. She could do whatever she wanted here. h.e.l.l, the muses had tried to pressure her to do exactly that, whatever she d.a.m.ned well pleased.

Pulling a silky blanket from her bed and the box Clio had given her, she claimed a chaise near the unlit fireplace. She smiled at her iPhone with headphones, amazed that it had been only a little more than a couple days ago she'd been back in Boston, worried that her dean would fire her, worried that Dr. Peabody was stealing her research, worried about so many things. Now, she'd-she'd fallen for a lord general who would die. Not only that, there was no proof if he was a womanizer or not. Pus.h.i.+ng the earbuds in, she cranked her Amy Lee playlist, thinking.

Ben had always told her that she'd been brave to pursue her career in military history, considering how unsupportive her mother had been. But she'd never accepted the compliment. That hadn't been bravery. It had been part of the air she breathed to learn more, to read the books, write the essays, thesis, then her dissertation. There might have been a little courage involved when she'd told her mother the truth of why she lived in Boston, but not much. If she were honest with herself, then she could count the number of times she'd truly been brave. Those were the times some voice inside her had screamed for her to not follow her mother's advice, and she hadn't. When she'd listened to herself, her instincts, she'd signed the divorce papers and gotten rid of Cliff once and for all. And while she'd been with Will, she'd kissed him. She had kissed him.

That had been brave. She'd followed her heart.

But where was it going to get her?

The clock over the mantle read that it was close to three in the morning. Erva's eyes flitted closed repeatedly, but she fought it as much as she could. She thought of her wardrobe back at home, so ladylike and proper. How she'd shop with Ben and he'd try to get her to buy leather pants or a coat she really wanted. How she'd had an obsession with having blue hair before it was cool. Even the tattoos she had lacked color; they were all white. White doves, symbolic of how she wanted to fly away.

Well, she had. She'd flown a h.e.l.l of a long way away. Here, she was more than two hundred years, and two hundred miles from her sad home, which she'd decorated in a drab beige, too afraid to put any color in her apartment. Too afraid to paint her own life with whatever she d.a.m.ned well pleased. Everything had been a secret, like beige can make stains secret, can cover them up and never reveal them. Her life was beige.

So much for that, she huffed. Okay, so she worried Will had a couple lovers on the side. She could ask him about that, rather than run away like a scared girl, scared of falling in love. No, better, she would ask him about Miss Emma and Miss Lydia tomorrow. She'd get to the bottom of this once and for all. And then, depending on what he told her, what would she do?

If he was a womanizer, it seemed clear that she would take her losses and return home, write a h.e.l.l of an article about him, and eventually move on. It hadn't been the first time she'd accidentally fallen for a jerk of a man. But something in her knew this was different, Will was different. Cliff had been charismatic and charming, and she'd never seen the other side of him who would use people for money, s.e.x, or whatever he'd wanted at the moment. Cliff had been acting. Erva thought Will was just himself, a lonely widower who'd suffered through so much, yet under all of it was such a good man.

She was scared. Her emotional garbage had just gotten in the way, spiraled uncontrollably down, chaining her to the idea to turn Will into Cliff. On paper, Will was Cliff, or very similar. But she knew propaganda had demonized more than one British officer who more than likely never deserved the backlash. It had been war and during such conflict, as tradition, it was best to see your enemy as being less than human. She knew this psychological play had been developed eons ago. Still, it never sat right with her that Will, after his death, would be condemned so.

Now she knew why. She took a shaky breath, as she realized tomorrow would be such a big day for her, for Will too. She'd ask him about the mistresses. Already, he'd told her that the rumors had been just that during his marriage. Nonetheless he was a single man now, so he could have a couple dalliances. Well, in her time it was considered acceptable. However, she wouldn't give her heart to a man who couldn't give his own to her. It would hurt to find out if he was sleeping around, but-and this was what scared her the most-what if he wasn't? What if he wanted her, just her?

With this thought, her lids finally closed and sleep gently took over. But before it did, she thought she felt a woman tuck the blanket around her feet a little more securely. She wondered if it was maybe one of Clio's sisters, because the dark haired woman wore something like a toga and seemed to glow like the muses. Or was it just a dream, since the woman had whispered soothingly, ”Be brave, Minerva. I need you to be brave for my Will.”

Chapter 17.

Sleep had not been kind to Will. He'd been either worried about Erva and how she'd run from him, or the eternal erection he had that made getting comfortable impossible. So he'd hardly rested more than a few hours. Still, this day was an important one, for his army needed to be at the ready. Tomorrow they would attack at Kip's Bay, then Manhattan.

Rising out of bed in the early morning, he stood before his desk and glanced at his parchment and quills. He needed to write a letter to General Howe and ask to resign. He'd needed to do it yesterday. Glancing down his body, his c.o.c.k seemed to take on a life of its own, almost looking as though it wanted to write the letter for him. Despite his worry over Erva's sudden departure after he'd tried to give her pleasure, also in the night he'd, well, tried to remedy his erection, it had not dwindled much. It was no wonder as he thought over and over about the way she tasted, her night jasmine scent all over him, the way she'd clung to his fingers as she came. Lord, that had been beautiful. She was beautiful.

He shuddered thinking of her body, her responses, and the way she'd listened to him, and held him in her arms after he'd revealed the story of his wife. It had touched his heart. He knew it then. He loved her. Mayhap he'd loved her from the b.u.mbling beginning, thundering into her chamber the way he had, and her appearing to be a sun G.o.ddess rather than a human. Yes, she seemed more related to Apollo than anything he'd ever known before. She was wildly talented, brilliant, and had a heart as warm as sunbeams. However, his stomach soured as he recalled that he'd practically forced himself on her last night.

He raked his hand through his already disheveled hair. Granted, she had seemed eager to become lovers, but he knew better. He knew it wasn't the right time. He'd rushed things. The lady needed more time to think, more time to know what she wanted. He was, after all, not just a weary warrior, p.r.o.ne to having nightmares about battle, but the nightmares he had about his wife would wake him in the night, make him claw out, searching for answers as to why his wife would take her own life. He was damaged and felt old much of the time. He knew he looked older than Erva, for she could hardly pa.s.s for a girl of two and twenty. G.o.d, she was beautiful. But it was what lay in her heart that made him realize he'd given her his.

He sat at the desk and tried to compose the letter to Howe. Yet every pa.s.sing second he recalled something more about her, what she had said, the way she felt, the way he felt with her arms wrapped around his neck. No longer able to concentrate on basic sentence structures if it weren't a.s.sociated with Erva, he settled back to worrying. What if she didn't want him? He had managed to bungle things last night. Like charging into her room upon meeting her, he'd yet again stormed through when he knew she might need more time. He hated to admit it though, but he wasn't as sorry as he thought he should have been, especially when he remembered the way her o.r.g.a.s.m had made her rock into him, made her glow like pink gold in his dark chamber. Still, he needed to do the right thing by her, give her time, and try to keep his d.a.m.ned hands to himself.

Glancing at a clock, he realized he'd lost too many minutes to write the letter and needed to hurry to train his men. He'd try to talk to The General about needing to buy out his commission later. How could he tell Erva his plans? How, indeed, when she needed time to think? And all he could think about was creating a life with her. Would she be pleased to live in his manor back in England? Since his wife's death, he'd removed most of the furniture and decorations. The barn she'd hung herself in had been destroyed by his bare hands and burnt to ashes. However, the large house was naked and in need of color. So like him, he thought. But Erva had given him more color already than he thought possible. She'd changed everything.

He cleaned and dressed in a hurry. Paul came in with the day's correspondence, newspapers, and coffee. G.o.d, the man was good to him.

”Paul?” he asked, suddenly curious. ”If you weren't my man of business, what would you do?”

His stocky friend stiffened and looked at the unlit fireplace. ”I suppose I'd be like my father, if you hadn't taken me in. I'd be a fisherman in Liverpool, barely able to support my wife and children.”

”No,” Will stepped closer to Paul. ”I mean, do you want to do something different with your life?”

Paul c.o.c.ked his head, but didn't look Will in the eyes. ”I owe you my life, my lord. If I had survived in my father's house, and I doubt I would have, for my father's beatings had gotten too brutal, I would have nothing like what I have now.”

Will stepped even closer, placing a warm hand on his friend's shoulder. ”Paul, that's not what I mean. I thank you for your grat.i.tude, I do. But without your friends.h.i.+p throughout the years, I would have-” he stopped himself from saying anything more. Since his wife's death, he knew the devastation suicide dealt. It wouldn't be fair to tell Paul how he'd saved his life time and time again. ”My friend, I owe you everything. So I would like to know how to repay you, if there is anything you'd like to accomplish.”

Paul blinked and swallowed. Then looked down at the unlit fireplace again. ”I've saved quite a bit of currency through the years and gambled with the stocks, making a little more money. I've thought of becoming a merchantman. Coffee sells good here in America, and I've thought about dabbling in that.”

Will squeezed his friend's shoulder. ”You need an investor then. How much to begin?”

Paul looked up, appearing wildly confused. ”My lord?”

Will sighed. He wasn't good with words, with trying to convey his meaning. With Erva, though, it had been effortless. Mayhap because with her he'd never felt judged, condemned. Like his wife had been during their brief courting and in the first months of their marriage, Erva had seemed eager to get to know him, to know him as a man, not as a lord, an earl, a general, but who he was under his skin. Although he did love it when Erva asked him from whence he'd learned his tactics. Lord, she was an angel. Heaven sent.

Again, he had the distinct feeling his wife had a hand with Erva. He could almost sense her presence. And she seemed at peace. Finally at peace.

All of it went straight to his heart, where he felt that organ beat with, for once in so long, joy. Life truly was beautiful.

Even if Erva was to reject him, and she might, considering his blundering antics, he would be eternally grateful for her. She'd given him color when he'd had none. She'd given him peace and finally a reason to keep living. No, not to keep living for her; although, that was a good one. He wanted to live, because Erva, unbeknownst to her, had lifted his head out of dark waters, where he would have surely died.

Will smiled down at his friend. ”Would a thousand pounds suffice as a good start to your coffee business?”

”Are you-” Paul shrugged free from Will and sidestepped. ”Are you buying me out of my employment? Do you no longer wish for me to serve you?”

Will stepped closer yet again. ”No, my friend. If this gives you joy, then stay, stay forever. I just...I've come to realize how selfish I've been with you, holding you back, making you serve me, for I had no other friends to rely on.”

Paul cleared his throat. ”My lord, it has always been my honor to do so.”

Will had to clear his own throat from that sentiment.

”You have always been best the employer and...friend to me too.”

”I wish to do better by you. I want you to be...happy-”

”I am happy.”

”I wish for you to be happier then. For I fear by forcing you to serve me, I've been selfish, not allowing you to be more, as it were. I think you have a remarkable mind for business and investments. You've gained me a few thousand pounds by playing with the stocks, which I have no mind for. The least I can do is give it back to you, for you to do something with your life that causes you to be exceedingly content.”

Paul's dark brows furrowed, and he looked down to the ground. ”But I don't wish to leave your service.”

”Then don't. Have the best of both worlds. Remain my man of business and start your own.”

Paul glanced up, his brows still cast down, but a glint of a smile shone on one corner of his mouth. He didn't say anything for a long moment, then let his smile bloom. ”Thank you.”

Will took a step back, always unsure what to do with grat.i.tude. ”I-yes. Oh! I, um, have a rather delicate job to ask of you.”

Paul bowed slightly.

Will walked to his bureau where he'd stuffed Erva's torn undergarments. He inhaled sharply, then revealed her beautiful light s.h.i.+ft, the tear down the center of it.