An Earl in Time Read online

  An Earl in Time

  By Lisa Kumar

  Published by Astraea Press

  www.astraeapress.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  AN EARL IN TIME

  Copyright © 2013 LISA KUMAR

  ISBN 978-1-62135-190-0

  Cover Art Designed by AM Designs Studio

  A big thanks to my family for their love and support.

  Chapter One

  “You ready to go?”

  Julia glanced from her computer screen to see Carson, Director of Mission Support for Intellitravel, leaning against her desk. “Sure am.”

  She placed her index finger on the computer’s fingerprint scanner to turn the machine off. Grabbing a pair of long white gloves, she stood up. “Don’t you have support personnel to be overseeing— or whatever it is you do?

  “Nah, they’re safe to be left alone for a while.” His gaze took in her empire-waist day dress. He smiled and waggled his blond brows. “I like you in that getup. Your bonnet looks fetching.”

  His smooth Southern drawl flowed over her, like silk caressing ragged nerves. Anxiousness always struck her before a time-travel mission, but Carson had a singular way of making it disappear, at least until launch time.

  She suppressed her grin and pretended to take offense at the handsome goofball. “Getup? I’m not dressed in some cheap costume for a Halloween party. I’ll have you know this is the finest Regency clothing the wardrobe room had.”

  He strode over to her and flicked the bonnet. She smacked his hand away. That earned her a smirk.

  “Yeah yeah. The Wardrobe Department buys and makes only the most historically accurate costumes so you’ll all be able to “safely mingle” with the natives. I’ve heard that spiel before.”

  “Garb, not costumes.” Would it kill him to get it right?

  “Same thing.”

  She leveled a glare at him. The frustrating man enjoyed baiting her too much. “To you, maybe, but to a research scientist who loves history, it’s not.” To punctuate her words, she poked him in the chest.

  He drew back, an unreadable expression replacing his smile for a moment, and held his hands out in front of him. “Okay, you win.” The grin returned to his face. “Better get a move on it, girl. Launch time is sneaking up on you.”

  Julia glanced at the round clock hanging on the wall. For all their technology, some things never changed— her running late and the good old-fashioned wall clocks her department loved. “Yikes, got to hustle to the launch room, though why it’s called that I’ll never know.”

  “Probably because the government bigwigs who have their stranglehold around the company feel like they’re launching you into our clients’ massive wallets. Whenever you go scouring around the ages for some great revelation to whatever mystery is confounding humanity at the moment, you’re earning this company big money. After all, that’s what missions are all about to the bigwigs and our clients.”

  She almost groaned. Once Carson got on his tirade about governmental control, good luck stopping him. Changing the subject was the best bet.

  “You going to accompany me to the launch?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it. You’re going to go off with a bang and make quite an entrance to 1812 England.” A small, secretive smile played over his lips.

  Julia shivered, not sure if she liked the expression on his face, especially in conjunction with his words. He liked to joke, but an untouchable quality always rested about him, making him very unpredictable. What did he mean about making quite an entrance? She wouldn’t be seen, thanks to the invisibility transmitter on her handheld computer. Plus, time-travel drops were delicately orchestrated events. The engineers would ensure she was dropped off in a private locale.

  Still, Carson seemed to know a lot more than he let on— and always had. Those instances had a way of leading to events that exploded in one’s face as Carson looked on knowingly.

  Unease settled over her as they walked toward the launch area, the usual lightheartedness she felt in his presence completely gone.

  ****

  The familiar sensation of every atom being pulled apart and then reassembled assailed Julia. It didn’t hurt so much as feel plain weird. Oddly enough, her vision remained intact through every launch she took. Not that she could see much right now. Darkness surrounded her like a suffocating sea. She’d never been a fan of this part of time traveling, but the unpleasantness would soon end.

  An aura formed in the blackness in front of her, heralding the location of her drop. Suddenly, blinding light hit her senses, and she closed her eyes against the familiar onslaught. Her head swam.

  She prepared herself for a soft landing. The drop always deposited her gently on her feet in a room or location devoid of people. But that isn’t what she discovered this time.

  The drop sent her sprawling into a hard… lap? Surprise hit her so hard she couldn’t move for a second. Surely, she hadn’t… She shifted, shaking her head to clear the haze. Yep, definitely a lap, which meant there was a person attached to said lap.

  Reality struck, and she gasped. Mortification socked her in the gut, along with a heaping dose of worry for the mission.

  Chapter Two

  James Noddingdon, The Earl of Correlton, yawned and reached for the tumbler sitting on the table beside him. He took a swig— and nothing. Staring into the depths of the glassware, he groaned. No whiskey left and he didn’t feel like ringing a servant to bring him another bottle. He scowled at the wood-paneled walls of his study but soon gave that up as too tiresome.

  He glanced at the timepiece setting on the mantle. Two o’clock in the afternoon. So much of the day left. Boredom was strangling him, but the idea of reveling in any of his favored pastimes— whoring and drinking— had lost its appeal. Even those activities became mundane and taxing if done with much regularity. Which he had done with relish. He’d always prided himself as being consistent.

  Maybe it was time to retire to his estate and leave his London townhouse behind. Once the hunting season began, it might get his blood pumping again. Plus, his steward would be delighted to see him. He knew the man thought he should take a greater interest in his estate.

  James tapped his fingers on the table. Nothing sounded good. He frowned. This ennui had to go. He had ladies to see and drinks to enjoy. Or at the very least, estate books to look over and tenants to visit. He needed something, anything, to make him feel alive.

  But that wasn’t going to happen while he sat here. If he wanted excitement, he’d have to search it out. He’d figure out the-where-of-it later. All he knew was it had to be something different, not his usual haunts and pursuits that turned to ash after he’d taken whatever pleasure he could.

  He scowled. Blazes, when had he become so mawkish? But it was more than that. It had to be.

  His fingers stopped their relentless drumming. Maybe his grandmother was right, and he needed to settle down. For some reason the prospect, while still frightening, wasn’t wholly horrifying. He’d seen almost thirty years and tasted all London life had to offer. A wife and children would be a vastly different world, a challenging one he would master. Failure wasn’t an option he’d countenance. His parents’ disastrous marriage had taught him what happened when a union disintegrated into open warfare.

&n
bsp; Nodding, he straightened out of his slump and stood. He had a plan to carry out. His grandmother would be ecstatic, but he had to act before he changed his mind.

  A tingling sensation caressed his skin. He froze, feeling… different. As he tried to figure out what was affecting him, a sense of something momentous hit and nearly blew him off his feet. He collapsed back in the chair, his breath a harsh rasp in the silence of the study.

  With a surety that shook him to his bones, he knew something would enliven his life and leave it changed whether he willed it or not. He’d had enough brushes with such feelings to know he should pay them heed. His grandmother had schooled him well.

  As a thought occurred to him, he frowned and raked a shaking hand through his hair. Could all this be the whiskey talking? That might be the more logical option. Though he hated admitting it, the change heading his way might not agree with him. It would be so easy to slip back into his old life if he but…

  Sighing, he turned away from that line of thought. He hadn’t drunk much, especially compared to what he was capable of imbibing, so he knew his presentiment was legitimate, for better or worse. With his luck, probably worse.

  Anticipation and no little dread built up in his stomach. If he were going to meet his destiny, he’d face it head on— and freshly bathed.

  As he rose from his comfortable wingback chair, a soft, heavy weight slammed into his lap, knocking him back into his seat. Glancing down, he blinked. Nothing was there, but the weight still remained. What the—? As confusion infiltrated every vein in his body, he rubbed at his head. Had his wits finally left him? Could that account for his premonition? Him going insane? He’d much rather it be the drink.

  A soft gasp, one he was sure didn’t come from his lips, sounded and ripped him from his thoughts. The… thing in his lap shifted and felt oddly reminiscent of a lady’s behind. He stood up abruptly. The weight fell from him with a soft oomph.

  Fear and suspicion slowly replaced his befuddlement. He inched his way over to the desk, where he kept a pistol locked up. Portent or not, he wasn’t taking any chances.

  “Show yourself, intruder,” he said in his most commanding tone. Unfortunately, it quivered just like the Prince Regent’s fat stomach.

  “What in the Seven Seas happened?” a sweet, feminine voice asked.

  The disembodied voice stopped his questions— and his trek to his desk— dead. The accent was odd but charming. What a mysterious juxtaposition. A stirring of life kindled in his chest.

  Then he remembered that beguiling voice came from an incorporeal being and urged himself to caution. “What sort of witchery is this?”

  The voice sighed. “Guess there’s really no choice. They’ll just have to deal.”

  Who would have to deal? And deal with what? He opened his mouth but couldn’t force his tongue around the words, which was a rarity because he was seldom at such a loss.

  After a few mechanical sounding clicks, a figure slowly revealed itself. At first, it was like a mist solidifying until face and form evolved into something easily identifiable. And oh, what a face and form it was. His throat went dry, and his heart thundered in a way it never had before.

  Her black hair curled becomingly under a poke bonnet, while her blue eyes seemed to glisten with inquisitiveness and worry. A day dress of the finest muslin molded to a high-set chest. From what he could tell, her lithe figure gently curved in all the right places. He regretted the fichu that covered her neck and cleavage. His gaze roved over her in appreciation.

  But all the sensations flooding his body were tempered by the fact of her unorthodox arrival. Lust and alarm fought for a foothold. If he needed to, he’d still grab his pistol from the desk. Some part of him, though, wondered if she could be the reason for his earlier foreboding. Was she a good or bad omen of what was to come?

  “Explain yourself, woman.” Until he knew more, he’d keep an open mind but not trust foolishly.

  She fiddled with a ring on her finger, all the while staring at him as though he were a predator. He bit back a smile. That assessment may not be too far off.

  “It’s a long story, so I’ll give you the short explanation for right now.” She took a deep breath as if fortifying herself. “At first, you’ll think me insane.”

  “Think you insane?” He raised a brow. “After what I saw? Or didn’t see when you landed in my lap? If anything, I thought myself deserving of Bedlam.”

  She flushed. “Yeah, sorry about that.”

  Where was she from that she spoke so informally? “Do you make it a habit of landing in gentlemen’s laps?”

  Annoyance flashed across her face. “Thanks for your concern, but I do not. Yours is the first I crash-landed in. My drops usually go off without a hitch.”

  “Drops?” What the devil was she talking about?

  “That’s all part of the story. If you’ll kindly let me begin?”

  He glared at her. She needed to show the proper respect. He was of the peerage and she likely of the gentry, if that. An unpleasant thought intruded. Could she not know who he was?

  Impossible.

  Everyone knew who the Earl of Correlton was. Every man wanted to be him, and every lady wanted to be with him. It was too preposterous to even contemplate he was unknown to her.

  Now that he had this settled…. He inclined his head imperiously. “Saucy chit, regale me your tale.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “I’m not a saucy chit.”

  “Then tell me your name.”

  Her fierce glower lightened. “Julia. Julia Avers.”

  Hmm, he didn’t know any Avers. Sounded like a merchant surname. Maybe she was from a family of newly wealthy merchants who had sprung up in town like mushrooms? He examined her, trying to find any clue to back up his supposition. Also, he had to take her accent into account. It sounded faintly American, reminiscent of his grandmother’s, yet different somehow.

  He tapped his chin in thought. She carried herself well, but not with the demureness so often seen of the Ton’s debutantes. He much preferred her relaxed demeanor to the simpering misses of the day. But that mattered little if she were of evil intent or nature.

  Standing up straighter, he held a hand out to indicate she should sit in a chair in front of his desk. As she walked toward the indicated spot, a wave of surrealism hit him. He wondered if he weren’t having the strangest dream of his life. He was almost tempted to pinch himself to test the theory. Almost.

  To think he’d wanted action. He’d never thought he’d get it like this. “So, Miss Avers, let’s hear all about your foray into my study.”

  ****

  Julia settled into the dark upholstered chair in front of… whatever-was-his-name’s desk. Removing her bonnet, she automatically stuck it under the chair. She frowned, feeling like a recalcitrant child called before a strict principle.

  As she stared at the section of room in front of her, she didn’t really register anything besides the sinking sensation in her stomach. How had the drop gone so wrong? Was she even in the right place and time? All questions she’d have to find the answers to.

  The man strode behind the desk but took his time to seat himself, each movement slow and sensuous. How could he make sitting an art?

  She opened her mouth to tell him to hurry the production along, but he beat her to it by leaning back in his brown leather chair. He quirked an eyebrow and adopted a lordly expression. No matter how she wanted to be annoyed, she couldn’t call that emotion forth. He was too… She didn’t know what he was other than too cocky for his own good.

  His mahogany brown hair lay about his head in a carefree, ruffled manner. The startling green color of his eyes held her hostage. Stubble darkened his chin, and he wore no cravat. His tailcoat had been discarded, leaving him in his shirtsleeves. He looked rumpled… maybe even a little hung-over, but that didn’t diminish his aura of delicious masculinity.

  Every cell in her body froze. She found him sexy? That was bad, so bad. First, she landed in the wrong pla
ce— and could only hope she was in the right time. Then she crashed into a man’s lap and had to reveal her identity, which wouldn’t thrill her bosses. Now she was attracted to this rakish looking Regency guy? She gave an internal groan. What else could go wrong? Nope, shouldn’t ask that. She knew better. Things could always get worse. Maybe he’d try to have her committed to an asylum after he heard her story.

  And what would her story be? The truth? But if not that, then what? Could she claim to have the power of invisibility? That, however, would lead to questions of who she was and where she was from, not to mention why she’d picked his home to invade.

  She sat up straighter and chewed on her lower lip. It helped her think when she had a mess to deal with. Too bad it didn’t seem to be working its magic right now.

  If she told the full story, what if he chose to relate his tale to others? Would it be so bad if he did? He’d certainly be discounted, if not by his own people then by hers. Intellitravel’s damage control would see to it. But that route could possibly ruin a man’s sanity, so she’d just have to make sure he wouldn’t tell anybody.

  As far as she was concerned, she was in no true danger of being exposed. Following that line of thought, she smiled. Telling the truth just might work if she could impress the secretive nature of the matter on him.

  “Your tale, please.”

  His command shook her out of her reverie. She bit her lip. Where to begin? Well, she should determine one thing first. “What year is it?”

  “It is 1812.”

  “And the date?” She waited for the answer with baited breath.

  “July 20th.”

  Yes! Right date and year, then. Thank goodness for small mercies. “Well, I landed in the right time, down to the day.” But had she landed in the right vicinity?

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  “I travelled here from the future.” She monitored his reaction closely, knowing she’d sound insane to someone from his century.

  “You mean to say you’re from the future.” He enunciated each word slowly, and doubt practically dripped from every syllable. With the furrowing of his brow, his face revealed the same misgivings.