LuckySilver (2 page)

Marissa turned, eyes wide, hands on hips. “Is that so?”

Rhys shrugged, held out his hands. “The kisses are supposed
to bring good fortune.”

As he said that, her expression changed, her body posture becoming
uncertain once more. “Good fortune?”

He nodded, moved in closer. He would just kiss the girl
once, to slake his curiosity.
Just once.
There was no harm in that.

She slid into his arms, a chilly, shivering little bundle. Instinctively
he gathered her against him, sharing his warmth. Then he bent her backward and
claimed his kiss.

Marissa felt almost helpless in his embrace. As his lips met
hers, she nearly gasped. She had expected a chaste peck on the cheek, a quick,
vanilla contact.
This
was far from chaste. She closed her eyes, pleasure
slashing through her, briefly overshadowing the freezing cold. His lips were
unyielding, demanding, yet there was tenderness too in the way he held her so
that she could pull back at an instant’s notice.

Not that she wanted to, of course.

He was the one who broke off in the end, staring down at her
in an almost accusatory manner.

“Well, damn,” he said, his voice husky. And bent to claim
her again.

This time they both seemed to have hit their stride. With
less fumbling around, his tongue flicked against her lips, opening them almost
impatiently. Marissa was already out of her depth, having had no idea a simple
kiss could feel this good. Certainly this was much more thorough than any of
the quick, unfruitful, movie-theater fumbling she’d partaken of in the past.

The past…

Shocked into sober reflection, she stepped backward,
searching his face intently. “This—I—I don’t know…”

Cobalt eyes sharpened, flickered to her fingers. “You are
otherwise promised?”

“No…it’s… I’m in the wrong place. I think it’s best I call
my carriage and return home.”

Wait a moment…her carriage? She had meant to say
taxi
.
Her mouth had somehow betrayed her. What on earth was happening? Blindly, she
fumbled for her reticule, peering inside. The silver spoon winked at her,
momentarily reflecting the dying evening light.

No longer tarnished, it was shiny and new, as if it had been
made yesterday.

How old had Harriet said the spoon was?

A shudder ripped through her, causing her to stumble. She
felt Rhys gather her to him again, heard his murmured, anxious question against
her right ear.

“Yes I—I’m fine. I simply took a sudden chill.” She straightened,
forcing herself to calm. There was no sense panicking until she was in
possession of all the details.

She glanced up at Rhys, suddenly very glad he was there.
When he proffered his arm, she laid hers atop it trustingly, giving control
over to him. Slowly he began shepherding her through the maze, navigating the
paths and crossroads as if he knew them intimately.

Marissa found herself wishing Rhys knew
her
intimately. At that thought, she blushed. She’d gotten through her life thus
far without a man. What was making her think this way now? His kiss seemed to
have awakened possibilities she’d never even dreamed of before.

“Stop,” he commanded.

Wordlessly she obeyed, watching as he efficiently divested
himself of his tailcoat. With a gentleness that belied his physical strength,
he wrapped her up in the garment. The sleeves were too long, but it would keep
her warm enough until she was able to go inside.

Inside where?
Her mind shrieked, reminding her just
how out of her depth she was. Numbly, she put one foot in front of the other,
following Rhys as he started walking again.

He was holding her firmly, as if afraid to let her go. As
they continued on, her thoughts whirled. She was definitely no longer in
modern-day America. She was not even in America, judging by the upper-class
English accent Rhys possessed.

Where exactly had the silver spoon taken her?

Rhys hustled the girl around the last corner. She breathed a
gusty sigh of relief as they emerged into open air. His hand lightly brushed
one of her breasts as he broke contact with her, removing his arm reluctantly
from her waist. The contact sent another jolt through him.

Reining in his emotions, he escorted her up the hill. He
knew tongues would wag if the partygoers caught sight of them, but he couldn’t
bring himself to care. His only goal was to get Marissa out of the cold.

He glanced down at her again, curiosity getting the better
of him. “May I ask where you are from?”

“Oh, far away,” she replied absently. She seemed to be
staring at something in her reticule. He couldn’t see what.

“The Americas?”

She closed her reticule with a snap and a faint shudder.
“Yes.”

“If you are not from London, it is little wonder you are
unused to gossip. What brings you to Shropshire?” Rhys found himself hoping the
girl was based somewhere locally.

“I didn’t belong where I came from,” she replied after a
long silence. “I—I am not sure I belong anywhere, to tell the truth.”

He glanced down, fighting the urge to touch her curly hair,
to bury his nose in her delectable-looking neck and kiss the hollow of her
throat. The fact that she was shrouded in mystery seemed only to heighten her
appeal.

“I can help you fit in,” he told her. It sounded arrogant,
but he knew it was true. With his title and influence, he could easily make
Marissa feel included.

“If only you could do that,” she murmured.

“Do you doubt me?” He wanted to remove the sadness from her
voice, replace it with confident happiness.

She considered. Then, “No. I don’t trust other people very
much.”

Rhys thought of the girl’s suspicion when he’d come across
her in the center of the maze. She’d been hurt in the past, her trusting nature
burned, perhaps multiple times.

He was formulating a reply to her when she stopped dead,
staring rapturously at the enormous stone house in front of her. Snow was
beginning to settle upon the hedges and barren trees of the landscaped garden,
softening the harsh lines of branches and leaves. The large windows of his
residence threw warm candlelight into the encroaching dusk.

Rhys wanted nothing more than to fling the doors open, carry
her upstairs, and indulge in some privacy with the girl. He forced himself to
wait patiently for her next move, knowing instinctively that she shouldn’t be
hurried.

Marissa was very still at his side. “You live here,” she
said. It was a statement, not a question, as if she was struggling to
comprehend the situation.

“Montford Hall has been my family’s residence for four
generations.”

“I see,” she said faintly.

They walked the last little way up to the house, passing the
multiple carriages parked on the mile-long drive. Several of the drivers nodded
to him, their breaths frosting in the air as they awaited the end of the party.
Most of his guests would be staying overnight, but a few lived locally enough
to return home that evening.

Marissa hesitated as they drew close. The sounds of revelry
spilled forth. One of the young women inside noticed him standing outside and
rushed toward the window, waving gaily. Her eyes widened suddenly as she caught
sight of Marissa.

In the next moment, the door opened and out tumbled half a
dozen young ladies. They managed to simultaneously squeal in delight upon
sighting him and flash disapproving looks at Marissa. In the space of a minute,
he found himself being borne indoors in a flurry of perfumed laughter and
flirtatious gloved hands.

“My lord, you have the most delicious claret! Did you truly
import it all the way from France?” The speaker shot a daggered look at
Marissa.

As one, the women converged around him, managing to cut Marissa
completely away. Rhys kept an eye on her as she crossed the room to the fire.

Although he hadn’t yet said more than a few words, they
continued to chatter in his ear, snapping fans and fluttering their dresses as
they all angled to get near him. The women parted, of course, for his mother,
who gave them all an indulgent look before rounding on him. “Rhys! There you
are. I had wondered what you were up to. Come, Lady Arabella is here all the
way from Northumberland and has been clamoring for your attention for nearly an
hour.”

“I will speak with her in a moment, Mother.” He turned,
scanning the room for Marissa. Had his mother not seen her with him?

Marissa was by the fire, still dressed in his tailcoat,
accepting a drink from a solicitous footman. He saw his mother’s eyes widen as
she followed his gaze. She studied Marissa for a long moment before turning to
her son, a single eyebrow raised.

“Rhys,” she began.

“Ah, there is Lady Arabella!” Rhys quickly strode toward the
young woman approaching, his mother’s current favorite future daughter-in-law. As
politely as possible, he made the bare minimum of small talk before making an
excuse to move away.

Though it would cause no end of drama, he was determined to
see to Marissa’s comfort. He also found her entirely refreshing in comparison
to the bevy of perfumed young ladies from which he was expected to select a
baroness.

None of the other women present could hold a candle to her
in terms of beauty. But not only that, Rhys found himself wanting to speak with
Marissa further, to unravel her mysteries, both mental and physical. Extricating
himself from a delicate but persistent gloved hand, he dodged his mother who,
by the look of her, was approaching with pointed questions.

Marissa was no longer standing by the fire.

“That girl in the tailcoat. Where did she go?” Rhys put out
a hand to stop a passing footman.

“Her, my lord? She went out the front door after having a
drink. I thought she was perhaps headed to her carriage. She told me to give
you her regrets.”

The snow fell more thickly as the sun dipped below the
horizon, yet Marissa was warm enough as long as she kept moving. She stroked
the coat Rhys had given her—a genuine, double-breasted, black tailcoat. It
smelled of him. Of their kiss.

If she gave in to her heart’s demands, she would be running
back to Montford Hall right now. But her head was still telling her she didn’t
belong there, either. How could she? Rhys was a landed, titled man. A baron, at
that—she’d overheard one of the footmen talking.

And there was no way a baron would stoop to associating with
a commoner like her, except perhaps if she acted as his mistress. It was
tempting, to tell the truth. The burn of his kiss still lingered upon her lips.
But she could never share him with another woman, and he wouldn’t want her for
a wife.

Besides, she was too plain next to all those high-bred young
women clustered in that palatial drawing room. Every single one of them oozed
self-confidence and poise. She’d stood back as they surrounded Rhys, enveloping
him in perfume and chatter.

One had even been so bold as to touch his arm. Marissa had
needed to look away before she could admit she was actually jealous.

Though they’d spent nearly an hour together in the maze,
judging by the clock in the drawing room, time had passed quickly. Magically.
She’d regretted its ending. The moment they stepped inside, all her concerns
and fears came rushing back, almost crippling her with their intensity.

No, the best thing to do was to leave Montford Hall before
she was tempted too far. Surely she would find herself transported back to her
own century any moment now.

Despite the cold, curiosity spurred her onward. How far
could she get before this strange spell ended? She wished she could determine
precisely what year the silver spoon had catapulted her into. From her
surreptitious examination of the attire at Montford Hall, she thought it must
be around 1860. Not a bad decade to be alive, in the scheme of things.

Marissa did feel a little bit guilty about taking Rhys’
coat. Still, she supposed the garment wouldn’t return with her. Someone would
find it in the road and take it back to the baron.

She flung back her head, staring at the stars in wonder as
she walked. Marissa had rarely been in so rural an area. Here, where there were
no city lights to interfere with the clarity of the night sky, she could see
thousands upon thousands of stars twinkling in the distance. All she lacked was
someone to share the experience with.

Forward. She needed to keep going. She couldn’t dwell upon
Rhys. One foot in front of the other. She could rest once she landed back in
the 21
^st
century.

Gradually her brisk walk devolved into a slower gait. Her
thoughts seemed to get muzzier the further she went from Montford Hall. From
Rhys. Would he have noticed her absence by now? Perhaps he assumed she was
returning home in one of those carriages. No…soon he would be long dead, and
the only proof of his existence would be a gravestone and a name in a dusty
ledger.

Marissa winced, shying away from that line of thinking.

Breathless from the cold, she allowed herself to rest for a
few minutes, leaning against a low wooden fence. Snow was beginning to fall
steadily, settling upon the ground with annoying rapidity. Marissa frowned,
hoping the stuff wouldn’t obscure the road, which hadn’t been very clearly
marked to begin with. She tamped down a growing anxiety.

Marissa peered through the deepening gloom. Presumably she’d
just reached the end of Montford Hall’s driveway. There was a crossroad just
ahead. Two roads branched off, leading in opposite directions. Inconveniently,
there were no signposts.

She stared left, then right, a fog of confusion descending
over her senses. Her idea of striking off on her own wasn’t nearly so appealing
now, especially since she didn’t seem to be returning back to her own time.
Just as she determined to turn back and beg forgiveness from a probably very
irate baron, the reticule slipped off her shoulder, falling into the show with
a wet thud.

She suppressed a startled yelp as the silver spoon tumbled
out. It bounced onto the left-hand path.

“Fine. Left it is.” Marissa shoved the blasted spoon back
into the bag, sparing it a stern look. “You’ve gotten me into enough trouble. I
hope this way leads me somewhere warm. Are you listening, spoon?”

Marissa trudged forward as quickly as she could force her
legs to move. They were beginning to tremble, whether with cold or emotional
reaction, she couldn’t tell. Still, she was bound to get somewhere warm any minute
now. Her mind repeated that litany until thoughts of Rhys began to crowd the
words out, snapping her back to reality.

How long had she walked? How far? Two miles? Three? Her feet
were aching in the flimsy Victorian-style slippers she’d bought last week at
one of the college’s Saturday flea markets, but she had to keep going now.
Otherwise she risked freezing to death. Marissa bit her lip, refusing to give
way to panic.

She didn’t hear the approaching hoofbeats until the very
last second.

Rhys growled in relief as he caught sight of Marissa’s
curvy, tailcoated form ahead of him. Her uncovered head was speckled white with
snow and she was clearly very tired. He reined in his horse, coming to a stop
just ahead of her.

“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” he demanded as
she stared upward with a startled look. “You’re out here in nothing but a dress
and my coat!”

“I—I thought—”

“Never mind. I am not having this conversation out here in
the cold. Come here.” He softened his voice with some effort. The last hour had
been absolute hell. Despite his acute worry for Marissa, it had taken ages to
extricate himself from the social situation. In the end, he had given
considerable offense to several young ladies, narrowly missed insulting his own
mother and was most certainly going to be a topic of gossip in London.
Especially when they found out he was riding out alone after an unaccompanied,
unmarried young woman.

He’d wasted time riding down to the maze,
thinking—irrationally fearing—that she might have gone back there for some
reason. Then he’d spurred the horse down the drive as fast as he dared given
the treacherous conditions.

Fortunately, he’d spotted Marissa’s footprints leading left
at the crossroads and was able to intercept her before she ventured further
into the snowy wilderness. If he hadn’t been aware of her departure, if the
snow had covered her footprints before he’d seen them…no, he wouldn’t dwell on
those thoughts.

“I am perfectly capable of walking,” she was saying as he
hauled her onto his thigh and tucked one arm firmly around her waist.

“You are trembling. I’m not letting you walk another step.”

Once he had situated her to his liking, Rhys put his heels
to his gelding and took off at a canter. On his lap, Marissa tensed, yet made
no protest. Rhys glanced down at her in approval. He’d have wagered a hundred
pounds that every single one of those London chits back at the party would be a
gibbering wreck right about now. His respect for—and curiosity about—Marissa
rose higher.

Unbidden, the image of the fortune-teller flashed through
his mind. Meeting the old woman had been entirely happenstance. He and his
younger brothers had been riding through the hills in Wales when they had
stopped near her cottage to let the horses breathe. When she’d invited them in,
they wound up sharing their bread and cheese with her in exchange for her
telling their fortunes.

Rhys could still easily conjure up her scratchy old voice.
She’d stared at him, wrinkled and wise, as she made her proclamations. In the
eerie atmosphere of her tiny cottage, the words seemed to hold a curiously
strong power.

“You will meet the right woman for you during the next
winter affair you host. Ensure that you do not let her get away, for you will
never see her again if she leaves, nor will you ever be truly happy in love. For
the rest of your life you will regret what you let go.”

Rhys glanced down at the curve of Marissa’s cheek. He was
certainly attracted to her physically. Would she make a good baroness? He
barely knew her.

“Are we going back to Montford Hall?” she asked. Her voice
was muffled against his shoulder. “I—I think you forgot to turn down your
drive.”

“We will not return there tonight. I keep a cottage nearby. It’s
closer than the Hall, and far more private.”

“P-private?” she squeaked.

“Unless you fancy plunging back into that mess of perfumed
femininity and making small talk? I certainly do not.”

“A…good point.” She subsided for the rest of the short
journey, passive in his arms. When he dismounted, he led her into the barn,
keeping one hand on her and the other on the horse’s bridle. He wanted to keep
her within arm’s reach in case she inexplicably bolted again.

“Go inside, Marissa. I’ll see to the horse before coming in.
There is some food in the cabinets if you feel hungry.”

As he unsaddled his gelding, Rhys couldn’t help but admire
Marissa as she walked away. She had a particular sway to her hips that was incredibly
enticing. He took a deep breath, realizing her allure was going to torment him
all night long—the cottage wasn’t very large, so they would probably have to
share the same bed.

Lately, he had begun to think he was almost immune to any
womanly charms. His dalliances were growing fewer and fewer, whereas once he’d
had an almost insatiable appetite for women. Of course, being a baron in his
own right, he could have almost anyone he wanted. But that brought its own
problems, of course, with girls vying for his attention—and money.

Marissa’s complete lack of attention to his title was like a
breath of fresh air.

Rhys tipped some oats into the horse’s trough and
straightened up. It was time to go inside and get some answers out of the girl.

The interior of the cottage was comfortable enough, although
the air was chilly. Marissa knelt by the fireplace, chucked in some wood, then
stared around in discomfiture. How did one start a fire in the 1860s? Flint and
steel? Most people banked their fires, didn’t they? She didn’t have the luxury
of a head start, but there was a pile of kindling next to the larger pieces of
firewood. Dubiously, Marissa made a little nest of twigs. It had been years since
she’d last gone camping.

Marissa found flint and steel on the mantelpiece. Kneeling,
she struck the two together. Her first few sparks never found purchase. The
next set fizzled out. Finally, after a shower of sparks and a few judicious
puffs of air, she’d produced a passable fire. With immense satisfaction, she
watched it grow from strength to strength, taking hold on the dry log. Flicking
the switch on a heater suddenly seemed tame in comparison. For a few moments,
she simply sat and stared into the flames, glad of the warmth.

“Well done.”

Marissa glanced up so quickly she nearly overbalanced. She
caught herself, rising to her feet and meeting Rhys’ gaze. There was something
odd in his expression.

“What’s the matter?” she asked. Then another thought
occurred to her. “Have you been watching me this entire time?”

He shook his head, absently scraping melting snowflakes from
his dark hair. “Only after you kindled the first flame. I must say, I’m
impressed. The ladies I tend to associate with would never have taken it upon
themselves to kneel down and start their own fire.”

“If you want something done, do it yourself. My father
always told me that.” Marissa eyed him, uncertain what to do next. She was
again struck by the fact that Rhys was incredibly handsome. She couldn’t help
but surreptitiously admire the striking effect of his dark hair and blue eyes. Although
he wasn’t a basketball player—was basketball even in existence during the
Victorian Age?—he must have been pushing six feet. He definitely towered over
her, and she wasn’t all that short.

She could still hardly believe he had kissed her. A large
part—a
very
large part—of her wanted him to do it again. And again.

“A wise man, your father. Does he know where you are now?”

Marissa hid a wince. Talking about her parents was a
surefire way to kill any good mood. “My parents are dead. They were involved in
a bad carriage accident when I was in my late teens.”

Carriage accident? They’d been hit by a drunk driver going sixty
in a forty zone. Was it the silver spoon again, changing her speech? It must
be. It was almost as if the little spoon wanted Marissa to fit in as if she’d
been born in the eighteen hundreds.

“I am sorry.” Rhys seemed truly contrite. Taking a few steps
forward, he eyed her in concern. “Marissa, your clothes are damp from the snow.
Let me get you some dry ones. Unless you mind wearing something of mine?” Rhys
looked her over again, his eyes seeming to linger, brushing across her body
before he brought his gaze back to her face.

“No, not at all.” Marissa had to admit her dress was
becoming uncomfortable and her shoes were killing her. Also, the warmth was
beginning to make her drowsy. The way he’d looked at her, however, kept her
very much awake. Did he want to kiss her again? Would he?

Rhys took a shirt and trousers from a dresser and handed
them to her. “I keep some spare clothes here for when I want to escape Montford
Hall for a time.”

Marissa looked around for somewhere private to change. A
blush stole across her cheeks as she realized there
was
no privacy. Although
well-appointed, the cottage was small, consisting of one large room.

“I promise I won’t look,” Rhys said with a rakish grin. He
turned around pointedly.

Marissa hastened to slip out of the tailcoat and dress,
kicking off her shoes with a barely suppressed sigh of relief. The shirt Rhys was
lending her was large yet cozy. The trousers, however, sagged perilously. She
gulped, thanking her lucky stars that she’d worn her favorite silky underwear.
Just in case, of course, Rhys happened to peek under there.