Some Enchanted Dream: A Time Travel Adventure (Seasons of Enchantment Book 2) (17 page)

"I wanted to thank you properly for a wonderful day, M'sieur. I feel I must repay your kindness--"

"No--no you don't." Dan was on his feet before he realized it, handing her the brandy. "We were just having some laughs, and I don't expect my friends to pay me for a good time."

"But you paid for my dinner, my ticket up to the tower, my fare for the omnibus . . ."

"And I'd do it again tomorrow, sweetheart." He felt a little like Bogart, even if he didn't qualify for the smooth label and she had no idea who the dude was.

"Please, you will not leave so soon?" She had to go and bat those big eyes at him, didn't she? "Sit, please, I did not mean to offend you, M'sieur, it is just that most of the men who show me a kindness expect . . ."

Yeah, he knew what they expected, and he hated them for it. He'd like to show them how much he hated them for treating a pretty woman like trash. "I'm not one of them, Miss Tisante. Go put some clothes on, and I'll stay for a drink. Otherwise, I'm off to climb the stairs."

She looked hurt, but the vulnerability in her eyes was not lost on him. She looked relieved, too. That said it all, didn't it? If they had a good time and it led to a roll in the sack, he wanted it to be because both of them wanted to be there--not because someone was owed something.

Gisele left him to his brandy. He enjoyed the fine drink in the silence of the room.

The day had been exhilarating, so much so that he just wanted to close his eyes and savor the quiet moment. Too much going on. Too much grand history. He loved every moment of it, no mistake there. And seeing the look on Lord Dillon's face as he moved through the machine exhibit was priceless. It was Rip Van Winkle to a T. He wished he had a video camera to capture the moment when Adrian Dillon, Lord Arrogance himself, realized that his world of carriages and candlelight was at an end.

The automobile exhibit was the most popular, and the most fun in his mind. People marveled and exclaimed over the small model automobile with a gas propulsion engine, little realizing it was not a delightful toy to amuse them and their children. The lighting exhibit had captured Dillon's interest as well as his. Dillon's from the perspective of a near cave man, and his from a historical perspective of peering back into the past.

Don't be so hard on the guy
, his conscience chided,
he's let you live with him free of charge for months now, with minimal complaint.
Few men in any century would welcome their bride's father to live with them and take on full support of said papa indefinitely.

Which reminded him, he needed to go out again soon and earn some more cash for the family coffers. Adrian's reaction to the donation this morning had been worth every strained moment at the card table. He had earned the man's respect, and gratitude. Dan liked that feeling. He wanted to keep it. Being a dependent family member was not for him. Sure, he loved the idle life as any man would. But he was used to paying his own way long before this wild road trip into the past and he didn't like being beholden to anyone for very long.

The feeling of being watched made him open his eyes. Dan's lips turned up into a lazy, satisfied smile as he gazed at the resident of the apartment he was carelessly lounging in. Gisele was standing a few feet away, observing him with puzzlement. She'd changed into a more suitable gown for friendship, one that didn't scream sexual favor at him. A simple beige skirt and white blouse with a neckline that met her chin instead of her navel.

"Would you care for a light repast?" Her sensual voice was a soothing balm to his frenzied senses. "I have some fresh green beans from the market, and eggs."

"Sounds good, but only if you're hungry." Dan lifted the brandy snifter to his lips and drained the last of it. He swallowed the fiery liquid and smacked his lips. "Call me Dan, all my friends do." 

"Oui, Dan." She said his name slowly, with relish. It pleased him. "I will make us a snack. Help yourself to the brandy,
mon cher
." She moved across the room, to the small stove and retrieved a fry pan. Soon, the scent of onions and butter simmering filled the apartment.

Dan wished he could stay here, with her. A domestic bliss of equal partners instead of the tenuous status as 'house-guest' he endured in the situation upstairs. The Fey brothers had their own digs across the hall from Mr. & Mrs. Dillon so they had some privacy away from the snapping love-birds. Tara was getting tired of her husband's lordliness. He wondered how long it would take for the enchantment of being married to a rich man who always got his own way. He felt like he was tip-toeing about them both, as tempers flared in this new time and expectations were revealed. Yep, the honeymoon was over, he'd bet his last franc on it.

*  *  *

"Stop." Adrian growled in French. "Run or die, your choice."

He stepped from the shadows to confront three men who had dragged a woman into the dark alley off the narrow, cobbled street. His dagger was drawn at the ready. His old black breeches and Hessian boots hid him well in the poorly lit maze of streets on Montmartre Hill. Dan's cast off woolen cloak billowed about his form like an inky black specter.

"Ha, walk on, fool or you will die this night." One of the men came away from their prey. He wasn't as tall as Adrian, but he was bulky. "We are three, you cannot kill us all."

"Care to test that theory? Unhand the lady, this is your last warning."

"She's no lady." The man spat on the ground before continuing, "Just a cabaret slut creeping home after fucking gentlemen with money."

"No, no, I just dance," the woman pleaded as the other two held her arms. "I dance on stage and smile for the gentlemen and let them buy me drinks. I do nothing else. Please--let me go."

She sounded very young. Hardly more than an adolescent girl. Adrian stepped closer, his dagger held out like a sword. He wished he still had his sword. He had his pistols, but they allowed one shot each before a reload. Not effective against three toffs. "She is alone, and she does not appear to care for your companionship. Unhand her, I say."

The leader of the trio rushed him. Adrian ducked aside, missing the blow meant for his cheek. He caught the man's wrist and then the grabbed the back of his head as he passed. Holding him by his dirty mop of hair, using his assailant's forward moment, he slammed the fellow head on into the brick wall. The thug dropped with a groan and did not move again.  

Another man stepped away from the girl, a knife gleaming in the pre-dawn light. "We will see who bleeds, M'sieur, and it will not be me."

This one was less clumsy on his feet. Adrian deflected the arc of silver coming at him with his forearm and felt the sting as his flesh below the elbow was scored. He turned quickly, grabbed the wrist and pressed deep with his thumb. The knife blade clanked to the ground. In the same instant, Adrian kicked behind his adversary's knee, bringing him to the pavement. The man tried to rise up on all fours. Adrian stomped him square between the shoulders and watched him drop face down into the rank gutter.

He looked up, his stance solid and true, ready to take on the third man.

The woman was alone in the alley, the last man had fled.

"Thank you, sir, thank you." She was crying softly. "What can I do for you?"

"Find another line of work or walk home after the sun rises."  Adrian made a courtly bow to her and slipped away into the shadow like a dark spirit fleeing the dawn.

*    *    *

Dan slipped out from the covers of Gisele's bed as quietly as he could. The first streams of light were coming from beneath the pulled window shade.

She still slept deeply. He stretched, and stifled a yawn.

Their clothing was on the floor, all of it. Discarded here and there in the rush of passion as they gave in to the lust simmering between them.

A brandy
, she said.

A game of cards,
she said.
It will be amusing
.

He grinned and turned slightly to look down at her lovely curves as she lay with her back to him, draped in a sheet that barely covered her adorable ass.

Cards had quickly lead to more amusement, definitely. With a few drinks and a few laughs between them, some flirting on her part, and he was done for.

He was in heaven, and yet, his feet still were firmly mired in hell.

He'd vowed last not to let her pay for her dinner this way.

Hopefully, she wasn't paying him back with a toss in the sack.

With careful feet, he stalked across the room to gather his clothing and tiptoe out to the main room to dress. He struggled into his trousers, picked up the rest of his things and headed for the door.

Pausing with his hand on the knob, he glanced at the small desk. Paper and a pen were within easy reach. He set his boots down with the utmost care, and scrolled her a note to place on the kitchen table.

Dearest Gisele,

I enjoyed our outing at the tower yesterday, and desire to see you again soon.

If you like, we can go out for dinner the next time you have the evening free.

If you need anything, don't hesitate to contact me. 

He hesitated for a moment, pondering the next line. He was a little out of practice in the romance department. What the hell? He was staying here in Paris, whether Tara and her man remained or not. Why not give it his best shot with Gisele? A guy could do worse.

I'll be your knight in shining armor, my beauty, if that is your desire.

Sincerely,

Dan from upstairs

Not exactly a marriage proposal, but it would let her know he wanted to spend time with her. It gave Gisele the option to back away or to come to him if she so pleased. Given her line of work, he couldn't fool himself into thinking she considered their time together anything special.

Damn, it would have been special if their hormones hadn't gotten all twisted up and they humped like rabbits all night long.

He shouldn't have bedded her. In fact, he felt a little ashamed for doing so now. If he'd kept it chaste between them, he wouldn't be just another dick in a long line of dicks trying to get under her skirts. He would have been like a knight to her.

Dan looked down at the letter, his jaw tensing.
Stupid?

Should he crumple it and toss it into his pocket?

No, he decided to just leave it on the table and see where it takes them. 

Chapter Fourteen

Tara awakened the next morning to find Adrian still sound asleep beside her. It was unusual for him to not be up at dawn. She tossed off the covers and went to the small washstand in the corner, splashed her face and looked at her reflection in the mirror.

A woman with a rat's nest of hair and a wrinkled gown looked back at her, a portrait of a slattern after a night on the town. She had to get more clothing. This cotton dress was nice, or had been nice. Now it was wrinkled, and she doubted there was an iron in this apartment. Even if there were, the thought of heating it and spending the next hours flattening the material to make it presentable was too nasty to face before coffee and breakfast.

The two piece skirt and jacket set needed washing after having been worn several days in a row. The only dress left to her was the blue silk, and she had been saving that for a special occasion, dinner at a respectable restaurant, at least. The bustle contraption she still wore was twisted, giving her the look of someone with a large hump on one hip. Her wild hair, which remained miraculously in the upsweep Gisele had fashioned yesterday, had wisps of red poking out in every direction. Cute. A
selfie
right now would be hilarious. She'd look like an extra in
Les Miserables
, a street walker at best. She'd been exhausted last night, and fell asleep as soon as her body hit the mattress.

And Adrian just let her sleep without trying to remove her dress to prevent wrinkles.

She glanced back at the bed, where he lay, his torso bare above the sheet as he curled on his side with his arm beneath his pillow. The bruise on his shoulder caught her attention. She crept closer to the bed, and bent over him from behind to examine it more carefully. Sure enough, he had a nasty bruise forming on the heel of his shoulder, and a gash on his forearm.

Evidence pointing to a midnight prowl met her eyes as she followed the trail of clothing discarded about his side of the bed. The old cloak Dan had come to this century with had dirt on the back, as if someone had rolled in the street with it on. The black military boots Adrian had recently replaced with modern shoes had been tossed haphazardly in the corner as if he'd worn them in the night. Fine white dust clung to them, a familiar site in the area as a new church, the Sacre-Coeur Basilica, was being built a few blocks east of their lodgings on the summit of Montmartre Hill.

He must not have been able to sleep last night, after all the sights he'd taken in at the exposition and had gone for a walk. She couldn't blame him for that. For a man of his time, the inventions of the late nineteenth century must seem miraculous in the extreme.

Tara picked up his black breeches and shook them out to remove the dust, and draped them over the chair near the bed. The memories stirred of months ago, at Glengarra Castle, when she caught him sneaking out in the night in his vigilante attire. They had quarreled over it, as she feared for his safety. He made light of her concerns back then, as he was determined to fight against the oppression of his people.

Those days were gone. There was no one to fight here, no need for him to go out in the night and confront soldiers harassing his tenants. He was an Irish lord without a castle, without a tenancy to protect and without bullies to confront. He must find this simple existence quite dull. Hopefully they would come up with a way to secure his funds at the bank and move to a better neighborhood where he could resume his life as Lord Dillon, albeit as a displaced Irishman seeking refuge on French soil.