Roses in Moonlight (12 page)

“I don’t want her calling anyone until she’s given me the lace.”

“I don’t have the lace,” Samantha managed.

Derrick waved Emily’s phone at her. “At least you admit that you know what I’m talking about.”

She wondered how someone so good-looking could be so stubborn and unreasonable. “Is it your lace?”

“No,” he said shortly. “It belongs to my client.”

“Are you a cop?”

He pursed his lips. “No.”

“Then how do you know anything about it?”

Derrick looked at Emily. “I’m finding it difficult to believe I’m having a conversation with a thief. Tell me why I just don’t rip her bag out of her hands and get back what she’s stolen?”

“I didn’t steal it,” Samantha said.

“No, you were working for other people who stole it,” he said, shooting her a dark look, “which I’m sure you knew.”

“But I had no idea—”

“Ha,” he said triumphantly. “Then you admit you have it.”

She started to protest but realized that maybe there was no point. She took a deep breath. “I had it,” she said. “But I had no idea that I had it. It was hidden inside a piece of Victorian embroidery that I was asked to bring south to London.”

“Unbelievable,” he said with a gusty sigh. “And you didn’t think to question any of this?”

“Why would I?” she asked. “The Cookes are friends of my brother’s—”

“Who has terrible taste in friends,” he muttered. He dragged his hands through his hair and looked heavenward. “At least the lace is safe. We can worry about the rest of it later.” He held out his hand. “I’ll take it and make sure it gets back to the right place.”

“And why in the world would I trust you with it?”

“Because I have been charged by its
owner
, Lord Epworth, with getting it back,” he said, with exaggerated patience, “and get it back I shall. Now, do the right thing and hand it over before I call Scotland Yard and counter every thing you’ve said.”

“You work for Lord Epworth?” she asked in surprise. “Really?”

“Yes, really,” he said in a perfect American accent. “Relinquish it so I can ring up the poor man and ease his mind.”

She was on her feet without quite knowing how she’d gotten there. She paced a bit, then turned and looked at the other two in the room. Emily was sitting on the couch, the picture of elegance. Derrick was frowning at her, as if he couldn’t decide whether to shout or simply take her bag and get the lace himself. She took a deep breath, but that didn’t calm her nerves any.

“I don’t have it,” she said.

“Of course you do,” Derrick said.

“No, I don’t.”

He folded his arms over his chest. “Prove it.”

She supposed since she didn’t have a phone, there was nothing in her bag that was really worth saving except her wallet, which was uninteresting, and her notebook, which she was just going to display, not hand over. He’d already flipped through her notebook and handed it back to her in the car, so she supposed there was nothing else she had that would shock him. She pulled the strap over her head, then emptied the bag onto the coffee table. Derrick only looked down, then at her.

“Where is it?”

“Probably with my phone,” she said, “which I probably dropped while hiding the lace.”

He blinked. “You did what?”

“I hid the lace,” she repeated slowly. “You know, as in putting it somewhere out of the way?”

“You
hid
the lace?” he asked incredulously. “Where?”

She gestured behind her, because she had a very good sense of direction. “Back there. In that street fair.”

He swayed. “You hid a priceless piece of Elizabethan lace in a
street fair
?”

“Under a planter,” she said defensively. “And it was in archival quality plastic, not a paper bag. It’ll be fine.” She paused. “Actually, I’ll admit that the location worried me, because that seemed to be a rougher part of the fair than I started in—”

“What?”

She looked at him. “Where you and that guy were swordfighting. I’d hidden it just before I walked into that group of, well, bad guys.”

He blanched. She had never seen the color disappear from someone’s face like that before. It was, she had to admit, a reaction that seemed a little more than circumstances called for, but then again, it hadn’t been her lace she was hiding.

But she would probably be liable for losing it.

She realized she was swaying only because Emily had caught her by the arm and was holding her up.

“I think what you need,
chérie
, is a hot bath. Let’s get that started, then I’ll order something for you to eat.”

Samantha went with her because Emily was an irresistible force of manners and chicness and actually the thought of a hot anything sounded good. She looked back over her shoulder before Emily drew her inside a bedroom. Derrick was sitting on the couch with his head in his hands.

She couldn’t blame him for that. She wasn’t exactly sure she hadn’t assumed that very same position when she’d realized what she had in her bag.

She sank down onto the edge of the bed and watched as Emily opened up a suitcase full of clothes and laid things out. Maybe she intended to put on a fashion show for Derrick.

“You have your bath, Samantha,” Emily said, nodding toward the bathroom. “I’ll go keep watch in the sitting room.”

Samantha could hardly believe she had found any sort of ally in a world gone mad. She simply looked off into nothing for a moment or two before she turned to Emily. “Why should I trust you?”

“Because I don’t think you’re a thief.” Emily zipped up the suitcase and set it on the floor. “You look a little lost to me.”

Samantha pointed toward the door. “
He
still thinks I’m a thief.”

“Derrick can be intense.” She looked at Samantha. “Is that the word I want?”

“I think
jerk
is a better choice,” Samantha muttered. “I’d say I would reserve judgment, but I don’t plan on being in his august presence for that long.” But while she had answers, she supposed she couldn’t be blamed for wanting them. “Who is he?”

“Just a man.”

She shot Emily a look. “Please.”

“He’s not nefarious, if that’s what concerns you. His cousin is the Earl of Assynt, after all, and he’s a very lovely man.”

Samantha wondered if things could get any stranger. She was being kidnapped by a man who was related to an earl and she was being taken in hand by that earl’s employee. She looked over her shoulder on the off chance there was a ghost there to add a bit more character to the party. She was very relieved to find there wasn’t.

“I’ll leave you your privacy,” Emily said, “and remind our Derrick to find his manners.”

“I’m not going to be here long enough for him to manage that.”

“That is, of course, your decision,” Emily conceded. “I will keep watch, though, if you’d like to change.”

Samantha gestured to the clothes on the bed. “Who do those belong to?”

“You,
chérie
,” Emily said.

“How . . .”

“I will tell you,” Emily promised, “but perhaps not now. You’re perfectly safe here. I’ll see to it.”

Samantha considered that. At least she could maybe exit the place looking so different that no one would recognize her and follow her.

She was definitely starting to feel as if she’d wandered into some sort of Impressionist painting. Everything around her was starting to take on a sort of splotchy, color-driven, shapeless kind of form. She watched Emily walk toward the door, then waited until the door was closed before she locked it, then looked around for something to put in front of it. A chair seemed rather less substantial than she would have liked, but she stacked a very expensive-looking crystal vase on it. At least that way she would hear it when it crashed. What she would do then, she had no idea, but maybe something would come to her in the moment.

She walked over to the window and looked down. Too high to jump and no ledge to crawl out on. She was stuck.

She headed for the bathroom. Maybe water would help her think. It usually did.

Though she had the feeling that not even a shower to be found at the Ritz could possibly manage to inspire her with a solution to her current problem.

D
errick
looked up as Emily pulled the door shut behind her. He had to admit he was perhaps rather more grateful to see her than he should admit to. There was something about her ability to walk into any situation and take charge that was unaccountably soothing.

She wasn’t his cousin by blood, but she might as well have been. They had spent part of their youth together when she hadn’t been in France, she as the granddaughter of Madame Gies, the Cameron cook, and he as the grandson of old Alistair Cameron’s valet. Never mind that his grandfather had actually been Alistair’s cousin. When one threw the current laird Robert’s genealogy into the mix, the family tree became very convoluted indeed. But he was grateful, as he always had been, for family, no matter how distant the connections.

“You look as if you’ve had a difficult day,” Emily said, sinking down on the couch gracefully. “I can watch over your charge for a bit if you’d like to go rest before dinner.”

“Good,” Derrick said shortly. “I’m liable to kill her if I have to have anything else to do with her.”

“What you need,
mon cher
, is a lesson in manners.”

He rubbed his hands over his face. “I’m sorry, Emily. Thank you very kindly for coming to my rescue tonight. I’m assuming you brought clothes.”

“For you both, though
you
don’t deserve them.”

He would have smiled, but he was too damned tired to. “I daresay I don’t.”

“Go have a little rest,” she said, pointing to the doorway of the other bedroom. “Behave better when you’ve finished.”

He rose, kissed her hand, then thanked her very kindly before he walked into the other bedroom and shut the door. He knew he should have snatched what sleep he could, but all he could do was pace. The things that were currently causing him stress were so many and so varied, there was no possible way he would manage to even close his eyes.

Before he had truly begun to wear a trench into the carpet, a knock sounded on his door. He walked over and opened it to find Oliver there, gear in his hands. He took his own pack that he’d given to Oliver on his way through the time gate as well as Samantha Drummond’s that Oliver had obviously collected from her hotel.

“Anything interesting?”

“I just shoved her gear into the pack, mate, I didn’t paw through it.”

“Leaving that to me?”

“You don’t pay me enough for that sort of work,” Oliver said, straight-faced. He started to go back out the door, then turned and looked at Derrick. “Several lads outside are showing more interest in your doings than’s polite, if you’re curious.”

“I was. Thank you.”

Oliver shrugged. “Happy to be of service. Any news about the item of interest?”

“She stashed it.”

“Where?”

“Under a planter.”

“Hope no one thinks to water anytime soon.”

Derrick decided that it was best not to reply.

Oliver nodded toward his arm. “That doesn’t look good.”

“It just needs a wash.”

Oliver walked over, ripped off the sleeve of Derrick’s T-shirt, then sliced the sleeve into a strip with a knife he produced from his pocket. He tied it around the wound. “Shall I ring Lady Sunshine?”

Derrick wasn’t sure he would ever get used to calling his sister-in-law that, which was probably for the best. She never would have answered him if he had.

“Nay,” he said, through gritted teeth, “the throbbing will subside soon enough. A clean shirt will do the trick for the moment.”

“Make it a dark one.”

“I thought I would.”

Oliver frowned at him. “I’ll be around,” he said, starting out the door. “Perhaps closer than I intended.”

“Be careful.”

“I always am. I might sleep for a couple of hours, if you think you’ll be doing the same.”

Derrick supposed he had no choice, even if it meant sleeping on the floor in front of the doorway so Samantha Drummond didn’t escape during the night. He nodded, promised Oliver he’d text him in the morning, then shut the door and locked it. He changed his shirt, wincing at the pull in his arm, then decided that perhaps it wasn’t too late to ring someone whose advice he valued.

The phone only rang twice before the call was picked up.

“Ah, Derrick, lad,” a male voice said, sounding pleased. “Schedule’s freed up for a little adventure, is it?”

“I’m afraid not, Jamie,” Derrick said. “I rang you for advice.”

James MacLeod purred. If there was anything he loved, it was to immerse himself fully in the role of elder statesman on whatever subject might come up. “I’m prepared to hear about anything.”

Derrick had no doubts that was true, or that Jamie had heard just about everything at some point in his life. “I’ll be brief,” he said. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard any rumors about Lord Epworth having a piece of lace go missing.”

“What I heard was he had a fit when you broke into his very secure hall and lifted said piece of lace from practically under his nose in fifteen minutes.”

“It was actually eight and a half,” Derrick corrected politely. “It would have been eight, but I had to stop and tickle the Pomeranian under the chin and feed him his favorite doggie treats.”

“I suppose we can all be relieved you haven’t chosen a life of crime,” Jamie said dryly. “Very well, so the lace has gone missing in truth this time. I’m assuming you’re hunting for it?”

“Aye,” Derrick agreed. “It’s just where it’s gone missing that’s presenting a bit of a problem.”

“Tell me about it.”

Derrick could just imagine Jamie settling comfortably in his expensive leather chair in his thinking room, as he called it, and flexing his fingers purposefully.

“In brief,” Derrick said, “it was given to a courier who managed to lose it in Elizabethan England.”

“Interesting.”

“She put it under a planter.”

“Hope it was wrapped well.”

Derrick pursed his lips. “That thought has occurred to me as well.”

Jamie clucked his tongue. “I don’t think I need to tell you how perilous it is to leave two of the same thing in the same place.”

“How perilous?”

“The deviation from the natural order of things might not be so noticeable at first,” Jamie said slowly, “but I’m not exaggerating when I say that the fabric of time becomes . . . hmmm . . . let’s say it becomes
disturbed
when things are added that shouldn’t be there.” He paused. “In some cases, when it comes to individuals perhaps, I have come to believe that those additions were meant to be. But when it comes to tangible things—”

“Bad?”

“They have a way of turning up where they shouldn’t and the result is never pleasant. Do you remember that fellow traveler we acquired during that trip a couple of months ago?”

“Vividly.” They had spent a week on board a Victorian frigate with a C. S. Forester nut who had heard a rumor about Jamie’s familiarity with time periods not his own and had been determined to test its veracity. He had followed them back in time, then continued to follow them onto the ship. It was only when he succeeded in poaching the captain’s sword that they had realized who he was and what he was up to.

And, well, Jamie was right. That sort of thing belonged in its proper time and place. He and Jamie had had a hell of a time getting the sword back where it belonged. They had managed, again just barely, to also get the would-be Horatio Hornblower back to the current day, but the man had eventually had to be institutionalized.

Time travel wasn’t for the faint of heart.

“I’d pop back and get it, were I you.”

Derrick could see the wisdom in it. “There’s just one problem,” he said slowly. “I’m not sure that the woman who stashed the lace will come along. And I’m not sure I want her to.”

“Can she give you directions?”

“I don’t think she will, even if she could,” Derrick admitted. “I think I could find it myself. She didn’t venture too far afield.”

“Then what’s the trouble?”

Derrick hardly knew how to voice his thought, but he hadn’t called just to chat. “I was thinking,” he began slowly, “that perhaps if I used a gate to simply go backward a day, just to yesterday, and managed to get the lace back from her before all this madness . . .”

Jamie made a noise that wasn’t quite disapproval, but it was definitely warning.

“Have you ever tried it?” Derrick asked.

“Aye,” was all Jamie said.

Derrick waited, but Jamie didn’t say anything else. It had to have been terrible, else he would have described the experience in minute detail. Derrick sighed.

“Very well, I’ll go back to the proper time myself.”

“Want company?”

Derrick smiled. “I think I’ll manage, though I’ll try to send word if things go awry.”

“I’ll keep an eye on the Tower inmate list.”

Derrick would have laughed, but he didn’t suppose he dared. “That would be very kind.”

Jamie laughed a little. “You’ll be fine, laddie. We’ll go have ourselves a goodly adventure somewhere safe after you’ve restored old Epworth’s treasure to him.”

Derrick thanked Jamie for his help and rang off. He considered, wished he hadn’t ditched his Elizabethan costume, then decided there was nothing to be done about it. He would scrounge something out of a rubbish bin, perhaps, and see if he couldn’t find the treasure. He couldn’t lay claim to many skills, but he had a very good sense of direction. He would retrace Samantha Drummond’s steps, then see what he could find. With any luck, he would run across her phone as well.

He told Emily he was going out, then left the suite.

•   •   •

T
wo
hours later, he was sitting back on the couch, suppressing the urge to indulge in colorful language. He had sent Emily home courtesy of Rufus, who also never seemed to sleep, then settled down to brood. That he hadn’t slept very well in a pair of days most likely contributed to his foul mood. The fact that the gate hadn’t worked was also adding to his unhappiness.

He turned his mind back to the problem at hand, namely figuring out how to get back in time to rescue Epworth’s lace. Perhaps he had to have Samantha with him. Perhaps he would never get back to where he needed to go and the lace would languish back where it had come from, though now there were two copies of it where there should have been just one. The fabric of time would be forever marred and Jamie would frown. Derrick supposed he would have deserved it if Jamie had suggested a wee trip out to his training field where he could show his displeasure by using Derrick’s gut as a resting place for his very well-loved Claymore.

The other bedroom door opened, startling him. He looked up to find Samantha Drummond standing there, dressed in clothing he was sure she never would have bought on her own. She had gone from looking about forty to looking like she was scarce sixteen. She was wearing jeans, a trendy shirt, and a sweater that he would have bet good sterling was cashmere. He would get a bill for the entire outfit, he was sure.

She was, he had to admit dispassionately, rather pretty now that she was out of her librarian’s gear. Her hair was still behind her—in a braid, no doubt—and she still exuded an air of a woman who had grown up in the relative safety and innocence of the 1950s, but that only added to her charm.

Of course, he wasn’t interested in her in more than a purely academic way, but he was a man, after all. It would have been impolite not to at least look.

She looked at him, lifted her chin, then marched over to pull her bag up off the table. She pulled it over her head, then continued her purposeful march to the door. She stopped in surprise at the sight of her backpack sitting there next to it.

“Where did this come from?” she asked suspiciously.

“It was fetched for you.”

“I don’t suppose I should bother asking how you knew where to go get it.”

“I don’t suppose you should.”

She shouldered her backpack, muttering under her breath what he was certain were very uncomplimentary things.

“They’re still out there, you know,” he said mildly.

She paused. “Who?”

“Those two lads who were searching for us in the fair today,” he said, “as well as another two who have apparently decided to join in the fun.”

He heard her quick intake of breath. It wasn’t quite a gasp, but it was close.

“You’re lying.”

“Test it and see, if you like.”

She had her hand on the door and was wearing what she no doubt considered to be a look of fierceness. He would have smiled if he hadn’t suspected her of nefarious deeds. Then again, she didn’t look at all capable of nefarious deeds. She looked like a fresh-scrubbed, wide-eyed Yank who was completely out of her depth.

“You know,” he said slowly, “we might both be served by something to eat. I think I could order us dinner that wouldn’t be poisoned.”

She didn’t move. “And if I rip the phone away from you and start screaming?”

“I’ll have the concierge ring the bobbies and they’ll lock you up in Bedlam.”

She turned to look at him. “You’re bluffing. You don’t have Bedlam anymore over here.”

“I think there might be worse things.” He looked at her evenly. “I don’t think you want to test it.”

She pressed herself back against the door. “Where’s Emily?”

“I sent her home.”

“If you think I’m going to stay in this room for one more minute with you—” She paused for breath. “You’re crazy.”

“The alternative is, I assure you, much worse.”

She glared at him. “I don’t know you well enough to dislike you, but I would if I did.”

“You were couriering a piece of lace stolen from one of my clients by your employer,” he said with a shrug, “and that makes you rather unpopular with me.”

“I already told you,” she began through gritted teeth. “I had no idea that lace was in the package!”

“But you were willing to carry the package—”

“Well, of course I was,” she said, looking at him as if he were the one who was daft. “The Cookes are friends of my brother’s and I’m working for them. Lydia asked me to run that embroidery down to London for her, so I said yes. What else was I supposed to say?”

He sat back and studied her for a moment or two. “You could have asked her why she wanted it delivered.”