He wrapped his free arm around her waist to pull her away and only succeeded in loosening the sheet she wore. It dropped to her waist, and then the soaked material slid to the floor of the balcony. He pitched the coal scuttle over the railing and wrapped her in his arms. Their playful wrestling quickly turned into a fevered discovery of rain-slick bodies as they explored each other with their hands, lips, and tongues.
He was of a mind to go back to the bed, but she didn't want to leave the fresh breeze. They made it as far as the thickly carpeted floor just inside the French doors.
His plan to take it slow this time was easier made than played. First, he planned to kiss every inch of her body, bared to his hungry eyes in the moonlight. He started at her toes, then ankles and knees. When he reached junction of her thighs, she pulsed almost immediately. He backed off a little.
Eleanor burned for him. So close, so close. Like climbing a mountain, yet she couldn't reach the top. She dug her heels into the carpet and raised her hips. With his tongue and hand he brought her to the brink and back, to the brink again and again, until she was a mindless mass of quivering need. "Now, Shermont, damn it, now," she demanded, even though it sounded more like breathless begging.
"James. My real name is James." For some reason, he needed to hear her say his name.
She did… as he entered her… and as she soared to the heights. And again, softly, as she slid down the other side of the mountain.
He held her close. Eleanor felt so right in his arms, fit exactly as if she belonged there. He wanted to sleep with her in his arms and wake with her. He must have dozed off to that pleasant dream, because he woke to find her, stubborn chin resting on the back of her hands folded on his chest. He'd never understood the feminine need to talk at such a time. Now he realized it was a piece of biological good fortune that gave the man a chance to regenerate for the next session.
She smiled. "What did you mean when you said your real name is James?"
He hesitated.
"Does this have to do with the elder Shermont finding you on the road?"
"I see the gossips' tongues have been wagging."
"Within the hour of my meeting you," she said with a grin. "An unbelievable story."
"That part is true. When I came to my senses and Shermont asked my name, I remembered nothing. He insisted I must have a name, so I chose James. Somehow it felt right." He picked up her hand and placed it over his heart. "In here. Not that it's been any help determining my identity, but at least I know part of the name I chose is truly mine."
"Part?"
"I chose Bond as a last name."
She couldn't stop a guffaw.
"What's so amusing? James Bond is a perfectly good name."
"Yes, yes. It is."
"Then why are you—"
"There is a rather famous… character by that name in my… country. Wait until my father…" She rolled to her back. Her father would find it amusing, too. If she ever got a chance to tell him. What would he think if he didn't receive her usual Sunday night phone call? Would he worry?
Shermont rolled to his side. "I heard you lost your father in the war. I'm sorry."
She blinked away tears. "It just sort of hit me. How much I miss him."
She sat up, but he wrapped his arms around her waist.
"Stay with me," he said.
She turned and looked at him. So tempting. For a few moments she was lulled by the thought. But… what did Shermont really mean? Her common sense returned with a jolt. She gently broke his hold, scooted off the bed, and gathered her clothes. "I have to get back before I'm missed." Both to her room tonight and to her own time.
"I understand, even if I'm not pleased. We'll find time to be together during the fortnight I planned to stay. After that, we'll think of something. Until then, name a time and place and I'll be there."
"I… I'm afraid that won't be possible. I'll be leaving to my own… for home, I mean, London, and then back to America, probably right after the ball."
Her statement was a kick in his gut. In order to give himself a few moments to process what she'd said, he rose from the bed, donned a robe, and poured himself a drink. Did he need more proof she was one of the foreign agents? Who was she working with? His heart argued with his brain and lost.
He turned to face her and toasted her with his glass. "Well, then, my sweet, perhaps we'll run across each other in London before you sail."
Her stricken expression punched him in the chest. Then he remembered she was his lead to the other agent or agents, and he certainly shouldn't alienate her. He forced a smile to his lips. "My apologies. I allowed my disappointment to speak uncensored." He took her in his arms and held her gently, despite her poker-stiff spine. "Please say you forgive me and will let me make it up to you."
He gave her a charming smile and caressed her cheek, but to her his words rang insincere. Eleanor tried to hide her confusion by dressing as quickly as possible. Did she do something wrong? She'd thought the lovemaking had been pretty damn good, the best. He couldn't have expected her to be inexperienced. Maybe men of the time didn't have a high opinion of women who responded enthusiasti cally. Unable to voice a lie at that point, she nodded quickly, before ducking out of his embrace and scooting out the door.
Eleanor dashed away her tears before they could fall. Making love with him had been a huge mistake on many levels. At least getting pregnant was out of the question because she had kept taking birth control pills after her breakup, and even though she'd missed a few days, that possibility was remote. There was the issue of unprotected sex. Stupid, stupid. STDs were quite present during the Regency.
But her biggest mistake was not guarding her heart against falling in love. She would have to remember that, for whatever time she had left. She refused to consider it was already too late.
Shermont watched her safely back to her room. She didn't turn around or glance back. He wasn't sure what he would have done if she had. Wave? Blow a kiss? Ha! He would have to do more than that to get back into her good graces. Even if he must woo her relentlessly, he needed to stay by her side as much as possible to learn the identities of her possible cohorts. At least, he chose to believe this was the reason motivating his decision.
Twelve
ELEANOR HAD FALLEN INTO AN UNEASY SLEEP BY repeating a litany of all the things she missed: sneakers, toilets, M&Ms. When she woke with a toothache, she added twenty-first-century dentistry to the list. Apparently, using her finger to apply the tooth powder had not been effective, even though she'd mixed it half and half with salt as instructed on the can. Twilla had proudly pointed out the wooden toothbrush with boar's hair bristles, but Eleanor, who hadn't known boars even had hair, couldn't stand the idea of putting such an offensive substance in her mouth.
She sat by the window, her hand cupping her sore jaw. She also missed extra-strength Tylenol. To take her mind off the pain, she added items to her catalog. Her car. Shopping online. Dove dark chocolate. Lights and music available at the flick of a switch. And her cell phone. How could she have forgotten to add that to the list? It was one of the top ten—right up there with hot and cold running water and flush toilets.
A knock on the door interrupted her mental exercise.
"You're not dressed," Deirdre said, entering Eleanor's bedroom.
"Thank you for that statement of the obvious."
"Oooo. And grumpy," Mina said as she followed her sister. "I hoped after the hours you spent with Teddy last night that you and he—"
"I did not spend time with Teddy. I didn't even see him."
Deirdre flashed Mina a smug look. "See. I told you so."
"Then who—"
"Why don't you two go downstairs and deal with your guests. I didn't sleep well due to this toothache and won't—"
"I know what to do for that," Deirdre said. She used the bellpull to summon the maid and requested oil of cloves, red flannel, and willow bark tea. She ordered Eleanor back to bed, and Mina set up a small table within reach for some books and fetched a warm shawl.
"I'm not an invalid," Eleanor complained.
"We're just trying to make you comfortable."
Twilla brought the supplies. Even though Eleanor doubted the archaic remedies would work, she submitted to their ministrations for no other reason than it distracted the girls. After dousing the tooth with oil of cloves, Deirdre wrapped the flannel under Eleanor's chin and tied it on top of her head, which looked positively ridiculous. The willow bark tea was bitter and tasted, no surprise, of cloves.
"Now, you try to get some rest," Deirdre said.
"You look terrible," Mina added.
"We'll check on you in a few hours, and if you're not any better, we'll send someone to fetch the barber from the village."
"The barber?" Eleanor asked.
"Very experienced in tooth extractions," Deirdre said. "Takes care of all the locals, but, of course, if you'd rather wait, we can fetch one of those modern trained dentists from London. I'm sure Old John will do as good a job."
"No, no. I'm sure everything will be fine." No way was Eleanor going to let the local barber near her mouth. He probably didn't wash his hands and most likely had never heard of sterilizing his equipment. "I'll try to sleep now," she added, hoping the girls would take the hint.
They left, and Eleanor immediately got up and paced the room.
Despite the attractions of the time period, including one too sexy Lord Shermont, she wanted to go home. She could never be happy without the conveniences she'd taken for granted all her life.
"All right, you ghosts," she said. "Manifest your selves or whatever it is you do. We need to talk."
No response.
"I did what you asked, and now I want you to send me back."
No response.
Then she heard movement in the sitting room and rushed to slam open the door, startling Twilla as she set a large arrangement of pink and white roses on the table. She almost caused the girl to drop the porcelain vase.
"Oh, miss, I didn't mean to wake you," Twilla said, using her long apron to wipe up the water she'd spilled from the vase. "Lord Digby sent you these." She pulled a note from her pocket and handed it to Eleanor.
"They are beautiful," she said. The note from Teddy was a formal wish for her speedy recovery— reserved, proper, and impersonal. She tossed the note on the table.
After Eleanor reassured her she didn't need anything, Twilla left.
In truth, the treatment had made her feel a bit better. She wandered to the window and watched the other guests playing at archery. Shermont scored a bulls-eye, and all the women cheered. Eleanor was almost thankful for an excuse not to be down there. She wasn't sure she was strong enough to resist his charms.
Even from a distance, she could see Mina and Deirdre seemed determined to catch his attention. And their so-called chaperone was nowhere in sight. The naïve girls could still get into trouble.
Was that why the ghosts had not yet sent her home? Would they send her back if she failed?
Eleanor paced again. She couldn't do anything cooped up in her rooms, and she had to do something other than mope around in self-pity. She spotted the girls' sewing boxes and got a brainstorm. Digging in one, she found white embroidery thread. She cut a length of fourteen inches and separated one of the six twisted strands to use as dental floss. She dislodged a piece of food. After several saltwater rinses, she felt well enough to get dressed.
She heard Mina and Deirdre moving around in the sitting room and opened the door from the bedroom to find the girls had brought a guest.
Shermont stood in the open doorway to the hall and refused Mina's invitation to enter. He extended both hands, one with a simple bouquet of cheerful daisies and the other with a recently published book,
Mansfield Park.
"I thought you might enjoy this."
"Thank you," Eleanor said, touched by his thought fulness. Just seeing him brought back vivid memories of the previous night, causing the back of her neck and other body parts to heat. She didn't want to get any closer, so she asked him to lay the gifts on the table by the door.
"I'm glad you're feeling better," he said.
"Of course, we are, too," Deirdre said. "What a rapid recovery. One might even say miraculous."
"Yes," Mina said. "When Lord Shermont insisted on bringing his trinkets in person, we told him you were probably asleep. Where is your red flannel?"
"I believe you are mistaken," Shermont said. He leaned against the doorjamb. "I asked you to deliver my best wishes personally, and you insisted it would mean so much more if I accompanied you. Though I admit, due to my concern, I wasn't difficult to convince."
Deirdre glared at Mina as if the younger girl had let the cat out of the bag. Indeed, she had.