Unless...unless she did something about that.

Vaguely remembering something about changing history, how it would lead to catastrophe, fluttered through her mind. But that was from the movies. This was-what had the muses called it? Her glimpse. She could do whatever she wanted here. h.e.l.l, the muses had tried to pressure her to do exactly that, whatever she d.a.m.ned well pleased.

Pulling a silky blanket from her bed and the box Clio had given her, she claimed a chaise near the unlit fireplace. She smiled at her iPhone with headphones, amazed that it had been only a little more than a couple days ago she'd been back in Boston, worried that her dean would fire her, worried that Dr. Peabody was stealing her research, worried about so many things. Now, she'd-she'd fallen for a lord general who would die. Not only that, there was no proof if he was a womanizer or not. Pushing the earbuds in, she cranked her Amy Lee playlist, thinking.

Ben had always told her that she'd been brave to pursue her career in military history, considering how unsupportive her mother had been. But she'd never accepted the compliment. That hadn't been bravery. It had been part of the air she breathed to learn more, to read the books, write the essays, thesis, then her dissertation. There might have been a little courage involved when she'd told her mother the truth of why she lived in Boston, but not much. If she were honest with herself, then she could count the number of times she'd truly been brave. Those were the times some voice inside her had screamed for her to not follow her mother's advice, and she hadn't. When she'd listened to herself, her instincts, she'd signed the divorce papers and gotten rid of Cliff once and for all. And while she'd been with Will, she'd kissed him. She had kissed him.

That had been brave. She'd followed her heart.

But where was it going to get her?

The clock over the mantle read that it was close to three in the morning. Erva's eyes flitted closed repeatedly, but she fought it as much as she could. She thought of her wardrobe back at home, so ladylike and proper. How she'd shop with Ben and he'd try to get her to buy leather pants or a coat she really wanted. How she'd had an obsession with having blue hair before it was cool. Even the tattoos she had lacked color; they were all white. White doves, symbolic of how she wanted to fly away.

Well, she had. She'd flown a h.e.l.l of a long way away. Here, she was more than two hundred years, and two hundred miles from her sad home, which she'd decorated in a drab beige, too afraid to put any color in her apartment. Too afraid to paint her own life with whatever she d.a.m.ned well pleased. Everything had been a secret, like beige can make stains secret, can cover them up and never reveal them. Her life was beige.

So much for that, she huffed. Okay, so she worried Will had a couple lovers on the side. She could ask him about that, rather than run away like a scared girl, scared of falling in love. No, better, she would ask him about Miss Emma and Miss Lydia tomorrow. She'd get to the bottom of this once and for all. And then, depending on what he told her, what would she do?

If he was a womanizer, it seemed clear that she would take her losses and return home, write a h.e.l.l of an article about him, and eventually move on. It hadn't been the first time she'd accidentally fallen for a jerk of a man. But something in her knew this was different, Will was different. Cliff had been charismatic and charming, and she'd never seen the other side of him who would use people for money, s.e.x, or whatever he'd wanted at the moment. Cliff had been acting. Erva thought Will was just himself, a lonely widower who'd suffered through so much, yet under all of it was such a good man.

She was scared. Her emotional garbage had just gotten in the way, spiraled uncontrollably down, chaining her to the idea to turn Will into Cliff. On paper, Will was Cliff, or very similar. But she knew propaganda had demonized more than one British officer who more than likely never deserved the backlash. It had been war and during such conflict, as tradition, it was best to see your enemy as being less than human. She knew this psychological play had been developed eons ago. Still, it never sat right with her that Will, after his death, would be condemned so.

Now she knew why. She took a shaky breath, as she realized tomorrow would be such a big day for her, for Will too. She'd ask him about the mistresses. Already, he'd told her that the rumors had been just that during his marriage. Nonetheless he was a single man now, so he could have a couple dalliances. Well, in her time it was considered acceptable. However, she wouldn't give her heart to a man who couldn't give his own to her. It would hurt to find out if he was sleeping around, but-and this was what scared her the most-what if he wasn't? What if he wanted her, just her?

With this thought, her lids finally closed and sleep gently took over. But before it did, she thought she felt a woman tuck the blanket around her feet a little more securely. She wondered if it was maybe one of Clio's sisters, because the dark haired woman wore something like a toga and seemed to glow like the muses. Or was it just a dream, since the woman had whispered soothingly, "Be brave, Minerva. I need you to be brave for my Will."

Chapter 17.

Sleep had not been kind to Will. He'd been either worried about Erva and how she'd run from him, or the eternal erection he had that made getting comfortable impossible. So he'd hardly rested more than a few hours. Still, this day was an important one, for his army needed to be at the ready. Tomorrow they would attack at Kip's Bay, then Manhattan.

Rising out of bed in the early morning, he stood before his desk and glanced at his parchment and quills. He needed to write a letter to General Howe and ask to resign. He'd needed to do it yesterday. Glancing down his body, his c.o.c.k seemed to take on a life of its own, almost looking as though it wanted to write the letter for him. Despite his worry over Erva's sudden departure after he'd tried to give her pleasure, also in the night he'd, well, tried to remedy his erection, it had not dwindled much. It was no wonder as he thought over and over about the way she tasted, her night jasmine scent all over him, the way she'd clung to his fingers as she came. Lord, that had been beautiful. She was beautiful.

He shuddered thinking of her body, her responses, and the way she'd listened to him, and held him in her arms after he'd revealed the story of his wife. It had touched his heart. He knew it then. He loved her. Mayhap he'd loved her from the b.u.mbling beginning, thundering into her chamber the way he had, and her appearing to be a sun G.o.ddess rather than a human. Yes, she seemed more related to Apollo than anything he'd ever known before. She was wildly talented, brilliant, and had a heart as warm as sunbeams. However, his stomach soured as he recalled that he'd practically forced himself on her last night.

He raked his hand through his already disheveled hair. Granted, she had seemed eager to become lovers, but he knew better. He knew it wasn't the right time. He'd rushed things. The lady needed more time to think, more time to know what she wanted. He was, after all, not just a weary warrior, p.r.o.ne to having nightmares about battle, but the nightmares he had about his wife would wake him in the night, make him claw out, searching for answers as to why his wife would take her own life. He was damaged and felt old much of the time. He knew he looked older than Erva, for she could hardly pa.s.s for a girl of two and twenty. G.o.d, she was beautiful. But it was what lay in her heart that made him realize he'd given her his.

He sat at the desk and tried to compose the letter to Howe. Yet every pa.s.sing second he recalled something more about her, what she had said, the way she felt, the way he felt with her arms wrapped around his neck. No longer able to concentrate on basic sentence structures if it weren't a.s.sociated with Erva, he settled back to worrying. What if she didn't want him? He had managed to bungle things last night. Like charging into her room upon meeting her, he'd yet again stormed through when he knew she might need more time. He hated to admit it though, but he wasn't as sorry as he thought he should have been, especially when he remembered the way her o.r.g.a.s.m had made her rock into him, made her glow like pink gold in his dark chamber. Still, he needed to do the right thing by her, give her time, and try to keep his d.a.m.ned hands to himself.

Glancing at a clock, he realized he'd lost too many minutes to write the letter and needed to hurry to train his men. He'd try to talk to The General about needing to buy out his commission later. How could he tell Erva his plans? How, indeed, when she needed time to think? And all he could think about was creating a life with her. Would she be pleased to live in his manor back in England? Since his wife's death, he'd removed most of the furniture and decorations. The barn she'd hung herself in had been destroyed by his bare hands and burnt to ashes. However, the large house was naked and in need of color. So like him, he thought. But Erva had given him more color already than he thought possible. She'd changed everything.

He cleaned and dressed in a hurry. Paul came in with the day's correspondence, newspapers, and coffee. G.o.d, the man was good to him.

"Paul?" he asked, suddenly curious. "If you weren't my man of business, what would you do?"

His stocky friend stiffened and looked at the unlit fireplace. "I suppose I'd be like my father, if you hadn't taken me in. I'd be a fisherman in Liverpool, barely able to support my wife and children."

"No," Will stepped closer to Paul. "I mean, do you want to do something different with your life?"

Paul c.o.c.ked his head, but didn't look Will in the eyes. "I owe you my life, my lord. If I had survived in my father's house, and I doubt I would have, for my father's beatings had gotten too brutal, I would have nothing like what I have now."

Will stepped even closer, placing a warm hand on his friend's shoulder. "Paul, that's not what I mean. I thank you for your grat.i.tude, I do. But without your friendship throughout the years, I would have-" he stopped himself from saying anything more. Since his wife's death, he knew the devastation suicide dealt. It wouldn't be fair to tell Paul how he'd saved his life time and time again. "My friend, I owe you everything. So I would like to know how to repay you, if there is anything you'd like to accomplish."

Paul blinked and swallowed. Then looked down at the unlit fireplace again. "I've saved quite a bit of currency through the years and gambled with the stocks, making a little more money. I've thought of becoming a merchantman. Coffee sells good here in America, and I've thought about dabbling in that."

Will squeezed his friend's shoulder. "You need an investor then. How much to begin?"

Paul looked up, appearing wildly confused. "My lord?"

Will sighed. He wasn't good with words, with trying to convey his meaning. With Erva, though, it had been effortless. Mayhap because with her he'd never felt judged, condemned. Like his wife had been during their brief courting and in the first months of their marriage, Erva had seemed eager to get to know him, to know him as a man, not as a lord, an earl, a general, but who he was under his skin. Although he did love it when Erva asked him from whence he'd learned his tactics. Lord, she was an angel. Heaven sent.

Again, he had the distinct feeling his wife had a hand with Erva. He could almost sense her presence. And she seemed at peace. Finally at peace.

All of it went straight to his heart, where he felt that organ beat with, for once in so long, joy. Life truly was beautiful.

Even if Erva was to reject him, and she might, considering his blundering antics, he would be eternally grateful for her. She'd given him color when he'd had none. She'd given him peace and finally a reason to keep living. No, not to keep living for her; although, that was a good one. He wanted to live, because Erva, unbeknownst to her, had lifted his head out of dark waters, where he would have surely died.

Will smiled down at his friend. "Would a thousand pounds suffice as a good start to your coffee business?"

"Are you-" Paul shrugged free from Will and sidestepped. "Are you buying me out of my employment? Do you no longer wish for me to serve you?"

Will stepped closer yet again. "No, my friend. If this gives you joy, then stay, stay forever. I just...I've come to realize how selfish I've been with you, holding you back, making you serve me, for I had no other friends to rely on."

Paul cleared his throat. "My lord, it has always been my honor to do so."

Will had to clear his own throat from that sentiment.

"You have always been best the employer and...friend to me too."

"I wish to do better by you. I want you to be...happy-"

"I am happy."

"I wish for you to be happier then. For I fear by forcing you to serve me, I've been selfish, not allowing you to be more, as it were. I think you have a remarkable mind for business and investments. You've gained me a few thousand pounds by playing with the stocks, which I have no mind for. The least I can do is give it back to you, for you to do something with your life that causes you to be exceedingly content."

Paul's dark brows furrowed, and he looked down to the ground. "But I don't wish to leave your service."

"Then don't. Have the best of both worlds. Remain my man of business and start your own."

Paul glanced up, his brows still cast down, but a glint of a smile shone on one corner of his mouth. He didn't say anything for a long moment, then let his smile bloom. "Thank you."

Will took a step back, always unsure what to do with grat.i.tude. "I-yes. Oh! I, um, have a rather delicate job to ask of you."

Paul bowed slightly.

Will walked to his bureau where he'd stuffed Erva's torn undergarments. He inhaled sharply, then revealed her beautiful light shift, the tear down the center of it.

"I-er, could you find a discrete tailor to see about repairing these?"

Paul walked over in two strides. "What did you do to her?"

Surprised at Paul's tone, Will didn't answer. He supposed it was rather imposing of him to think that Paul wouldn't have a reaction, especially when seeing the torn muslin crumpled in his hands.

His friend glanced up at him, his face stern.

Will took a breath. "Believe it or not, we didn't...she wanted...I wanted to...but we didn't...she asked me to..."

Paul raised one hand, palm out. He inspected the clothes closer, but was careful not to touch them. "She asked you to do this?"

Will nodded.

"But you didn't make love to her?"

Will narrowed his eyes, thinking how to answer that.

"So you tore off her clothes, but you didn't get anything out of the bargain?"

"She was naked, isn't that enough?"

Paul softly chuckled. "Poor b.a.s.t.a.r.d." Then he looked more at the shift. "I'd bet this can't be fixed."

"Oh."

"You could buy her new garments."

"I like that idea."

Paul glanced up at Will again. "You like the lady, hmm?"

"I'm going to marry her if she'll have me."

Paul's brows shot up. "You already asked her?"

Will looked down with a mighty sigh. "I need to do that yet."

Again, his man of business silently laughed. "My lord, she would be an idiot if she didn't accept your hand in marriage."

Will could only give him a shy grin. "She's so lovely, and I'm so-"

"You're a good catch...Will. Don't think otherwise."

It was the first time Paul had ever used his first name. He'd said it carefully, as if gauging Will's reaction. But it felt right that he finally had. It felt even more right for Paul to become his own man of business. Life was finally feeling good and right, and it would be even better with Erva at his side.

Will grinned. "Is the lady awake? Ready to go?"

Paul shook his head. "No, Mrs. Jacobs said she'd check on her soon, but no noise emits from her chamber yet."

Wondering if she'd had a rough night with sleep, Will nodded. "I have much to discuss with the lady."

"Yes."

"Perhaps I'll check on her myself." Will said the statement more like a question, as if to gain acceptance from Paul.

Paul just smiled. "I think it best if you did."

"Do you?"

His man of business finally chuckled a little louder. "You're going to marry the woman, so go to her."

Will almost bound away like a heartaching juvenile. But as he opened the door to his own chamber he turned to his friend. "Thank you. You are such a good-"

Paul shook his head and laughed. "Go, you sentimental sap."

Will chuckled himself then in two steps found himself at Erva's door. He rapped quietly, waited, but heard nothing. Knocking again a little louder, desperation flooded his veins. He had to take a quick breath, and remind himself that nothing untoward could happen to Erva while he'd been in his chamber. She wasn't...self-destructive.

But he didn't hear a stir. Oh Lord, he'd been so aggressive last night. Perhaps the look Paul had given him upon seeing the torn garments was due him. Squaring his shoulders, he unlatched the door and crept into her room. She had one window open and all the world's sunbeams seemed to pour pure light onto her slumbering form. Lying on a chaise, she appeared like Sleeping Beauty. Flowing long white-yellow hair reached up and over the top of the chaise, her face was caressed into a pillow, and her limbs lay long and elegantly posed. What was it about the woman that displayed all his romantic thoughts, making him think her some damsel from the past?

But then he halted, watching her chest. Did it rise? A flash of seeing Julia strung up from the rafters crashed through him. Despite her gray tone, she had looked so alive. He'd had to hold her for hours, listening for any breath whatsoever before he relented that she had pa.s.sed. Clumsily, he rushed to Erva and felt her warm breath against his hand. She merely slept. Slept soundly, yes, but she was alive. His throat had tightened during his panic, and he was beyond elated that she was alive.

That was how simple it was for him, he realized. She'd entered his life and had changed it considerably. Just her existence had done that much for him. How could he not love her? He'd been a prisoner of grief. No, it wasn't merely grief, but self-incrimination, guilt, and shame that had hammered him into a coffin, still alive but dead inside. Now...G.o.d, Paul had called him a sentimental sap, and he knew he was. But he liked it. He loved it.

Then he noticed an odd string threaded through Erva's hair. Thin white yarn with odd nubs on the end was connected to a small rectangular white and black gla.s.s rectangular box she held in her hand. It looked like the nubs had been in her ears. That must have been uncomfortable. So he gently extracted the string from her hair and pulled the gla.s.s box. He'd pressed a small lever of some kind, and instantly the top of the box lit with a vivid picture of a castle. But oddly, the box also held the time and date. The image dimmed then darkened completely. He stared at the box, then glanced at Sleeping Beauty, still resting. She didn't so much as move. Will wondered if she'd stayed awake staring into the gla.s.s box. Too curious to stop himself, he pressed the round b.u.t.ton on the top. Again, the box woke with the image of the castle, date and time, and asked that he slide to unlock it.

Slide what? He moved the whole box to the right. That did nothing. The image began to dim again. Fl.u.s.tering, he slid his finger atop the box. With his heart hammering in his ears, a whole world of small square pictures with words appeared, lit with bright light of its own. In the background he saw dancing northern lights, like what he'd seen at Halifax and in northern Scotland. It was a dark starry sky with green and even pink dancing through and around the constellations. Swallowing, he read the small squares. Kindle, iBooks, Music, and so many more. He pressed the music square and instantly saw a shadowed image of what looked like a Mohawk Indian. Pushing that image next, he then heard m.u.f.fled banging from the nubs at the end of the string. He lifted one nub and put it closer to his ear. A woman sang. It was guttural and pleading and the beat of the music made his heart thunder, much as it did when he'd heard it from the Indian camps. He glanced down at Erva again who hadn't moved, save for her chest to rise and fall. Staring at her, Will realized the music stopped, the image eventually dimmed. Putting the box down on a nearby table, his heart beat too loudly, his hands slightly shaking.

He was a reasonable man, a man who enjoyed scientific explanations. Of course, since meeting Erva, the little sun G.o.ddess, he'd had such fanciful thoughts that it had made him stop and take pause. Was this the answer why? Was she some magical creature from the past, like the stories he'd heard as a boy, come here to...Why had she come? He couldn't remember at all her letters of introductions. He'd searched but hadn't found what he'd done with them. Why?

He'd wondered if she was a spy, but she seemed to know too many answers herself. She hadn't sought pertinent information of war, but asked more questions about him. He huffed while his mind searched for meaning. What was the little gla.s.s box? What did it mean about Erva?

He clicked on the box again and when reading the time winced. He was late. G.o.d's teeth, he needed to see to his generalcy's duties. He wouldn't let his men down, even if he were planning on quitting them soon. Still, he hadn't yet, and needed to see to them. Hurriedly, he found parchment and a quill and scribbled a fast note, informing Erva to find him when she awoke.

They had much to discuss.

Chapter 18.

Erva stretched and felt the tingly sensations of last night bounce through her body. She missed Will. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s ached to be touched, and the little party between her legs was hard to ignore. Opening her eyes, she knew exactly where she was, and when, but most importantly who wasn't with her. She felt overwhelmingly lonely without Will. G.o.d, she'd freaked out pretty good last night. Embarra.s.sed, she kept her eyes on the crown molded ceiling, thinking.

It had felt so good to be with Will. So easy. So right. He'd been eager and gentle and-immediately after, she wondered if he had been experienced as a rake would be. But during, while he'd kissed her and explored her body, he'd seemed...somehow innocent. When he'd asked if she liked it when he'd bitten her, he'd appeared timid. But perhaps that was his MO, the seemingly kind and innocent widower.