Chapter 20

Gasping for air, Haven sat up, and almost fell from the bed.

"What the hell?" she choked.

Had she been dreaming? Some kind of out-of-body experience? Who was that woman, and what did all those words mean? Was she casting some kind of black magic spell? More importantly: "Why did I dream it?"

Heaving a sigh of frustration and unfocused anger, she growled under her breath. Once again something happened to her, and she couldn't explain it. Was it a bad dream, or a result of time travel and terrible English food? A possibility. Shivering, she rubbed her arms. Falling back against the mattress, she focused on calming her racing heart. When her breathing returned to normal, she spied a tray of food on the table beside the window. A cup sat in one corner, its plumes of steam emitting the delectable tease of chocolate. She sat up, stretched her achy limbs, and shielded her eyes from the rays of sun flowing freely into the room.

Mrs. Roomer must have had "spidey senses" because within minutes of rising from the bed, a housemaid knocked on the door. She introduced herself as Roselyn. Roselyn was quiet, and small in stature with a riot of deep brown hair beneath her drab gray cap.

With her help, Haven removed the dress with the day old wrinkles, and squished into a gorgeous sapphire dress. She didn't let Roselyn even mention a corset, even if it would help the smaller gown fit better. After dressing, Haven removed the bandage, and inspected the gash. The cut was closing, but the skin was bruised. She left the wound uncovered, and sat down to a lukewarm breakfast of toast, soft boiled eggs, and a cooling cup of delicious, and strangely spicy hot chocolate. She dismissed Roselyn, thankful for her assistance.

With renewed resolve, a belly full of dark brown liquid magic, and the need to get the day started, she tugged the bell pull. After several minutes, Roselyn reappeared and gave her directions to the Morning Room where Millie was busy planning a dinner party.

When a sudden, compelling awareness flitted through the air, she fought the urge to swat the space around her. She narrowed her eyes, and glanced at the fireplace.

The area above the mantel shimmered and pulsed. She shivered. She had the distinct impression that the spirit who'd sent her on a nightmare journey was still watching her.

And it was excited.

***

Haven knocked on the Morning Room door, and heard an assertive: "Come." She entered a room straight out of a regency novel.

From the height of the ceiling to the carpets on the floor, the Morning Room was a contained explosion of gorgeous blues. She held her breath, and took in the sight of white vases with delicate blue floral patterns, and a lush settee and chaise framed in dark wood, but upholstered in sky blue silk.

Millie gave a bright and welcoming smile. "Good morning, my dear. I see you are much refreshed, and I am glad of it."

She returned Millie's smile. "I can't believe I slept so long. I hope it wasn't an inconvenience."

Her grin widened when Millie's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Why would it have been an inconvenience?"

Haven shrugged, unsure how to answer without sounding like an idiot.

"You needed to rest, poor health is inconvenient. If you hadn't slept you couldn't enjoy the day I have planned for you." The excitement in Millie's tone stirred her curiosity. She leaned in close, her fingers drumming across her knee.

Shifting in her seat, she pulled on the sleeve of her dress. "Um, Roselyn was a great help this morning. Who knew getting dressed would be a three ring circus?" She chuckled.

Millie laughed with her. "Dear, I can't remember a day in my long life in which I did not have a troop of maids wagering war against my wardrobe doors." She pat Haven's hand, and continued, "Speaking of doors, right through those," she said and directed her gaze to a set of French doors beside a brilliant wall of windows, "you'll find the garden. Let's continue our chat there."

While seated amongst hydrangea, irises, and columbine, they had a comfortable and pleasant conversation. The breathtaking Manor gardens were straight out of Home & Garden magazine.

So this is what a true English garden looks and smells like. This is heaven. She breathed deep, and nearly moaned when the warm sun peaked through the trees and kissed her cheek.

The birds chirped, and the breeze carried the sweet scent of peonies.

Smiling, Millie said, "Now, about this morning. I've arranged for Chef to pack a picnic lunch. You'll need something to eat after your tour of the grounds." Looking pass Haven, she asked, "Isn't that right, my dear?"

Standing in the doorway the duke looked weary, annoyed, and drop dead sexy. Dear God. The man was built flawlessly, and she couldn't stop her appreciation of him. In the bright morning sun, his black hair shown like the gossamer wings of a raven, and his freshly shaven face looked cut from the cover of historical romance novels. So much perfection couldn't be real. Then again, all he had to do to ruin the image was to glower-or open his mouth-and since meeting her, he hadn't stopped doing either.

A flash of surprise flit over his face, and he hesitated at the doorway, his expression brooding, but uncertain. He stepped onto the terrace, and made his way to where she and Millie sat beneath a lilac tree.

He bowed and replied, "Yes, of course, Aunt." His gaze slid to Haven. "It is a pleasure to see you well this morning, Miss Edwards." His regard slid along her face, down to the hands in her lap, and finally to the healing gash over her eye. He flinched. "I am also glad to see the wound is healing nicely. I do apologize for the incident, and hope it doesn't leave a mark." As if she cared about something as easy to conceal as a scar. Make-up worked wonders on everything from blackheads to birthmarks.

Dammit. My makeup is in my gym bag.

Before she could reply, Conners appeared with a tray holding a single folded piece of paper. The duke scanned it. "Our tour will have to wait for another day, I'm afraid. I am needed at the vicarage. I apologize for any inconvenience this may cause." He didn't look sorry at all. The devil looked positively relieved he didn't have to endure her presence on a daylong tour of his own estate. She didn't care who took her, or if she went alone, which was honestly what she preferred. All she cared about was getting her bag back, but she did feel a twinge of disappointment. She wanted to spend time with him?

Hell no!

Maybe.

She shrugged, and picked invisible lint from her dress. "No need to worry about me, Your Grace, I can find my own way I'm sure."

***

Miss Edwards' voiced carried sugar, but her eyes carried poison. Damn. She was as readable as a children's book, but she didn't conjure up images of erecting towers with blocks in the nursery. Looking as she did, sitting so primly in her snugly fit morning dress, she looked fresh and luscious, and she brought to mind a different kind of erection altogether. Her hair swept up from her neck and piled atop her head, leaving her creamy neck exposed and begging for kisses. Her breasts, while confined to an ill-fitting, tight bodice, were high, perfectly round, and begging for his touch. He tensed, fighting his arousal. How could this woman, this total stranger, incite such deep, dangerous desire? He used his anger as a splash of cold water. "I must insist you stay here until I am available to take you to the south pasture."

Tensing for Miss Edwards' reply, he was grateful when Millie raised her hand to silence her. Miss Edwards' eyes narrowed, but she seemed chastened rather than upset. "When are you expected at the vicarage?"

Puzzled, he answered, "After luncheon. Why?"

She nodded. "Good, you'll have plenty of time to escort Miss Edwards to retrieve her bag, and still be able to make your meeting with the vicar." He knew when he'd been outmaneuvered, and rather than look like an utter ass and refuse, he met her gaze. "Well, it's settled. Please be ready within the half hour. We'll depart as soon as the carriage can be readied." He nearly growled when he caught the blatant challenge spelled out on her face. She did nothing to hide her expression, and took it one-step further by arching her eyebrow, and quirking one side of her plush, succulent mouth. Straightening his shoulders, he met her gaze, daring her to look away.

When she only stared back, her expression willful, he almost smiled. Almost. For someone who'd experienced much hardship over the last two days, she certainly had spirit.

Bowing, he held her stare, turned, and left through the terrace door, almost missing the mischievous delight fluttering over his aunt's face.