A Matter of Time by Margaret Locke

Author:Margaret Locke [Locke, Margaret]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Locked On Love Publishing via Indie Author Project

Chapter 21

The knock at her door came late, so quiet Eliza barely heard it. She froze under the blankets. It had to be after midnight. Who could it be?

Stumbling out of bed, she pulled on the heavy robe Betsy had left on a nearby chair, grateful the glowing coals of the fire illuminated the room enough so that she didn’t bonk into anything. Halfway to the door, she realized she probably could have just called, “Come in,” and not had to leave the warmth of the covers. Oh well. Better safe than sorry, since she had no clue who was out there. She cracked the door open a few inches.

Deveric stood before her in his shirtsleeves, his cravat off, hair rumpled, a lit candlestick in one hand.

What on earth? He shouldn’t be there. As he’d said earlier, no man or woman should be in each other’s chambers, especially at night, unless they were man and wife.

“May I come in?” he finally said, his voice slightly slurred.

Eliza stared at him. Was he drunk? “Are you drunk?” Her words echoed her thoughts.

“A gentleman does not get drunk. Mildly foxed, perhaps. But no, I am not.” His gaze danced up and down the hallway. “Please? I should not be here.”

Eliza opened the door wider, and he walked through, steadier on his feet than she expected. “Why are you here?”

“I...” He scanned the room, looking everywhere but toward her. “I don’t know. You. That song. The pain in your voice.”

Eliza swallowed.

“It hurt me to hear it, ‘Liza. I can’t stand the thought of you in pain. And that scares me.”

“Scares you?” Her heart sped up at his words.

“All I bring is pain. To anyone I’ve ever let close. I can’t. I can’t bring pain to you.” He closed his eyes.

“Come here, sit down.” She walked over to the bed and plopped down on the mattress.

Dev’s eyes widened, his pupils flaring.

“No, I’m not trying to seduce you,” Eliza said. Though Lord knows she wanted to. But not now, not like this. This felt all wrong. She just wanted to console him. Whatever she hoped for between them, driving him to drink was not one of them.

“More’s the pity,” he muttered as he crossed the short distance, setting the candle on a bedside table before sitting down mere inches away from her. The smell of brandy and male tickled her nose—a not-altogether unpleasant sensation.

“I want to know,” he said. “Know more. I want to see this tele-phone, as you call it. I want proof.”

So that’s what this was about. Disappointment flooded through her, even though moments before she’d said her goal wasn’t seduction. Well, his could have been, damn it.

But maybe this was better. She stood up and walked to the armoire, seeking out the lockbox. She’d wanted to show him, to prove her story, to share her twenty-first century life with him. Now was her chance.

As she pulled the phone out of the box and pressed the power button, anxiety swept through her. What would

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