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 he think of what she was about to show him? Would it send him running away? Would he accuse her of witchcraft again?
She knew what was in the phone, had experienced it all. But the things he was about to see were things he likely couldn’t fathom. How would she react, if the situation were reversed, if someone had appeared to her in 2012, claiming to be from 2212? Not well, most likely.
She closed her eyes, sending a little prayer heavenward, before settling back down at his side. His eyes widened as the phone made its intro noise, and the screen illuminated, but he didn’t freak out, didn’t even move. Icons appeared, and Eliza pressed the one marked Photos.
The screen filled with the last picture Eliza had taken—the selfie with Cat of the two of them in their Regency finery. Eliza’s eyes teared up at seeing her friend.
“I—I saw that woman,” Deveric said, his body rigidly still.
“Yeah, that’s Cat. My best friend.”
“The one who sent you back.”
“Yes.” She looked up at Deveric. His eyes were fixed on the screen, soaking in the photograph.
“The detail is amazing. An exact reproduction.”
“Yup. May I show you?”
He swallowed. “Yes.”
She held the phone up and snapped a picture. The flash caught Deveric by surprise, given his startled expression, but to his credit, he merely blinked a few times to clear his vision. Flipping it around, she showed Deveric his photo. He reached for the phone, and she gave it up.
He studied the photograph for a minute, and then said, “So that’s what that woman was doing. Show me how to do it.”
She leaned over. “Hold it like this, then push this button.” Deveric raised the phone in front of his face and did as instructed. Whatever appeared on the screen had him chortling.
“What?” Eliza grabbed the phone. He’d taken a picture of her breasts. Or where her breasts would be, rather; the thick robe mostly disguised them.
Men. She arched an eyebrow. “Are you going to claim that was an accident?”
He shrugged his shoulders, his face adopting an innocent expression. “I consider it luck.”
She bopped him in the shoulder. “Do you want to see this stuff, or not?”
Deveric grinned, cocking an eyebrow. “Oh, yes, but you’d better show me more of the tele-phone first.”
She laughed. She couldn’t help it. A slightly inebriated Deveric was adorable—in control enough not to worry her, but relaxed enough to be showing a new, fun side of his personality—a light-hearted, teasing side. He should show it more often.
She flipped through the photos. “Here. Here’s Cat’s car.”
Deveric grabbed the phone, his eyes soaking in Cat’s little Honda. “And it moves on its own power? Steam?”
“No, gasoline. Though I’m not an expert in the interior workings of the automobile. Sorry.”
“Show me more.”
For the next few hours—Eliza couldn’t say how long— she showed Deveric photographs, grateful she hadn’t erased them after downloading them to her computer. It was amazing, the things she took for granted that Dev noticed. He wanted to hear about the street lights, the paved roads, the McDonald’s in the background, the airplanes and Space Shuttle pics from the Air and Space Museum, the laptop on which a guy was typing in a pic she’d snapped in the coffee shop she and Cat frequented. Anything and everything, he wanted information on.
It pained Eliza to watch the phone battery dwindle. She knew once it was depleted, she’d never see these pictures again. And yet, what better chance to convince Deveric once and for all she was exactly who she said she was?
She’d taken a picture of one of the pages of Cat’s magical manuscript a few weeks ago, a beautifully illuminated portrait of a woman writing on parchment. At Deveric’s request, she explained again how Cat’s powers worked, dancing around the part about Deveric being created for her. He didn’t ask, so she was glad she didn’t have to answer.
As time passed, his speech grew steadier, his eyes clearer. The alcohol wore off, but his enthusiasm for talking with her didn’t. He quizzed her not only about the technological things he saw but also about Cat, about Eliza’s family, about her husband. She hadn’t wanted to talk about Greg, wanting instead to focus on Deveric, on the here and now—or here and the future, if one thought of it that way. But she’d shared, anyway. An open and honest relationship necessitated communication both ways. If she wanted him to reveal himself to her, she had to be willing to do the same.
At some point, she’d ask him about Mirabelle. She definitely wanted to know about his first wife, but now was not the time; tonight was for showing him who she was. Hopefully tomorrow, and in the days after, he’d reciprocate.
A noise in the hall startled both of them.
“Good God, what time is it?” Deveric leapt off the bed. “I should not be here. Alone, with you.”
Eliza yawned, the lack of sleep catching up with her. It wasn’t as if they’d done anything untoward—they hadn’t. Nothing overtly sexual had happened since he snapped the picture of her boobs, and yet a startling sense of intimacy settled over Eliza. How amazing, to feel that without having had physical contact of any kind. She liked it. Liked it, indeed.
Not that she didn’t want to jump him. Seeing him there, in his shirtsleeves, dark shadows of a beard gracing his face, and his eyes, so earnest, she wanted nothing more than to lean in and kiss him, to start something she now truly wanted to finish.
A second noise in the hallway dashed all thoughts of that from her brain. It really wouldn’t do, being caught in bed with the duke, even with both of them fully clothed. She didn’t want to poke the Dragon—and she didn’t want to force Deveric’s hand. Would he feel compelled to offer for her? That’s what all the romances hinted at. But she didn’t want it that way. If she and Deveric were to become something, it needed to be of their own free choice, not dictated by circumstances.
Well, circumstances beyond the ones she’d manipulated to get here.
Dev ran his fingers through his adorably bedraggled hair. “I ... I must go, Eliza.”
Something in his tone caught her attention, spreading unease through her, but he silenced it with a quick kiss, a brash meeting of mouths. Before she could say anything, he yanked open the door, and with one last look at her, dashed out and across the hallway.
Eliza sat back down, her phone clutched in her hand. Thirty percent battery power. Crap. She took one last look at the photo of Cat and her, and then powered the machine off, carefully securing it in the lockbox before lying back down on the bed.
Sleep. She just needed to snooze a bit. She’d find Deveric later, see how he was feeling after all he’d seen and heard.
Surely this was a great sign, that the hours they’d spent together had felt like minutes; that they’d talked like old friends, in spite of the energy surging between them. This was the kind of relationship she wanted, one full of passion, but built on friendship.
Tonight, Deveric Mattersley had felt like a friend. What would tomorrow hold?