Nassau, New Providence Island, The Bahamas, later that evening
Samantha
As James helps me out of the small boat, a close look at the shore of Nassau hits me like a wrecking ball. I was already suspicious in the boat on the way from the ship to the shore, as there were no lights on the island. I had a few calm minutes to think while two sailors rowed and James stared at the shore. A million questions began popping in my head. How did I get on the ship? Clearly, I had been wrong about it being an escape room. Had Adonis drugged me and kidnapped me? He’d said something about time travel, but it couldn’t be actual time travel, could it?
Now, standing in the place where last night there were cruise ships, yachts, luxury hotels, and cute colorful houses, I see no quay, no asphalt roads, no electric lights. Instead, at the end of a wooden pier, a horse-drawn carriage awaits us, lit by torches with real fire…
As James and I walk down the pier, I know that this is not an escape room, an escape ship, or even an escape park. It is in fact the craziest, wildest explanation of all: I traveled back in time.
And oh my God, what about Lisa? Did she travel back in time, too? No, she couldn’t have possibly put on that necklace after she saw me disappear. I have to believe she stayed back in the twenty-first century.
The thought that I have left everyone and everything I know shocks me so much, that I stop walking. The wooden jetty shifts under my feet. The corset squeezes me and bites into my flesh. I can’t breathe. Sweat breaks through my skin. I’m too hot. The exotic scents of a tropical island—mango and sea—are too heavy, too thick. I want the smell of gas and the subway, of strong coffee and street falafel. I want to go back to New York.
I double up, my hands on my knees, and breathe. James sinks into a squat in front of me, his violet eyes filled with concern. Darn it he’s handsome.
Adonis’s voice talks in my head. You are traveling back in time to help James. To return, you must put on the necklace.
“Are you all right, Miss Gilbert?” James says. “Did I tighten your corset too much?”
I swallow, the combination of my realization and the look of concern in his eyes is disorienting. Should I tell him I came from the future? No, it’s probably not a good idea. Not yet, anyway. He still doesn’t trust me. And he would think I’m a lunatic. If I want to go back to my time, I need to get the treasure even more than he does. Making him think I’m crazy won’t help.
I straighten and take a deep breath. He stands up, as well.
“I’m all right,” I say. “The dress is a little tight, that’s all.”
His eyes crawl down my body and darken. I get even warmer. “Would you like me to loosen the corset?”
Where did the arrogant, self-absorbed jerk go? His voice caresses me, and my bones become melted caramel. When I was changing behind the French screen, I thought he was watching me, and a buzz had run through my skin. When his fingers had brushed against me as he was tying up the corset, all of my senses seemed to focus in on the touch. His fingers had sent sweet charges of current through me, making me feel as though I was getting deliciously drunk. Warmth had spread over my skin, and every hair on my body had stood up.
I had hoped he would stop tying up the laces and release them instead.
But he hadn’t. He’d just helped me dress. Although, his eyes had shifted from violet to amethyst and burned in the glow of candlelight.
If he touches me again, I’m not sure we’ll make it to the party. “No,” I say. “I’m better. Let’s go.”
As we continue our walk, my legs feel weaker, and my previous bravado disappears. What if we don’t get the coordinates? What if someone recognizes James and I’m considered guilty by association? What if now James and I both hang as pirates?
I need to be very, very careful.
James shows the invitation to the coachman, and we climb into the carriage. We are silent on the way, as I gaze out of the window still digesting my recent realization. We pass by the streets of the old town. If I had any doubts before, they completely vanish now that I see the state of the buildings. The streets are full of sailors, prostitutes, and merchants, many of them wearing dirty clothes, all from the eighteenth century. It smells like rum and grilled meat.
I think I feel James’s eyes on me, studying me. As we leave the town and drive into the darkness of nature, the landscape changes from savanna to occasional tropical trees and bushes. James says, “You have been pale ever since we got ashore. Are you feeling unwell?”
I meet his gaze, and the sight of him calms me down a little. He is probably my only hope to get back. I have never depended on a man like this in my life.
And he’s not the Prince Charming I thought he was.
I am in the presence of a real bad boy. And the thought makes me see him with different eyes.
“Yes,” I say. “I guess I was just a little seasick on the way. Is it going to be long until we reach the governor’s estate?”
“Should not be long.”
After some time, we stop at the gates to a pale-yellow mansion with tall columns. There are white balustrades around the large porch and a wraparound balcony above. Tall windows shine from both floors, and two square towers flank the front porch with a wide staircase. The path to the mansion is lit with torches on both sides, and a sprawling garden stretches into the darkness around the house.
James helps me get out of the carriage. He takes my hand, and his warm, slightly callused skin burns me. He’s gallant, his back straight, his face the cold social mask of a nobleman. Where did the pirate go? He’s still dangerous, but now there’s something more about him. As I step down from the carriage, our eyes lock, and the ground under my feet seems to drop away for a moment.
The air is thick and slightly humid, dampening my brow as we walk down the gravel path of the garden. Through the lit windows, I see people in period clothing walking, talking, and drinking from crystal glasses. Classical music plays quietly in the background.
Placing my hand on his arm as we walk towards the house, James says. “We are newlyweds. The marquis owns plantations on Cuba, and the governor wants to sell him some of his land on Nassau.”
“How did you get the invitation in the first place?”
James’s voice is cool as he says, “I stole it before it even reached the marquis. I had it from a reputable source that the governor has never met the marquis and knows little about the man. So your mission is to charm the governor and distract him while I look for the cricket box. It must be in his study.”
“No way. I’m coming with you.”
“No, you are not, madame. You are to ensure no one notices that I slip away.”
The only thing I need to ensure is that I come with him to the island. I open my mouth to argue when I notice that we’re at the bottom of the stairs and that two servants standing by either side of the grand doors are looking at us. My mind is racing, trying to remember all of the period dramas I have ever watched. How did people behave back then? Should I curtsy? No, they are servants. But probably before the governor. Or maybe just the queen?
James leads me up the stairs and gives one of the servants an envelope with a broken seal. The servant nods, opens the letter and takes it inside. From the gap in the door, music and people’s voices grow louder and my heart begins to pound. My God! What if I behave so strangely I give both myself and James away? My mouth stiffens as if I’m having a spasm.
“Marquis de Bouchon.” The servant returns. “The governor is surprised to see you. He thought you had left Nassau.”
Oh damn. James’s arm tightens under my hand, and his face turns stony. “The governor must be mistaken.”
He forgot the French accent! The servant’s eyebrows snap together.
My skin is prickling. Is that it? This can’t be it. James is turning white, his hand reaching for the back of his pants where I know he hid a pistol.
I must do something, or we’ll lose everything.
“I asked my husband to stay for the ball,” I blurt out, mimicking a French accent as best I can.
The servant holds my gaze and studies me. “Of course, madame.” He cocks his head.
He opens the door blinding me a little with the wash of light.
Are we in?
There are beautiful ladies in similar dresses to mine and gentlemen dressed like James. Some wear white wigs. Classical music plays louder now, some sort of high-pitched piano. A man by the door looks directly at us and gives a short bow. Judging by his less impressive clothing than the rest of the guests, I think he’s another servant.
James leads me through the doors. His hand is warm and steady and reassuring, and that’s good because my knees are getting a little wobbly as I try to get my head around the fact that I’m in the middle of a freaking ball in 1718.
“Marquis de Bouchon and Marquise de Bouchon,” the man exclaims for the whole room to hear, and all eyes are on us.
Do we bow? Do I curtsy? James stands still, and so do I. My heart beats so hard against my ribcage, it might break the bones.
An older man in rich clothes and a white wig comes to us, a girl in her late teens by his side.
“Marquis and Marquise.” The man gives a small bow, and James follows suit.
The girl curtsies. I do, too, hoping I got it right. The man studies us, his eyes cold. There’s a polite wariness in his gaze. This must be Governor Richardson and his daughter.
“Welcome,” the governor says.
I gather the skirts of my beautiful jade dress, but underneath them my legs shake. I step further into the room full of eighteenth-century aristocrats, a woman from the future on the arm of a pirate disguised as Prince Charming.