Chapter 17

After two more torturous mouthfuls, she put down her fork, and stood. "Where are the bandages?" As if by magic, a maid appeared holding a tray containing crisp white bandages, a bowel of water, and a small towel. Eyeing the supplies, a pang of disappointment shot through her.

This isn't going to work.

There had to be an antiseptic she could use to clean the gash in her head. From what she remembered from her nursing 101 classes, distilled spirits were some of the best field antiseptics.

"Do you have any alcohol? Gin would be best because it's clear, but if you don't have any, maybe brandy or whiskey?"

Millie curled her lip. "Dear, no civilized household in England has whiskey, and gin rots the guts; however, we do have a rather large supply of brandy on hand. My nephew loves his brandy."

Another strike against him.

With raised eyebrows, Millie dispatched a maid to retrieve the brandy. "What is the brandy for?"

How do I answer without sounding crazy?

"Umm, the alcohol in the brandy will clean my wound. It kills the germs that cause infection."

What I wouldn't give for my purse and gym bag. This splitting headache would have been gone hours ago with the glorious numbing powers of Ibuprofen.

When the maid returned with the brandy, Haven made short work of redressing the wound, wincing only twice; once when the bandage stuck, and again when the alcohol burned like the fires of hell. After the clean bandages were in place, a maid helped her dress.

"My God. Whoever invented corsets should be shot." Struggling to get the words out, she fought to unbutton her dress and get at the lung-crushing corset stays.

"Strangely enough, a man invented the corset. A king I believe." Smiling, Millie agreed, "Yes, the corset is a dire trial every woman must endure for fashion's sake. But if you cannot abide the thing, we can loosen it, and if it is still abominable, we will simply remove it."

"And burn it." Free of the corset, Haven sucked in air, and glowered at the offending piece of clothing draped over the retreating maid's arm. Her costume corsets for work were obviously modern versions-they didn't suffocate, they enhanced.

With the remaining maid's help, she put the rose satin dress back on, and sat again on the chair beside the window. Millie settled onto the chaise by the fireplace.

After a few minutes, Millie asked, "Comfortable?"

Haven relaxed in her seat. "Yes, actually." After another two minutes of stilted silence, she said, "This dress is just divine."

Millie smiled. "You look stunning in it...doesn't she, nephew?" Haven turned toward the door in time to catch a fleeting expression cross the duke's face. For such a large man, he sure had light feet.

"Aunt Mildred," he said, bowing to the woman who looked a lot like a cat who just ate the cream. "Miss Edwards. I hope you haven't suffered too much at my hands."

She looked at his hands. They were strong and long-fingered. Perfect for work...or play. She didn't miss that he hadn't answer his aunt's question.

"You must know it wasn't my intention to injure you, and then deny you food. Please accept my apology." His jaw worked beneath the flesh of his cheek. Obviously, he didn't like apologizing. He probably didn't do it often. She fought the urge to smile.

Sitting straighter in her chair, she squared her chin, and looked him in the eye. "No need to apologize. Where I'm from, people do a lot worse to trespassers. As far as starving me, I didn't even think about food, so you not offering it shouldn't matter."

The look he gave her could've stripped the paint off a bridge. Apparently, he didn't take kindly to having his apologies held so lightly. Millie stood, and placed her hand along the duke's well-muscled arm.

Damn. She really should stop appreciating his physical attributes, but she couldn't help it. He looked so hot when he was trying not to roar at her.

"She is being quite gracious to you, Logan. If I were in her shoes, I would have called down the wrath of Heaven upon your head," Millie admitted.

Haven coughed to hide a laugh as the duke's fleeting expression read, "been there, done that." Millie leaned forward and planted a gentle kiss on his cheek. His face softened, and a wide, brilliant smile appeared. Startled, she almost sighed at the warmth that invaded her core. When he smiled, it was like a mallet to her brain. Had there always been twinkling lights around him?

She frowned.

Millie, unaffected by her nephew's smile, commanded, "Do sit, Logan. Our necks will never recover from having to look up at you so."

He sat, his large frame almost crowding his dear aunt off the chaise. She smiled up at him, nudged in under his arm, and gave him a gentle pat on the knee. The hard angles of his face transformed as he gazed down. There was love there.

So he isn't a complete jerk after all.

Haven stiffened when his voice, deep, rich and prodding, broke through the delirious haze. "Miss Edwards, I realize we began badly."

Understatement.

"I would appreciate if you share whatever you know regarding the theft of my sheep."

She quirked an eyebrow at his polite, yet pushy phrasing. "What do I call you?"

He offered a slight bow. "You may address me as Your Grace."

She would not snort. "Well, Your Grace, as I told you this morning, I have no idea what happened to your sheep. One minute I was somewhere else, and the next I was in your pasture."

"You have no idea how you got there?" He flexed his fingers against his thigh, but Millie placed a soothing hand upon them.

"I didn't say that, I said I didn't know what happened to your sheep."

"Semantics, Miss Edwards." His cold eyes hurled icy daggers.

She waved her hand. "Fine, what happened to your sheep is a mystery to me, but I might have an idea of how I got here." She sighed and her breath lodged in her throat.

"Do tell us, my dear. Where are you from?" Millie's gentle voice pushed back some of the painful anxiousness filling her gut.

She closed her eyes, and prayed the world wouldn't explode. She licked her dry lips. "Your assumption about me being an American is correct. I am from America. I was born in the small town of Winterhaven, about one hundred miles outside Philadelphia, Pennsylvania."

"We've heard of Philadelphia. Rather a lot of political things occurred there." Millie interjected with intelligence.

"Yes, you're right."

Lots more things have happened there in the almost two hundred thirty-seven years since the signing of the Declaration of Independence.

The duke's shoulders tensed, and he frowned. "Yes, but how did you get here?"

"Well, you asked me where I'm from, but the better question is when." She dove in with both feet, hoping the murky waters weren't shark-infested.

The confused, yet curious expressions of her audience prompted her to continue.

Let the hell storm begin.

"I told you one minute I was someplace else, and the next, in your pasture."

Millie nodded. The duke glared. "Well, that someplace else was a parking lot in the year two-thousand and thirteen. I don't know how it happened, but apparently I traveled back in time."

She held her breath as the man and woman on the chaise stared blankly. The mantel clock ticked away the seconds, and neither moved or spoke. In an effort to dampen the tension, she stood and walked to the window.

A soft click from behind her made her turn, and her gaze collided with the empty space on the chaise where the duke had been sitting.