Free Shades of the Past by Sandra Heath Page A

coat and cream breeches, and the light breeze ruffled his dark hair and unstarched neckcloth. For a moment he looked directly at her. His face bore no interpretable expression, except that his brown eyes were perhaps a little quizzical. His unsmiling lips certainly gave nothing away. She was very conscious of the immediate barrier he raised. Itwas an invisible, impenetrable but almost tangible shield.
    She had no way of knowing what he was thinking, but for her the attraction he exerted hadn’t diminished at all. Merely looking at him set her at sixes and sevens, and to gaze into his eyes was to know a desire that verged upon the sinful. He wrought havoc with her common sense, and in those few moments it was very hard to remember that her nineteenth-century self had come here unwillingly to do Sir Miles Lowestoft’s work. But the Laura of the future wasn’t at all unwilling; in fact, she was swept along by the sheer excitement of these travels in time. And by the exhilarating feelings this man aroused. In this at least she knew she and her Regency alter ego were united, for they were both strongly drawn to Sir Blair Deveril.
    The butler announced her, and Blair stood. “Very well, Harcourt.”
    Harcourt? Of course! Laura suddenly realized why the butler had seemed so familiar—his bushy-browed blue eyes were the same as those of the man in the wheelchair. He must be Gulliver Harcourt’s ancestor!
    Blair inclined his head to her. “Mrs. Reynolds.”
    “Sir.” She dipped a curtsey.
    Stephen had also risen and murmured her name, but he avoided her eyes as if knowing she’d already perceived the way things were between Marianna and him.
    She acknowledged them in the same way. “Mr. Woodville. Miss Deveril.”
    Blair drew out one of the wrought iron chairs. “Please take a seat, Mrs. Reynolds. Would you care for some lemonade?”
    “That would be most agreeable, thank you, Sir Blair.”
    The scent of roses was heady as they all sat down, and when ice chinked in the crystal jug, Laura was reminded of the ice in the ballroom. Where did it all come from at this time of the year? There were no freezers in this age!
    Marianna smiled at her. “I trust you’ve recovered from the ball, Mrs. Reynolds?”
    “Yes, thank you. I was truly honored to attend.” Blair’s gaze was still upon her, and Laura couldn’t help meeting his eyes. An electric current seemed to so charge the air between them that it crackled.
    Marianna spoke again. “You did not stay long. Was something wrong?”
    “I…felt a little unwell,” Laura answered untruthfully.
    “Oh, I’m so sorry. Are you better now?”
    “Much better, thank you.”
    “Good.” Marianna smiled. “Well, I confess I enjoyed every moment of it; indeed, I shall be twenty again soon in order to have another,” she declared, her flirtatious glance briefly encompassing Stephen, who had the grace to color a little.
    Marianna went on, “I trust you will not find country life too dull before we go to London, Mrs. Reynolds?”
    She spoke as if it had been settled, and the forthcoming interview a mere formality, but Blair’s face told a different story. Laura managed to smile at her. “Country life is always pleasing, Miss Deveril.”
    “Oh, I can’t wait to have my first proper Season, but at the same time I’ll hate to leave Deveril House.” Marianna gazed up at the house. “I love it so much here,” she breathed.
    Laura saw how Blair looked at his sister. His eyes seemed unaccountably sad. What was he thinking?
    Marianna gave a quick laugh. “I’m afraid I get quite foolish about this house.”
    Laura smiled. “I can quite understand why, Miss Deveril. I’m sure I’d feel the same if I lived here.”
    “You don’t think me silly?”
    “Of course not.” Laura returned her glance to Blair, and with something of a shock found herself meeting his gaze again. The atmosphere between them was such they might have been the only people present.
    Marianna’s