“No.” On this point, at least, there was no hesitation.
He threw up his hands in exasperation. “So?”
“You are indeed dressed strangely. However, peculiar clothing does not mean you’re a man from the future. You’ll simply have to do better if you want to convince me.”
“I’m not a magician.” He shoved his hands in his jacket pockets as his eyes widened. “Wait. I know.” He dug out his phone and tapped it, the screen lighting up. “Yes,” he muttered, mostly to himself. “My phone case is damn near indestructible.” He chuckled. “I still have eighty-nine percent battery. No Wi-Fi obviously.” The cell connection was out too. No shit.
The woman took a step closer. “Whatisthat?”
“A phone. You can call people on it. Hit numbers like this,and see? That’s my sister’s, Nora’s, number. If I press that green button it will call her phone and we can have a conversation. Or I can do this...” He pulled up the texts. “Type here and send her a message. We mostly do that. No one likes a cold call.”
She glanced from the phone to his face, and back to the phone. “I—I’m afraid I don’t understand.”
“Hold on.” He held up the phone and snapped a picture. “Look, it can do this too.”
When he showed her the image of herself on-screen, she sank down with a weak sound, her arms wrapped around her knees. “You’re truly from the future? How did you manage to come here?”
“Yes. And I don’t know.”
They remained like that for a long moment, each staring blankly at the other. Finally, she heaved a sigh and unfolded herself back to standing, smoothing a hand over her hair. “Well, you can’t very well remain in Farmer Pennycook’s cow pond, can you? Best I escort you straight to my cousin. Georgie will know what to do. She always has ideas.”
The woman had a point. He couldn’t stay here.
“Wait!” She lifted a finger in warning as he stirred. “Stop. I’ll need to find you a disguise, won’t I? And where will I locate that? Did you have to be quite so large?” Her tone was annoyed, like his height was a personal affront. “Never mind,” she pushed on, and he wasn’t sure if she spoke to him or herself. “But you can’t be seen in those clothes.”
He glanced at his down jacket, jeans, and sneakers. So yeah. He’d stick out. “They don’t, uh, burn people for witchcraft in 1812... do they?”
“Witch what?” She gaped with utter confusion. “Get ahold of yourself. This isn’t the sixteen hundreds. Now if you don’t mind,I’m trying to come up with a plan. But if you keep interrupting me, I might be tempted to source an axe instead and become quite Henry the Eighth.”
The look she shot him packed more spice than his favorite hot sauce. But it made him trust her—she was ready to find a solution.
A long silence dragged out before she glanced over again.
“There’s nothing for it.” Her words had a tone of finality. “You’ll need to wait here until my return.”
“Are you serious? I’m supposed to stand here in the muck and do what? Watch minnows and hope for the best? No way. I want to help.”
“You can’t be seen like this.” She waved a hand, gesturing to his clothing. “The village would never speak of anything else again. No, you must wait and not make a sound, Mr....” She trailed off. “Pardon. I didn’t catch your name.”
“Taylor. Tucker Taylor. But you can call me Tuck. Most people do.”
“Tucker Taylor.” She spoke his name with a slight frown, like tasting a strange new flavor. “How very... American.”
It took all his will not to roll his eyes. “And you are?”
She straightened. “MissElizabeth Wooddash. My friends call me Lizzy, but MissWooddash will do fine for now, Mr.Taylor.” She dusted her hands on her skirts and turned to leave. “I’ll return within the hour. If anyone approaches, pretend you’re a frog and croak.”
Chapter Four
Lizzy pressed the backs of her hands to her cheeks as she rushed toward the village road, in truth scarcely more than a narrow lane lined by moss-covered stones. A tapestry of wildflowers blanketed the field as oak and birch stood sentinel in the nearby wood, and yet she barely registered their charms, so at odds with London’s bedlam.
Her heart pounded fiercely, the rhythmic thud echoing in her ears. She half expected someone from the nearby cottages to emerge, curious about the thunderous noise, as if a regiment were marching through the vicinity. She tugged impatiently at her damp bodice. Honestly, her corset had a single duty—to lift and separate her bust—but presently it was more occupied with gathering perspiration. The humid air clung to her skin like a blanket, putting the efficacy of her soap to the test.
She slowed to a walk, panting, trying not to wriggle in discomfort. What if she ended up stinking like a stable while in the company of one of the most handsome gentlemen she had ever encountered?
Tuck’s cropped hair might be an unusual style, but it suited the bold structure of his features, those narrow-set eyes, the slash of brows, and such straight, bright teeth. And then there wasthe matter of his size—the bulk of his shoulders, those massive hands with the thick scar banding one knuckle, the ridge of collarbone that revealed itself when he absently tugged at his shirt. A strange sensation coiled in her belly. Really, though, how were anyone’s teeth so white, so perfect?
She pinched her lips together. Could she be more ridiculous? Just this morning, her biggest concern had been the dwindling state of her soap bar, wrapped in a scrap of silk, infused with lavender and thyme. She hadn’t been sure if she should request more to be sent from town or if that would incite Mamma to pen a letter on the need for an unmarried woman to demonstrate frugality so as not to burden others. The idea of enduring that particular lecture felt as enjoyable as dozing off atop a wasp nest.
