Escape to Me (1NightStand #131)(2)
Author: Diane Alberts

But…how could it be? What if he knew who she was? If he recognized her, she would be ruined!

He studied her naked legs for a good long moment. She took advantage of his distraction by attempting to calm herself. With a lazy smile, he raised his eyes to hers, taking in every inch of her body as he went. “Hello, I’m Thomas.”

He grabbed her hand and lifted it to his lips. Right before he kissed her fingers, he caught himself and adjusted his hold so he shook her hand–just like gentlemen did. Madame Eve had sent an informational packet of how modern people acted. Had he gotten one, too?

If he had, then he must know that men didn’t treat women differently from other men anymore—and they shook hands upon meeting.

Thomas’s nervous expression told her more than words could how out of place in this new setting he felt. For years now, she had been watching him from behind the veil of her invisibility, and she recognized the tight edge to his mouth for what it was.

Nervousness.

Somehow, his unease made her more comfortable, and she fought to hold back a grin. His gaze darted from her low-cut blouse to her eyes and back again. Letting out a sigh, he took a turn about the room, intent on their surroundings.

When he paused in front of the television, she covered her mouth to hide a smile. He cocked his head and studied it, his eyebrows furrowed. He didn’t move—just stared at the black square object.

Clearing her throat, she stepped closer to him. “Uh, hello. I’m…uh…Eleanor. Nice to meet you.”

She bent a knee to curtsy out of sheer instinct, managing to hold herself back at the last moment. She ended up stumbling a bit—not too far off character, that—and smiled in an attempt to hide her nerves. There was something warm in his eyes—but no spark of recognition warned her that he knew her secret.

Then again, why should he recognize her? She’d spent her life hidden in the shadows of the balls he frequented, making every effort to blend into the background. He’d been kind enough to ask her to dance once or twice. Those were some of the finest moments of her pathetic life, as pitiful as it sounded. But, that didn’t mean he’d recollect who she was.

She was remarkably unremarkable.

“You’re beautiful. I never dreamed someone as comely as you would need a service for, uh, this type of thing.” He rubbed the back of his neck and headed for the door she hadn’t even realized stood open.

He closed it and struggled with the lock for a moment, jiggling it loudly. Stepping back, he studied it for a second, and then slid the bolt home. At least she wasn’t alone in her confusion about how the blasted contraption worked. Why did “advanced” inventions need to be so darned complicated? He turned toward her, his hair disheveled and his lips soft. His fingers drummed against his thighs.

The uncomfortable silence stretched on, and she straightened her shoulders. He’d expect her to be a woman who didn’t hesitate to take charge. As woman did nowadays. He probably wondered why in the blazes she still stood on the other side of the room as if he had the plague. She thought back on the packet of information Madame Eve had sent her, trying to remember what it said.

Women in this day are bolder. Act like a harlot would in your day, and you should fit in. That is to say, don’t shy away from meeting his eyes. Don’t be scared to tease him and flirt. He’ll expect you to be bold. Fearless.

With Madame’s words of knowledge bolstering her, she stepped forward and entwined her fingers with his. “Come with me, Thomas. Shall we share a drink?” She dragged him behind her, making sure to sashay her behind just like her sisters did. At the sound of his indrawn breath, she bit back a smile. He tightened his grip on her, his arm brushing hers.

Heart racing, she towed him to where the wine sat. She’d need to loosen up a bit to fool him into thinking she hailed from this time. Though she should run away without delay, the night carried the possibility of bringing her fantasies to fruition. In this very room, the man she’d pined for, the one she’d yearned to have, stared at her with hunger. Thomas wanted to make love—with her, of all people.

Who would’ve guessed it?

“So, Eleanor, tell me, where are you from?” He grabbed the wine, a brow raised as he grabbed the corkscrew to open the bottle. He studied the object, flipping it in his hands, and then put the sharp, twisty blade in the cork.

She could almost hear his thought process as he compared the modern version to the ones they were familiar with. He tossed a smile over his shoulder and poured two glasses. Giving one to her, he motioned for her to sit down on the couch. Once she did so, he sat so close beside her that their legs touched. The heat from his body pressing against hers caused her to tremble and almost spill the wine over the rim, even though he’d filled it only three-quarters full.

“I’m from London. My family has an estate out near Devon, but we seldom use it.” Eleanor sipped her beverage, proud of her response. She sounded so…sophisticated. One would never guess she hovered a mere second away from exploding with anxiety. “You?”

“I live far away. I’m in town for a night, and then I return home.”

Now, that was an understatement if she’d ever heard one. Two hundred years away, to be exact.

She held back a trill of laughter at his perfect reply. Clients were urged not to reveal the truth of their origins. Most people remained unaware of the joys of time-traveling—and the company preferred to keep it that way.

She licked her parched lips. “Oh, is that so? How fortunate for me to have the pleasure of meeting you before you leave.”

He studied her mouth, and her insides clenched at the dark hunger she saw within. How was it possible that he could be so ravenous—for her?

“Indeed, how fortunate. I almost backed out, thinking it silly of me to do something so frivolous. Then, I thought, perhaps it could be an interesting diversion for the night.” He finished his wine, and she hurried to follow suit. He refilled her glass first, then his, before turning to face her. His lips turned up at the corners, and she took another taste to steady her nerves. “I daresay it might end up being much more than a simple distraction.”

Her heart skittered to a stop, and she choked on her wine.

Dear God, does he know who I am?

He set his drink down, plucked her glass out of her grasp, and placed it on the table next to his. His brow crinkled with worry, he pounded on her back. The force behind the blows made her stumble out of the seat, so he gripped her elbows to place her on her feet before repeating the action. She didn’t know which made it harder to get air into her lungs…the wine or his “help.”