You’re one to judge, he thought bitterly.
What had he done recently but hung on Ariana’s arm when she went to charity balls in her honor, or jumped at her every beck and call? It wasn’t as if he didn’t enjoy every minute he spent with her. Well, almost every minute.
She’d been more and more moody every passing day that she didn’t hear from her damnable “cousin.” He wondered with a sickening, burning jealousy if they’d ever been lovers. He shook his head to rid himself of that thought. Of course they hadn’t been. They were practically children. And if they had, she would certainly be less stingy with him if she weren’t still a maiden. He shuddered at his low thoughts and put his head in his hands. What had he gotten himself into with Ariana Alexander? He almost thought running from creditors in his own time might be easier than the confusing muddle he seemed inextricably caught up in.
But was he really caught? He was going back to his own time to check on the loathsome investment Ashford’s wife had set up for him to try and keep him from Ariana in the first place. If it panned out, he’d have money again and could disappear. Live in Italy with a more worldly woman closer to his own age and tastes. But there was something about Ariana that kept him slavering like a lovesick pup.
It was only his emasculating lack of funds that had him in such a state. Once that investment paid out, he’d feel more himself, more in control of things. What did it matter where the funds originated from? Tilly Jacobs, no, Lady Ashford now, might have set it up but she ultimately lost. If it gave him a sour taste in his mouth, he’d rinse it out with fine wine from the loads of cash he was certain to make. And make a toast to her with her daughter.
“What’s got you scowling so?” Milo asked.
Nick pulled himself from his thoughts and came up with a mild enough answer. It was something that had come up a few times in the last few days, as Milo found more witches who had supposedly been part of things the first time around.
“A few of those new chaps you dredged up from God knows where and when keep calling me Sir Amos,” he said irritably. “What’s that all about?”
He didn’t think they were the sort that were good for the image of their … he hated how Ariana so blithely called it a coven. That made him conjure images of dirty, naked witches chanting and hissing around a bubbling cauldron, not the sophisticated society he’d prefer to be part of. But Ariana was so tenderhearted towards the downtrodden. The dirtier and more ragged they were, the more she welcomed them.
“Is that so?” Milo answered. He stared straight ahead for some time before continuing. “Perhaps they remember things differently.”
Nick slapped his palm against his thigh, his irritation turning to outright anger. “What do you mean, remember things differently? If everything went as you say it went, then there should be only one way to recall things. The correct way. Perhaps your memory spells aren’t working properly lately.”
Milo puffed himself up, deeply affronted that the gift he was so proud of was being called out. Nick was perversely pleased to have riled him. Let someone share his foul mood.
“I think it’s you who’s misremembering,” Milo said. “And something so simple as a name you gave yourself.” He tutted as if Nick were to be pitied.
“You’re trying to tell me these wastrels are calling me by a name I supposedly called myself? Whatever would be the reasoning for that?”
Milo turned to him. “You really don’t remember? This isn’t just part of your act to make Ariana believe you have feelings for her?”
“I do have feelings for Ariana,” Nick exploded. His head throbbed as thoughts and feelings he was certain weren’t his tried to crowd their way in from some shadowy corner deep in his mind. Some shadowy corner where he’d stuffed them. Forced himself to forget. “No, that can’t be right,” he said, pressing his knuckles to his eyes.
“It certainly can be,” Milo taunted as if reading his mind. “Give it a bit more thought and see what surfaces. Shall I help you?” He reached his hand toward Nick’s forehead but he recoiled.
“Don’t.” He pushed himself to the farthest edge of the bench and tipped his face out the window, hoping a breeze might calm him.
Dark, angry memories assailed him. It seemed there was a time when he’d been more than just disgruntled at his old friend’s new paramour, Tilly. There’d been a time when he felt such awful rage he’d wanted to destroy her life. She’d embarrassed him, turned Ashford against him. Ashford had turned him down for a loan that might have changed things. Might have kept him from ruin.
Then he met a girl who looked just like Tilly… or had he met Milo first? That part was hazy. He found out things he could barely comprehend. He could go to another time where no one would shun him, become rich and powerful. But the girl couldn’t know who he really was, not ever. Who had told him that? Milo? Or had he come up with that part of the plan?
The plan. It all rushed back at him. The false name, the lies upon lies upon lies. The hatred and greed that made him do the unthinkable. In his mind’s eye he saw his own hand reaching for the powder, shaking it into her cup. Handing it to her.
No!
Sweat beaded at his collar and hairline. He couldn’t let Milo know he’d finally recalled what the nasty
