Milo grinned. “Anything pop out in that noggin of yours?”
Nick chose to change the subject, pretending the sweat on his brow was from the closed carriage. “I don’t know why we had to take the carriage to the docks. Why not transport us there and then do the time spell?”
Milo chuckled and moved his hat around on his bald head. “Aren’t you the spoiled prince these days?” He narrowed his eyes when Nick refused to rise to the bait. “But wouldn’t you prefer to be king?”
“Enough of that, Milo,” Nick said irritably. He may have agreed to meet Ariana under the pretense that they’d been together before, but now that he really knew her, he refused to speak of it, even though Milo kept prodding at him. He was not that monster from his memories.
“What are you dawdling about for?” Prod prod. It was as if the man was actually poking him with something sharp. Nick wondered if it was a spell. He’d grown quite paranoid about spells lately. “And for that matter,” Milo continued, “why are you even bothering with this investment scheme? Her majesty’s coffers continue to overflow. If you’re tired of being on an allowance, you know you can always—”
“Close your rotten mouth,” Nick said, angry that Milo seemed to read his earlier thoughts. “I’m on no more of an allowance than you are.”
“But I’m an employee of the estate,” Milo said calmly. “I have a title and everything.”
Do not punch him, Nick warned himself. You’ll never get to 1814 if you punch him.
“Why are you so concerned about this plan of yours if you’re content with your fine title?”
Milo breathed out as if Nick was the irritating one. “Because we could have so much more. We could have it all. We’d be in charge.”
Nick raised a haughty brow. “We?” he challenged.
“You, then. But you mustn’t forget who brought you to this place. Who reminded you of what was and now is. And could be.”
“Reminded me of what? That I met Ariana?”
“You know the rest of the story,” Milo said, refusing to meet his eye.
“Story, indeed. That’s all I think it is.” Nick felt a creeping sensation up his arms as he thought about those real-seeming memories Milo had implanted in his mind somehow. How he’d conjured up all the old, bad feelings he’d ever had, made him thirst for vengeance that he didn’t know he needed. And now he was plagued with more terrible memories. They had to be put there by Milo. They couldn’t be real. He turned away and stared out the window as they slowly made their way toward London.
After a long silence, broken only by the horses’ clopping hooves, Nick risked a glance at Milo. His brow was furrowed as if he was desperately working out a problem in his mind. Why was he so determined to be rid of Ariana? Nick’s anger faded and was replaced with intense curiosity.
“Say, Milo,” he began in a much friendlier manner. “You never told me why everyone involved back then actually lost their memories.”
He expected the weaselly man to make something else up or confess it was all lies, but Milo only shrugged.
“That’s the part no one remembers,” he said, tapping his forehead. “If it’s in there somewhere, I can wrangle it out with my recollection spell. But every single person I’ve, er, interviewed, doesn’t have anything past … well, past when you…”
Nick cleared his throat loudly, not wanting to hear. Not wanting to believe he was capable of such a thing. He had his vices but murder wasn’t one of them.
“And you’re certain these memories you’ve pulled out of people who were there are real?”
“Who are there,” Milo corrected. “Of course they’re real. It’s all happening again, just as it did before.”
Nick squirmed in his seat, knocking against the luxurious travel bag. “That doesn’t mean it has to happen the same way now.”
Once again Milo shrugged. “I do wonder about that,” he said.
“What I wonder is why everyone’s memories stop at the same point,” Nick grumbled. “It seems like what comes after might be important.”
Milo took off his hat and rubbed his shiny head. For once the avaricious gleam in his eyes had dulled. “It just might at that.”
Chapter 5
Dexter Jacobs wiped the condensation off the ice bucket and checked his watch. Maybe he should have left the wine off the table until his wife of three years was actually home. Three years. It seemed both an age and only minutes. He was more in love with Emma than the moment he met her, thirteen years ago.
Of course only the three and a half since he’d finally made it to her time counted. She still didn’t like speaking of the terrible year she spent trapped in her own past. It was a miracle she continued working at Belmary House after the portal there had whisked her back in time, nearly causing her to lose her mind and her life.
Dexter had been more than tempted to skip ahead during those ten years he’d spent slowly catching up to her once she’d been safely returned to her proper time by that mad old fool Liam Wodge. Liam could transport anyone to any time at all and had offered more than once when he saw how miserable Dexter was during those years.
But Dex hadn’t wanted to be the younger man riding on sophisticated Emma’s coattails. He wanted to live out those ten years, make something of himself, make her proud of him. And of course he couldn’t have left his parents to wonder what had become of him, especially when his cousin Tilly— more like a sister, really— had ditched them all for the 1800s.
He found a dish towel and
