Ashford shook himself and looked up as the terrace door opened. He hadn’t fallen asleep, but had slipped into something like a fever dream he couldn’t remember. How long had he been sitting there staring off at nothing? Someone was coming out, perhaps many someones had come out and strolled right past him in his uncomfortable hiding spot.
He sent up a silent prayer of thanks, although he knew no one from above would be helping him with this particular endeavor, when he saw the person leaving the ball was none other than his target.
Nick hummed softly under his breath as he passed Ashford squatting behind an unruly cluster of potted plants. How Serena loved flowers. He knew Kostya despised them for whatever reason and had thought he would have torn them all out once Camilla was gone. He must keep them around for Serena.
Ashford once again shook his head. Why was he thinking such inane things as if he were just figuring them out? He was from another time with a job to do, not the Ashford who wanted so desperately to kiss Matilda. His head wasn’t just throbbing with pain, it was full of unwieldy and confusing thoughts. He was too close. Too close to his younger self. It was already driving him mad.
So get the job done and get away, he told himself, forcing his aching legs to rise and his heavy feet to follow Nick. As he kept a safe distance, he saw that Nick was heading toward his younger self and Matilda.
“Bloody hell, you won’t interrupt us,” he muttered. Was the ground moving under him? He couldn’t decipher if the way he felt was a side effect of his untested spell or being so close to his other self. “Possibly both,” he said far too loudly. He clapped his hand over his mouth and ducked behind a tree. It was worse than being drunk and having a hangover combined.
He stayed behind the tree, still keeping Nick in his sights. He had stopped and seemed to be staring across the garden at Matilda and him. Had the miscreant been spying on them the first time? Ashford shook his head, trying to clear the fog that had settled in between his ears. How could it have already happened if it was currently happening? He watched in fascination as his young self moved closer to Matilda, looking as serious as if the very world depended on what he was saying.
He stifled a laugh. Now he really knew what was important. And he was wasting time. And definitely far too close to his other self for comfort. Far past agonizing pain, actually. He shook his head again, groaning at the pain the movement caused. He needed to concentrate. Focus.
Watching Nick watching them irritated him and the irritation brought forth the righteous rage he felt towards Nick. The man was a murderer. If not this moment, he would be. It had happened once and might very well be about to happen again in yet another time and Ashford decided he would be damned if he let it continue.
The anger reminded him what he was there for and he moved away to wait. He knew that Nick didn’t interrupt them that night both so long ago and happening right now, so it stood to reason Nick would return to the house. It gave Ashford a small amount of satisfaction to know Nick would be disappointed that he didn’t get a chance to further try to worm his way into Matilda’s affections. Let him go to hell disappointed.
Ashford bumped into a tree and stopped to get his bearings. He must have gone into another trance of sorts. Bloody hell but he should never be allowed to do magic again. He patted his gun once more. He wouldn’t need magic, not for this. The spot he’d inadvertently stumbled upon turned out to be a perfect hiding spot, hidden in the shadows but with a perfect view of anyone walking back from the gardens. He took out the gun and screwed on the cylinder that would dampen the noise. Between that and the ruckus of the party, Nick would be dead without anyone being the wiser. After that, Ashford didn’t have a clue. Go home, he supposed. Leave it to this lot to sort.
“But I can’t do that to poor Serena,” he said sadly to the gun. “I suppose I better drag him off into the woods before I go.”
His head throbbed and some small voice in the back of his head was trying to tell him something. “Did I just speak about dragging a man’s body away as if it was no different than a fallen tree branch?” The gun continued to not answer him, but now that he was a bit farther from his young self, he started feeling as if he was about to make a grave mistake.
He settled himself against the tree and with the gun under his arm, he pressed his palms to his face. Concentrate. He had to concentrate. If only everything didn’t hurt so much. With his eyes covered he felt a bit calmer, a bit less like he was burning up from the inside out. He forced himself to think of the happiest moments of his life to ease the overwhelming anxiety that was slowly building to a force he feared would knock
