Apparently she really was in the past. Where there were parasols. And dungeons.
Can I deal with this?
She looked back at Rollo. Tall, dark, handsome, and so sexy serious.
Would he look that intense when he . . .
She flushed.
Oh yeah, she could deal.
“I have an inkling of this woman’s origins. She needs my assistance and that is what I shall give. Fear not, I’ll see her soon gone from Perth.”
Gone?
“No,” she hesitated. “I’m supposed to—”
“Go now,” Rollo told his friend, cutting her off. His hard features softened for a moment. “You’ve been fancying a boat. Go find one already.”
“You know where I’m from?” she asked the moment Ormonde strode away. She’d been dying to ask, but had wanted to wait until she and Will were alone.
“Aye. I know enough.” He took the cane from his hand to flex and stretch his fingers. “Now we must get to the clothier before he closes for his midday meal.”
“But I don’t think you . . .” She watched him as he turned to head back toward the village. Rollo set a slow and shuffling pace, and yet stood tall and elegantly upright. She eyed his uneven gait, marveling at the thick knots of muscle that had been carved into his physique, as if his body was overcompensating for his injured legs.
She jogged a couple paces to catch up to him. Felicity could see the pain clearly on his face, at the corners of his eyes and mouth.
He was obviously a tragic figure who also happened to have movie star good looks.
Clearly she’d been sent through time for him.
The problem was, he didn’t seem too interested in her. Yet.
“Here”—she took his arm, giving it a warm squeeze—“let me help—”
Rollo abruptly pulled from her. “I need no help.”
“I . . .” Felicity recoiled as if stung.
“Listen.” Rollo stopped, the chiseled steel of his features blunting momentarily. “The future, is it? I’ve met others like you.”
Her face widened in shock. “You—”
“Aye. Others there have been. I will help you. To return.”
“But, you’re not listening. I don’t want to return.” She gave him an earnest smile. “The universe thinks you’re the one for me.”
“I . . .” He stood still as granite then, his mind seeming far from where they stood. His eyes blazed a trail down, then back up, her body. Abruptly, Will gave his head a shake. “I am no woman’s man. Now come.” He gestured to the path that had taken them to a quaint village square. “It’s to the clothier for you. Then to Perthshire. Then home. Your home.”
The road was a mucky minefield of horse manure, puddles, and uneven runnels in the mud. She marveled how she had to struggle to keep up with him, even though he didn’t have the easy gait of other men.
Breathless, Felicity caught up to his side, but before she could speak, he announced, “Here.”
She looked up to see an elaborate hand-painted sign reading: Jos. Pemberley and Sons ~ Millinery and Fine Dress Making for Ladies.
“Joseph Pemberley,” she read aloud. “You brought me to a . . . mill?”
“A milliner.” He chuckled. The sound was unexpected—low and husky, it sent goose bumps rippling across her skin. She’d gathered that laughter was a rarity for the man, and yet, she thought wistfully, it utterly transformed him.