“Royce,” she whispered.
His eyes, which were looking over her shoulder, moved to hers and at the look in them she felt herself holding her breath. “Beatrice?”
She didn’t know what to do, what to say. Would he remember her from the future?
She couldn’t count on that.
She had to pretend to be Beatrice.
And she had to work fast.
As he arranged her heavy hair around her shoulders, he murmured, “Better,” as if to himself.
“We have to go upstairs,” she whispered because his eyes had warmed and she definitely knew what that meant and she thought it best to press her advantage while she had one.
His grin turned wicked but his hand dropped and took hers, lifting it to his mouth, he pressed a kiss against her fingers. And through this, never once did his eyes leave hers.
“You are very impatient, my sweet,” he murmured. “We can wait; it will only be a few…”
“No!” she cried. “We have to go now, upstairs, you and me, now. There isn’t much time.”
And she suddenly felt like bursting into tears. She had to make him go upstairs, she had to – she gulped – she had to cheat (essentially) on Colin in order to save Royce and Beatrice. Or, she hoped, get the ball rolling then wake up in her time and in this time Beatrice could take over. And hopefully Beatrice wouldn’t come back from wherever she went when Sibyl was in her body and not be too freaked out.
She didn’t care if it messed with time (although she really didn’t want Japan to fall into the sea). She felt, believed to the bottom of her heart, that she and Colin would find each other, even if she did save Beatrice and Royce.
And she was going to do it, if there was time.
She’d forgotten that Royce was a seasoned warrior and he knew the kind of fear he saw in her eyes. Therefore the warmth went out of his, his body stiffened and he stared at her with concern.
“Speak to me,” he demanded.
“Royce.” She stepped closer and his arms instantly moved around her, pulling her protectively, lovingly against his hard body. She nearly came undone at the strange, casual beauty of his light embrace. “We have to go upstairs, Royce, tonight it will be too late because tonight…”
Then it happened, she was slipping away, she could feel it. She was waking from her dream and Beatrice was coming back. She had to change tactics, there wasn’t enough time, she simply had to warn him that tonight they would be murdered even if he thought she (or Beatrice) was crazy.
“Tonight? Beatrice, what do you fear happens this night?”
“Royce.” She could have sworn she shouted his name but it came out less than a whisper.
And then he was gone or she was gone and instead she was on her side in Colin’s bed, Bran curled up in the warm space made by her belly and her bent legs. She felt a hand smooth over her shoulder and she turned her head to see Colin’s dark one descending to kiss the place where his hand had been.
She wanted to burst into tears.
Instead she hid her rampaging emotions with a sleepy, “Morning,” and she closed her eyes to hide her feelings from Colin.
She felt his finger run down her cheekbone. “Go back to sleep, darling.”
And then he was gone.
And when she knew he was, she finally allowed the tears to come.
For she knew somewhere in the bottom of her heart that was her last chance.
And she had failed.
* * * * *
First thing that morning, Mandy walked into Colin’s office with his coffee and whispered, “Mr. Fitzwilliam is here to see you.”