Page 72 of Puck and Prejudice
Lizzy’s headache felt like a relentless tempest, pounding against the walls of her skull. All she could recall was being at the Crawfords’ ball and thinking more champagne would be brilliant. She had hazy yet horrifying memories of attempting to crawl onto Tuck’s lap in the carriage, yet he gave no indication that anything was amiss. When she’d finally woken up, he’d simply placed a glass of water, some toast, and a pot of strawberry jam on the table in her room. She couldn’t quite bring herself to face the jam, but the toast helped settle her stomach. Now she and Tuck were crossing Rotten Row to meet a stranger named Ezekiel Fairweather near the park’s mermaid fountain at the hour he had chosen.
“Why is this place called Rotten Row?” Tuck glanced around as they strolled. “I expected a dump, but it’s pretty.”
“It used to be called Route du Roi, or the King’s Road. It is hard to believe, but Hyde Park was once a wild expanse on the outskirts of the city. King Henry the Eighth took the land from monks and turned it into a royal hunting ground to use with his friends.”
“A way better hobby than chopping the heads off wives, I suppose.”
Lizzy let out an unexpected laugh. “Yes, quite.”
It felt strange that they could speak of anything else at all, considering they were going to meet another time traveler—someone from Tuck’s era, who even knew him in his hockey dealings. Yet, chatting of other matters somehow made the weightiness of the moment feel lighter. It helped her resist the mad urge to seize his hand and suggest they flee London, head back to the Woodlands, and live a quiet life together.
She cast him a sideways glance, noticing his size, the set of his jaw, and the way he frowned when lost in thought. His face didn’t seem warm or friendly, except when he spoke to her; then his eyes softened, and he smiled more, as if he couldn’t help but find her amusing.
In his presence, she felt a sensation of leaning in, like a sunflower facing the sun. The problem was that she might be falling for him—just a little, maybe more than that. And it was a joke, because oneshouldlove one’s husband; that was a good and lucky thing. Unless he came from another time, and their marriage was false, and then she was a ninny.
“Are you unwell?” He turned and faced her. “Never mind. Dumb question. Of course you are. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have let you come hungover.”
“Let me?” She placed her hands on her hips. “Have you forgotten who you are speaking to? I’m not the kind of woman youletdo anything.”
He snorted. “True. And I do want you to meet this guy. Incredible, isn’t it, that we didn’t know where to begin looking for answers and then an answer found us?”
“What’s incredible is that you were recognized. Are you quite famous?”
He considered it. “I guess it depends on the audience. Sometimes I can be out for a day and no one looks twice at me or saysanything. But if I’m in the right locations, where people know my sport and who I am, then yeah, I guess I’m famous enough.”
This pleased her in some strange way—not that it mattered what the world thought of him, but his success made her proud. She wanted him to be admired. He deserved it. But...
Her stomach contracted, churning and twisting.
She wasn’t the only woman out there who could see that not only was he a handsome man, but a good one.
“Uh-oh.” He took her hand and looped it through his arm. “I recognize this look.”
“What do you mean? I’m a bit under the weather due to my overindulgence.”
“Well, that’s true, but when those two lines appear between your eyebrows? That means there is a worry. What’s up?”
Her lips were so dry, and her tongue felt like sandpaper. She mustered a bright tone, despite not having the energy for a smile to match. “Worry? Me? I’m not worried about anything, I can assure you.”
His gentle grin faded. “Guess that makes one of us.”
“Why areyouworried?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Guess it’s the whole going-to-meet-a-time-traveler-and-learn-about-my-fate thing. You know, normal stuff for a Sunday morning.”
She bit her lip. “You don’t have a woman in your time, do you?”
“What?” He tripped, a look of surprise stamping his features. “Is that a serious question? If you thought that, why are you just now asking?”
“I do not think you have anything formal established or you would have surely mentioned it by now. You are a man of character. However, given that you have just stated you have fame, and also clearly possess good looks, and likely a respectable income, it does seem odd that you’d be unattached.”
“In truth? I’ve been way too busy to think about dating. You know, fighting a life-threatening disease and everything.”
“I see.” They walked a few more steps. “Most men wouldn’t let that stop them, though, would they?”
“Are you asking if I have had opportunities to be in a relationship? Yeah. Sure. Of course. I’ve dated, but, look, it’s a game that gets numbing. Especially in a position like mine when you don’t know if anyone ever likes you for you, or what you do when you strap on some skates and get on the ice.”
“Women like men who skate for money?”
