It was obvious by the loyalty of his staff and friends, that he was kindhearted and a man of honor. He was a man her father would've liked. The memory of her father sent a wave of grief cresting through her. His absence was simply a reminder that there was no reason to go back to her time period. Her mother had died when she was a baby, and she had no siblings. She had friends, but their lives would easily go on without her. She leaned her head against the window frame and focused her gaze on the pastures surrounding the manor.

The sun was slowly sinking toward the horizon, and she knew it wouldn't be long before Molly came to help her dress for dinner. On a distant knoll, Victoria saw two riders who were resting their horses. They were small shapes against the horizon, but a small voice in the back of her mind said they didn't belong there.

Victoria looked over her shoulder at the door of Nicholas' room. Maybe it would be a good idea to tell him about the riders. She turned back to the window, and an uneasy feeling washed over her the moment she saw the riders were gone. It was nothing, she reassured herself. If she kept expecting the worst or seeing things, Nicholas would have no other choice but to commit her to an asylum.

With a frown she turned away from the window. Her gaze fell on the secretaire, and she remembered how she'd been keeping a diary of her trip to England. It might be helpful if she kept a journal of events that happened here. It might even help her figure out how she'd gotten here. Victoria sat down at the desk and opened the lid. Inside the desk were a number of thin journals. Most of them were filled with comments about dresses, social events, gossip, and household matters.

Victoria quickly sorted through the thin volumes until she found an empty journal. She opened it to the first page and picked up the fountain pen. As Victoria wrote, the tension inside her slowly ebbed away. There was something cathartic about putting her thoughts on paper. A long while later, Victoria realized she'd filled more than a quarter of the journals pages with her thoughts.

A quiet knock sounded on her door, and she hastily pushed her journal into the dark recesses of the secretaire. The last thing she wanted was for someone to read the diary. She'd be deemed certifiable. As she closed the desk's lid, she called out for the visitor to enter. She turned her head to see Nicholas walk into the room. Startled by his appearance, she quickly stood up, and her stomach lurched at the charm in his smile.

"You're feeling better." It was just as much a statement as a question.

"Yes, thank you." She nodded. "Is Edmund all right. I could tell he was upset."

"He's been worried, but understands you simply fainted and needed rest." Nicholas paused for a brief second then cleared his throat. "He's not the only one who's been concerned."

"Oh." An awkward silence fell between them before she smiled. "As you can see, I'm feeling much better now."

Victoria cringed inside as her attempt to appear unaffected by his presence fell short. Almost as if he knew he'd made her uncomfortable, his mouth quirked in a small smile before his expression sobered.

"You recognized the painting earlier."

"Yes." She winced as her headache abruptly returned. It had only troubled her briefly while she was writing in her journal, but now the pain had grown sharp again. "It's my painting."

"Your painting?"

"Yes," Victoria said as her headache grew worse. "It's the one I bought in the art gallery."

"There must be another explanation, Victoria. The painting wasn't even dry." Disbelief filled his voice.

"I'm telling you, it's the painting I bought in the art gallery," she snapped then moaned softly.

"You have another headache." At his question, she nodded. A frown darkened his face. "These spells seem to occur only when you're thinking about the past and the time you were missing. For the time being, I believe we'll forego any further discussion on this matter."

"Fine," she said with frustration at his inability to believe her. Nicholas must have realized she was annoyed as he smiled.

"I came to ask if you would like to join Edmund and me for supper." His gaze locked with hers, and her pulse immediately took off like a rabbit racing for safety.

"That would be nice," she said as she relaxed slightly. "I'm sure it will reassure Edmund that I'm quite well when he sees me."

"Affirmation he has refused to accept from me," Nicholas said in an ironic tone of voice. "Come."

"But aren't you... we...changing for supper?"

"It's unnecessary this evening since it will only be the three of us."

"All right," she said as he moved to hold the door open for her. Just as she was about to pass through the door, Nicholas bent his head toward her, his warm breath singeing her ear.

"And you look delectable no matter what you wear...or don't wear."

The suggestive words made her cheeks burn, and she jerked her gaze up to meet his. Amusement and a wickedly seductive flame flashed in his green eyes as he stared down at her. With her heart racing, Victoria stepped out into the hallway and walked toward the stairs. Self-preservation urged her to run away as fast as she could, but she stubbornly refused to let him know how much his words had made her senses reel.

Nicholas easily caught up with her, but didn't speak as they made their way down the main stairs and to the dining room. The moment Edmund saw her, he was on his feet and hurrying toward her. He stopped in front of her and studied her carefully.

"Are you all right, Victoria?" The concern in his voice touched her heart.

"Yes. I'm fine. In fact, we could take a walk in the gardens tomorrow if you like?"

"You won't feel bad then?" Edmund asked, and as she shook her head, he grinned. "All right. That would be fun."

Edmund stepped forward and gave her a gentle hug as if he were worried he might hurt her. Victoria returned the hug then encouraged him to take his seat at the table. Uncertain where to sit so Nicholas' effect on her senses was limited, Victoria chose the chair opposite Edmund. Although she'd be in close proximity to Nicholas, at least she wouldn't be making a lot of eye contact for the entire meal. Before she could pull out her chair, Nicholas was there first. The moment she was seated, his fingertips grazed the back of her neck. She stiffened, but didn't look at him. Lord, the man was making it difficult to think clearly. In an effort to slow her racing pulse, she smiled at Edmund.

"Did you... did you enjoy our picnic this afternoon?" she asked Edmund, eager to put some distance between her and the feelings Nicholas aroused in her.

"Yep," he replied before his expression fell. "But I didn't like the man who painted. He made you sad."

"I wasn't upset with the artist, Edmund." Victoria shook her head. "His painting brought back-bad memories."

"Oh," Edmund said quietly before his expression brightened with a sudden look of understanding. Beside his brother, Nicholas snapped his napkin open and laid it in his lap.

"Speaking of that artist, I met with him while you were sleeping." Nicholas' tapered fingers drummed lightly against the linen tablecloth. Startled, she jerked her gaze up to his.

"Why?" she asked with a puzzled frown.

"I wanted to review more of his work. He's quite talented, and I've asked him to paint your portrait."

"What?" she gaped at him.

"It's time your portrait hung in the salon."

"But I don't-"

"The subject is not up for debate. I'll not be swayed in this, Victoria." The arrogant statement made her glare at him.

"You know, you get your way far too often." Uncertain whether to feel annoyed or amused at his self-satisfied expression, Victoria narrowed her eyes at him. He merely smiled.

"Why wouldn't I?" he responded. Victoria rolled her eyes at him before she looked down at her plate.

Throughout the meal, Victoria gave thanks for Edmund's presence. She doubted she would have been able to match wits with Nicholas without his brother present. When supper was over, Edmund bid the two of them good night and left the dining room. Alone with Nicholas, she met his searching gaze for a moment before placing her napkin next to her plate.

"How do you usually spend your evenings when you're not entertaining guests?" she asked, hoping to avoid any flirtations she might not be able to control.

"Sometimes my estate clerk has papers for me to review or I'll read a book."

"Then you won't mind if I get a book from your library?"

"I didn't say I always do those things." He smiled at her with a hint of amusement. "I just elaborated on how I generally spend my evenings alone. But I'm not alone am I. Perhaps you would like to play cribbage."

"I'm not very good at it." She shook her head at the suggestion before making one of her own. "You have a chess set?"

"God in heaven, woman." He threw back his head with a shout of laughter. "What makes you think you can play chess?"

"If you'll recall, you didn't think I could ride either." Bristling, she glowered at him.

"Very well, but be forewarned, I'll not grant you any quarter."

"Then put your money where your mouth is," she snapped. "If you win, I'll agree not to make a fuss about this damn portrait you're so determined to have done."

"No, I think I'll have your agreement to two portraits then I'll accept your wager."

"Two? You said one just a few moments ago."

"Now, I wish to have two. One for the library and a second one for my personal enjoyment." He leaned back in his chair and took a sip of wine from his glass studying her over the rim.

"What's this second portrait supposed to be like?" Whatever he was up too, she knew her pride wouldn't allow her to avoid his trap. Besides, she was good at chess, which meant she had the element of surprise on her side. Nicholas smiled and set his glass down on the table.

"I told you this morning that I wanted a portrait of you wrapped in a sheet, as if you'd just woken up in my bed. This new portrait would be for my viewing pleasure only, of course." The seductive quality of his voice sent a shiver down Victoria's spine as she stared at him speechlessly, while a smile touched his mouth.

"Well? Are you afraid you'll lose?" The cocky note in his voice made Victoria glare at him.

"You're on," she snapped. "If I win, I don't have to do either of the portraits. If I lose, then I agree to do both of them without any argument. Now where's the damn board."

"In the library," he murmured with satisfaction. The confidence in his smile only irritated her more, as she walked with him to the drawing room. She gritted her teeth with determination.

More than an hour later, the two of them studied the chessboard in silence. The board held just a few key pieces, and Victoria tried to stifle her sense of triumph as she reached out and moved her queen into position. One more move and his king would be hers for the taking. She held her breath as she waited for Nicholas to take his turn. With a decisive moment, he slid his bishop across the board, and she smiled with elation.

"Checkmate." Nicholas's soft words destroyed her euphoria. Stunned, Victoria stared at the board in disbelief. How in the hell had he managed to outwit her? She'd used the same game strategy that had never failed to win her a game until now.

"An exceptional game, sweet witch." Nicholas sat back in his chair a relaxed, yet slightly confused, expression on his handsome face.

"But I still lost," she said, scowling at the board and then at him.

"Yes," he said amusement. "Which means you'll sit for two portraits with no arguments."

"Fine," she snapped. "And you don't have to look so damned pleased with yourself."

"If it's any consolation, you had me concerned until your last five moves."

In a small way, his words made her loss easier to bear. But she wasn't happy about losing, especially when it came to the second portrait she'd agreed to sit for. The thought of being painted with nothing but a sheet wrapped around her was embarrassing, particularly when Nicholas had said it was for him.

"Where did you learn to play chess so well?" Nicholas studied her with curiosity as if he'd just realized something unexpected.

"My father."

"Brentwood played chess?" The incredulous note in Nicholas's voice made her close her eyes in frustration.

"No," she emphasized quietly. "My father, Thomas Ashton."

"Victoria-"

"Don't. Just don't," she said with a resigned sigh. "I'm not going to argue with you about it again. Either you believe me or you don't."

Without waiting for a response she got up from her chair and walked towards the door. As she passed him, Nicholas' caught her by the arm to stop her and stood up to face her. Hands clasped behind his back he eyed her with sympathy.

"Consider my position, Victoria. My wife vanishes for three weeks. When she returns, the cut and bruising on her head indicates she's suffered a head injury. Not only that, but she insists she is not my wife, and that she's from another time and place. What am I to make of all that? What would you believe?"

The moment he put the question to her, Victoria closed her eyes. Just what would she do in his place? As much as she wanted to think she would believe his story, she knew it would be difficult for her to do. A strong hand captured her chin, and she opened her eyes to meet his puzzled gaze.

"It will be all right, Victoria, but despite the miraculous changes in you, I cannot believe your story. It's too incredible to believe. I think your mind has created a false reality to protect you from whatever happened to you while you were gone. Your headaches and fainting spells only reinforce my conviction."

With a nod of understanding she pulled free of his grasp and walked away from him. As she reached the doorway of the salon, she turned her head toward him.

"I understand your skepticism, Nicholas, but ask yourself this. How could a woman who's terrified of horses and can't ride, skillfully ride one of your stallions? How did the same woman almost beat you at chess? How is it all the other things I've said and done has not made you realize I am who I say I am? Do you really think all of that can be attributed to a bump on the head?"

She met his green-eyed gaze for a moment then turned away and went up the stairs. Why was it so important to her that he believe she was from the future? The answer ringing in her head frightened her. Quickly, she blocked it out of her thoughts. She knew who she was, and she refused to forget it.

Chapter 19.

Nicholas stared at the empty doorway Victoria had passed through. With a quiet oath, he slammed his fist into the padded back of his chair. God help him, he wanted to believe her. Every time he turned around, Victoria was saying or doing something that would be impossible for Vickie to do. The riding he could have put down to sheer stubbornness on Vickie's part, but tonight-their chess game had defied all logic. Vickie could no more tell a knight from a bishop to save her life, yet Victoria had come close to winning their game, and he rarely lost.

No, it was much easier to believe Victoria's head injury was responsible for the remarkable changes in her behavior. If he stopped believing that, it meant he had to address a much darker possibility where his wife was concerned. With a low growl of frustration, Nicholas made his way up to his room. Roberts greeted him as he entered his bed chamber.

"I trust your evening was a pleasant one, my lord."

"It was," he nodded as he remembered how much he'd enjoyed supper with Victoria and his brother at the table. The game of chess afterward had been even more pleasant. No, it had been much more than pleasant. He'd experienced a quiet contentment in Victoria's company. "More evenings like this would be quite pleasurable, Roberts."

Roberts assisted in removing his coat then hung the garment in the wardrobe. When Nicholas was ready, the valet held up Nicholas' robe. As he shrugged into the night coat, Roberts cleared his throat.

"May I presume to inquire whether you agree with my assessment with regard to Master Edmund and her ladyship, my lord?"

Roberts voice pierced Nicholas's thoughts, and he turned his head to meet the older man's curious gaze. With a slow nod of his head, Nicholas looked away. His gaze focused on the fire as he tightened the cloth belt around his waist.

"As always, Roberts, your judgment is impeccable. Seeing Victoria with Edmund today has changed my opinion. I no longer have any objection to my wife spending time with my brother."

Nicholas closed his eyes for a brief second then moved to the chair in front of the fire. The book he'd been reading for the past few nights mocked him from its place on the table. He was certain reading would be much more difficult tonight than usual.

"Is there anything else I may get for you, my lord?"

"No, thank you, Roberts."