Izzy stepped closer, glaring into his eyes. "Of course I'm not a witch! It's just a cell phone, and not even a good one at that."
The duke stared at her while shaking his head. His fingers dug deeper into her wrist. Eyes still opened wide, he bent back down to retrieve a piece of paper and stood back up. One look told Izzy it was the brochure of the estate tour with her ticket stub attached to the front. She smirked and stared directly into eyes that appeared as if they could shoot sparks.
"There, duke. See? That proves I have a right to be here. I paid for my ticket. So what do you say to that?"
A frown marred the handsome face. He turned the paper this way and that, examining it from every angle. "This is not common paper. The light from the window reflects from its surface." He quickly scanned over the words on the page, narrowing his eyes after darting them back to the top. "What madness is this?"
"Huh?" Why didn't he stop playing his role? It had to be obvious she wasn't buying it.
"The date on this page. It states it's the year 2012?"
"Yeah, so?"
He held the paper closer to his face. "And this image. It's of my home. What trickery allowed it to occur? How did you come by this?"
"Because I signed up to tour this estate so I could see how the wealthy used to live. Now I wish I hadn't." Izzy yanked her wrist, trying to break free of his grip.
He opened his mouth, gaping like a fish. Even though Izzy wanted to be as far away from this madhouse as possible, she couldn't stop staring at the man's well-formed lips. They appeared to be soft and sensual. What would they taste like?
"I-it can't be." The duke tightened his hold on her wrist.
"What can't be?" Izzy gasped when the man pulled her roughly down the hall. Squeaks from the soles of her shoes bounced off the ceiling, creating a tiny echo. As she darted a gaze toward the wall, she spotted several portraits in a row to her left. Wait. That one looked like… She stared again at the man tugging her toward a closed wooden door. No, it couldn't be. Why would the tour guide's picture be on the wall?
Izzy sucked in air too fast, her lungs protesting the sudden intake. Oh no, not now. Another gasp morphed into a wheeze. Legs that still felt tingly from her closet panic attack now threatened to buckle. The man didn't even slow down to look at her. What was wrong with him? She could be dying, and he wouldn't even notice.
When they reached the closed door at the end of the hallway, Izzy watched as the duke pushed it open. What was he planning on doing to her? If he called the cops, she didn't know any English lawyers.
Izzy was yanked across the room and was relieved when the irate man finally let go of her wrist. She rubbed some life into her hand as she plopped down on the nearest piece of furniture, fearing otherwise she might collapse in a heap on the wooden floor.
The duke thrust the paper toward her within two inches of her face. "What's the meaning of this?"
She closed her eyes and leaned forward, swatting the paper away from her nose. Her breathing had slowed a little and the wheezing had stopped, but her heartbeat still felt like a drum at a rock concert. When she opened her eyes, he was closer than he'd been before.
"Meaning of what? The brochure? You should know, since you work here."
He stood taller, throwing back his shoulders. "Work? I'm not a common servant."
"Cut the act, duke. You don't have an audience for your theatrics anymore."
Izzy expected the man to berate her further. Instead, he slumped onto a chair near her. He slid his gaze once again to the paper in his hand. "It can't be. It simply can't be."
Izzy took a deep breath and was relieved to find it no longer hurt her chest. "What are you talking about?" She just wanted out of there, away from the rude tour guide with all the weird questions, and away from the mean women who'd put her in that position.
"The… the date." The edges of the yellow paper fluttered as he waved it around.
"Why not? Don't you people in England use the same date as we do in America?"
He jerked his head up. "America? That explains your strange accent. And your insolence."
"Insolence? I don't think so. I'm just standing up for myself. And there's nothing strange about my accent. What about yours? How long did it take you to learn to speak like you're from the year—"
"Eighteen-twelve." He rubbed a large hand down his face until his fingers rested on his chin. "The year is 1812."
Chapter Two
Charles couldn't take his eyes from the woman sitting on his settee. Despite the fact she was dressed strangely, she was stunning. Her long dark hair was pulled away from her face with some sort of band. And long lashes, black as night, the sight of which quickened his heartbeat, surrounded her dark eyes. He sighed, running his hand through his hair. How had it happened that a woman from the future sat here in his home? Of course, he'd read of time travel, but never in his wildest imagination…
Izzy leaned forward. "I can hardly believe this. It's actually 1812?"