He opened his eyes wide. "Does that mean yes?"
"Yes."
He pulled her toward him in a fierce hug. Although startling, it was so much nicer than being dragged from the room by her wrists. The warmth generated between them threatened to combust her, as heat flamed in her chest.
Charles stepped back to arm's length away, dropping his hands. His face resembled a ripe strawberry. "Please excuse my—"
Izzy giggled. "Don't worry about it. "It's o — all right. But I don't have a dress, remember? Or shoes, or know how to do the dances you guys do." This time, she grabbed his hand. It just felt plain wonderful. How odd, though, since they'd only just met. And didn't even live in the same century.
Charles smiled. "Don't give it another thought, Isabella. I'll take care of everything. We just have to make sure to keep you hidden until then."
She tilted her head. "But how?"
"It's a big house. Leave it to me."
****
Izzy dreaded the ball. She couldn't imagine wearing a huge dress down to her feet. How much did those things weigh, anyway? Would the shape of it make her resemble a big bell? She'd bet anything they were hot and scratchy. And it didn't even include dancing in the stupid thing. As clumsy as she was, Charles would be lucky to have any skin on the tops of his feet and ankles by the end of the ball. Maybe she could just sit in a chair somewhere, watching other people dance. Or maybe Charles could dance with someone else.
A jolt of jealousy zapped her heart when she envisioned Charles with his arms around another woman. His focus on her. Speaking only to her. Izzy shook her head. But why in the world should she care? She'd only just met him and they hardly knew anything about each other. Her acceptance to help him with his uncle and the ball was only gratitude for him protecting her while she was here.
If anyone else found out about her, she'd either be locked up in jail or tossed in some insane asylum. Besides, living here in this time would never suit her. Women here were dependent on men, looking to them to make their decisions. What kind of life was that for someone who'd had a taste of independence and freedom of choice?
But who knew if she'd even still be here in two weeks? While she knew she had a good job back home and an apartment, aside from some casual friends and co-workers, was there anyone who would miss her for long? It's not as if she even had a pet, since her apartment didn't allow them. However, she wanted to go back. Needed to. If she didn't show up for her meeting a week after Christmas about the big promotion they dangled in front of her, she was burnt toast.
Everything about the country and time period she found herself in was foreign. The speech, mannerisms, and clothes would be hard to accept. She was pretty sure someone would frown at her if she wore jeans and sweatshirts all the time. Izzy sighed. Having no idea how she ended up here, she'd an even less idea how to get back, but it must have something to do with the closet.
The door to the small bedroom squeaked open. Ready to bolt behind the bed, she scurried that direction and slid between the bed and the wall.
"Isabella? It is I. Charles."
She rose up above the headboard just enough to peer over the cherry wood. Wait, he's not alone! A young woman was with him. Izzy folded herself into as tight a ball as possible, trying to ignore the dust hippos lingering there. Their maid needed a firm scolding. Oh good grief. She was already starting to sound like Charles.
"It's all right, Isabella."
She heard the squeaky hinges creak and the door shut with a soft click, but she still didn't move. What was the man thinking? Why would he tell someone else about her after going to all the trouble to hide her in this out-of-the-way bedroom? Izzy pinched her nose tight to ward off a sneeze. There was so much dust in this house. Guess modern vacuums did do a better job than brooms and mops.
She heard footsteps, which stopped beside the headboard. Izzy glanced down and spotted Charles' boots. Realizing she still held onto her nose, she dropped her hand to her lap.
"Isabella, I can see you. You may as well acknowledge me."
How embarrassing. She peered up at him. He was smirking, of all the nerve. Well, all right. If the man wanted to tell someone about her, risking her being hauled off to the pokey, then so be it. If they sent her to the stockade, or whatever it was they did here and now, then he could just live with the guilt for the rest of his days.
Izzy stood up, straightened her rumpled clothes, and smoothed down the wayward dark curls that had escaped from her ponytail holder. Boy, she missed her suitcase full of clothes and her hair conditioner. She peeked toward the door. The young woman, wearing a dark dress up to her neck and down to the floor, stood with hands clasped.
Charles reached for Izzy's hand, helping her maneuver back out from behind the headboard. "Isabella, this is Sarah. She is going to help us."