LuckySilver Read online

  Lucky Silver

  Clare Murray

  Blush sensuality level: This is a sensual romance (may have explicit love scenes, but not erotic in frequency or type).

  Marissa Blythe has never felt she belonged in modern times. During a college Victorian Party, she wanders into a temporary hedge maze and wishes upon an old silver spoon. When she tries to leave, she realizes the hedge maze has changed. Fortunately she finds a handsome Englishman to escort her to the exit—after he claims a kiss from her. But England in the 1850s is going to take some adjusting to, despite the magic that’s helping her.

  Rhys, fifth Baron Montford, is fascinated by the woman who appears in his maze. She’s different from the fainting, London-bred chits from whose ranks he’s expected to choose a wife. He’s impressed that she wants to make her own way in life—until he finds her walking away from him. Rhys pursues—and catches—Marissa, but he must reconcile his desire for her with his obligations in life.

  A Blush® historical time-travel romance from Ellora’s Cave

  Lucky Silver

  Clare Murray

  Chapter One

  Marissa Blythe grasped her reticule firmly despite the whispers and snickers coming from the people around her. She stood straight-backed in her ivy-green dress, hair brushed to perfection, ignoring everyone and everything.

  The bus lurched to a stop in front of the university gates and Marissa disembarked with a sense of relief. Soon she would be at her club’s Victorian Party, mingling with others in costume. She had been looking forward to this for ages.

  As she hurried to the gates, pedestrians stared at her. One, probably another student, wolf-whistled, causing Marissa’s hand to flutter nervously to her dark-brown hair. Picking up her pace, Marissa turned down a lesser-used side path in order to avoid more unwanted attention.

  She hoped that the Victorian Party would be a success. Even if only a handful turned up in appropriate costume, she would be happy. Everyone knew that Marissa was the type of person who truly belonged in another era…preferably somewhere in the middle of the 19th century. In fact, the party was probably going to be the highlight of her year.

  She strode indoors, feeling surprisingly comfortable in the dress she had chosen. The History Club’s multipurpose room was empty save for one person—Harriet West, the middle-aged leader of the club. An assistant professor, Harriet had been Marissa’s rock throughout the last four years.

  “You’re early!” Harriet called. “Come help me light some candles. I’m brewing some tea, and one of the music professors has lent us a harpsichord. We’ll have dancing!”

  “It sounds heavenly already,” Marissa said, reaching for a candle. “And wonderfully authentic.”

  “Speaking of authentic, look what I found buried in one of the back rooms.” Harriet held up a tarnished silver spoon. “Since this place was built so long ago, I think there’s every possibility it’s quite old…say from the 1860s or so. Here, you take it. Might bring you some fame, fortune, maybe even true love.”

  Marissa laughed and caught the spoon as Harriet tossed it. “In my dreams. But if it’s a lucky spoon you deserve something too!”

  The assistant professor smiled and shrugged. Both she and Marissa had experienced a bad year, so any good luck would be welcome. “We’ll see. Can you go outdoors and check on the maze the janitor helped set up?”

  There was a real maze? Marissa tucked the spoon into her reticule, heading toward the building’s courtyard. Just as she was about to step outside, she heard raucous voices behind her. She winced as she caught sight of the group entering the multipurpose room. None of them had made any sort of effort to dress up—their costumes consisted solely of modern dresses with shawls and scarves. One or two of them even carried their cell phones, texting as they walked.

  Biting her lip, Marissa retreated. As the door closed she took a deep, steadying breath of crisp winter air. Her spirits lifted; the courtyard was looking decidedly Victorian. A large, temporary hedge maze dominated the outside space. Although it was relatively simple, it delighted Marissa. She entered it, walking slowly so as to savor the experience.

  “…seen that girl Marissa Blythe yet?” The voice was dripping with disdain. Marissa paused warily, looking around, but the voice was coming from outside the maze.

  “Isn’t she the one who organized this thing?”

  “Yeah, her and that prude Harriet West. Can you believe it? This is soooo stupid. I’m only here because of the extra credit.”

  “Me too. I mean, look at that pathetic maze. That would take me two seconds to get through. Come on, let’s go inside. It’s getting cold out here.”

  Marissa found she was clutching the tarnished silver spoon. She consciously relaxed her grip, staring down at the little Victorian relic. Her eyes blurred with tears. She took a deep, shaky breath.

  “I wish I was anywhere but here. I—I wish Harriet could come with me. I wish… I wish I could be where I belonged.”

  Feeling oddly drained, she slid the spoon back into her reticule and made her way into the center of the maze, blinking away tears. Perching on the tiny bench there, she sighed. Never mind. She would get through the evening. Somehow.

  Marissa pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes as a sudden wave of dizziness overcame her. Closing her eyes, she reached out to steady herself. Her hand brushed stone.

  With a frown, she opened her eyes. Surely Harriet and the janitor hadn’t carried an entire fountain into the courtyard? But there it was before her eyes, burbling merrily away, water spilling down its sides and into a large basin, where several fish swam. She blinked. Well, perhaps the club had allowed more money for the party than expected.

  “Good evening.” The voice came from behind her. Clipped and cultured, it was an amazingly well-done approximation of an upper-class British accent. She turned, ready to see blue jeans.

  Instead, she saw a costume even more elaborate than her own. Dressed in a silk cravat, fine waistcoat, expensive-looking dinner jacket, top hat and gloves, the newcomer regarded her curiously. His piercing cobalt eyes seemed to burn right through her dress to the skin underneath, regarding her almost possessively.

  He looked on the older side for a student; perhaps he was an already graduated companion of another student. Marissa straightened, suddenly realizing she had not replied to him. She wondered how long he would stay in character.

  “Good evening,” she said cautiously.

  “I hardly expected to find someone in the middle of my hedge maze. Did you not find it difficult to get to the center?” Again that penetrating gaze.

  “Of course not, I simply walked through.” Was he role-playing? He had to be. She was beginning to warm to him.

  Dark eyebrows rose fractionally. “You must be skilled indeed to have solved the maze without help, my lady. Was the party not to your taste?”

  “I wanted to escape all the gossip,” Marissa said truthfully.

  The man’s eyes gleamed in appreciation. “A worthy reason for wandering. Are you warm enough with just that shawl on?”

  Her dark-brown eyes met his gaze. “I’m afraid I could not find a suitable overcoat for the evening. I do feel the cold, I must admit.”

  “Then you must come inside at once. The evening is growing darker, and we are without chaperone.”

  Marissa stood up. It was cold, far colder than it had been earlier. There was even a hint of snow in the air. Strange…when she’d left home, it had been a mild evening.

  Well, it was no matter. She would be inside within a matter of moments. Although she did very much appreciate the stranger’s apparent knowledge of Victorian mores. She was willing to bet half the students present at the party wouldn’t have a clue as to what a chaperone was.

  Smoothi
ng her dress absently, Marissa turned left down the hedge path—and stopped immediately. “Oh!” she cried. “It’s a dead end!”

  “Indeed.” The man behind her seemed amused.

  She spun around, fixing him with a stern glare. “Someone must have come in and changed the maze while I wasn’t looking.” Marissa turned and hurried past him, ignoring his infuriating chuckle.

  Silently she berated herself. She should have known he was too good to be true with his in-character attitude and period-accurate costume. He must have shifted the hedges, closing them in. He was probably dating one of the girls inside, colluding with her to humiliate Marissa.

  Was he waiting for her to beg him to move the heavy plants aside? Marissa refused to give him the victory.

  Yet how had the maze gotten so big? She stopped uncertainly at a crossroads, peering left and right. The footsteps behind her paused as well. Marissa whirled on him. “Did you change the maze somehow?”

  The man shrugged one elegant shoulder. “As far as I know, this maze hasn’t been altered in years. I find it impressive that you were able to find the hidden fountain.”

  Marissa swallowed hard as she realized the hedges now seemed to be rooted in the frosty ground. There was no way anyone could have altered their route.

  “I already told you—I simply walked through to the center.” Her voice wavered a little as she surreptitiously pulled at one of the hedges. It bent, but its roots held firm.

  The stranger moved closer, staring intently. “We have not been introduced, Miss…?”

  Was this more role-playing? If so, it had gone entirely too far. “Who are you?” Marissa shot back.

  “Rhys Montford,” he said, almost expectantly.

  “I’m Marissa Blythe,” she replied, mollified by his continued politeness. “Ah, it must be this way. Surely the exit cannot be far.”

  Lord Rhys, fifth Baron Montford, followed the girl, trying not to appreciate her curvy body too much. So she had wandered into the maze to avoid gossip? He was here for the same reason. The last thing he had expected to find was a genuinely beautiful young woman sitting in his own personal refuge. How had she gotten through the maze so easily? And how had he missed her arrival at his own party?

  Upon finding her, Rhys had been immediately suspicious that someone had conspired to spirit the girl through the maze, creating a compromising situation designed to embarrass him. Yet the girl truly seemed not to recognize Rhys, focusing solely on exiting the maze. Rhys found himself fascinated.

  He trailed her silently as she uncertainly navigated her way forward. Marissa. Unusual name, easy on the tongue. Her accent marked her as American—what the devil was she doing in rural Shropshire?

  Any minute now she would give up trying to get through the maze. It was a miracle she hadn’t gotten lost on the way in. What had she been thinking, setting off without a chaperone or, at the very least, a warm coat? Had she been involved in an argument?

  It was difficult to be silent when he was consumed by such intense curiosity. Somehow he managed to keep his mouth shut, waiting patiently at a junction as Marissa explored a double dead end. As she came back, he resisted the urge to grab her around the waist and direct her toward the right way. He wanted to see just how determined she really was.

  There was a steely glint in her eye that made him think she wasn’t going to give up easily. Oddly enough, she clung to her belief that the maze was easy, that someone had magically changed the paths to confound her.

  A quarter of an hour later, the girl had made some progress, doggedly continuing on despite the many setbacks of the complicated hedge paths. But she was getting cold, and Rhys was too much of a gentleman to let her struggle on in silence. His conscience bit at him as he caught sight of goose bumps on her arms. She really needed to be inside by a roaring fire with a hot drink.

  That meant escorting her inside and into what would most certainly be a storm of controversy over his entrance with a single woman.

  “Can I not assist you?” Rhys moved to her side, resisting the urge to rub warmth into her bare skin.

  “It shouldn’t be this complicated,” Marissa replied. “The maze looked quite simple at the entrance.”

  “Appearances can be deceiving.”

  She glanced over her shoulder, catching his gaze with her deep brown eyes. “Yes, they can. I learned that very early on in life.”

  Was that why she had deliberately not recognized him? He had to admit her lack of fawning was incredibly refreshing. The ladies his mother had invited to today’s party—every one painfully eligible—were all too aware of who he was. None of them would have dared venture into this maze.

  Society would be scandalized if it knew he was out here with an unchaperoned lady. His mother, on the other hand, would seize any chance to finally see him wed and producing grandchildren. She had been flinging girl after girl at him, all of them decent baroness material, on paper at least. In person, most were flighty, shallow and far too demanding. None of them had remotely interested him.

  Until now.

  Rhys narrowed his eyes, recalling the elderly Welsh fortune-teller he had visited several weeks ago. She had told him he would meet someone marriageable on the night of one of his winter parties. Furthermore, the old bat had insisted that if he didn’t seize the opportunity to claim the girl, he would be unhappy for the rest of his life.

  Load of old tosh.

  A flake of snow landed upon his sleeve, breaking his reverie. Ahead of him, the girl was shivering in earnest now.

  “Are you quite certain you know the way?” Rhys couldn’t help but needle her. At the same time, he wouldn’t allow her to continue unaided for long. He wanted to get her inside and warm. A little voice whispered that he might not mind being inside her and warm. He tried to dismiss that thought. The girl needed chivalry, not debauching, at this particular moment.

  “I am quite capable of standing on my own two feet, thank you. I am sure the exit is just around this corner here.”

  Again that dogged determination. All his would-be brides would have fainted dead away by now. Actually, Rhys amended, none of them would have dared enter the maze in the first place.

  He followed her as she continued, pausing to scowl down a long path. “I think we just came from there,” she muttered. Unexpectedly, she turned and nearly ran into him. He caught her arm, steadying her, unprepared for the shock that ran through him when he made contact with her skin.

  Rhys was struck by sudden, wicked inspiration. “Perhaps you did not know, but it is customary that any unmarried woman grants a kiss to the nearest man after making it successfully to the center of my maze.” Rhys hadn’t used that line for years, but Marissa’s lips were beyond tantalizing.

  Marissa turned, eyes wide, hands on hips. “Is that so?”

  Rhys shrugged, held out his hands. “The kisses are supposed to bring good fortune.”

  As he said that, her expression changed, her body posture becoming uncertain once more. “Good fortune?”

  He nodded, moved in closer. He would just kiss the girl once, to slake his curiosity. Just once. There was no harm in that.

  She slid into his arms, a chilly, shivering little bundle. Instinctively he gathered her against him, sharing his warmth. Then he bent her backward and claimed his kiss.

  Marissa felt almost helpless in his embrace. As his lips met hers, she nearly gasped. She had expected a chaste peck on the cheek, a quick, vanilla contact. This was far from chaste. She closed her eyes, pleasure slashing through her, briefly overshadowing the freezing cold. His lips were unyielding, demanding, yet there was tenderness too in the way he held her so that she could pull back at an instant’s notice.

  Not that she wanted to, of course.

  He was the one who broke off in the end, staring down at her in an almost accusatory manner.

  “Well, damn,” he said, his voice husky. And bent to claim her again.

  This time they both seemed to have hit their stride. With less fumb
ling around, his tongue flicked against her lips, opening them almost impatiently. Marissa was already out of her depth, having had no idea a simple kiss could feel this good. Certainly this was much more thorough than any of the quick, unfruitful, movie-theater fumbling she’d partaken of in the past.

  The past…

  Shocked into sober reflection, she stepped backward, searching his face intently. “This—I—I don’t know…”

  Cobalt eyes sharpened, flickered to her fingers. “You are otherwise promised?”

  “No…it’s… I’m in the wrong place. I think it’s best I call my carriage and return home.”

  Wait a moment…her carriage? She had meant to say taxi. Her mouth had somehow betrayed her. What on earth was happening? Blindly, she fumbled for her reticule, peering inside. The silver spoon winked at her, momentarily reflecting the dying evening light.

  No longer tarnished, it was shiny and new, as if it had been made yesterday.

  How old had Harriet said the spoon was?

  A shudder ripped through her, causing her to stumble. She felt Rhys gather her to him again, heard his murmured, anxious question against her right ear.

  “Yes I—I’m fine. I simply took a sudden chill.” She straightened, forcing herself to calm. There was no sense panicking until she was in possession of all the details.

  She glanced up at Rhys, suddenly very glad he was there. When he proffered his arm, she laid hers atop it trustingly, giving control over to him. Slowly he began shepherding her through the maze, navigating the paths and crossroads as if he knew them intimately.

  Marissa found herself wishing Rhys knew her intimately. At that thought, she blushed. She’d gotten through her life thus far without a man. What was making her think this way now? His kiss seemed to have awakened possibilities she’d never even dreamed of before.

  “Stop,” he commanded.

  Wordlessly she obeyed, watching as he efficiently divested himself of his tailcoat. With a gentleness that belied his physical strength, he wrapped her up in the garment. The sleeves were too long, but it would keep her warm enough until she was able to go inside.