Kiss the Earl by Gina Lamm Page A

you find her, okay? But you’ve got to promise me something too.”
    He folded his arms and lifted that aristocratic chin. “I will consider it. What would you have me do?”
    Taking what she hoped was a deeply steadying breath, Ella continued. “Someone sent me here from really far away. Farther away than you can ever imagine. I don’t have anyone here. I’m totally alone.” She absolutely hated how her voice got all choked, how her eyes started stinging with tears. But she was stuck, and she needed his help. She forged on. “If you leave me and go off to find Amelia, then I really don’t know what will happen to me. I have nothing here. Nothing and no one. I need a friend, Patrick, someone in this time and place to help me figure out how to get home. And since you picked me up like a Chinese takeout order, it’s got to be you.”
    He didn’t say anything for a long minute, just kept staring at her with those intense green eyes, arms folded and chin lifted like he was a statue.
    Ella didn’t really have a choice but to keep talking.
    â€œI’m from the future—close to two hundred years in the future, on a different continent, in fact. I don’t expect you to understand how. I don’t even really understand it myself. Suffice it to say that there was definite hocus-pocus going on, real magic. But there has to be a way for me to get back, and I need help to find it.”
    He didn’t say a word.
    It wasn’t embarrassment that made her drop her gaze to the floor. She just didn’t want to see how weird he thought her words were. She let the silence hang there for just a moment before she couldn’t stand it anymore.
    â€œPlease don’t leave me.”
    God, she sounded pathetic. If there was ever a convenient time for her to sink down into the floor, this would be it.
    * * *
    Patrick kept a wary gaze trained on her, waiting for her to crack. She didn’t. She sat there, mute as a stone, her impossibly bright eyes shining as she stared a hole in the floorboards.
    He wanted to believe that she was mad. But something deep inside his memory refused to fully subscribe to that theory. He stayed silent.
    â€œIf we can get back to London, I could show you the mirror I traveled through. I know it sounds crazy, believe me.” Her gaze darted just past his shoulder, and she stared as if she could solve the mysteries of the world if she could but look a little harder. “I just want to go home, Patrick. Will you help me?”
    He dragged in a heavy breath through his nostrils.
    â€œI must speak to the innkeeper. Those wounds want dressing.” With a curt bow, he turned on his heel and left the room. Yes, he could have rung for the maid and had the items fetched, but he needed a moment apart from her.
    Once he stood in the dim, lantern-lit hallway, he leaned against the wall and closed his eyes.
    Magic?
    A memory brimmed, but he slammed it down quickly. No. He’d promised himself that it had been a dream. No such thing existed.
    Well, no criminal, she. More a Bedlamite escaped from her padded cell. Surely her wardens were frantically searching Town for her. Patrick shook his head and descended the stairs. What was he to do? Oh, Amelia, when I get my hands on you, I shall surely throttle you senseless.
    The taproom was now empty but for a young maid who was sweeping beneath the tables. Patrick glanced at the corner, relieved to see that Iain had gone. He’d have a strong word with his cousin later.
    â€œSmitters,” he called at the closed door to the innkeeper’s room, accompanying his words with a brisk knock. “I require assistance.”
    In only a brief moment, Smitters answered the door. Swathed head to toe in a white cotton nightshirt, his bald head covered with a cap, he nodded at Patrick.
    â€œOf course, Your Grace. What can I do for you?”
    â€œA bottle of brandy and some linen bandages, if you