One Magic Moment(14)
Author: Lynn Kurland

 

“What’s her name?” Janet asked, her eyes twinkling.

 

He pursed his lips. “Why should it be a she?”

 

“Because you have a very long list of would-be groupies who all happen to be female. Who am I looking for?”

 

“A neighbor,” he said as casually as possible. “Tess Alexander is her name. I’m not sure she’ll bother, but you never know.”

 

“I’ll watch for her,” she said easily.

 

He nodded his thanks, snagged a bottle of water from the kitchen, then made his way to the studio. He found himself a comfortable chair, pulled out the music he’d been charged with playing, then tuned his guitar and prepared to warm up a bit.

 

Unbidden and certainly unwelcome memories of his past washed over him without warning. Commanding them to leave him be was useless. It had been, he could admit with all frankness, that sort of day.

 

Playing the guitar hadn’t been the first job he’d had after leaving home; that had been mucking out stables. His skill with horses and, truth be told, his inordinate fondness for them had earned him room and board for a pair of months until he’d gotten on his feet a bit and been able to look for something that paid better. It had been listening to modern music whilst about his work that had given him the idea that perhaps he might make a go of that sort of thing.

 

A year, two different stables, and a restaurant dishwashing job or two later—he hadn’t dared convert any of his gold at that point—he’d had a guitar and himself in Edinburgh at the same time. He’d performed at the Festival for a lark that first time, absolutely clueless as to who might have been in the audience. After all, what had it mattered? He’d given himself a year to see what another world was like before he’d fully intended to return to his own, wiser, more seasoned, and ready to settle down into the rather pedestrian life of a lord’s fourth son. He’d had no intention of loitering about in present-day England to see who might have wanted his musical services.

 

He deftly circumvented the memories of a particular fortnight that had left him realizing he was rather more wedded to the present day than he’d anticipated he might be.

 

It had been at that point that he’d made more definite plans, found a lad to put him legally in the current century, and run across a fortuitous and random mention of Cameron Antiquities, Ltd. A discreet inquiry had resulted in that cautious friendship with Oliver and even an offer of an introduction to Lord Robert Cameron. John had declined the latter because at the time he’d had enough of nobility to last him a bit.

 

He’d continued on with his life, continued to play, forced himself to acclimatize to his circumstances, and flown under the radar, as the saying went. He’d gone from being a grubby, overwhelmed stable boy to being a reclusive, several-times-over millionaire. He dabbled with cars because he’d always fancied unraveling how mechanical things worked. He played whatever stringed instrument he could lay his hands on—some rather badly, as it happened—because he had inherited his grandmother’s love for music. He’d moved from day to day, ignoring who he had been and contenting himself with who he was.

 

Until Tess Alexander had walked into his shop and forced his world to grind to a halt.

 

A doctor of medieval studies.

 

The irony of it was enough to do him in.

 

And now that bloody note from Oliver, whom he hadn’t seen since the first of the year when he’d first begun to investigate a move south. John pursed his lips. Of course, he’d heard of Ian MacLeod’s school of swordplay, but he’d dismissed it as a Highlander taking his heritage far too seriously for his own good.

 

It was as he’d thought before: Oliver had obviously spent too much time wondering why it was John had such a large supply of rare medieval gold coins and that had led him to speculating on other things he shouldn’t have.

 

John didn’t particularly want to think about that.

 

He didn’t want to think about anything else that made him uncomfortable, either, so he turned his mind back to the music in front of him. He would have a decent day, pick up a few quid for his trouble, then hopefully escape before Tess Alexander did the unthinkable and called him.

 

He felt fairly safe in assuming she wouldn’t. He wasn’t sure what he’d done to irritate her, but she seemed to want as little to do with him as he did her. His damnable chivalry would have been trotted out and exercised, then put away where it could trouble him no further for the day. He would return home to relative obscurity and that would be the end of it. Perhaps he would find a driving instructor and mail her the man’s business card so she didn’t carry on with leaving what he was sure were monumental dings in an innocent oak tree.

 

He would also never curse himself for missing the turnoff to Sedgwick because he would never have a need to go there again.

 

He felt better already, having put his life back in order, all the pieces back in place.

 

He put that beautiful, haunting woman out of his mind and got to work.

 

 

 

 

 

Chapter 5

 

 

 

Tess looked at the address on the card John had given her and wondered if she had lost her mind. She’d been wondering that for the better part of the day, actually, ever since she’d gotten on the train.

 

She’d arrived in London too early to conduct any business, so she’d killed a couple of hours in her favorite coffee shop, pretending to look out the window and watch humanity hurry by.

 

She’d eventually made her way to pick up the two rare and pricey books on medieval warfare her preferred dealer had found for her, then spent a useless hour in his shop, poking around in piles of things that hadn’t been dusted in at least a year. She’d loitered in Victorian England for a bit, which had been a decent distraction, though perhaps not enough of one.

 

She’d wandered the streets for a good half an hour before she made herself at least go and order something for an early lunch. She tried to eat, but she’d been less successful at it than she would have liked to have been. She had managed part of a salad and some juice, then taken her knitting out and tried to work on a sock. That resulted half an hour later in the necessity of ripping out everything she’d managed to do. She had shoved everything back into her bag, ignored her instinct for self-preservation, and gone to look for a Tube station.

 

She realized as she now stood in front of the appropriate address that she was looking at a recording studio. She frowned, then opened the door and walked inside. It wasn’t an enormous place from what she could tell, but the receptionist was dressed nicely and the client list Tess glanced at while she was waiting for the girl to get off the phone was downright impressive.