Bending Tyme Read Online Free

these insufferable busybodies—but Byron interjected.
    “Lady Ashford, Lord Davenport learnt late yesterday, in an urgent correspondence from his American solicitors, that a former ward of his dear late father had arrived in Davenshire, alone and without proper escort.”
    Logan, bemused and exhausted from the night’s strange events, considered telling the truth, disclosing to the old crone that Byron, seeking more earthly amusements than Logan’s guests inspired, had spirited him away in the middle of the masque to the closest brothel, but Byron’s tight grip on his forearm reminded him to say naught.
    Logan watched Esme’s face as she struggled to absorb her surroundings. In spite of his own confusion, he suppressed a smile, seeing Esme’s fair skin turn a whiter shade of pale. Clearly, none of this was the norm in her reality…
    But what reality? How had she got here ? Why ?
    “Mademoiselle perhaps would enjoy some tea after her arduous journey,” Byron suggested.
    Logan turned his attention back to Esme, dismayed to see tears threatening under her downcast eyes, torn between an overwhelming desire to crush her to him, to protect her from these gossips and snipes, and his well-bred desire to avoid a public scene in his own parlour.

    Esme removed her elbow from Logan’s tight grip. “Yes, tea sounds…lovely.” Esme winced, feeling like a newbie actress from the original Masterpiece Theatre series who had failed to memorise her lines. “Earl Grey, please.”
    Lady Ashford and Lord Byron fell silent. Esme saw that crease appearing between Logan’s eyebrows. She racked her brain…
    Oh, screw it. England in 1814 comprised Charisse’s area of expertise, not hers.
    Again Byron filled the tense silence. “Perhaps Earl Grey serves a familiar blend when business takes him to…Boston?”
    Logan took Esme’s arm, exerting enough pressure to let her know he intended to retain his grasp this time. “We take our leave, Lady Ashford.”
    “Logan, I swear, in twenty or thirty years you’ll be drinking Earl Grey’s tea, too,” Esme insisted, wincing as Logan tightened his grip.
    He leant down to mutter into her ear. “Be not so informal in polite company, Miss Tyme.”
    Shocked at hearing him murmur her name— How did he know ?—Esme hesitated, then lifted her skirts, walking fast now to catch up with Logan’s long strides. She looked back to where Byron was working his charm to divert Lady Ashford’s attention from the couple, to no avail.
    Byron clicked his tongue. “Poor dear, perhaps the change in climate…”
    Lady Ashford raised one brow. “Perhaps, Lord Byron.”

    “Sit down, Miss Tyme.”
    Esme perched on a stiff chair in Logan’s library, a servant materialising in silence with a tea service.
    Esme frowned at the formal address. “My name is Esme. Esme Tyme.”
    Logan scowled down at her, waving the woman away, pouring the tea himself into cups decorated with sprigs of lavender. “I know.” He pulled up a sleeve, revealing a silicone Möbius bracelet on one wrist. “A gentleman does not address a lady in so familiar a way.”

    When Esme accepted the cup he handed her, his long fingers touching her slim ones, Logan became aware of how his own broad palm engulfed the thin china, remembering how that hand had felt between this woman’s legs… Logan’s gaze caught Esme’s and he watched her shiver, knowing she shared his thoughts. Familiar, indeed…Logan reached out to push a lock of her hair back into place, startling himself with this gentle touch. Before Esme could respond, he turned on one heel, heading back into the hallway they had just vacated.
    “I think it would be best if you retired to your chamber until the evening festivities commence. Betsy will attend you.” Logan signalled to yet another maid standing just outside the door.
    A maid for every lady… Esme felt the tears threatening again and pushed them back. “Of course,” she answered. “As you wish, Lord