Out of the Blue (A Regency Time Travel Romance) Read Online Free Page A

and all—I believe it
behooves me to point out that sad fact to you. Besides, it’s too
demmed cold to be ghost hunting. What’s it doing, snowing in March?
It shouldn’t snow in March.”
    Marcus Pendelton, Marquess of Eastbourne,
never broke stride as he hastened toward the White Tower, his
greatcoat billowing around his tall body in the damp breeze that
blew off the Thames. “Of course I’m insane, Perry. We’ve both known
it for years. Though, of course, that guard over there may still be
sadly unenlightened. Perhaps you should repeat your declaration.
Only this time, bellow it. The fellow might be hard of hearing.
Now, are you coming with me or are you going to run back to the
coach, and huddle beneath a blanket like some thin-blooded old
woman, a hot brick at your toes?”
    Perry sighed deeply, his sensibilities sorely
abused, and broke into a half run to catch up with his friend. His
short arms waving wildly, he persisted: “All right, Marcus, all
right. So you found this diary of your ancestor’s—old Ferdie. That
was months ago.”
    “ Freddie, one of Edward IV’s most
loyal Squires for the Body,” Marcus corrected, lightly bounding up
the wide shallow stairs. “And it was last Christmas at Eastbourne,
more than a year ago.”
    “Freddie,” Perry amended, beginning to
breathe heavily, for he was a half foot shorter and three stone
heavier than his friend, and all this hustle and bustle was
beginning to wear on him. “Whatever his name was, his diary
certainly isn’t some heretofore undiscovered Gospel. My God,
Marcus, three fourths of the thing is devoted to a recitation of
his drinking and wenching—and the fact that be believed regular
bathing a sacrilege to be avoided at all costs. They must have been
a smelly lot back then. Just because he included some drivel he
supposedly heard from a drunken guard—I mean, think on it,
Marcus!”
    The marquess nodded to the guards outside the
doors before passing into the White Tower, his long strides eating
up ground as his heels echoed hollowly through the cavernous
chambers. He was a frequent visitor, permission for his
explorations having been given by the Regent himself, so he was
unchallenged as he bounded up a stone stairway, his destination
firm in his mind. “I have thought on it, Perry. Green, the guard,
wasn’t drunk—he was dying, all but delirious with some terrible
brain fever, and a fervent convert into the bargain. It was a
deathbed confession of terrible guilt, the memory of which had
brought him low. A man in his condition loses the ability to
lie.”
    Perry wasn’t convinced. “All right, so this
man, this Green—this bloody saint —was about to stick his
spoon in the wall. But what about your ancestor, mm? How
about Filthy Ferdie?”
    “Filthy Freddie,” Marcus pointed out
automatically, his long strides again leaving Perry behind.
    “Ferdie, Freddie—the man was a sot—and, out
of his own mouth, a smelly sot at that! Everyone knows Richard had
the Princes smothered. Their bones are lying in Westminster ever
since King Charlie had them dug up. I can’t believe this claptrap
about Henry Tudor and this man Green and his cohort—this Woods
fellow—”
    “Not Woods, Perry. Forest.”
    “Woods—Forest. And what’s it to the point
anyway, I say. Don’t interrupt. You can’t really have swallowed
this faradiddle about them killing two servant boys and stuffin’
’em in a trunk in order to save their own necks? Blue lights in the
White Tower? Disappearing Princes? Where did they disappear to, I
ask you? Can you answer me that? I’d sooner think the Earth
revolves around the sun.”
    Marcus, his darkly handsome face splitting in
a grin, turned to his friend. The perspiring, red-faced Perry stood
just behind him, wiping his forehead with a large white
handkerchief, exhausted from the necessity of being forced to talk
and climb at the same time. “Much as it pains me to point this out,
Perry, the Earth does revolve around