Love Once in Passing

By Jo Ann Simon

A twist of Fate will turn her life upside down . . . It started out as just another ordinary day. Jessica Lund is on her way home from work when she suddenly notices a man sitting in the passenger seat of her car! But this is no ordinary man. Christopher Dunlap is arrogant, opinionated, and absolutely gorgeous. Unfortunately for Jessica's state of mind, he's also claiming to be an English nobleman--from 1812. Neither understands how Christopher, a man who'd been living a happy life nearly two hundred years in the past, is now flesh and blood in Jessica's present. But he's definitely real. And so are the feelings he inspires in Jessica. They soon share a love for each other as deep as it is dangerous, for they know that whatever brought them together could just as easily tear them apart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BelleBooks
• Release date: May 1, 2002
• ISBN: 9781610260343

Book preview

Other Books by Jo Ann Simon

The Love Once Novels

Love Once in Passing

(Book 1)

Love Once Again

(Book 2)

Love Once in Passing

by

Jo Ann Simon

ImaJinn Books

Copyright

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or locations is entirely coincidental.

ImaJinn Books

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Memphis, TN 38130

Ebook ISBN: 978-1-61026-034-3

Print ISBN: 978-1-893896-67-3

ImaJinn Books is an Imprint of BelleBooks, Inc.

Copyright © 2002 by Jo Ann Simon

Printed and bound in the United States of America.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer, who may quote brief passages in a review.

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*10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2

Cover design: Deborah Smith

Interior design: Hank Smith

Photo/Art credits:

Watch © Luisa Vallon Fumi | Dreamstime.com

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:Eolp:01:

One

May 1981

AN EXTREMELY handsome man was sitting next to me, but I didn’t know him.

Moments before I’d been alone in my car, rounding a corner on a narrow country road on my way home from work. Beyond the windows, the spring landscape was displaying its full beauty. I glanced to the right, and I saw him, there in the passenger seat beside me where nothing had been a moment before. Real. Alive. As if he’d materialized from thin air!

I gasped in surprise, slammed on the brakes and screeched to a stop on the narrow shoulder along the road. Damn, but he was sitting not three feet away, as real and substantial as the leather of the seat cover beneath my fingers. He was staring at me in equal confusion.

Had he been hiding in the back seat of my notoriously unlocked car? But I remembered checking the back seat before I left the office parking lot.

As we stared at each other, both in disbelief, I noticed at first his eyes, a brilliant blue that bordered on ice and sky; I noted the strong bone structure of his face, his broad-shouldered body. Square, finely shaped hands, muscular thighs, and long legs. The ruffled front of his white shirt rose and fell evenly with his regular breathing. I saw, and felt, the total masculinity of him, the aura of health and strength that his eccentric clothing couldn’t disguise.

But his clothing confused me even more. He was dressed like a man from another century. Besides his blue jacket and frilled shirt, he wore a vest of patterned satin, beige pants that clung like second skin, and knee-high leather boots polished to a military shine. He looked like a participant in the historical re-enactments that were taking place in so many local areas, except that he looked more authentic.

But how did a reenactment guy suddenly jump into my car? What the heck was going on?

This man was real. I was awake, and I did have lungs to force out a scream, yet I sat like a rock, inert and staring and giving him extra seconds to take action.

Part of me wanted to run; the other part was fascinated, and I hesitated on the brink of danger.

Why didn’t he move? His silence and boldly staring eyes were debilitating me. Finally I found my voice. What are you doing here? What do you want?

The voice that lashed back at me was deep and melodious, with a cultured intonation of Queen’s English, but the tone was as cold as a January morning. You ask what I want? Wouldn’t it be more logical for me to ask you that question, madam?

Who are you?

You must be as well aware of my identity as I, he snapped. Why the charade?

I’ve never seen you before in my life!

I think you are lying.

Lying! What is this, some kind of a joke?

If it is, I certainly was not a party to its instigation, madam.

"Then what are you doing here? How did you get here, and who ARE you?"

His hand slammed down on the seat between us. Would you kindly cease with this act of innocence! You brought me here for some purpose, and I would like to know what it is. Were you planning to rob me?

Me?

Yes, you, madam. Although you obviously were not successful. Did I waken too soon and spoil it for you? He paused and continued to look around in disbelief. And what has become of your accomplice? Since you surely do not have the strength to have knocked the daylights out of me, I can only surmise that he turned tail and ran when I began to come to. Nice gentleman, he, to leave you to face my wrath unaided.

What are you talking about?

I know something peculiar is going on, he sneered, when one moment I am riding down the Kent Road with a horse between my legs, and the next I am seated in a vehicle whose interiors bog my imagination, beside a brazen woman whose skirts only reach her knees. Pity you let me come to my senses before quitting this spot yourself. I can easily overpower you, and if that thought has not occurred to you on its own in the preceding minutes, I suggest you consider it seriously now.

Nothing’s occurred to me, I said, drawn between fear and anger. I don’t know what’s going on! And why are you laying this Queen’s English on me? Are you trying to distract me, impress me, or what? You sound like someone auditioning for a Broadway play, or a movie. This is a stunt, right?

Stunt? he asked, truly bewildered.

Yes. You’re an actor…right?

His eyes flashed in anger as my words sank in. "An actor! You DARE to include me in that low life group? Oh, you do possess the barbed tongue of insult."

All I could think was that the man, incredibly handsome though he was, had to be insane. I slithered away from him and put my hand in reach of the door handle.

I am not a fool, madam, so do not expect me to believe you are as innocent as that gaping jaw of yours suggests. Try that pose on the stage from which it undoubtedly sprang. For the present, direct your talents toward more serious channels and give me the answers I want before I am tempted to jog your memory.

It seems to me you’re the one who owes me an explanation, I said as reasonably as I could, waiting for the moment when his attention was distracted, and I could unclip my seat belt, open the car door and run. I knew too well that beauty was only skin deep, and that some of the worst criminals in our world’s history were physically attractive.

Is that so? His face reddened as he reached out to grab me. I immediately drew away, shriveling into the corner of the seat, but he managed to take hold of my wrist, tightening his fingers painfully in an iron grip.

I saw his eyes narrow and a muscle twitch in his cheek above his gritted jaw. You’re a fool to deceive me.

I’m not deceiving you!

You are, he roared. But suddenly his expression changed; his eyes brightened as he leaned back in the seat, more relaxed. I saw flickers of humor dancing in his eyes and didn’t know what to make of it. I watched him numbly as he began to chuckle, then drawled slowly, Or might I be misconstruing the situation altogether? Robbery does seem to make little sense when one considers the circumstances. You are not the perpetrator, but only the pawn. How ingenious of my friends to devise this tableau . . . simulate an abduction, carry me off to a lonely spot, then furnish a lovely lady in distress as the bait. And when I proceed to do as is expected of me and ravish her, the talk will be all over London that I have lived up to my black reputation. Of course you could not speak up when your part in this plot is to appear the innocent victim, blind to the ways of the world and dumb to this gentleman’s intentions. He burst out laughing. Ingenious, ingenious. I’ll have to congratulate them myself when I return to London. I didn’t know they had it in them!

This guy really is nuts, I thought. I tried ineffectively to free my wrist from his grip.

He felt the pressure, and his brows flicked up. You are not drawing away, are you? I thought this was the moment you had been waiting for . . . what you were sent here to achieve. He moved toward me. Never let it be said I am one to pass up so inviting an opportunity.

The quick laugh was derisive as his shoulders squared against me. The hand that held my wrist pulled me resolutely toward him. The other reached out to drag me against him. I felt his warmth as our bodies connected. His arms slid around me, pinning my hands to my sides, then they slid down my back, tightening their hold. His face was directly above mine. I felt his breath in warm gusts on my cheeks and my neck. His eyes flickered with wild lights.

The palms of his hands pressed against the thin material of my dress, pulled the fabric, burned through to my skin. His head dropped, and his mouth was a sensuous blur as it neared. His lips moved softly, then hesitated not a hairsbreadth from my own. He was so close I could smell the spiciness of him, as well as his sweat, and could see the barely evident new growth of beard on his clean-shaven cheeks.

Then suddenly he released me. I fell in a heap against the car door. I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. I stared open-mouthed at his receding face.

He was chuckling. You can close your mouth now. I was testing my theory, but your reaction puzzles me.

What did you expect?

Cold feet, my dear?

You’re actually enjoying this!

I have not found it particularly enjoyable to this point, he retorted.

Then what do you want from me?

He studied me critically. Outward appearances aside, you do seem too ladylike to be involved in this prank. I’m guessing you’re in way over your head. I am just wondering which of my cohorts enlisted you—what methods of persuasion they used to get you here. I immediately think of Overton, but doubt he has the courage to run into a dark alley by himself, so it must have been Gresham. I stared at him dumbly. Oh, I realize you’re not going to give them away, but your naivete amazes me. What did you think was in store for you when you agreed to play this part?

I repeat, I don’t know what you’re talking about!

Really I’m not such a brute that you can’t make an honest, if somewhat tardy, confession to me without fear of retribution. His eyes glanced beyond the car windows into the deepening dusk. By the way, what have you done with my horse? Not that I think for a moment you will tell me, but I’d hate like the devil to lose him. Damned valuable piece of horseflesh.

I shrugged dumbly.

You don’t appear to know a great deal about anything, do you? he flashed out bitingly.

What do you want me to tell you?

I didn’t ask to come here, my dear. Nor did I ask to be placed in these circumstances. If I had the vaguest notion of my whereabouts, I myself would be only too happy to leave.

Then why don’t you? I felt so Goddamned impotent and frustrated. What do you want me to say? Tell me the words you want to hear and I’ll say them. Just so you’ll let me go . . .

His blue eyes were puzzled. He squinted. There is obviously a misunderstanding here. But damned if I know what it is. Listen to me, he shouted at my white face. Hear me out, for God’s sake! I do not intend to harm you.

I don’t believe you.

Why, may I ask?

Why? I was flabbergasted. You ask me why—after you break into my car, come at me like a maniac, accuse me of things that make no sense. And look at you! Dressed up like someone out of a history book. I noticed his eyes dropping over his clothing as if he couldn’t help himself. And the way you talk, with that high-sounding English accent—I feel like I’m listening to the sound track of an old movie with m’lord and m’lady and the knights in shining armor.

He held my forearm tightly. From the expression on his face, I gathered he wasn’t pleased with my last remarks. If it is any consolation to you, I find your actions and your behavior and your dress and speech just as shocking. Are you prepared to listen to me?

I nodded, but my jaw was set, and if it weren’t for his fingers gripping me, I would have put as much distance between us as possible.

His brow was furrowed in a dark frown. When I left London shortly after dusk this evening, I was intent on arriving at my home in Kent before midnight. He shot me a quizzical look. Although since it is now twilight, I suppose I should correct that to last evening? I made no comment, and after a short pause, he continued. At any rate, I was setting a good pace. I was ten miles short of Cavenly when I recall my horse became a bit edgy. I remember checking him with the reins in an effort to keep him to the center of the track, out in the moonlight. I suspected that there might be some culprit hidden in the hedges waiting to waylay me. He threw a dampening look in my direction. My next clear thought is of looking out this window over here, seeing the unfamiliar scenery and suddenly waking up to the fact that my horse was no longer beneath me. I glance over to be greeted by a most unwelcoming pair of eyes—yours, madam—and what am I to think but that I’ve been knocked senseless, probably robbed and, for some unknown reason, carried off to this spot where I am being held captive by a very defenseless looking woman. Either that, or I have gone stark raving mad!

I tended to agree with his last supposition, though I didn’t say anything. What an imagination the man had. I smiled at him, sitting there so complacently, as if his story would settle everything. You’re crazy. You must know as well as I do that you’re not making any sense. How could you be riding down a lane on horseback one minute, and the next be sitting in my car? And you’re talking about England, I presume. But that’s impossible, too, unless you’re trying to tell me it’s plausible now to make a transoceanic flight in the blink of an eyelash—without benefit of a plane! And that still doesn’t explain how you managed to appear out of nowhere. If that isn’t enough, you physically threaten me, try to rape me, insult me, scare me so much I don’t know if I’m coming or going while all the while it’s you who found a way to sneak in here and scare the shit out of me for some reason I’ve yet to figure out. I don’t know where you came from, and I don’t accept a word of your cock-and bull story.

He was laughing a deep rumbling sound that shook his shoulders. Nothing I’d said seemed to have fazed him. You have a way with words, my dear. I foresee great success for your future on the stage.

God damn you! That was the last straw, and in fury I spit in his face.

He laughed all the harder, wiping off the spittle on his cheek with the back of his hand. Then pray give me an argument I can swallow without choking on it.

And I shouldn’t be choking on your story? Here I was, driving peacefully home from work, alone, when you drop in to scare the hell out of me!

He glanced quickly out through the front windshield.

You might be good enough to explain to me how you drove here with no horses in the shafts, when I can look out and see with my own eyes that none are there. Or am I to surmise they are invisible—just as I appeared out of nothingness?

Since when do you need horses to drive a car? I asked in disbelief.

I suppose this extraordinary vehicle of yours is self-propelled?

Isn’t yours? Oh, no, I forgot—you ride a horse.

On occasion, but this is not a horse.

This is an automobile, kind sir. You have heard of them, I presume?

I have not.

Well, I hate to disillusion you, but we’re not living back in the days of the horse and buggy.

It has not occurred to me I am living anywhere but where I was before I lost consciousness. He was furious.

I thought it was becoming rather amusing. You said that was Kent?

Yes! His eyes were hard. The glittering blue was barely visible.

Kent, England?

Where else, woman?

Well, you’re a hell of a long way from home.

Is that so, he sneered. Suppose you tell me exactly where I am.

In the United States, of course—where you’ve been all along except for this fish story you’ve made up. If you’re so intent on reenacting a drama from the pages of history, you should have chosen a spot closer to your supposed home!

That is impossible! You are lying.

Why should I lie? This is Eastport, Connecticut. If you think you’re somewhere else, you must be living in a fantasy. Which doesn’t say too much for your story, does it?

Nor yours, since I am telling the truth!

And so am I. I saw his obvious signs of fury, the veins standing out in his neck. But now I was intent on the crazy game we were playing. All right, I won’t argue with you, I continued. But what’s the date today?

I am sure you know as well as I it is the fifth of May . . . the fifth of May, 1812.

I shouldn’t have been surprised. His period costume and speech fit in very well with the year he had stated.

So you’re a man from 1812. I suppose the next thing you’re going to tell me is that you’re some English lord or other?

That is precisely who I am, dear woman, and I’ll thank you not to take that tone of voice with me.

Oh, a lord! No doubt with fabulous estates, a London house, prominence that will boggle my mind?

He glowered at me. I wouldn’t have chosen exactly those words to describe myself, but since you have, yes!

You even believe it yourself.

Damn! Of course I do. It is the truth. My birth and precedents are evident, which is far more than I can say for yours. Though I suppose I should take into account the fact that you are obviously not an Englishwoman.

I’m not. And I’m proud of it if the way you’re behaving is any example of an English gentleman.

And whom, he drawled, have I had the dubious honor of addressing?

If you’re asking my name, I’m Jessica Lund—Ms. Lund to you—but why I should even tell you is beyond me.

Delighted, I’m sure. Westerham—the earl of Westerham.

Oh! Pardon me, I’m addressing an earl.

"You are, woman. Be good enough to remember that fact.’’

Shall I kiss your feet now or later?

Enough of that sharp tongue, or I’ll be more than happy to make it temporarily useless to you!

What are you planning to do? Cut it out? Is force the only means you know to make your point, Your Lordship? Well, I have a few plain facts to lay before your feet. I glared at his handsomely stubborn face. First, let me tell you on good authority that this is not 1812. This is 1981, and whether you like living in this age or not, whether you think the past had far more romance and adventure than our current age, you are here. Second, this is Connecticut, and I’m sorry if you thought you were still in England—you’re not. Third, whether you’re a lord in fact or not, which I seriously doubt, you are on democratic soil, and don’t you dare be condescending to me. Last, this is my world and my car, and you were not invited into either. You are interrupting the peaceful functioning of my life, and if either of us is to continue functioning happily, one of us has to go. Be it you or me, I’m not going to sit here and play this silly game a second longer. I reached down and unclipped my seat belt.

Why you little vixen, he roared. How dare you? He had me with both hands now, shaking me so my teeth fairly rattled in my head. Never have I had a woman speak to me like this.

Maybe it’s time one did! Why don’t you wake up? Look around you. It’s time someone shook you loose from your delusions before you’re beyond help. This is the twentieth century, and I don’t think you’re as crazy as you’d like me to think with this eighteen-hundreds act of yours.

"You think I am mad!’’

What else do you expect me to think? I didn’t like the look on his face. I tried to temper it a little. Maybe you’ve had a nervous breakdown or something. Look, maybe if I drove you around, down some of the streets, through town, you might see something familiar. What harm would there be in that? It might help you get your bearings. All right? I pushed my point further as I saw a tiny hint of receptiveness or, just as likely, confusion, in his eyes. If you’ll just let go of my hands for a minute. I’m not trying to run away.

His fingers loosened their pinching hold, and I took that second to pull free and whirl around in my seat. I turned the keys in the ignition, stabbed the gas pedal and heard the engine roar to life. He heard it, too, and stared in astonishment. I threw the car into gear and skidded off down the road.

He sat frozen in amazement. The only movement he made was to drop his hands to the seat and turn his head to have full view of the scene flashing by the window. I heard him mutter a startled expletive under his breath as I raced the car away from the isolated residential districts toward people, toward help. We whizzed past a small neighborhood shopping center. A motorcycle flew by at breakneck speed. We passed the overpass to the parkway. It was only about two more miles to town.

The bewilderment etched on his tanned features was complete. Could he really think he was from another age? Or, inadmissible as the thought seemed, could he be telling me the truth . . . or at least what he thought to be the truth? I hadn’t seen anyone hiding in the car when I left work, but then how had he gotten there? I’d made no stops. Was I going crazy?

Suddenly, he grabbed the steering wheel and pulled it from my fingers. The car veered to the right and up on the shoulder of the road, where it promptly stalled before my foot could get to the clutch.

What are you doing? I cried.

His hand still gripped the wheel. When I turned my head, he was facing me, a mystified yet excited look in the terribly blue eyes. His voice held the urgency of sudden discovery. By God, it’s beginning to make sense! All the pieces fit like the parts of a puzzle. I don’t believe it! That is why I don’t remember being attacked. Why one moment I was on horseback and the next beside you. Why, when last I remember it was late evening and pitch black were it not for the light of the moon. His eyes searched mine penetratingly. Do you realize what has happened? He shook his head quickly, No, of course you do not. You have not believed a word I’ve said thus far. But it is clear as day to me now. Everything falls so perfectly into place, I have trouble believing it myself. Do you realize I have just jumped into my future, with no more difficulty than a snap of a finger? I have just made a journey of nearly two hundred years, and I’m here to talk about it. He slapped his hands against his legs and his arms as if to assure himself he was all there. I’m here! I’m alive! I’m well! It is completely and utterly extraordinary!

I don’t think you’ve got it quite right—

His eyes cast about hungrily. He didn’t wait for confirmation from me. And all these inventions! Just this fantastic vehicle alone, and did you see that machine flying by us before? Look at us, tearing along the highway at speeds I never in my wildest imagination thought I’d live to experience. What is it that powers this vehicle? An engine no doubt, but steam? Or something more modern?

He was firing questions at me so quickly I couldn’t answer them.

What else can you show me? These pavements alone are marvelous. I raised my eyebrows when I thought of the potholes I’d just skirted. To think of never getting mired in the mud and ruts. And what are these poles and wires up in the sky? What purpose do they serve? And those boxes hanging over the roadway with the colored lights? Could they possibly be signals of some kind?

He would have continued further, but I motioned him to be quiet. Wait a minute. Just wait and let me think. What are you trying to tell me? I scowled. You don’t really expect me to believe you just jumped out of the past?

But of course I do. He was grinning, a childlike grin of wonderment. Do you not see what has happened?

No! I don’t see anything at all. All I see is a man who was very confused a few minutes ago, who now thinks he knows what has happened. But you’ve got it all wrong. You couldn’t have jumped from the past—you only think you did. I wagged my head in defeat at the unrelenting and unprecedented things happening to me. Oh, God, I don’t know what to think anymore. I don’t know what’s going on. Why don’t you just leave me alone? I closed my eyes wearily for a second.

You still think me insane, do you not? he asked. You do not have to deny it. I can see it in your eyes. His bored into me. Whatever you may think of me, he continued in an entirely sane-sounding voice, I am not a fool, nor did I leave my faculties behind me. I am not a dreamer and not inclined to wild fantasies. I am normally a level-headed man who sees and believes only what is in front of his eyes, and I am not imagining what I am seeing at this moment. I see a greenish-eyed young woman clothed in a dotted dress that is far too short, with hair falling about her eyes when it should be atop her head. I see houses and scenery around me I have never seen before. I see self-propelled machines flying by the windows and am seated in one myself. I see all manner of things that are new to me. Yet, from the accusations you have thrown at me, you seem to think me a modern man deluding myself that I have just sprung from the past. I can’t tell you how wrong you are. It is a complete riddle to me to find myself in a place and time I’d no inclination to ever be. Yet it is real. I am not lying to you. Believe me, I have nothing to gain by telling you I am someone I am not, though I do have a great deal to lose in my own world by being here. I am the earl of Westerham, Miss Lund, and I have just walked out of the pages of history to pay you a call.

I took the opportunity once again to give him careful scrutiny. His clothing was expensive, as was obvious by the texture of the cloth and the fine tailoring, and it did look like the pictures I’d seen of clothing men had worn during the early nineteenth century. His dark hair was cut in a shaggy, longish style that hung to his earlobes and encouraged natural curling. A very attractive style, I thought. Still, it could all be a costume. You’ll have to give me a lot more proof than you have, I said finally. I could put you in jeans, and no one could tell the difference between you and any other guy walking down the street.

Jeans? What are they? I’ve never heard that term before.

Blue jeans, I said. Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of them before? Blue died denim work pants that first became popular during the California gold rush? Please, give me a break!

He chuckled, I fear my tailor would be highly insulted by your comparisons. You have heard of Weston?

I’ve read about him, but you could have, too. Who’s to say he made that jacket?

With a self-assured gesture, he pulled open his coat to show me the tailor’s label stitched neatly to the silk.

I wasn’t convinced, much as I was taken aback. So it’s your great-great-great grandfather’s jacket that you dug up out of a trunk in the attic.

He took a deep breath. "I see I shall have to provide you with

Reviews for Love Once in Passing

[ktleyed · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I loved this book. Early '80's time travel romance that was a real treat! I'm wary of '80's romances, but this was a winner. Contemporary heroine, Jessica Lund has a Regency lord pop into her car while driving home one night.in Connecticut. He just shows up all of a sudden with no warning He's just as perplexed as she is! The two of them must deal with his unexpected time travel and it's repercussions as they fall in love while trying to determine if he can disappear just as easily as he appeared in the first place. To complicate matters, she loses her memory as they travel to London so he can research what happened to him 160 years earlier. Not your typical scenario, she has trouble remembering him and doesn't fall for him again which naturally creates a rift between them. I had a hard time putting this one down and the cliffhanger is a killer! Must. Read. Next. Book.