Duchess of Mine

Prologue

So the Fates have no problem with us messing up the mortals’ destiny?" Mel, short for Melpomene, the muse of tragedy, asked, while maneuvering the hulk Highlander Michael Cameron, who happened to be completely comatose, onto a red-velvet chair .

Clio, sister to Mel and the muse of history, straightened from assisting Michael into place, frowning at how the Highlander was sprawled on the chair, appearing as if he might fall on his face at any second. Gods, he’s huge. She sniffed, worked at a kink in her back, and finally gave an answer. The Fates no longer wish to be called that as you know, Mel. They now like their Old Norse titles as Norns.

Mel rolled her eyes. "Urd, Verdandi, Skuld, or Clotho, Lachesis, Atropos, does it really matter? Fates, Moirai, Norns...there isn’t any difference. They’re still the Weird Sisters, and I do mean to emphasize the word weird."

Shhh, Erato, Clio and Mel’s sister and the muse of romance writing, shushed. Gods, Mel. Do you have a death wish saying such a thing?

I’m the muse of tragedy. If you think there’s someone out there who can replace me— Mel pointed at her golden toga-clad chest, —well, there’s no one who will want to replace me. My fate is set. It might have seemed as she spoke that she drained each word of any kind of emotion; however, she loved her job and would never choose to do anything else.

Clio caught Michael as he began to list to the side. After a grunt, she said, The Weirdo Sisters have really changed this millennium, Erato. Haven’t you visited them this century? They are in love with internet shopping. Really changed their outlook. They might have a sense of humor now. Never know. Mel, I need help with this mammoth man. Grab his shoulders and heft him that way. She pointed with her nose the direction which might correct Michael’s Tower-of-Pisa posture.

Mel pursed her lips, while trying to pull Michael’s shoulder then adjust his legs under him. All the muses knew him well since they’d helped him time travel much in the last few years of his life. It was funny, but he’d never seemed that big, until the muses tried to manipulate his immobile body. He was huge—all muscle and more than a few inches past six feet. He also happened to be one of the most attractive men alive at the time, which was 1895. Well, for that matter, since he was originally from 1653, he was quite possibly one of the most handsome men...ever, as melodramatic as that might sound. So the chore of aligning his massive, unconscious body into the seat wasn’t horrible in the least. However, as Clio mentioned with her dark-red brows puckered, he was big. And heavy.

Thank the gods he’s not as giant as his brother Duncan, Erato said while gently folding one of Gabriella Murray’s hands over the other. Erato had the job of placing the young lady into the chair close to Michael. Since Gabriella was petite, the muse was already finished with her chore and now ensured Gabriella looked comfortable. All right, as comfortable as an unconscious soul could get while her head lolled grotesquely down to her chest.

Can you do something with Gabriella’s head? Clio asked. It looks as if it might come off. As she straightened, she returned her gaze to the mortal man.

Michael was still splayed across the lush chair—his kilt showing a little more thigh than he’d probably prefer. His legs spread wide anchored him from falling. One arm hooked around the back of the seat ensured he wouldn’t crash on his face. That was as good as it would get for him. Poor human.

Erato tried rearranging Gabriella’s golden head of curls, but when the lady’s head cocked back at an even odder angle, Mel headed toward Gabby. However, Michael slumped toward her.

Catch Michael, Mel! He’s going to fall, Clio hollered.

Mel turned in time to grasp his broad shoulders and push him back. Somehow, in the attempt, he ended up more securely in his chair. Mel glanced at Clio and smiled.

Clio couldn’t seem to help but grin back. I don’t know how you did that.

I’m not sure either. Mel almost giggled. For Mel, a giggle sounded morose, like Eeyore having a laugh.

The muses straightened, assessing their humans and the opulent surroundings of one of the grandest hotels in Philadelphia during the era. For their mortals, they’d rented a suite, complete with a living area—red settees and couches around an unlit fireplace (it was a blazing hot June, after all) and a sectioned-off chamber for sleeping, which appeared to capitalize in hedonistic desires with even more red velvets and varying shades of the rose color in silks. Perfect for matchmaking.

Mel worried her bottom lip. This was the first time she’d ever participated in giving humans a glimpse—kidnapping a couple of humans, flinging him and/or her around in time to find his or her perfect companion in life and love. Being the muse of tragedy, she felt a bit of an outsider from her eight other sisters. They were full of laughter and loved so much about life. As did she. However, her love of life was filled with the macabre, the darker side of humanity, which was how she’d found the golden human Gabriella Murray who shared a similar taste, although she looked like...well, the woman was a duchess and looked it.

All right, Clio said with a clap of her hands. I suppose we should rouse our humans, introduce them, tell them why they’re here.

Fix Michael’s kilt first. Erato pointed at the man’s bared thighs. In righting him, Mel had nudged the Highland’s plaid even higher, exposing his muscular legs. Erato shuddered. He’s so yummy. She looked at Gabriella. You are the luckiest girl, I hope you know.

While lowering Michael’s green and black kilt, Mel glanced protectively at Gabriella. Mel had rebelled against the rules with the duchess. A few years ago, she’d shown herself to Gabriella and had begun a friendship, since she’d admired the woman’s love for solving puzzles, her inquisitive mind, and her determination to persevere with grace and decorum. Was Michael good enough for Gabriella? Gods, she hoped so.

Mel straightened and looked at her sisters. Both of them had one eyebrow cocked too high, in that we-know-what-you’re-thinking way.

Mel fluttered her hands to the ceiling. What?

Clio inhaled for about two hundred minutes. Finally, she said, If we hadn’t rescued Michael from his demise, were you ever going to tell us about Gabriella?

Probably not, Mel answered to herself. She merely scowled at her sisters.

Talking about Fates, you messed hers up. Erato huffed and folded her arms across her own golden toga, glancing down at Gabriella, scrutinizing the mortal.

Mel placed a hand over Gabby’s light gray and lavender silk-covered shoulder. No matter what happened to Gabriella now, Mel did not regret interfering with the human’s life. If she hadn’t...gods, Gabriella would be dead by now. And Mel couldn’t allow that. Not to sweet, darkly-humored Gabriella.

And who are you to accuse me of messing up fate anyway? Mel countered. You mess up mortals’ fates all the time. Who—who are you to lecture me?

Erato grinned widely and came to stand closer to Mel, caressing an auburn curl from her face. I would never complain, my beautiful sister. I love this new side of you—the rule breaker. Let’s break more rules together, shall we? We should buy black leather jackets. With huge logos on the back. Call ourselves...Sisters of Bad Assery. Or something like that. We’ll come up with the perfect name. Oh, should we get motorcycles too?

Are we going to become a gang? Clio asked, her brow still arched but in a more playful pose now.

I would love to be in a gang. Erato screeched and jumped up and down a couple of times, clapping. Let’s invent gang signs and spray paint buildings and—oh, let’s buy some guns.

Clio came closer, giggling. I think we’re dangerous enough without guns.

Yes, Erato said, but in the future, I saw a pretty pink gun a Texan woman was carrying. I think we should have guns like that in our gang.

"I think you’ve been watching West Side Story again," Clio said.

Erato lifted both arms, palms to the ceiling. Can’t you see us? Of course, we’d sing like the Jets—

With our guns? Clio’s arched brow reached close to her hairline now.

Of course, with our guns. We’re a gang, so we have to sing and have pretty pink guns.

Gods. Mel shook her head.

Breaking out in a tune, Erato sang, ’There’s a place for Michael and Gabriella. In 1895, there’s a place for Michael and Gabriella—’

Your iambic pentameter is terrible.

Erato swatted at Clio. You try fitting all those syllables into the song.

Mel found herself, unbelievably, silently giggling. Again. Yes, you’re right. We’d make perfect gang members. Why, just look at us. We’re halfway there.

Clio and Erato glanced down at their togas. They all wore the same color of gold, but their togas were slightly different with the way the fabric twisted itself around their thin bodies.

My goodness, Clio said. I think our Mel made another joke. What is that now? Two jokes for this millennium?

Erato hugged Mel enthusiastically. Two jokes! Amazing.

Mel rolled her eyes. "All right. Let’s get on with this—this glimpse."

Clio and Erato nodded and then arranged themselves to stand in front of the humans. They looked at Mel as she straggled closer.

Oh, Mel, honey, Erato said, as much as I love your new rule breaking bad assery, you cannot break any rules while Gabriella is with Michael. She must have her freewill.

Mel frowned, like usual. Of course, she’ll have her freewill.

Clio pivoted, looking Mel in the eye, placing a soothing hand on her shoulder. What Erato means is this will be very difficult for Gabriella, for both of them actually. And I know how much you have been watching Gabriella, interfering. You cannot interfere now. No matter how much you want to.

Mel pursed her lips but nodded.

I mean it, Sissy, Erato warned. It’s going to be hard on you while you watch Gabriella suffer—

Suffer? What do you mean suffer? Mel stood in front of Gabby, arms crossed.

Now both sisters tried to calm Mel, caressing her.

"She might suffer, Mel. Clio shrugged with a helpless smile. What we shall ask of them will be difficult to go through. Hades, it’s difficult to even talk about, let alone to watch them. And we know the outcome, while they don’t. This will be dark, scary, and very sad. And we’ll want to interfere, but we can’t. We have to let them choose their own paths. Those are the rules."

Mel sighed. So you mess up their fates, kidnap them, dump them in different times, sometimes even different countries, and then tell them they have to choose their own paths?

Clio and Erato turned to each other, faces tense, but then they smiled, arms slung around each other’s shoulders. Pretty much, yep.

Mel rolled her eyes, but grinned a little nonetheless.

You want to do the honors? Clio asked, her rosy lips curling up at the ends as she motioned toward the humans.

Mel nodded and took a big breath. Raising her hand, she exhaled then snapped her fingers. Instantly, the mortals awoke.

Chapter 1

He was dead. That’s all Michael Cameron could think while staring at the angel sitting in front of him. He’d somehow been a good enough soul to enter heaven. The only problem: was he supposed to feel this much desire for this angel ?

With that thought he seriously wondered if he—mortally sinful man he was—could truly be in heaven. He couldn’t stop staring at her. Ach, but she was bonny with fair disheveled tresses in a loose chignon, lovely creamy skin with two pinches of cherry pink on her cheeks, and dressed in...well, she was dressed in a dark gray thing. Probably had all sorts of fancy names for whatever her dress was called. Although the color was drab, even the purple accents were a dull hue, it was elegant and pretty, nonetheless. Everything about her was so pretty.

And he merely wore a kilt and the shirt from his white long johns. Much too lowly for the woman across from him. He’d dressed for his brother’s farm, for plowing the fields. About to snap the reins of the mules, he’d been stripped from the world as he’d known it, descending into utter blackness, and now here he sat.

Even if he did feel attired too plainly, he smiled at the angelic woman before he could stop himself, and she grinned back, blinking rapidly. After licking her dainty lips, she beamed. Hello. Her voice was fluid, rich, dreamy. And definitely English.

He straightened in his chair. Hello. His own voice came out lower than he’d intended, and mayhap a wee bit hostile.

Her smile vanished for a second, but then returned. You’re Scottish.

Aye.

She rolled her eyes. I should have known from the plaid.

Gabriella, I’d like you to meet Michael Cameron.

Michael turned toward the voice. One of the muses had spoken. There were three of them in the luxurious room he occupied. He hadn’t thought to scan where he was or who surrounded him. He’d just stared at the English lass. Should have known better, he chided himself. Since muses and at least two gods had become his—Lord, what would one call their association?—friends, he had been taken unawares more times than he could recall, then flashed to some other era, some other land too. But this was the first time he’d been taken without his brother Thomas, and this was the first time he’d been taken to meet a woman.

Jesus, she was his glimpse. Since the muses had rescued him from imminent death in 1653, he’d heard about a glimpse and what it was. His heart thundered with the thought that the bonny woman was for him. For him.

The English lass, Gabriella apparently, turned toward Michael but glanced again at the muses.

Melpomene! She rose from her seat on wobbly legs.

He caught her by the tiny wrist, and was up and helping steady her before he knew what he was doing. One of his hands—damned devilish hand—cradled her waist, pulling her slightly closer. Couldn’t seem to help himself, as if he were a magnet needing her nearer and nearer.

’Tis a bit like sea legs, eh? Michael softened his growling voice. After ye’ve been flung through time, ye need a moment to regain yer bearings.

Startled and startling blue eyes looked up into his. Her orbs were the same intensity of a summer storm—shockingly azure with wild silver static seeming to bounce through her gaze. His solar plexus tensed with luscious attraction toward the woman in his arms.

I’ve been flung through time?

Her accent was unbelievably refined. So smooth. Polished. Almost too much so as if she’d had years of training.

Actually, no. You haven’t been taken to a different time, Gabriella.

Michael glanced away from his English lass for only a heartbeat to look at Mel, speaking for the muses apparently. This was further confirmation, eh? Gabriella was his glimpse. He had been brought for her. The weight of who she was to him, who he was to her, should have made his legs buckle. Oh, certainly, his older brothers, Duncan and Jake, had informed him of the seriousness of having a glimpse—they’d had glimpses themselves. And mayhap he should have rebelled under the pressure, reminding the muses he was young, only five and twenty now, and although he had time traveled much in the last four years, he still had plenty to do before he settled down.

Instead, he felt buoyed, almost unable to touch the earth again. She would be the salve for his lonely heart. And she already was. So soon his heart tripped over itself while in her presence, while holding her. Her hands tentatively held him by his arms. She’d easily accepted his help. And she was for him.

"Then, you’ve been to different times...Mr. Cameron?" Gabriella asked, her intense gaze causing such wonderful calamity inside his body.

She stood firmly in place, not exactly needing his assistance any longer. Grudgingly, he released her.

Please call me Michael. And, aye, I’ve been around.

That might be an understatement. Clio laughed. Tell her about exploring Antarctica. She’ll love that.

Oh my. Gabriella had yet to release him. Oh, he liked her touch.

She smiled even more widely. He noticed she had a few small freckles around her nose. Liking every single one, he tried to focus on what she was saying.

That sounds rather exciting. You will tell me every detail? Melpomene has told me a bit of her time traveling, but, oh, how I’d love to hear more. Tell me everything. Grimacing, she retracted, I mean, I would love if you—only if you want to—

I think we’ll have much time to talk, aye, and get to know each other.

Well, Clio countered, you will be very busy, but I do hope you’ll get to know each other.

Gabriella finally broke her hold of him and spun toward the muses. Michael was surprised at how much his body already missed her closeness. That was another sign, eh? She was for him. He beamed at the muses.

Busy? Gabriella asked.

Mel took a step forward, but Clio caught her by the shoulder. The muse of tragedy frowned a tad more than usual, then said, We have a mission for the two of you. Only if you accept, that is.

A mission? Gabriella looked again at Michael, her gaze dancing with joy. She’d already clapped her hands together. Oh, his woman liked adventure, did she? Aye, they would be a perfect match.

Yes, well, Mel has told us about your love for solving mysteries, Gabriella, Clio said, then took a step closer. Oh, is it all right if I call you Gabriella? We’ve never formally met before, but Mel’s told us a lot about you, your grace.

Your grace?

That meant Gabriella was an aristocrat. Michael swallowed, knowing only one very high rank was called your grace.

Shite, she was a...

Duchess.

Michael took a step away from the woman he thought was his glimpse. A duchess?

Gabriella—hell, could he even call her by her Christian name? Even if only in his mind?—peeked up at him through thick dark eyelashes. A flash of some intense feeling shot through those sky-blue orbs of hers. She winced as if he’d called her a name. But she recovered quickly, pulling her chin upwards, squaring her tiny shoulders. Her face turned into a porcelain facade of what he’d seen just a second ago. Oh, it was still her, but a fire no longer burned in her eyes, no longer turned her cheeks pink. She had morphed into a pale stone version of herself, which he expected of nobility.

Jesus, a duchess? For him?

He was no one. A farmer’s son. He’d been a warrior for his clan, but only momentarily before Cromwell had usurped the Highlands and razed the land of men. Then he’d been a prisoner of war, sent deep south into the Virginia Colony. After that he’d been rescued by the muses. It had taken a few months to fully understand the muses were time-traveling, often silly creatures. Still, he’d grown rather fond for them in the last few years as they had granted Thomas any wish to journey to any time, any place, and explore. Michael had gone with him because...well, he worried about his brother doing something reckless and dangerous. Or stupid. Ever since their brother Douglas had died, Thomas seemed to have a death wish.

Michael shook himself back into the moment, wondering about the angel before him. The duchess. Though she’d turned into a cold version of herself, she was beautiful. A foot shorter than he, if not more, and slim, she seemed to be everything he’d ever hoped for in a woman. Her hair caught his attention almost as much as her eyes. Her tresses were a dark gold. Not blonde, but truly gold, like a well-worn wedding ring. And, Lord, how her eyes had shone like a sparkling sapphire before he’d stepped away. He liked her. Liked the way she looked. But how could she be for him? He wasn’t anyone special. Not exactly bright. Not anything, really.

Gabriella is fine. Please, call me Gabr— She cut herself off and peeked up at Michael once more. The statue before him broke, and he realized pain crossed through her eyes. Was she embarrassed of her rank?

Biting her bottom lip, she swiveled toward Michael but did not look up at him now. Her gaze shot in many directions while she stared down at the red and cream, intricately designed carpet. She seemed to be having an internal fight, but suddenly she pitched her head up, tilted her wee chin even farther skyward, then declared, I—I like Gabby. I prefer being called Gabby, if you please, sir.

Was she challenging him? If there was one thing he loved, it was a challenge.

He probably should have curtailed his reaction. Mayhap he should have acted more like the common man he was. Instead, he couldn’t seem to help himself and grinned down at her.

No ‘sir.’ Just Michael. Michael Cameron. And ’tis a pleasure to meet ye, Gabby. He caught her hand and kissed the top of two of her delicate knuckles. While still bowing before her, he peeked up to gauge her reaction.

He’d broken the statue facade completely. She was back, the lass with sparks and fire roaring in her eyes. Two perfect pink stains colored her cheeks. And Michael wanted nothing more than to step even closer to her, keep kissing her hand. But they did have an audience.

Good. Good, Clio said, sounding a bit at a loss of patience. I’m glad you got the introductions taken care of. Now we need to talk about your mission.

Mission? Both he and Gabby echoed. Then they silently chuckled while Michael straightened, looking down at...well, she was his duchess. Lord, he was a lucky bastard.

Yes, mission, or perhaps I should call it your case. Clio walked closer to a desk near a white marble fireplace mantle. The desk itself was expansive, the wood a dark polished walnut. Clio glanced over her shoulder then motioned for Gabby and him to come nearer. He waved forward, ushering Gabby to walk first. As he did so, one of his rebellious hands gently touched the small of her back, the area above her bustle.

Gabby blinked and blushed, looking down at the floor as she walked forward. And, oh, how Michael loved the way she smiled when he touched her. Granted, he’d gotten used to feeling surreal in the last few years of his life. But this moment seemed drizzled in a dreamlike state—meeting Gabby like this. Lucky, lucky, lucky bastard.

Your mission, should you decide to choose it— Erato said in a mockingly serious voice, but was cut off by Clio.

"Knock it off. This isn’t Mission Impossible."

Erato rolled her eyes. You’re such a spoil sport.

No. I am. Mel crossed her arms as she glided closer to the desk. And I agree with Clio. Quit horsing around. This is serious.

Erato pursed her lips, glanced over to Michael and Gabby, rolled her eyes yet again, but remained silent.

Clio carefully picked up two thick files stuffed with papers. She held them over her heart, crossing her arms in an X. We have a very—gosh, it is serious—mission or case or whatever you choose to call it, to ask of you two.

Aye? Michael stood close to Gabby, unable to help himself, hoping he wasn’t too invasive. She smelled like peaches. Nay, that wasn’t quite right. Once he’d been in an orchard in South Carolina and had smelled when peach blossoms faded into the still-green fruit. The scent was juicy, like a peach, and floral from the flowers, however mixed in it was something green and clean. That was Gabby—floral, fruity, and like that summer day when he’d lain on the soil of the Carolinas and looked up at the green, white, peach, and intense pink colors of the trees. He couldn’t wait to unpin her hair, fist that gold silk in his hands, and just smell her.

Aye, less than three minutes with the woman and he was smitten.

It was difficult to pay attention to the muses, but when Clio extended a folder to Gabby, he tried. She opened the thick cover and revealed newspaper clippings—from the Philadelphia Inquirer. The title of an article read, Three Children Missing! Oh, how newspapermen loved their exclamation points in this day and age. And how it worked, those exclamation points. He hated to think of three, defenseless children lost. He could do something about that. He would do something about that.

What’s today’s date? he asked, wondering how much time he had to find the children.

Gabby glanced up at him. June 26, 1895. When was the last date you...visited? Sorry, is that the correct term? I have no idea of the vocabulary for a time-traveler extraordinaire. You will teach me?

He smiled down at her, somehow liking her even more.

Yes, yes. Time traveling. Blah, blah, blah. Clio had officially lost her patience. Her lips were pursed and her shoulders tense. Those newspaper clippings are recent, Michael. The children are still missing. But they have been missing for more than a year and-a-half now. We need your help to find them.

He wanted to ask why the muses had chosen him but didn’t want to make a poor appearance in front of Gabby. Granted, he’d assist in whatever way he could to find the children, but why him specifically? It wasn’t as if he’d ever discovered missing children before. Or solved such an important mystery.

And Gabriella—Gabby’s—help. We need the both of you to find the children, Mel said.

The little he’d been told about a glimpse was that two people were to help each other. In so doing, they’d find love. His sister in-law, Fleur, married to Duncan, had described it in those exact terms, and Michael’s mind raced, trying to figure out how finding missing American children had anything to do with Gabby. Was she their mother?

Nay, she’d be beyond distressed if she were.

Mayhap she knew someone who knew the missing children.

In these folders, Clio held the other folder gingerly, as if holding a bairn, you will find almost all the information you will need to help track the children.

It’s a mystery then? Gabby asked.

Yes. Clio nodded. That’s why we’ve chosen you, Gabby. Your love for solving mysteries. We think you can find the children.

Suddenly, as if he’d been sucker punched on the side of his head, Michael wondered if Gabby—if this was a glimpse after all.

And Michael, Clio said, while he wondered if his knees would buckle, with your auditory eidetic memory, you will be instrumental in helping find the children too.

What? he asked, feeling shell-shocked as they now called it.

Erato snorted a laugh. "Well, when he does hear anything, he memorizes it."

Fascinating, Gabby said, pirouetting toward him, her smile wide.

But his heart thundered in his chest. And hurt.

"Then—then, this isn’t a glimpse? Damn him and his mouth. He had such a hard time censoring himself. Now, his heart on his sleeve, he was blabbering. She’s not my glimpse?" Glancing down at Gabby, he tore his gaze from her to the muses for answers.

Glimpse? Is that a time-traveling term? Gabby asked. "Mel told me a little how I was to help solve a case before she took me here. Oh, where is here exactly?"

You’re in Philadelphia, Mel answered, then she looked up at Michael, appearing to be at a loss for words.

Michael, Clio said quickly, blocking out her sister. You’re here to help find the missing children and protect Gabby. If you choose, I should say. If not, we’ll take you back to Jake and Meredith’s farm in 1888.

Deuces, really? Gabby kept smiling at him, as if the world hadn’t suddenly stopped and begun to crumble under him. You can go back in time? Just like that? Fascinating.

Of course, the beautiful angel wasn’t for him. God, he had a thick skull. Stupidly thick. Why would the muses pair him with a duchess? Him? He was a lowly farm lad. A warrior, not even of the rank to give out orders but to take them. He was nobody.

He forced a smile into place for her though, swallowing down the thickness in his throat. What say ye, duchess? Do ye care to find the children? And if so, would ye care for me to be yer partner?

Her smile somehow widened all the more, peachy-pink blossoming on her thin cheeks. Lord, she was so bonny.

And not for him.

However, he already knew he’d do anything for her. He’d protect her, as asked. He’d assist in anyway to help find the missing children. If she wanted him to. He’d do anything to have just a few more moments with her. Even if she wasn't for him.

I—I’m—Please, Michael, just call me Gabby. I—I don’t want to be a duchess while in America. She turned to the muses. Would anyone here recognize me?

Clio shook her head. More than likely, no. To track down the children, you will need to go to the sort of places where no one has ever seen a picture of you, let alone heard of the Duchess of Northampton.

Duchess of Northampton. There it was. Further confirmation that she was out of Michael’s league. And hearing the information made him want to grind his teeth into pebbles.

But what of you, Michael? Gabby turned back to him, biting her delicious bottom lip. Would you want to partner with someone like me, not nearly so brilliant as having an eidetic memory?

The fact was, he wasn’t exactly sure what that meant. Oh, he could guess it meant he could and accidentally did memorize bits of conversation. But it was proof of his limited knowledge and education. Proof he was not the man for her.

Perhaps he should decline from this case, say no. Mayhap he should tell the muses he wouldn’t be of much help.

But something about Gabby, of knowing he’d never see her again, made him selfish.

O’ course, he said roughly, forcing another smile into place.

She took a tiny, very ladylike jump, beaming at him. I’m so happy. I would gladly look for the missing children, contribute in any way I can.

Good, Clio said. Then reached for the file Gabby held. Gabby returned it to the muse, her dark blonde brows puckering momentarily before Clio spoke quickly. So the both of you agree to help with this case?

Michael glanced down at Gabby first but nodded after she did.

Wonderful. After placing the files on the large desk, Clio clapped her hands together. Leaving her fingers steepled, she said, So, as I mentioned, almost all the information you’ll need is in the folders. Both of you can read them tomorrow on the train to Cincinnati.

Train? Michael asked.

No, I’ll read them tonight. I won’t be able to sleep anyway. Gabby smiled up at Michael. Too excited about our mission.

Clio nodded. That’s what I worried about. She looked at Erato. It’s your turn to deal with the big guy.

Gabby glanced up at Michael, shrugging good-naturedly, conveying she wasn’t sure what the muses were talking about either. But when Erato pursed her lips determinedly and sidled closer to him as Clio raised her hand in the air, he knew what they were about.

Don’t ye snap those fingers, he ordered. I’ll fall on my face and break somethin’. Probably wee Gabby.

Oh, so that’s how I got here, Gabby said almost more to herself. The snap of the fingers. How clever.

Clio smiled widely. Too much so. She shook her head at Michael. You are bright, but I have other methods.

She merely flicked her fingers, sending golden sparkles at him. Before he could fight the sparks, he fell toward the floor, blackness taking over reality.

Damned muses.

"Oh, gods. This shouldn’t feel so good," Erato said after unconscious Michael had fallen on her.

Mel scurried to help her sister who was busy smelling the poor man.

Here. Give me a hand.

Erato shook her head that lay beside Michael’s. No. I don’t think I want to get up. Ever again.

Gods, can you be serious for just a second, Erato? Clio huffed as she lugged Gabby up and over her golden toga-clad shoulders, carrying the duchess in a fireman’s hold.

Quit molesting the mortal, Mel ordered Erato, pushing Michael off her sister. Then turned to Clio. "Why did you do that? They both agreed to their glimpse. And why did you make it sound as though it wasn’t a glimpse? Oh, please don’t hold Gabriella like that. It’s not dignified."

We can’t make it easy for them. Clio rolled her eyes as she slowly trudged the duchess back to the sleeping chamber.

What are we doing to them now? Mel followed Clio, hearing Erato panting. She glanced up enough to see Erato pulling huge Michael by his wrists along the floor. He was sure to get some rug burns, so she scampered back to help Erato.

No! No, don’t you dare, Erato yelled. Then she released Michael’s wrists, his heavy arms thumping against the carpet. Erato hurried to his legs then motioned with a tilt of her head that Mel was to take his wrists. If anyone is holding his legs, Erato said, while blowing a dark red curl from her eye, it’s me. Gods, I adore this big man. He’s so pretty.

Somehow, Erato and Mel followed Clio with their heavy cargo into the dark room. The bed was the main focus, being huge and decked in rich silken creams and layers of red. The bedposts looked like the perfect holdings for erotic fantasies.

Seriously, someone had better tell me what we’re doing to the humans, Mel warned.

Clio flung Gabby on the bed, straightening and stretching her neck side to side. You heard her. Gabby wouldn’t be able to sleep without our help.

Oh. Mel nodded, halted her movements to think, and then nodded again as Erato pantomimed with a few head bobs to heave Michael on the other side of the bed. Hades, Michael was a heavy man, and Erato and Mel gasped once he landed with a few bounces.

I think I need a break, relax here for just a moment. Erato sauntered closer to Michael and almost sat on him.

Clio came to their side of the bed, frowning. You have quite the crush on this one.

Erato sighed. Yes. He’s just a dreamboat, if I ever saw one.

Clio giggled. He is dreamy. I’ll give you that. And, Mel, she turned toward her other sister, "Gabby is lovely. I think this glimpse will be one of my favorites."

Mel nearly smiled. For the muse of tragedy it was as close to a smile as she ever got. So are we readying them for sleep?

Yes. Clio smiled with a mischievous glint. Let’s get them ready for bed, Erato.

Erato loudly giggled, then reached for the top of Michael’s kilt.

What—what are you doing? Mel asked.

Erato stopped from reaching around Michael’s belt. Why, taking off his clothes.

Clio had returned to Gabby and hefted the little human over so she lay prone, then Clio immediately attacked the duchess’s buttons on her dress.

What’s happening here? Why are we taking off their clothes? Mel demanded.

Getting them ready to sleep together, Clio said, never taking her eyes from the many buttons on Gabby’s dress and her work of undoing them all.

You’re putting them in some kind of pajamas, right?

Clio shook her head. Erato had gotten to work a lot faster than her sister, and already had Michael’s torso exposed. Wow. Double wow. Maybe Erato had merit to have a crush on the mortal. He was kind of perfect. Although he was relaxed in his unconscious state, his muscles were mesmerizing, rippling every time Erato tugged him about.

Clio and Erato looked at each other for a second, smiled, then burst out laughing.

No pajamas. Are you crazy? Erato giggled so hard she fell on Michael.

Let me get this straight, Mel said, crossing her arms over her breasts. "To make this glimpse more complex, you don’t tell Michael he’s having his glimpse. Actually give him the impression he’s only here to help with the case. But you’re now undressing them to sleep nude together. Am I understanding this correctly?"

Erato held Michael’s kilt away from his stomach, peeking at his pelvis under the plaid. Oh, oh, gods and all other deities, he’s so perfect.

Clio rolled her eyes, smiling at Mel. "I’m so glad he’s getting his glimpse. Erato would try to seduce him, otherwise. And, yes, it sounds as though you understand everything about this glimpse perfectly."

Mel shook her head, and then truly smiled. I just had to make sure. Oh, and have him hold her very close. Gabby has always dreamed of a man holding her close while she slept.

Clio clapped while chuckling. Okay. Help me prop them together.

Mel giggled a little as she assisted in ensuring the mortals held each other very tightly while they were still unconscious. Oh, the fun they’d have when they awoke!

Chapter 2

Heaven. Gabby dreamt of heaven, being held in a strong man’s arms, feeling his firm body against her own—all the things she’d tried desperately not to fantasize or hope for. She was holding him too. In fact, her cheek was on his chest, hearing his ever-pounding heart, feeling it beat against her face. One of her arms crossed his body, holding onto his iron-like shoulder. Even in his slumber, her chimera man was so... hard .

She almost giggled at that thought and did wonder if he had an erection too. Oh, this was her dream. Surely, he did. He’d want her. Of course her fantasy man would be her newest comrade, Michael Cameron. Of course, she’d dream of him. He was absolute masculine perfection with his large, imposing form, sculpted cheekbones, and his very, very square jawline hazed with a few sparkling blond whiskers. When he’d smiled, which had been often upon introduction, she’d almost come undone by his two dimples. How could such a chiseled man have two of the most adorable dimples?

And now she was dreaming of him. Her imagination running amok, certainly. She’d feel uncomfortable in his presence when she awoke, wondering if he could sense she had dreamt of him holding her tightly. Perhaps he would know how thoroughly she was attracted to him.

But she was sleeping now, and she didn’t want to wake. One of his huge forearms lay on her back, his other hand was lower, closer to her derrière. She hoped he’d reach down and squeeze her bum. Then he’d pull her on his body, let her feel the evidence of his desire for her. And kiss her, naturally.

She wouldn’t have horrid morning breath. He wouldn’t either. And she wouldn’t have to use the water closet as she did now. And he’d—

Wait. Oh, dear. Just wait a moment.

Why did she have to use the water closet in her dream?

Gabby flexed her fingers, the one that held his shoulder. So very firm. And so very real.

Oh, dear Lord.

Slowly, ever so timidly, she opened her eyes. A sea of golden flesh met her gaze. He was rolling muscles and indentions between with a few sparse gold—the man was coated with the precious metal—chest hairs.

Shite.

She was awash with his scent too. In the very rare instances of running away from her strict French governess during the freezing white winters of her youth, she’d loved the smell of wood burning from one of the small cottages on her father’s estate. There was something special about that smell. Might it have been because it had been so bloody freezing? She didn’t know, for the aroma was not just smoke. No, the smoke was a secondary if not a tertiary scent. The engulfing fragrance was of the woods, of clean trees. That was what Michael smelled of—masculine, clean, slightly smoky in such a sensual way, and of the essence of trees. God, she loved the way he smelled.

She swallowed.

This wasn’t a dream, was it?

But how—how could she have ended up