Out of the Blue (A Regency Time Travel Romance) by Kasey Michaels Page A

And his dark eyes
seemed to glow red as if lit by either religious fervor or, she
thought, fanatical zealotry. She didn’t know whether to be amused
or revolted.
    “Pitiful creature, ain’t he?” Aunt Cornelia
whispered sotto voce, nudging Cassandra with one pointy
elbow. “Still, having him here to dinner once a month is a world
easier than sitting through his sermons every Sunday. Wait until
you see him at table. Eats as if the universe will come to an end
before dessert. It is a compromise I’ve made with God, you
understand. As you so astutely pointed out—I must do all my
possible to secure a position in heaven. This little bit of charity
ought to get me a good seat, don’t you think?”
    “Front row, center,” Cassandra agreed,
relaxing completely. Aunt Cornelia might put on a stern air, and
her appearance certainly was enough to put a girl on her best
behavior, but the woman was all right. With a little work, they
might even become friends. Cassandra frowned, considering her last
thought. Well, maybe not best friends—but at least she
wasn’t afraid of the lady.
    “Mr. Austin,” Cassandra heard the marquess
say, calling her back to attention, “may I have the honor of
presenting Peregrine’s American cousin, Miss Cassandra Kelley, who
is to be with us for an indefinite stay.”
    With Aunt Cornelia’s pointed elbow prodding
her on, Cassandra extended her hand while murmuring a simple, safe
“How d’you do?” A moment later the vicar was bending over her hand,
kissing it with what she could only consider to be fish lips. Cold.
Almost slimy. “It is nice to make your acquaintance, sir.”
    “May the good Lord watch over and protect
you, Miss Kelley, and keep you from the temptations of the flesh
and the devil,” Mr. Austin intoned in his rusty-hinge baritone. He
then dismissed her and turned back to Marcus and Peregrine,
inquiring as to whether it was possible to anticipate his dinner
with a judicious glass of sherry.
    “Of course, Ignatius,” Marcus answered,
moving toward the drinks table that stood at one side of the room.
“Perry? Aunt? Cassandra?”
    “Nothing for me, Marcus,” Perry answered,
leaning his chubby body against the marble mantelpiece with the air
of a man whose dearest wish was to fade into the woodwork.
    “Ratafia, Nephew,” Aunt Cornelia instructed
offhandedly, belatedly noticing the Bible in her lap and hastily
stuffing it between the cushions of the settee.
    “Scotch and water, please, Marcus. On the
rocks,” Cassandra replied, busily, assisting the older woman in her
attempt to hide the evidence of her “cramming” as if for a
test.
    “I beg your pardon?”
    Marcus’s steely tone sliced through Cassandra
and she slapped a hand to her mouth. “ Um—er —I mean—” She
looked at the marquess in naked terror, knowing she had really
blown it this time. “ Um —it’s an American drink,” she
inserted hastily. “Much like wine. That’s it. I’ll have a glass of
wine, thank you, Marcus.”
    “You’ll have ratafia, missy, and like it,”
Aunt Cornelia supplied testily. “Savage Indians, and now I learn
the gel drinks like a demmed flounder. Marcus, must you continue to
plague an old woman out of her mind with these strays of
yours?”
    Marcus approached, carrying two crystal
glasses on a small silver tray. Bending over Aunt Cornelia, he
whispered, “You dare to complain, Aunt, with that death’s head on a
mop stick you’ve got cluttering up my drawing room?”
    “Yes, well, I suppose you might have a
point,” Aunt Cornelia conceded, turning to Cassandra. “Sorry,
little girl. I suppose things are quite different in the colonies.
But don’t you worry. We’ll get you up to snuff before the Season.
Good Lord!” she exclaimed in astonished tones, although she kept
her voice low. “Gel—uncross those legs! You’re showing your limbs
to anyone who cares to look. Do you want to send the vicar into an
apoplexy?”
    “Forgive me, ma’am. It—it’s