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with a furrowed brow. “What was all the ruckus?”
    It was Tilly’s turn to sink onto the bed, completely befuddled, still scared, and now just hoping she’d wake up. She looked at her abductor, who glared back at her for a moment before his expression softened a little. Had the gnome just called him Lord Ashford? She took in the rich furnishings, their clothes, the man’s frustration. She began to do the math of her situation and wasn’t liking the sum she came up with.
    “Duncan, you can’t know how happy I am to see you. This, unfortunately, is not Miss Saito,” Lord Ashford said. “Hence the ruckus.”
    “Goodness, not again,” the man called Duncan sighed.
    “This has happened before?” she asked incredulously. “What exactly is this?”
    Ashford scrubbed his hands over his face. “One time,” he said, directing his ire at Duncan. “If you’re not going to help, you can leave at once.”
    Tilly jumped up and stood beside Duncan. His wizened face cracked into what she thought might be a smile and he patted her shoulder. He seemed infinitely less dangerous than Ashford so far and if anyone left, she didn’t want it to be him.
    “I’m not supposed to be here?” she asked. The awful prickle started again at the back of her eyes. “And where is here?”
    “You’re still in Belmary House,” Ashford said.
    “In 1814,” Duncan supplied helpfully, taking her arm.
    It was a good thing too, because stars sparkled in her peripheral vision and she couldn’t feel her extremities. Only her rage kept her on her feet.
    “1814? The year? You took me back in time?”
    She leaned over and grabbed her knees, laughing to keep from crying. It wasn’t possible. Digging her fingernails into her thighs didn’t wake her up, so she looked up at Ashford and Duncan. They were still there. She was still there. Her anger grew when Ashford showed no remorse whatsoever, only that cold glare on his handsome jerk face.
    “So you were supposed to take Emma, but grabbed me instead?” She saw Duncan press his lips together and roll his eyes. “And wait, you’ve screwed up like this before?”
    “One time,” he bellowed. “I only saw Miss Saito once and it was more than a year ago.”
    Duncan snorted at that poor excuse but was quickly silenced with an impressive death glare. “Do you two look quite similar?” he asked, voice dripping with false innocence.
    Tilly laughed mirthlessly. “I’m at least five inches taller, my hair’s lighter, not to mention she’s Japanese .” She thought Ashford might start whistling he was so full of steam.
    He flapped his hands, then his shoulders slumped. For a moment he looked vulnerable and she bizarrely wanted to comfort him. For about one second.
    “Dark hair, medium height, pretty. That was all I could recall of Miss Saito, and you fit that description perfectly. And look how you’re dressed. I thought you were prepared to go.”
    She blushed at the unintended compliment before realizing he’d essentially blamed her for this mess because she’d gone on the damn Jane Austen walking tour and had on a beautiful period gown. Once again she wavered on her feet. Her period dress was probably right in style now.
    “Astounding. Talk about blaming the victim. Am I stuck here?”
    Ashford took out a tattered notebook and flipped through it. His already angry face turned absolutely bleak at whatever he read in it. “Oh, poor Miss Saito.” He sat down again. “It’s going to be a while until I can get her back.”
    He dared to frown at her as if it was her fault Emma couldn’t get back to wherever or whenever she needed to be. And while Tilly felt bad about it, that was a problem for another time. Right now she wanted answers about her own situation.
    “I beg your pardon, miss, but allow me to introduce ourselves,” Duncan spoke up, shaking his head at his employer as if he was a wayward child. “Albert Duncan, at your service. And your host, Lord Ashford.” He bowed and