Page 31 of Misadventures with a Duke

I’d even be laughing about the thought—and damn it, really want to—except that D’s eruption comes with a lot of emphasis. As in, almost too much.

“Does Christmas get a say in that?” I volley, despite detecting that she’s not going to play in the banter. The intensity across her face is still focused on her own device. “D? What is it?”

She doesn’t look up. “Did you search for images in your little web jaunt this morning?”

“Why would I?” The question is valid. “If there were barely any website hits for Bastien, what makes you think an image search would spit back anything different?”

“You mean something like this?”

As she turns her phone around, I lean forward.

Just before I grab the device and drop back, thankful the bed is here to catch my descent.

Correction. My stunned-as-shit fall—courtesy of the label on the painting that she’s found for me. My eyes grow dry because I gawk at the image for so long, wondering if I want it to be real or not. Not getting any clearer answer as I tap on the link and read off the piece’s supposed title.

“The Execution of Bastien De Leon.”

Drue folds her arms and rocks back on her heels. “Except that’s not the Bastien De Leon I remember from the private portrait gallery at the château.”

I nod. “It’s definitely another guy.”

“Says the girl who really knows by now.”

I tolerate her waggling brows, if only because my shock is still playing boss babe with my senses. But I give back as good as I get with a wide and amazed look. “It has to be a crazy coincidence. Another nobleman with the same name—”

“Who was painted like this, the exact same year that your Bastien went to the block?”

I glower. “He’s not my Bastien.”

“Right. Uh-huh.”

“Knock it off.” My narrowed stare gets nothing but her rolling eyes. “You were listening during the part where I said he’s a gallon of whipped cream over someone else, right? And the only reason he cruised erotic city with me last night was because I look like her?”

“Right.” She folds her arms. “And all of that was simply by coincidence, then? Enough to trip a destiny-driven time machine by accident?”

I punch back to my feet. Shove her phone back to her. With matching purpose, I slam the wardrobe’s doors shut. “We don’t know that for certain. I mean, yes, it’s a time travel mechanism. And yes, it’s obvious that another De Leon used it. But because of destiny? You remember the part about him being obsessed with another mate, right? And that he’s lost somewhere in this city because he thinks I’m a witch who took over that woman’s body before shrinking and imprisoning his brother?”

“So…what?” She leans against the dresser. “You going to give up right away just because he’s pining for a woman who’s only bones in the ground by now?”

I drag in a sharp breath through my nose. “You’re implying there’s something to give up on. And before you invoke everything Max and Allie, consider that Max arrived from his jump with an open mind and heart. He was ready to believe in the impossible.”

“Ahhh. Yeah. You’re right.” The words are there but her tone isn’t buying them. “So having to fight a little harder for your own prince’s heart isn’t worth it. I mean, I get that too.”

“Duke,” I snap. “He’s a duke, okay? And I never said anything about him not being worth it.”

“Not in so many words.”

“Not in any words.” Right away, I recognize the priority of more calming breaths. Fortunately, they help with restacking my thoughts in some semblance of order. “Because there’s no heart to be won here, okay? I just want to be sure he stays physically safe until he can wrap his brain around everything. In the process, maybe we’ll learn what really caused him to transport here. But first things first. We’ve got to track him down. I’m damn sure nothing from the eighteenth century, even Paris, France, has prepared him for Times Square in a pre-matinee crush.”

It’s a weird relief to watch Drue’s gaze go wide. “You think that’s where he went?”

“I don’t know,” I confess. “It’s just what my gut says. If I were a stranger here and having to pick a direction out the building’s front door, I’d head toward the shady sidewalks and full trees.”

“Beyond which is the craziest place in the city.”

“Where Bastien De Leon will either go equally crazy or drown in five dollar bills from everyone wanting to pose with him.”

I grimace to show how little I enjoy saying that part. At the same time, something urgent, anxious, and protective rises in me.