The River of No Return by Bee Ridgway (best novels of all time txt) 📕

you are a young lord with a taste for women.” Arkady squeezed Nick against him. “You have heard that a certain woman will be here, at this party. And you come because you are looking for a mistress.”

Nick stopped in his tracks. “No!”

Arkady’s starlit eyes sparkled. “But yes, my priest! For this we have dragged you back in time!” He put his head back and laughed.

“You’re kidding me.”

Arkady released Nick’s shoulder and wiped his eyes. “No, no I am not! It is funny, yes?” He took a moment to collect himself. “But it is still very serious, this job you do for us. The war with the Ofan must soon start, and we must gather the information. One of the guests tonight? Her name is Alva Blomgren. She is a traitor to the Guild. A Swedish spy. A great courtesan—who has recently lost her lover. You are here to replace him in her affections.”

“That is . . .” Nick struggled to find words. “It’s bullshit. That’s what it is. I won’t do it.”

Arkady seemed genuinely puzzled. “Do you pout because you are not here to kill, after all? You are such a little boy that you choose a toy gun over a girl? I told you on that evening, when we jumped. I told you why we want you.”

“You most certainly did not.”

“I did. We want you for your charmingness. I said so. We know all about how you are the tomcat in New York and Vermont, but of course we do. So many lovely women. What is the thing your Nelson said with the flags? ‘England expects . . . expects . . .’”

“‘England expects that every man will do his duty,’” Nick muttered.

“Yes.” Arkady smiled his approval. “It is the same with the Guild.”

Nick stared at the Russian, then turned aside and deliberately spat. “I will not be your lightskirt.” He turned on his heel. “I bid you good night, Arkady.”

“Don’t be ridiculous—look, we are here now.” Arkady nipped Nick to his side with an iron grip and knocked precipitously on a huge, black door set directly onto Ludgate Hill. It opened immediately, and a butler who must have been seven feet tall ushered them into a hallway filled to overflowing with men and women. Through an open door Nick could see a sunken ballroom lit by hundreds of candles, aswirl with sumptuous ball gowns.

“I won’t do it,” Nick said as they handed over their hats and coats.

Arkady steered him into the crowd. “Your newfound purity is charming, of course.” He smiled beatifically. “But you must not be afraid. She will be gentle with you.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

The receiving line moved slowly. By the time Nick and Arkady had made their way through the grand double doors and stood at the top of the steps leading down into the ballroom, Nick was in a searing rage. Arkady had a tight, lordly smile tucked up neatly under his nose, and Nick knew he ought to have just such a sour-lemon expression pinned to his own face. They were, after all, noblemen condescending to join commoners. Well, the commoners would have to make do with his terrible scowl.

So the Guild had chosen him to be their stud, their boar, their bull, their goddamn rooster in the henhouse. Now Nick felt like killing. He had a tiepin. He could take it out and stick it into Arkady’s jugular. As for this Ofan whore he was supposed to tup for the good of the Guild . . . Nick’s imagination failed him. Never in his life, either before or after his jump, had anyone had the stunning nerve to frame him as a gigolo. Sold, and sold as a prostitute, to a prostitute.

A few weeks ago Nick might have thought this assignment would be fun. Maybe. He couldn’t really even recall who he had been a few weeks ago, and two hundred years in the future.

It was John Donne’s fault. He should leave this party, march on down to St. Paul’s, and punch the statue of a piously shrouded Donne on the nose.

Nick had been in perfect control of his emotions, holding Julia at arm’s length. But then she had risen up out of the floor, just when Nick was reading that bit about America. And before a lamb could shake its tail . . . no. He needed an American animal. Before a raccoon could wash its dinner, they had been in each other’s arms and halfway to paradise. Paradise or Gretna Green or Las Vegas. Wherever he could marry her and live happily ever after with the greatest possible efficiency. Nick frowned to himself. America! Home of American girls. Raised on promises. Make it last all night. He’d liked those girls, liked them a lot. But now it seemed that this Devonshire acorn was his America, his newfound land, even though he’d stumbled across her in his own past and in his own backyard.

Except that now Arkady had dumped the Whore of Babylon in his lap and told him it was his duty to service her in the name of the Guild.

The crowd in the ballroom was staring at him, of course. The two aristocrats had arrived. All those faces turned upward to where they stood at the top of the stairs leading down into the ballroom. Each and every person here knew, apparently, that Nick was looking for sex. Well, they could stare all they liked. He wasn’t going to give them a show. He wouldn’t talk to a single woman all evening.

Finally Nick stepped forward to meet his host. Bertrand Penture was a man of about Nick’s own age and height, handsome in the Gary Cooper style. Nick nodded. “Penture.”

Penture’s bow was precise and perfunctory, only just deep enough to acknowledge Nick’s rank. “My lord.” His French accent was slight, and it tinged his words with honey, but there was nothing sweet about his expression. Nick could see it in the man’s strange, pale green eyes: Penture disliked him. And Nick found himself responding, his lip curling in a scornful smile, his eyes flickering down