Yet he knew she hadn’t read one sentence. She continually peered up at him then averted her gaze when she saw he watched her. Ever since she came downstairs, she had given him nervous glances as if she felt as unsure of her prediction as he was. The tension stretched tighter between them as time passed. With a glance out the window, he estimated the time to be late afternoon. Raking loose strands of hair back from his face he continued to peer out the window. He had anticipated the Duke’s arrival before now. The rustle of paper indicated Margaret had turned another unread page. He gazed at the stray tendrils that framed her pale cheeks and wondered if Cumberland failed to show, if she would be convinced that she hadn’t come from the future. A cold hard knot formed in his gut as he massaged the nape of his neck. If Cumberland did arrive, would he be convinced that she had traveled back through time? No. Time travel was impossible. There had to be another explanation for her knowledge of events yet to happen.
