“Yes, but I desired a change.”
“Surely there were opportunities for you in London?” he persisted.
“London no longer held appeal for me, my lord.”
A rather speculative gleam entered his eyes. “A broken heart?”
Emma swallowed her tart reply. Why not allow him to believe such a ridiculous notion? It would at least keep him off the scent of her true reason for leaving London.
“Of a sort.” She pretended to hedge.
“He must be a witless fool to have allowed you to slip from his grasp.”
Her lips twisted at the thought of the Devilish Dandy.
“On the contrary, he is exceptionally clever.”
“You know, you intrigue me greatly, Miss Cresswell,” he murmured.
Emma clenched her hands beneath the cover. In three and twenty years she had never intrigued any gentleman. Why now? And why this man?
“I assure you there is nothing intriguing about me. I am a simple servant, nothing more.”
Placing his hands on the mattress, he slowly leaned forward. “There is nothing simple about you, my little wood nymph.”
Emma sank deeper into the pillows behind her. “I wish you would not call me that.”
His low chuckle sent a rash of awareness over her skin.
“Why not? Such eyes could not belong to a mere mortal. And, of course, only a magical creature could have enchanted me with a mere kiss.”
Her eyes widened as a shock of heat raced through her body. No, she chastised herself sternly. He was merely flirting. He no doubt flirted with every female to cross his path. She was being a dolt to shake and shiver at his practiced charm.
“My lord, this is highly improper,” she protested in cold tones.
He shrugged his unconcern. “I have never been overly fond of propriety. Such a tiresome way to live one’s life.”
She did not need to pretend her expression of disapproval. He sounded remarkably like her father.
“I happen to believe that propriety and respectability are highly desirable traits.”
The golden eyes narrowed at the edge in her tone. “Why? They speak nothing of a person’s heart or the beauty of their soul. I am acquainted with many so-called respectable and proper individuals who are far too concerned with what others think rather than merely being concerned for others.”
She was not to be swayed by pretty words.
“And I am acquainted with many rogues who believe that charm is a substitute for morals.”
His brows rose at her accusation. “And you believe me to be a rogue?”
“Are you not?”
“No,” he retorted in a husky voice. “Simply a gentleman bewitched by a wood nymph.”
Drat. How did he always manage to tumble her off guard?
“Sir, you really must halt your foolishness,” she commanded in less than even tones.
“Why?” Unbelievably, he lifted a hand to toy with a stray curl that lay upon her cheek. “You are determined to behave as if nothing out of the ordinary occurred.”
Her heart raced out of control, but with determination she held on to her composure. She might react to this gentleman like a fool, but she did not have to behave as one.
“Of course it did. I was nearly killed by a drunken coachman, my foot became lodged in the mud, and a strange gentleman forced himself upon me. Hardly an ordinary day for any lady.”
Her stern chastisement did nothing more than deepen his amusement.
“You did not mention the magic that shimmered in the air when our lips met.”
No, she would not recall that kiss, she told herself. It was a memory best buried and forgotten.
“I do not believe in magic.”
“How wretchedly dismal.” His finger boldly trailed over the heated skin of her cheek. “The world would be a dull place indeed without magic and ghosts and beautiful wood nymphs.”
Calm and reasonable, she frantically reminded herself. Calm and reasonable. Calm and reasonable ... a shudder raced through her body.
“You cannot believe in such nonsense?”
He gazed deep into her wide eyes. “With all my heart.”
A brief, breathless moment passed between them.
Magic.
It was ludicrous. As ludicrous as ghosts and wood nymphs. And yet . . . what other explanation was there for the blaze of sensations that coursed through her body whenever he was near?
No, she was simply overly tired, she desperately told herself. And no doubt she was coming down with a chill.
Magic? Fah. More like a brain fever.
On the point of demanding that Lord Hartshore leave her in peace, she was saved the necessity as the stout housekeeper entered the room, carrying a large tray.
“Here we are, luv,” she boomed as she crossed toward the bed. “A nice bowl of soup and bread fresh from the oven. Just what you need to warm you up a mite.”
Forced to move by the advancing servant, Lord Hartshore rose reluctantly to his feet as Mrs. Freeman settled the tray over her patient’s legs.
Silently Emma breathed a sigh of relief. Thank goodness for overbearing housekeepers.
“This is very kind, Mrs. Freeman,” she murmured, her mouth already watering at the delicious aroma floating through the air.
“Mind you, eat every scrap.”
“Yes, I will.”
Satisfied that Emma was suitably cowed, the housekeeper turned her commanding attention in Lord Hartshore’s direction.
“And you, sir, should not be in here,” she informed him in stern tones.
That irrepressible amusement shimmered in his eyes. “I was just leaving.”
She shook a finger in his direction. “See that you do.”
“But of course.”
She sent him a warning frown before turning and marching out of the room. With a laugh Lord Hartshore glanced down at Emma’s pale face.
“I shall no doubt receive cold gruel for my dinner.”
“It would serve you right,” she promptly retorted. “I told you that it was not proper.”
He gazed at her for a moment before giving a rueful shrug. “Very well, my prim and prickly Miss Cresswell. I will stop in later to see how you go on.” Without warning he leaned down to place a gentle kiss on her forehead. Emma gasped and he pulled back to meet her startled gaze. “Magic.”
* * *
At Lord Hartshore’s request the carriage rumbled over the road to Mayford at a sedate pace. Although Miss Cresswell had sternly claimed her ankle was much improved, he had no desire to have it rattled over rough roads. Besides, after her rather spectacular ride the previous day, he was certain she would appreciate a more mundane means of travel.
Not that she appeared particularly appreciative, he wryly acknowledged.
Leaning back into his cushioned seat, he regarded the maiden across from him. Since she had awoken that morning, she treated him with a frosty composure that was meant to keep him at a distance. His every attempt at conversation was countered with an icy retort, and when he insisted upon helping her to the carriage, she was as rigid as a stick of wood.
He could not deny he found her stiff formality a source of amusement. She might desperately desire to appear a staid servant, but he was intimately familiar with the fire that smoldered just below the surface. And it was that knowledge that pricked Miss Cresswell like a thorn she could not dislodge.
His lips unconsciously curved into a smile. What an odd combination she was, he silently acknowledged. All prim and staunch on the outside and inside a muddle of innocent passion. And, of course, there was the mystery of her presence in Kent. She was no simple companion, of that he was sure. Her dress and clothing marked her a lady, while that emerald spoke of considerable wealth. Such maidens did not become companions unless they were fleeing from something.
But what?
He had already dismissed her insinuation it was a lover. No beautiful maiden could remain so deliciously innocent had she shown encouragement to a gent
leman.
Perhaps it was an overbearing father, he mused, or a wicked stepmother. Or an unwanted marriage.
He gave a faint shrug. Whatever the mystery, he would eventually unravel it.
He was nothing if not persistent.
Stretching out his legs, Cedric allowed his gaze to drift over the purity of her profile.
“You are very quiet this morning,” he at last murmured. “Are you quite certain that your ankle is not troubling you?”
With a deliberate show of reluctance, she turned from the window she had been regarding with rigid fascination.
“It is only a bit sore,” she assured him in cool tones.
He tilted his head to one side. “Then perhaps you are anxious at the upcoming meeting with my aunt?”
For a moment he thought she might refuse to answer, then apparently realizing he was closely related to her employer and therefore in a position to be humored, her lips thinned.
“Of course I am,” she conceded. “I was hired by her Man of Business. It might be that I shall not suit her needs.”
Cedric laughed at the mere notion. His dear, rather addlepated aunt had already convinced herself that Miss Cresswell’s presence was vital to Mayford. Nothing would sway her now.
“You need have no fears. My aunt is a kind soul with a generous heart. She will be delighted to have you in her home.”
“You did not possess such faith in my abilities yesterday,” she reminded him in dry tones.
“I will admit a measure of surprise at finding my aunt’s companion to be such a young and lovely maiden. Thankfully I have reconciled myself with the knowledge that what you lack in age is more than compensated by your numerous other qualities.”
The beautiful eyes flashed at his teasing, but her expression never altered.
“Lady Hartshore may find my other qualities not to her liking.”
“She will adore you,” he assured her. “Just as I have no doubt you will adore her.”
There was another pause before she allowed herself to utter the question that had no doubt bothered her for days.
“What is she like?”
Cedric found himself hesitating. Although he was deeply devoted to his aunt Cassie, he was not indifferent to the knowledge most considered her distinctly odd.
“That is rather a difficult question,” he conceded.
“Why?”
“Well, as I said, she is very kind. Indeed, there is not a tenant or family within the county that she has not helped in some way.”
“She sounds lovely.”
“She is.”
The emerald eyes sharpened. “There is something that you are not telling me.”
Cedric carefully considered his words. “She has a few . . . peculiar notions.”
An air of wariness settled around her. “How peculiar?”
“They are harmless,” he temporized, then, hoping to distract her, he pointed out the window. “Ah, there is Mayford.”
With a suspicious glance she slowly turned to regard the large stone structure just coming into view. Thankfully the sprawling mansion appeared to wipe the questions tumbling on her delectable lips from her mind.
“Gracious,” she breathed.
It was an impressive sight, Cedric conceded. Although not as large or ancient as Hartshore Park, the house was nicely situated with towering Ionic columns topped by statues of ancient Grecian gods. Carved into the smooth stones were delicate cameos of robed Greeks with heavy urns atop the roof. Four sweeping steps led to the double doors framed by large arched windows.
“My aunt’s grandfather had it constructed for his new bride,” he explained as they turned onto the tree-lined drive. “A rather whimsical fancy, but it suits my aunt and her brother.”
“I did not realize it would be so vast.”
“It is very comfortable.”
She worried her bottom lip in a manner he was beginning to realize meant she was inwardly agitated.
“I shall no doubt spend most of my days lost.”
Cedric felt a burst of sympathy for the young maiden. Whatever her reasons for coming to Kent, it could not be easy to be thrust among strangers.
“Nonsense,” he said gently. “You shall soon feel quite at home.”
“Yes,” she said doubtfully.
The carriage pulled to a smooth halt, and without waiting for the groom to assist him, Cedric pushed open the door and vaulted onto the paved courtyard. Turning around he prepared to lift Miss Cresswell from her seat.
“Here we go.”
“No.” She sank back into the leather cushion with a stubborn expression. “I prefer to walk.”
His lips twitched. She was a contrary wench, but he admired her courage.
“Very well, Miss Cresswell.”
He waited for her to awkwardly climb down, then, firmly placing her hand upon his arm for support, he slowly led her up the steps.
With commendable speed the door was pulled open by a uniformed butler so Cedric could escort the limping maiden into the foyer.
“Welcome, my lord,” the servant murmured with a bow.
“I come bearing gifts, Mallory,” Cedric retorted.
The aged butler gave a faint smile. “So I see. Welcome to Mayford, Miss Cresswell.”
“Thank you.”
Mallory turned back to Cedric. “Lady Hartshore is in the front parlor.”
“I will show myself in.”
“Very good, sir.”
With the same care he had shown earlier, Cedric led a silent Miss Cresswell up the staircase paneled in a rich mahogany. For a moment he considered warning the maiden of the upcoming confrontation. After all, his aunt and her elder brother were bound to be a shock. But a brief glance at her set features warned him that she was already battling a flare of nerves. He was certain that the confession of his relative’s odd fancies would be her undoing.
Reaching the landing, he moved to push open the door to the front parlor, then escorted his companion into the long room. He watched her eyes widen as her gaze swept over the English rosewood furnishings and tapestries gracing the walls. A white marble chimneypiece and elegantly scrolled cornice completed the image of splendid elegance.
She was given little opportunity to appreciate her surroundings, however, as a tiny lady with a fluff of gray curls sprang to her feet and rushed across the carpet.
“Cedric, at last,” Lady Hartshore chirped, her narrow features more birdlike than ever as she peered at her new companion.
“I have brought Miss Cresswell safe and sound, Aunt Cassie,” he assured his fluttering relative.
“Thank goodness.” She reached out to lay a hand upon Miss Cresswell’s arm. “My dear, you have no notion how I have fretted. I am so wretchedly sorry. James promised me faithfully that he would not so much as have a sip. If I had suspected for a moment . . . well, it is too late to put the milk back into the jug once it has spilt, as my Fredrick would say.”
Miss Cresswell blinked as the words tumbled from Lady Hartshore’s lips at breathless speed, but accustomed to his aunt’s habit of chattering without pause, Cedric merely chuckled.
“Aunt Cassie, I believe Miss Cresswell would be more comfortable seated.”
“Oh, of course. Forgive me.” Lady Hartshore fluttered behind Cedric as he escorted Miss Cresswell to a velvet-covered sofa. Then, neatly pushing him aside, she dropped herself on the cushion next to her guest. “Such a dreadful thing to have happened, my dear. I hope that it hasn’t quite turned you against us.”
“It was an accident,” Miss Cresswell graciously conceded.
Lady Hartshore gave a click of her tongue. “I should have sent dear Cedric’s coachman as he requested, but James did promise and I did not like him to think that I did not trust him. He has worked very hard, you see, to become a more dependable father and husband, and I always feel that we should do our best to support such worthy efforts. Are you in terrible pain?”
Covertly moving to stand beside the blazing fire, Cedr
ic watched as Miss Cresswell attempted to follow his aunt’s tumbled speech.
“Not at all,” she bravely lied. “I hardly feel a twinge.”
“She should remain off her feet for the next few days,” Cedric interposed in firm tones.
Not surprisingly Miss Cresswell flashed him a glittering glance for his efforts, but his aunt was giving him a firm nod of her head.
“Of course.”
“I assure you that I am quite well,” the maiden perversely argued, clearly disliking his interference.
Lady Hartshore reached out to pat her hand. “Cedric is quite right. You should rest until your ankle is fully healed.”
“Lord Hartshore is very kind, but I believe I am capable of knowing what is best for my ankle.”
The older matron gave a tinkling laugh. “Oh, no, Cedric is always right, I fear. It is really his most annoying fault.”
Cedric tilted back his head to chuckle as the emerald gaze once again snapped in his direction.
“There you have it, my little wood nymph. I am always right,” he drawled.
Three
Cedric watched in pleasure as a faint color crept beneath the pale features. How lovely she was when she forgot to pinch her expression into prim lines, he thought. As lovely as any maiden who graced the drawing rooms of London. It made him determined to wipe those tight lines away forever. No woman should spend her life all pinched and puckered.
“Wood nymph?” Lady Hartshore chirped in confusion.
Cedric kept his gaze trained on the narrowed emerald eyes. “I came upon her in the woods with her hair flying and those amazing eyes flashing. I thought she must be a nymph come to bewitch me.”
Lady Hartshore clapped her hands. “How delightful. She does rather look like a sprite. Although she is very pale.” Her head tilted to an inquisitive angle. “Was it a ghastly journey?”
With a warning frown at the gentleman leaning nonchalantly against the mantel, Miss Cresswell returned her attention to her employer.
“Fairly ghastly.”
Lady Hartshore heaved a sympathetic sigh. “I do hate to travel. All that swaying and bumping. And it invariably rains as if God is punishing one for not staying home, where one belongs. Of course, if you are like most young people these days, you prefer to be forever gadding around from one place to another.”
When You Wish Page 20