When You Wish

by Alexandra Ivy

  “Now, tell me of your family,” she chattered, unaware that her delicate shift of conversation did little to ease Emma’s discomfort. “I suppose your parents were very sad to have you travel so far away.”

  Retreating behind her well-trained defenses, Emma gave a faint shrug.

  “Actually my mother died when I was quite young, and I am not close to my father.”

  “Oh ... I am so sorry, my dear,” Lady Hartshore exclaimed with genuine sympathy. “How dreadful for you.”

  “Oh, no, I’ve always had my sisters, Sarah and Rachel. They are a comfort to me.”

  Lady Hartshore patted her hand. “You must feel free to invite them to stay at Mayford. It would be a delight to have them here.”

  “Perhaps,” Emma temporized, knowing she would not be in Kent long enough for any visits, even should she be inclined to extend the offer.

  In a companionable silence they continued their way back toward the front parlor, the faint swish of their skirts the only sound to disturb the hushed silence. Emma discovered her tension fading as her gaze skimmed over the exquisite tapestries and gilt gesso chairs that lined the hall. For all the sprawling grandeur of Mayford, Lady Hartshore had managed to create a warmth that was a welcome surprise in such a vast establishment.

  Emma halted as Lady Hartshore pushed open the door, then, stepping into the parlor, she halted again, her heart giving a startled jolt at the sight of the tall gentleman standing beside the fire.

  Throughout the long night Emma had deliberately kept her thoughts far away from Lord Hartshore. She had known that to dwell upon his disturbing presence would certainly send her fleeing from Mayford. Now she encountered that glittering golden gaze with considerable trepidation.

  “Cedric,” Lady Hartshore cried at her side. “I did not realize you were here.”

  “I asked Mallory not to disturb you. I know how busy your mornings can be.”

  “Oh, yes, it was quite hectic. Thankfully Miss Cresswell proved to be a valuable ally.”

  “I am not at all surprised.” Lord Hartshore turned his attention to the silent Emma. “I do hope your ankle is improved?”

  “Very much, thank you.”

  “What brings you to Mayford, my dear?” Lady Hartshore demanded.

  “Actually I wished to speak with Miss Cresswell,” he admitted in blunt tones.

  Emma stiffened, but Lady Hartshore seemed to find nothing peculiar in his request to speak with her companion. Indeed, a most worrisome smile suddenly curved her lips.

  “Oh, I see. Well, I shall ensure that Bart is not disturbing the gardeners. He does not comprehend how difficult it is to keep dependable servants.”

  Emma waited in rigid silence as Lady Hartshore swept from the room and even went so far as to shut the door behind her.

  Traitor, she thought as Lord Hartshore slowly strolled toward her.

  Against her will she was once again struck by just how astonishingly handsome this man was. Although his buckskins and deep green coat were more casual than she was accustomed to in the city, they were fitted with spectacular precision to reveal every lean muscle.

  Far too many lean muscles, she acknowledged before jerking her gaze to the dark, exquisitely carved features.

  As if sensing her embarrassing awareness of his decidedly male body, Lord Hartshore deliberately did not halt until he was standing far too close.

  “Did you sleep well?” he asked softly, no doubt well aware she had lain awake all night.

  His warm, sweet breath brushed her cheek, and it was only stubborn pride that kept her from backing from his looming form.

  “Well enough.”

  “You at least have some color in your cheeks.”

  Dratted man. He must know that it was his presence putting color in her cheeks.

  “Why did you wish to speak with me?”

  “Can we have a seat?”

  She paused, then gave a small shrug. “If you wish.”

  He stood aside to allow her to precede him to the sofa, then, waiting for her to perch stiffly on the edge, he lowered himself next to her. Unlike her, however, he lounged back in perfect ease.

  “You needn’t perch on the edge of the cushion, Miss Cresswell. I am not about to pounce.”

  She regarded him sourly. “After our last encounter, I can hardly be expected to know what you intend.”

  “I must protest, my dear.” The golden eyes sparkled. “I did not pounce. I merely took advantage of a fortunate situation.”

  “Fortunate for you perhaps.”

  “Oh, yes, very fortunate.” He carefully watched the fine shiver that she could not prevent before giving a small laugh. “However, today I desire nothing more scandalous than a polite conversation. Surely not even you can find fault with such an innocent request?”

  Five

  Cedric had faithfully promised himself that he would not attempt to provoke Miss Cresswell.

  After all, he had half expected to arrive at Mayford to discover she had vanished into the mist. When he was assured that she was still in residence, he had silently warned himself not to give her cause to bolt.

  Unfortunately his good intentions had disappeared as swiftly as lobster patties upon Prinny’s plate.

  And who could blame him?

  What gentleman could resist bringing a sparkle to those magnificent eyes and a blush to her cheeks? That brittle composure she shrouded around herself was an insult to the warm woman beneath.

  She should be filled with laughter and the simple delight of being alive. Not so tightly clenched that she appeared she might crack beneath the burdens she carried deep inside.

  Carefully studying the stiff lines of her features, he watched her sternly smother her shiver of awareness behind a pretense of indifference.

  “A conversation with you is rarely innocent, my lord.”

  His lips twitched. “I assure you that I can be the very model of a proper gentleman when I choose.”

  “Why do you suppose I find that difficult to believe?” she said dryly.

  “I haven’t the least notion. You have only to ask my aunt. She will assure you that I am above reproach.”

  A hint of exasperated amusement could be detected deep in her eyes. “She could hardly say otherwise.”

  “Perhaps,” Cedric agreed, then he gave a faint tilt of his head. “What do you think of her?”

  There was a moment’s pause, as if she considered lying, then apparently realizing that no one with a breath of sense would believe Lady Hartshore was anything but adorable, she gave a shrug.

  “She is very kind.”

  “Yes, she is.” Cedric slowly leaned forward to peer deep into her eyes. “She is also patient, loyal, and very generous. I cannot imagine a finer woman.”

  Unable to deny the truth of his words, she abruptly lowered her gaze.

  “Is that what you wished to discuss with me?”

  With her gaze averted, Cedric was allowed to openly study the pale, nearly translucent skin that was stretched over the delicate bones of her face. It was a skin that begged for a man’s touch.

  His touch.

  It took a surprising effort to keep his hands from rising to trace the line of her cheek and press the lush fullness of her lips.

  Provoking a glitter to her eyes was one thing, pulling her in his arms and ravishing her on the settee was quite another.

  “In a manner of speaking.” He forced himself to concentrate on the reason for his visit. Although ravishing her on the sofa was a far more tantalizing reason for visiting, he acknowledged ruefully. “Have you given any thought to my proposition?”

  Her hands clenched on her lap. “Of course.”

  “You will stay?” he asked softly.

  She sucked in a deep breath before reluctantly lifting her gaze. “I agree to remain one month.”

  Cedric smiled as he released the breath he did not even realize he had been holding.

  “I hoped you would say that.”

  Her own expre
ssion remained guarded. “You will still have to find a new companion.”

  Cedric’s smile never faltered. He had won the first skirmish. She had given her promise to remain a month. He did not doubt she would remain faithful to that vow.

  “Perhaps. Or perhaps you will fall in love with Kent and never wish to leave.”

  Surprisingly her eyes darkened at his teasing words. “No.”

  His brows rose at the odd edge in her tone. “How can you be so certain? Unless you can read the future like Mrs. Borelli?”

  “If I could read the future, I would never have gotten into the coach with a drunken groom,” she pointed out in tart tones.

  Cedric chuckled at her sharp wit. There was an intelligence behind those pretty features.

  “No, I daresay you would not have,” he agreed. “Poor James feels quite wretched. He wished to seek you out and apologize, but I convinced him to wait until you were not so eager to throttle him.”

  “I have no intention of throttling him,” she denied.

  “No, your weapon of choice is that wicked tongue of yours,” he retorted softly. “And a most potent weapon it is.”

  “Are you ever serious, my lord?” she demanded with a shake of her head.

  Cedric pondered her words a moment. It was true that he preferred a good laugh over a glass of ale to poring through musty tomes of the philosophers. And while other landowners might form a committee to discuss the heavy burden of the poor or the local politics, he preferred to stand beside his tenants as they repaired the roof to their cottage or hauled their wares to the market.

  That did not mean he did not care for others. He merely possessed his own means of expressing that concern.

  “At times,” he at last conceded, “but life is too short not to enjoy. If I die tomorrow I wish it to be with the knowledge I appreciated every moment.” He regarded her with a curious expression. “What of you?”

  She was caught off guard as he neatly turned the tables on her.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Is there nothing you enjoy?”

  “Of course. I enjoy reading and needlework and . . .”

  He gave an impatient click of his tongue. He would not be satisfied with the vague platitudes that she offered to the rest of the world. He wanted to know what she thought, what she felt, and most important, what she was hiding from.

  “I do not mean what you do to pass the time. What makes you happy?”

  “Many things.”

  “Such as what?” he demanded, keeping her gaze locked with his own. “Walking in the rain? Watching a child play? Seeing the sunrise? Being close to someone you love?”

  He could visibly see her retreat from his probing.

  “I am not here to enjoy myself, my lord. I am here to work.”

  Cedric was unimpressed by her fierce words. It might be an admirable sentiment, but he suspected it was merely an excuse.

  “You surely have deduced that you will never be treated as a servant at Mayford? My aunt considers all here as her friends.”

  Her lips thinned. “I am determined not to take advantage of her kindness.”

  “A wasted effort, my dear,” he drawled. “Why not simply enjoy your time in Kent? As you have so firmly determined to seek another position, you will soon enough be among those who regard you as another piece of property.”

  Just for a moment he thought he had actually struck a nerve, then she was giving a faint shake of her head.

  “I cannot accept your money without performing some duties, my lord.”

  Cedric heaved a sigh. His aunt had always assured him that the things most difficult to achieve were always the most worthwhile.

  Miss Emma Cresswell must be worthwhile, indeed.

  “Very well, my stubborn wood nymph.”

  “Please do not call me that,” she muttered in low tones.

  “Why?” He leaned close enough to smell the soap clinging to her porcelain skin. It was a scent that was oddly enticing. Far more enticing than heavy perfume and oils. “It is how I think of you.”

  Her eyes widened. “You should not be thinking of me at all.”

  The sheer absurdity of her prim words made Cedric give a disbelieving laugh.

  “You might as well request the sun not to rise tomorrow. Or the stars not to twinkle in a midnight sky. It is an impossible task.”

  She threw up her hands at his deliberately trite words, but he did not miss the revealing twitch of her lips.

  “You are impossible.”

  “And you almost smiled,” he said gently.

  The long lashes fluttered. “I—” Her flustered words were abruptly cut off as a shrill scream echoed through the air, followed by the unmistakable sound of running footsteps. “What is that?”

  As confused as Miss Cresswell, Cedric rose to his feet. At the same moment the door to the parlor was thrown open and a thin gentleman attired in black rushed into the room. With obvious agitation the intruder slammed the door shut behind him and leaned against it as he struggled to regain his breath.

  “My lord, you must save me,” he panted.

  Cedric’s astonishment faded to annoyance as he studied the familiar features and thatch of brown hair that was currently standing on end.

  Good gads, it was bad enough to have his delightful interlude with Miss Cresswell interrupted. To have it interrupted by a pompous, self-absorbed vicar made his teeth clench.

  “What the devil do you mean, bursting into a room unannounced, Mr. Allensway?” he demanded in cold tones.

  “That . . . witch was chasing me with a carving knife. You must do something about her.”

  The pieces fell into place as Cedric realized the vicar must have crossed paths with his aunt’s volatile cook. Although there were many in the neighborhood who would gladly throttle the irritating gentleman, Mrs. Borelli was the only one who had actually threatened to slice him open.

  “I suppose you are referring to Mrs. Borelli?”

  “Of course I am,” Mr. Allensway sputtered, a dark flush marring his pointed features. “The woman should be locked away.”

  Cedric crossed his arms over his chest as he peered down his long nose.

  “Do not be daft. She creates the most divine trout in cream sauce.”

  Mr. Allensway’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water.

  “She attempted to kill me with a carving knife.”

  “Fah.” Cedric was supremely indifferent to the vicar’s hysteria. “Had she intended to kill you, she would most certainly have chosen a cleaver.”

  Cedric heard a choked sound from the woman still seated on the settee. He suspected that it might have been a laugh, although it was swiftly hidden behind a cough. Mr. Allensway, on the other hand, clearly found nothing humorous about his smooth dismissal. Pushing away from the door, he gave a loud sniff.

  “Surely you do not find this amusing, my lord?” he accused in sharp tones. “That fiend should be handed over to the magistrate.”

  Cedric’s eyes narrowed in a dangerous manner. “That fiend is a perfectly lovely woman who simply dislikes being branded a witch. As would anyone.”

  Thoroughly unrepentant at the knowledge he had deliberately attempted to destroy a harmless woman, he pursed his thin lips.

  “She practices barbarian rituals that are an affront to God.”

  “And did God personally tell you he was affronted? Or did you simply presume that he should be?”

  The sniff came again, only louder. “I am merely doing my duty.”

  Cedric longed to tell the man he hoped he choked on his vindictive devotion to duty, but realizing it would be nothing more than a waste of breath, he instead attempted to rid himself of his aggravating presence.

  “Did you possess a purpose in coming to Mayford other than insulting my aunt’s cook?”

  As if on cue, the thin features abruptly shifted from a petulant frown to a forced smile. Cedric knew that smile. He was quite certain that his sunny disposition was about
to be strained to the very limit.

  “Of course, my lord.” Mr. Allensway reached up to pat his rumpled cravat. “I have received a missive from the bishop that I am to expect a guest within the next fortnight.”

  “Indeed?”

  Ignoring Cedric’s less than encouraging tone, the vicar gave another pat to his cravat. “Well, to be honest, I have been expecting such a development for some months. After all, the bishop is bound to have heard of my many charitable efforts throughout the neighborhood and, of course, my determination to put an end to the archaic beliefs that the lower class is so prone to cling to. It was only a matter of time before I was considered for a more respectable position.”

  It was a testament to his aunt’s training that Cedric did not double over in laughter. The closest the man had come to charitable efforts was to accidentally drop a bread crumb while consuming his dinner. And as for putting an end to archaic beliefs . . . well, if shrilly accusing good people of performing works of the devil and driving them from the church was putting an end to archaic beliefs, then he was indeed a resounding success.

  Certainly, no respectable bishop would consider this gentleman as anything more than a buffoon.

  “And this visitor is coming to offer you such a position?” he asked in disbelief.

  “The bishop, of course, is not so crude as to do more than hint at the truth. He says that Mr. Winchell is a close friend and that I should introduce him to the neighborhood. One must read between the lines to discern the full meaning.”

  “You must be very adept at reading between the lines,” Cedric retorted in dry tones.

  The vicar preened in a smug manner. “As you know, my lord, gentlemen in our positions are naturally gifted with such talents.”

  Gentlemen in their position? Cedric shuddered.

  “What is it that you want from my aunt?”

  “Ah ... yes.” Mr. Allensway cleared his throat. “It is clearly of the utmost importance that Mr. Winchell receive a favorable impression of my efforts. Particularly among those of superior social standing.”

  Cedric grimaced. “And you desire me to sing your praises?”

  “Well, I would not be averse to a kindly placed word, of course,” the vicar readily encouraged. “However, my reason for coming concerns Lady Hartshore and Mr. Carson.”