When You Wish

by Alexandra Ivy

  But instead, he heaved a rueful sigh and with obvious reluctance allowed his hands to drop.

  “Very well. As much as I would prefer to linger, I suppose we should return to the library.”

  The sharp pang of regret was sternly smothered as Emma ran shaking hands over the folds of her skirt. Dear heavens, she could not be disappointed that she wasn’t about to be seduced in the rose-scented conservatory, could she?

  No, of course not, she chastised her foolishness.

  Lord Hartshore was a handsome, extraordinarily charming gentleman who was clearly a master at pleasing a woman. While she . . . well, there was no denying that she was more innocent than most schoolgirls.

  It was little wonder she had been briefly carried away.

  The danger lay in presuming it was anything more than a passing incident that should be dismissed from her mind with all possible speed.

  “Yes,” Emma said firmly, hoping she did not appear as flustered as she felt.

  With a brisk movement she turned around to head back up the pathway. She would not press a hand to her tingling lips, she told herself over and over. She would not give him the satisfaction of knowing she felt thoroughly and satisfyingly kissed.

  Intent on maintaining a cool demeanor, Emma barely noted the faint sounds of scratching that could be heard in the distance. It was not until a small, tawny ball of fluff hurtled through the doorway that she realized the sound came from puppy paws upon the slick marble. All sense of tension fled from her as the puppy attempted to halt its headlong flight, only to awkwardly slide into her skirts.

  Bending downward, she freed the struggling puppy from her skirts, giving an unconscious laugh as the dog promptly rewarded her efforts by placing its paws upon her knees and lavishing her face with wet kisses.

  “Pudge, down,” Lord Hartshore commanded in firm tones, only to sigh in fond exasperation as the puppy blithely ignored him. “You must forgive the scoundrel, Miss Cresswell. His manners are deplorable and he is hopelessly spoiled.”

  She lifted her head to meet his amused gaze. “Pudge?”

  “Well, his true name is Hannibal, but he is far too lazy and fat for a great commander, so he has become Pudge,” he explained, an odd stillness settling around him as he studied her unguarded expression. “I fear that he is as fond of kisses as myself.”

  Her heart gave a far too pleasurable flop, and she ducked her head back toward Pudge. Puppy kisses were infinitely less dangerous than those of a rogue.

  “I do not mind,” she murmured.

  “Do you know,” he said in low tones, “that this is the first time I have ever seen you genuinely smile?”

  She refused to glance up, afraid of becoming lost in that compelling golden gaze.

  “I like dogs.”

  “Egads, a killing thrust, Miss Cresswell,” he retorted at her unwitting words. “Shall we return to the library before my pride is fatally wounded?”

  * * *

  It was with a great deal of stealth that Cedric managed to enter Mayford the following afternoon without being detected. Although he supposed it was not precisely proper to be seeking out Miss Cresswell when he knew his aunt would be in her chambers resting, it did not halt him from slipping through a side entrance and toward the back parlor, where he expected to find the young maiden.

  He had not lied when he said he cared very little for propriety. To his mind, it was all a great deal of nonsense. What did it matter if a person looked and pretended to be all that was respectable when their heart was as black as sin? Besides, among Society, propriety meant only that one wasn’t supposed to get caught being improper.

  He intended no harm to Miss Cresswell. He wished only to speak with her without the kindly but inquisitive interest of his aunt.

  A tiny smile curved his lips as he recalled their last occasion alone.

  Good Lord, he had told himself that nothing could compare to the fierce pleasure he had experienced during their first kiss. After all, the first kiss with any woman was always special. But the moment their lips had met, he realized his mistake. The same consuming heat had flooded through his body, combined with the strangest flare of tenderness that had tugged at his heart.

  He wanted to lay her onto the moist soil and plunder her innocence at the same moment he wanted to sweep her in his arms and protect her from the world.

  It was all vastly confusing.

  And not only for himself.

  He was well aware that after a few days to ponder what had occurred between them, Miss Cresswell would have possessed ample opportunity to deeply regret her momentary weakness. He wanted to ensure that she did not manage to create an impenetrable barrier between them.

  And he had brought with him the perfect weapon, he told himself, halting beside the door to lay down his bundle.

  Pausing to adjust his coat, Cedric pushed open the door and stepped into the long room. As he suspected, Miss Cresswell was seated near the fire, stitching upon a piece of linen. At his entrance, however, she jerkily rose to her feet and regarded him in a wary fashion.

  “My lord.”

  “Miss Cresswell.” He offered a bow.

  “I fear your aunt has gone to her chambers. I will let her know that you have called.”

  He held up a hand as she prepared to flee, no doubt intending to disappear to her own chambers the moment she was out of sight.

  “Actually, I have come to see you, and I have brought you a visitor.”

  A frown marred her wide brow, but at his low whistle her eyes widened in sudden pleasure.

  “Pudge.” She readily lowered herself as the puppy scrambled into the room and promptly raced to her feet.

  Ruefully smiling at the knowledge that the dog had proved to be a more effective enticement than his own charms, Cedric stepped farther into the room.

  “I hoped you would be pleased. We have been working very hard these past few days.”

  She reluctantly straightened to meet his smile. “Oh?”

  “Yes, and Pudge wished to show you how very clever he has become.”

  “I see.”

  Assuming a stern manner, he moved to steer her into the center of the room. He considered it a decided miracle when she did not instantly cringe from his touch.

  “Stand here,” he ordered, then, turning to the puppy, he snapped his fingers. “Sit, Pudge, sit.”

  Wagging his tail the dog promptly barked at Cedric with unbridled enthusiasm.

  At his side he heard the minx choke back a laugh. “Very clever,” she commended.

  Flashing her a mock frown, Cedric once again snapped his fingers.

  “Speak, Pudge.” On cue the dog abruptly rolled onto his back, waving his stubby legs in the air. There was another choked laugh at his side. “Pudge, play dead,” he ordered.

  Rising back to his feet, Pudge determinedly scratched at one ear, then suddenly noticing the tail out of the corner of his eye, he set about chasing the new toy with abandoned joy. Turning his head, Cedric caught the distinct twinkle in the emerald eyes.

  “Astonishing,” she murmured. “You might consider joining a circus.”

  “Bad dog,” Cedric chided the puppy, only to laugh as Pudge happily danced to his feet and laid his paws upon his gleaming boots. Reaching into his pocket he produced a scrap of bacon. “Here you go, you treacherous beast.”

  Watching their antics, Miss Cresswell gave a slow shake of her head.

  “I am not entirely certain who has trained whom.”

  Wiping his fingers on a handkerchief, Cedric turned so that he could give his undivided attention to her beautiful countenance.

  “Well, he did accomplish what I most desired.”

  “And what is that?”

  “He conjured that most elusive smile,” he said softly.

  A hint of color filled her cheeks as she took a hasty step backward.

  “Did you wish to leave a message for Lady Hartshore?”

  Although Cedric regretted the loss of her unfettered en
joyment, he was content that she had not resumed the chilly distance she had bestowed upon him when he had first entered the room.

  “No, I merely wished to see how you were settling in.”

  “Well enough, thank you.”

  “I trust that your duties are not overly burdensome?”

  Her expression became wry at his probing. “As I’m sure you must have deduced, I have no duties.”

  He shrugged. “You are giving an elderly woman comfort and companionship. What other duties do you need?”

  “I like to feel useful,” she retorted, her hands absently plucking at the thick gray material of her skirt.

  Cedric gave a slow shake of his head. What other maiden would not be delighted to discover her role as a servant was instead one as a guest?

  “Perhaps you are more useful than you suspect,” he suggested.

  She opened her mouth to deny his words, but before she could utter a sound, the door to the parlor was thrust open and the wide form of Mrs. Borelli entered the room. With a sly glance in Cedric’s direction, she moved to place a heavy tray laden with tea and cakes upon a table.

  “I thought you might be in here, my lord,” she said in suggestive tones. “I brought you nice hot tea and your favorite scones.”

  Rather surprised at having being so easily caught out, Cedric flashed her a boyish grin.

  “You are a jewel among cooks, Mrs. Borelli.”

  She snorted at his obvious flattery, then leaned forward to peer at him with obvious interest.

  “Come by for a reading afore you leave. I sense a change in the air.”

  “A change?” Cedric teasingly arched his brows. “That sounds fascinating.”

  “Fah,” Miss Cresswell abruptly muttered beneath her breath.

  Cedric gave a chiding click of his tongue. “I fear we have a disbeliever among us, Mrs. Borelli.”

  “Ah.” With movements that were surprisingly swift in such a large lady, the cook had reached out to grasp Miss Cresswell’s unsuspecting hand. “Let me have a look.”

  “No.” The young lady attempted to pull free her hand. “I do not think ...”

  “I see a man,” Mrs. Borelli droned, ignoring the girl’s attempt to wrench her hand away. “Tall, with dark hair.”

  Cedric’s smile widened. Mrs. Borelli was harmless despite her firm belief in reading the future. “Is he handsome?”

  “Of course.” The cook continued to study the lines upon Miss Cresswell’s palm. “And children. Many children. Three girls and three boys.”

  “Nonsense,” Miss Cresswell breathed.

  Cedric gave a sharp laugh at the embarrassment staining her cheeks. “Anything else?”

  “Happiness,” Mrs. Borelli finished simply.

  “A most delightful future,” he complimented the disbelieving Miss Cresswell.

  He was rewarded with a scowl. “I am glad you find this amusing.”

  The cook silenced them with a purse of her lips. “I have not yet read the past,” she declared, once again pondering the upturned palm. “I see three girls. Sisters... very close. And a man. He is hard to read, but he has caused you great pain.”

  Cedric’s smile faded as he watched the color abruptly drain from Miss Cresswell’s tiny face.

  “That is enough,” she rasped, angrily pulling her hand free.

  Undaunted, the cook reached out to lightly touch the emerald hung around the maiden’s neck.

  “It has to do with this. It ties you to the past.”

  Realizing that somehow Mrs. Borelli had managed to strike a painful nerve within Miss Cresswell, Cedric stepped forward to place a protective arm around her shoulders.

  “I believe Miss Cresswell has become convinced.”

  The older woman leaned forward. “You must heal your heart before you can love again,” she said mysteriously before giving a nod of her head and turning to leave the room.

  Realizing that the slender form was trembling beneath his arm, Cedric slowly led her to the sofa and settled her upon the cushion. Then, taking a seat next to her, he quickly poured a cup of the steaming tea and added a goodly measure of sugar.

  “Here.” He firmly pressed the cup into her hands and watched as she absently took a drink. “I am sorry if Mrs. Borelli upset you. She truly does believe she can see the future and the past.”

  A shudder shook her body, but with an obvious effort she attempted to hide the shock that had left her pale and shaken.

  “She did not upset me,” she ridiculously lied. “It is all a great deal of nonsense.”

  “If you say,” he murmured soothingly.

  Glancing down at the fingers that clenched the cup so tightly he feared it might shatter, Cedric silently promised himself that he would discover what it was that she kept locked so deeply inside her.

  And then . . .

  In truth, he did not know what he would do then.

  He knew only that he wanted to see the shadows erased from those emerald eyes and a smile upon those enchanting lips.

  Only then would he be satisfied.

  Seven

  During the course of the next two days, Emma managed to convince herself that she had been a thorough ninny to be disturbed by Mrs. Borelli’s ridiculous fortune-telling.

  After all, what had she said that was so startling?

  Three sisters?

  No doubt the cook had overheard her speak of Sarah and Rachel.

  And as for a man who had caused her pain . . . well, Mrs. Borelli would not be the first to presume Emma’s brilliant emerald pendant had been a gift from a lover who had tossed her aside.

  Besides, she had only to remind herself of the woman’s absurd claim that she would wed a handsome gentleman and produce six children to prove to herself the nonsense of the entire incident.

  The only thing remarkable about the fortune-telling was that she had even momentarily allowed it to rattle her.

  Seated upon the window seat of the back parlor, Emma attempted to concentrate on the pretty floral design she had stamped upon the white linen. Lady Hartshore had disappeared to her chambers nearly an hour before, and as occurred far too often, Emma discovered herself with time on her hands.

  She was unaccustomed to lazy afternoons with nothing more pressing than enjoying tea and reminding Lady Hartshore when it was time to change for dinner. She preferred to be busy so that she did not have the opportunity to brood upon ridiculous fortune-tellers, the kisses of charming rogues, and the undoubted pleasure of being treated as an honored guest rather than as a despised servant.

  Such thoughts were far too dangerous.

  Swallowing a sigh, Emma tossed aside her needlework and rose to her feet. She was feeling far too restless for such a placid pastime. What she needed was a brisk walk to clear her thoughts, she decided. She had discovered that there was something quite refreshing about strolling through the countryside despite the chill January wind. She could even chuckle over her initial fear of bandits and evil cows. Now when she stepped outside she was only aware of the quiet grandeur that surrounded her.

  Moving across the room so that she could collect her spencer, Emma abruptly halted as the door was thrown open and Lady Hartshore hurried in with a wide smile.

  “Valentine’s Day,” the older woman pronounced in expectant tones.

  Emma gave a startled blink. “Pardon me?”

  “Fredrick just reminded me that it will soon be Valentine’s Day.”

  “Oh, yes, I suppose it will be,” Emma murmured, barely noting she was agreeing with the long-departed Lord Hartshore.

  “You know, since Fredrick’s death I have done little to celebrate the day, since, of course, my true love has passed to the other side,” Lady Hartshore chattered as she moved to perch on the edge of a delicately scrolled sofa. “But while he was alive we always hosted the most marvelous balls.”

  Realizing that her employer was in the mood to recall the happy days of her past, Emma obligingly resumed her place on the window seat. It was the only dut
y she was allowed to perform.

  “That must have been lovely,” she said with an encouraging smile.

  “Oh, they were so charming.” Lady Hartshore leaned forward, eagerly recalling her triumph as a hostess. “You see, it was always a masquerade ball. The guests would disguise themselves as famous lovers. You know, Romeo and Juliet, Casanova, Adam and Eve. One year Fredrick and I went as Samson and Delilah. I had the loveliest gown, although it was a trifle scandalous. And at midnight we would reveal our true identities. It was all very romantic, and you would be surprised to know how many young maidens became engaged after being swept off their feet by a masked lover.”

  Having been to more than one ball, Emma was aware most maidens were embarrassingly eager to be swept off their feet. Indeed, a few of the more bold damsels were not so much swept as they were caught as they tossed themselves headlong at an unsuspecting gentleman.

  “Did they?”

  “Oh, yes, Miss Satter, who wed Lord Josten, and both the Miller twins, who married brothers, if you can believe, and Miss Foster, who captured the most elusive Colonel Daggs. And Lady Ellison . . . now, whom did she wed? Crest? Cross?” Lady Hartshore gave a faint shrug. “Well, no matter, they have all been the happiest connections. Do you suppose it is because they fell in love on Valentine’s Day?”

  “I’m sure I couldn’t say,” Emma had to admit.

  Lady Hartshore heaved a happy sigh. “Such a grand evening. Music and dancing and Valentine cards and stolen kisses in the corner.” Her words came to a sudden halt as she suddenly straightened. “You know, Miss Cresswell . . .”

  “Yes?”

  “There is no reason we shouldn’t host a ball.”

  Emma felt a flare of panic. Although there was little chance that anyone within the neighborhood would recognize her as the daughter of the Devilish Dandy, she had no desire to take the risk. Besides, she possessed an unshakable dislike for such frivolous entertainment. She had painfully learned that they were little more than a ready-made opportunity to spread vicious gossip and rip reputations to shreds.