“Adam," Lydia said through clenched teeth, "answer me. What is wrong?"
Adam pulled up in front of a tall, handsome, dark haired man and thrust his sister forward roughly.
"Here," he said. "You wanted her once; she's yours now. Marry her, Connor."
Lydia and a startled Connor stared. Adam turned on his heel and stalked off.
"Well, my dear, what was that all about?"
Still gazing after her brother, Lydia shook her head. "I really don't know what's come over him. I think—" Abruptly noticing who she spoke to, Lydia turned with smile of real pleasure.
"Connor. In the midst of all this I hadn't even realized it was you. When did you get back to London?"
An amused smile drifted across his handsome face. “Several weeks ago."
"And you have not called on us? Connor, I am heartbroken." Lydia threw him a pouting glance.
Connor laughed. "I doubt that you have ever been heartbroken, my dear. I am confident the heartbreaking is all on your side. Now what was all that with Adam about?"
"Dance with me and I'll explain."
He gave her a quizzical glance. "If I remember correctly, your dances were always spoken for."
She waved his objections away with a flick of her fan. "It doesn’t signify."
Connor took her arm and escorted her onto the floor. "Ah, Lydia, it's good to know some things never change. You still do exactly what suits you."
"And what of you, Connor?" Lydia raised an inquiring eyebrow. "You, too, have always done precisely what you wanted. I understand you made your fortune in India?"
"Quite," Connor said with a sigh. "I would have stayed there, too, had it not been for this blasted inheritance nonsense."
"That's right, I had forgotten. You are now the Viscount St. Clair." Lydia cast him a sympathetic look. “I was sorry to hear about the death of your cousin."
"I wasn’t,'' he said bluntly. "I never particularly cared about the title. My cousin was a mean, vicious man who only wanted to make everyone else as miserable as he was.”
"Oh, my.”
“Now, my dear, enough of that. What's all this marriage business about?"
Lydia crinkled her nose in distaste. "Adam has decided it's past time for me to wed. If I do not select a husband, he will choose one for me."
"He's right, you know. You should have a husband."
“Connor." Lydia stared, shocked that he would side with Adam.
"Calm yourself." Connor chuckled. "I agree that you should be married. However, I do not necessarily condone Adam's methods."
"That's better." Lydia sniffed, somewhat mollified.
He started, as if an unpleasant thought had just struck him. “He has not selected me for this human sacrifice, has he?"
"Connor," Lydia said, an offended tone in her voice. She rapped him sharply with her fan. "Do you not wish to marry me?"
He ignored the attack, the amused smile again returning to his lips. "Lydia, my darling, I know you too well and love you far too much to marry you. We have known each other since I tagged along behind your brother and you were still in leading strings. I fear we are far too much alike to suit."
“But you did want to marry me once. Surely you have not forgotten the illfated attempt to spirit me away to Gretna Green." She peeked at him under lowered lids and flashed an impish smile. He returned it fondly.
"If memory serves, my funds had all but vanished and under the terms of my grandfather's will, I had to marry to inherit the portion he set aside for me. And I further remember”—he gazed down at her, eyes twinkling—" I was quite in my cups at the time."
"Indeed." Lydia nodded.
"And," he continued, the twinkle growing more pronounced, "you were rather foxed yourself.”
"Perhaps."
“I will never understand," he said thoughtfully, "how you managed to convince a man as intelligent as Adam that it was a kidnapping. According to my recollection—"
"Connor"—she quickly jumped in—"it was a very long time ago and better forgotten. Don't you agree?"
She gave him her most appealing look, eyes wide, lips slightly pouting. Connor laughed with delight.
"Enough. I give up. It was indeed a long time ago."
He gazed deeply into her eyes. "But perhaps I should marry you."
"No, Connor." She laughed lightly. "I shall not give you a second chance. Besides, I fear you're right. We are far too alike to suit."
"Ah.” He gazed heavenward dramatically, the agonized expression on his face made unconvincing by the smile in his eyes. "Now you have done it again, broken yet another heart. I shall have to pull myself together and attempt to carry on bravely."
"Connor." She laughed once again. "I have truly missed you."
"And I you." His expression sobered. "You know that I shall be there if you ever need anything." The twinkle returned to his eye. "Excluding a husband, of course."
"Of course." Lydia smiled up at him. Connor was not the answer to her husband dilemma. Maggie was. But the memories he triggered might help in that respect. Lydia would have to do some long, hard thinking and careful planning. But it might work. And with Connor's help . . .
Lydia flashed him a well practiced, dazzling smile guaranteed to make every other man in the room green with envy. This evening was turning out better than she'd hoped after all.
Chapter Ten
Maggie had no desire to talk to Adam and absolutely no wish to hear any of his so-called explanations. Perhaps women didn't abandon social functions on their own here, but she wasn't from here and those weren't her rules. Maggie did not hesitate to make her way home. Alone. She simply asked a servant for Adam's carriage and sent the driver back for Adam and Lydia. It was, she thought, a piece of cake.
The brief ride gave her time to think. Time wasted. She couldn't concentrate on the problem at hand, couldn't focus her thoughts or feelings. A surreal detachment gripped her, as if she were watching someone else.
Odd. She wondered almost analytically why she wasn't seething with rage. Why hadn't she ripped his head off?
Maybe she just didn't care.
Maybe she cared too much.
Distancing herself let Maggie examine that idea objectively, carefully, emotionlessly. If Adam's actions affected her to the point that her emotions needed to shut down, it would mean he meant far more to her than she was willing to admit or accept. She pushed the thought away firmly. No, the numbness inside probably had more to do with some kind of time travel jet lag than any real or imagined feelings for Adam.
Maggie went to bed before Adam and Lydia returned home and slept fitfully. Once, she thought she heard footsteps pause outside her door, as if someone debated coming in. But eventually the footsteps continued on their way.
It wasn't particularly difficult for Maggie to avoid Adam, especially with Lydia's unwitting help. She stayed by Lydia's side, accompanying her wherever she went. And Lydia was constantly going somewhere.
The vivacious blonde took her on what seemed like an endless shopping trip. It was the 1818 version of "shop till you drop." And Lydia had it down pat. They stopped at milliners, and boot makers, and fabric shops, and a variety of other places Maggie couldn't possibly name. While fascinating and fun, it also made Maggie homesick for a good old American shopping mall. And just like modern shoppers, Lydia never seemed to actually have any cash.
“But we have accounts," Lydia told her, expressing surprise that such an explanation was even necessary. "They simply send the bills to Adam. Don't you have accounts?"
"Well," Maggie said thoughtfully, "we have credit cards. I suppose that's pretty much the same thing."
Maggie filled her in on the use and misuse of credit cards and Lydia agreed, the basic principle was indeed the same. Lydia spent money like water. But when Maggie commented on it, Lydia brushed the question aside, saying simply they could well afford it. From what Maggie had seen so far of the Coleridge life-style she could well believe it. Still, she hesitated to buy a
nything herself. Only when Lydia insisted did she make any purchases.
Maggie wasn't the only one asking questions. Mesmerized by tales of the future, Lydia pumped Maggie for answers about everything from cars to careers. Much of what she heard was so far removed from her own world, she accused Maggie of making it all up. But Maggie assured her the wonders of the twentieth century were all very real, or at least, they would be someday.
Once Maggie realized just how limited Lydia’s life really was, she tried hard to answer her questions as thoroughly as possible. While Lydia’s intense curiosity encompassed virtually every subject Maggie touched on, one of her greatest interests lay in the clothes of Maggie's time, especially the scandalous yet intriguing clothes pictured in the pages of Maggie's Cosmopolitan. In spite of Adam's objections, Maggie loaned the magazine to Lydia and she read it thoroughly.
"For the most part, I believe I understand the clothing you wear." Lydia seemed to choose her words carefully. They sat in the carriage returning home, and Maggie thought it more than a little bizarre to be discussing 1990s style as dictated by Cosmo while riding through a distinctly 1800s world.
"They seem extremely well suited for comfort. Although to be completely honest . . ." She turned a worried expression to Maggie, as if concerned about offending her, and looked her straight in the eye. "They're not especially pretty, are they? I haven't seen anything that's particularly elegant. It's all so . . . dull."
Maggie stared at her for a long moment, then broke into a grin. "I've been trying to explain, life is very different. Women in my time have to work for a living. I have a job I go to every day, except weekends. A big evening out is maybe pizza and a movie. Oh, sure, I'll go to bars or parties with friends, but that's usually just jeans and sweaters. There are no balls or soirees. There isn't even a season.”
Maggie laughed at Lydia's look of sheer horror. “It's not that bad. I wouldn't have time for all that even if we had a season. And there are all kinds of compensations. I make my own money. I go where I want when I want. I don't have to have a servant chaperon me every minute. In fact, I don't have servants at all. And I don't have to get married if I don't want to," she said with a triumphant flourish.
Lydia looked awestruck by the possibilities and maybe even a little uncomfortable. She appeared to give thoughtful consideration to Maggie's description of her world.
Her eyes narrowed. "Is it acceptable, however, to have servants if one wants them?"
"Of course." Maggie laughed again. "But they are very expensive and only people who are terribly rich have them."
Lydia brightened. "Well, it's fine then. I am terribly rich."
Maggie kept grinning and shook her head.
"Now.” Lydia settled herself more comfortably in the carriage. "Tell me what a bar, a movie, and a pizza are."
For a split second Maggie thought how very much like Adam Lydia was. He, too, had seemed fascinated by the future. She sighed in resignation, rolled her eyes toward the heavens, and begged silently for help on how best to explain the mystery of pizza.
***
Bouquets of flowers filled the foyer, greeting Maggie and Lydia on their return. Most were for Lydia and she gave them the matter-of-fact perusal shown only by someone used to such offerings. But two dozen magnificent yellow roses carried a card with Maggie's name. She regarded the gift with suspicion. If Adam thought he could follow one tried-and-true scenario with something as clichéd as flowers, he'd just have to think again.
"Maggie, they’re lovely." Lydia's attention turned from the bouquets addressed to her. "Aren’t you going to read the card?"
“No," she said bluntly.
“Then I will." Lydia snatched the card from its resting place among the blooms. "It says 'Regretfully, you left before our dance. Another time perhaps?’ ” Lydia looked up in surprise. "It's signed Edward Lindley."
“Who in the world is Edward Lindley?" Maggie plucked the card from Lydia’s fingers, examining it curiously.
"You remember, you met him last night. Lord Lindley? He asked you to dance right before Adam swept you away?" Lydia wrinkled her brow thoughtfully. “I don’t know him very well but he's always seemed quite charming. I believe he has a sizable fortune and is in line for a title. His grandfather is an earl or marquess or something, I forget which." Lydia's yes twinkled with mischief. "I believe you have made an impressive conquest."
"Great." Maggie groaned. “What I don’t need right now is a conquest."
Lydia threw her a sharp look. "No, my dear, a conquest may be the very thing you do need right now."
Startled, Maggie wondered if maybe Lydia was right.
***
Maggie agreed to go to a party that night with Lydia. Descending the stairs to the foyer, she discovered Adam, formally dressed and ready to accompany them. Lydia kept her busy all day but Adam lingered always in the back of her mind. And he was the last person she wanted to see now. She steeled herself against the pounding leap of her pulse and refused to let his presence disturb her.
“Maggie, I would very much like to speak with you," he said quietly.
Maggie stared for a long moment. "I don't think so."
She turned to retreat up the stairs and he grabbed her arm, swinging her around to face him.
"Maggie, please listen to me."
"Don't touch me." She jerked her arm away. "Don't touch me again. Look, I know that women here have no rights whatsoever, but I'm not one of them. I appreciate your hospitality, especially since I have nowhere else to go, but that's where it ends. Just because I'm living here does not make me your property. So don't put your hands on me again. Ever."
"Maggie, please." His eyes pleaded, tempting her, for a second, to give in. She sensed pleading in any way, shape, or form was foreign to this proud, arrogant man, and it took all her self-control to resist his request.
"Can it, Coleridge." She started up the stairs, then turned back. "Please tell your sister I'm not going tonight. All of a sudden I don't feel like partying."
Adam's gaze followed her up the stairs. Why in God's name was she being so stubborn? This misunderstanding with Maggie haunted him all day until he could think of little else. He wanted her back in his arms, melting under his practiced touch. He missed the sound of her voice, missed how she teased him with her unpredictable ways and her incomprehensible phrases. He would rather have her threatening him with pokers or raving about her confusion with his world than this cold, hard disdain.
A sense of annoyance grew. He honestly could not understand why she would not even listen. Why she would not let him tell her how much she now meant to him. Why she would not let him admit, perhaps, the use of Shakespeare was a mistake. But a mistake made years ago when he'd cultivated it merely to suit his purposes, not a mistake with her.
Her reactions were exactly what he'd hoped for when he pulled the volume of Shakespeare off the shelf. Initially, all he thought of was victory, savoring her surrender to the poetic phrases and timeless passages. But afterward, his mind returned again and again to those moments in the library, when he sensed her gaze upon him, caught a hint of her intoxicating scent in the air, felt the almost palpable warmth emanating from her beckoning body. This had never happened to him before.
With Maggie, everything was different.
With Maggie, old words exchanged between young lovers took on a new meaning. Never before had he glimpsed what it must have been like to be in the throes of a first love. A love threatened by forces beyond control. A love doomed from the very start. Never before had he understood why, ultimately, the pair chose death over separation.
Without Maggie, would his life be worth living?
Adam shook the thought off, annoyance rapidly turning to irritation and anger. Damn the chit, anyway. He might not be willing to die for her but he might very well kill her. What was she but a nuisance and a bother? Even with all her astounding revelations about the twentieth century she remained as irrational and incomprehensible as any other woman. If th
is was what the future held, she could bloody well keep it, as far as he was concerned.
Lydia broke into his thoughts. "Have you seen Maggie? I would like to—"
"She isn't coming," Adam said harshly. “And I'm not going either. I'll accompany you and find someone to escort you home, but I find my plans have changed. I will be spending the evening at my club."
“Adam, whatever have you done to her?" Lydia glared at him.
Would no one give him any credit in this house? His own home? That damned woman had turned his life upside down and now even his sister was questioning him.
“I have done nothing." Words clipped and precise, he directed his annoyance at Lydia. He certainly did not owe his sister any explanation.
Adam ushered her toward the door, shooting her a cool gaze. "And, my dear, how is your search for a husband coming? I believe you have barely three weeks left."
Lydia's startled look gave Adam a certain amount of satisfaction. Triumphing over at least one woman lifted his spirits somewhat. A pity, though.
It was the wrong woman.
***
Maggie stalked into her room and slammed the door behind her. Too furious to keep still, she paced back and forth, muttering under her breath.
"He's got a hell of a lot of nerve. Thinking he can explain this away and I'll fall panting into his arms. Ha! I can't believe I trusted him. He's like every other man in every other place and probably every other time. They're all interested in one thing and don't care what they have to do to get it."
Maggie paced and muttered, muttered and paced for a good ten minutes, eventually working the rage out of her system. Anger replaced the numbness of last night. Slowly she calmed and her wrath faded. Only the pain remained. Sinking onto the edge of the bed, realization stunned her. That was why she was so mad.
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