"Connor.” She chastised him with a glance. “I shall never be too old. But if, however, you are not up to helping me . . ." Her voice drifted off, leaving an unspoken threat in the air.
"If I refuse to help you"—his words were sharp—"will you give up this plan, whatever it is?"
Lydia gazed up at him with all the sweetness and innocence she could muster and answered softly, "Absolutely not."
He groaned again. “We are no longer children, Lydia. Your schemes are not as harmless and charming as they once were."
"I agree." She sighed. “The stakes are much higher now."
Connor stared for a moment, then threw his hands in the air in a gesture of defeat. "I am at your mercy. What fiendish plot have you come up with this time?"
“Connor," she chided gently. "Don't raise your voice. Let's go out and find a nice quiet spot in the garden where we can talk privately.”
She took his arm and ushered him across the room. Connor would help her. He always had. She only wished he would get that grim look off his face, that look of a condemned man being led to his own execution. With Connor's help nothing could go wrong. Lydia absolutely refused to consider the repercussions if, just possibly, something did.
***
Connor's mouth dropped open in obvious disbelief. If he wasn't so attractive, he would surely resemble nothing so much as a startled goldfish. Lydia returned his gaze with all the natural serenity at her disposal.
"You know what you are proposing borders on the insane and is most probably criminal?" He leaned forward on the garden bench beside her.
"Very likely," Lydia said lightly.
"Does that not concern you?" He was plainly astounded by her plan and she suspected it was not the cleverness that impressed him.
She gazed directly into his eyes and favored him with a Madonna-like smile. "Not at all."
"Bloody hell, Lydia." Connor leapt to his feet, and paced to and fro before her in the secluded garden alcove. "Let me be certain I understand this grand scheme of yours. You propose to have Maggie, this woman you are convinced is perfect for Adam, kidnapped so that he can save her. During all this, he will realize he loves her and she will realize she loves him. Correct?"
"Exactly." Pleased he caught on so quickly, Lydia nodded. She wished he would sit down, though. She never realized how tall he really was until he towered over her like this. It put her at a distinct disadvantage.
"Lydia." He groaned and granted her unspoken wish by sinking onto the bench next to her. "I don't believe you have thought this through. How is this kidnapping to proceed?”
"That's where you come in."
"Somehow I suspected as much," he said under his breath.
She ignored him and continued her explanation. "You will provide me with two of your men. I will let them in the back way and make sure Maggie is alone . . . oh . . . let me think, the library will do. Then they simply kidnap her."
"And how precisely do they accomplish that little feat?" He leaned back, pinning her with his direct look, sarcasm in his tone. "I don't imagine your Maggie shall simply go along with all this."
“I have given that a great deal of thought." Lydia leaned forward eagerly. "I considered laudanum or something to render her unconscious but the aftereffects would be too unpleasant."
"Wise decision." The sarcasm lingered. "It would spoil the effect to accidentally kill her."
"Exactly." She nodded in agreement. "Then I thought about having her bashed over the head. But Connor"—she gazed at him innocently—"I don't want to actually cause her any harm."
"You plan on terrifying this woman by kidnapping her, but you don't want to do her any harm?" An incredulous expression stretched across his face.
"Of course not." Mildly annoyed at his lack of understanding of the finer points of her plan, Lydia drew a deep breath and forced herself to pay no mind to his obvious reluctance. "It seems to me the best way is to threaten her with a gun, tie her up, and put her in a bag."
“Tie her up and put her in a bag? Like a trussed up partridge? This is what you've come up with? What you expect me to help you accomplish?" He glared at her. "And once we get her in this bag, what do you propose to do with her?"
"I've taken care of that.” Lydia spoke proudly. "There is a little inn right outside of the city, scarcely one hour from my house. The Lion's Mane, I believe. I have passed it on my way to the country countless times. We simply have her locked in a private room there to await rescue by Adam. Did I mention the kidnappers shall leave a note asking for Adam to bring a ransom?"
Connor shook his head, looking rather dazed as the full impact of her scheme unfolded.
"No? Well, that is an important point. The way I see this, Adam will discover the kidnapping within an hour or so after Maggie is taken. Thereby ensuring she shan't stay at the inn very long. Adam will arrive, frantic with fear that she has come to harm. Maggie shall be eternally grateful to be saved. Both will come to their senses and realize how much they truly mean to each other." Lydia grinned with satisfaction and triumph.
Connor shook his head slowly. "I will not do it. I will not be a part of this illfated plot."
"Of course you will, Connor." Lydia gazed at him with utmost confidence.
Suspicion darkened his expressive eyes. "Why are you so certain?"
"Because, my love, if you do not I shall simply hire men to do this for me. That would be far more dangerous, far more likely something would go wrong. We both know I shall do this with or without your help."
Connor had the look of a man trapped, desperate for any means of escape, a man grasping at straws "I don't have a gun to use for this kind of thing. I only have dueling pistols."
"I have a gun," Lydia said lightly.
"What?" Genuine shock showed in his face. "Where in the name of all that's holy did you get a gun?"
"It scarcely matters." She flicked the question away with a snap of her fan. “I shall make sure it isn't loaded."
"Excellent idea." Sarcasm surfaced again but Lydia overlooked it to get his cooperation.
“So is it all arranged then?" she asked sweetly.
"No! I don't have any rope. And where will I get a bag?"
"Connor.” She sighed patiently. "I will be more than happy to procure the rope and the bag. I will provide the gun. I will even write the ransom note. Although"—she paused to consider this detail—"Adam does know my handwriting, so I shall have to disguise it. All you have to do is provide the kidnappers themselves. I will meet them in the garden . . . oh . . . ten o'clock tomorrow night."
"Lydia." Connor took her hands in his and gazed into her eyes. "Have you thought about her reputation? She could be ruined by this."
"Oh, my." Lydia started with real surprise. “I had not considered that at all." She pulled her brows together thoughtfully, then brightened. "We shall simply have to make sure no one hears about it. Besides, Maggie doesn't care one whit about her reputation.”
She widened her eyes as a thought struck her. "But that might be the perfect solution. If her reputation were at stake, Adam would feel honor-bound to marry her. Oh, Connor, what a wonderful idea."
Connor sighed heavily, a sure sign of Lydia’s success. Not only had Connor failed to thwart her plan, he had provided another good reason to carry it through.
"Adam will call me out if he discovers your little plan, and I can't say I should blame him."
"Then he must not find out the truth." She stood and pulled Connor to his feet. He truly was a wonderful man. Something of a rake but a good, true friend. If she had been smart enough to fall in love with Connor years ago when she probably should have, she'd be married and settled by now. Instead of doing her best to avoid wedded bliss.
"I think, Connor, you should meet Maggie." She cocked her head and gazed up at him with an impish grin. "Just so you will know what to expect.”
Connor groaned as she led him back toward the ballroom. "Adam is right, Lydia. You do need a husband."
Chap
ter Fourteen
"Maggie, this is Lord St. Clair, Connor, a very old, very dear friend of Adams and mine. Connor, may I present Miss Margaret Masterson, a distant relative.”
Maggie pulled her attention from the crowd of admirers she was trying to charm. She looked up at a man at least as tall as Adam and as different physically from him as night from day. Where Adam's hair resembled burnished sunshine, St. Clair's took the appearance of the other end of the clock, black as midnight, and intense blue eyes so deep they appeared almost navy. He had a polished look about him that screamed superiority and a smug, aloof attitude. Adam's attitude. Maggie took an immediate dislike to him.
Until he smiled. It crinkled the edges of his eyes and put a twinkle in their center. Again she wondered if men had lost something in the years between this time and hers or if she was simply lucky enough to meet all the great-looking guys here.
"Connor, please be charming and attentive to Maggie," Lydia commanded. “I believe I see my next partner approaching. Call her Maggie; she's not terribly fond of formality. American, you know." Lydia greeted her partner and with a farewell nod swept off.
Maggie's gaze followed her departure and she leaned toward Connor. "Is she always like this?"
"Always." His gaze, too, fixed on the figure now dancing across the floor. "Lydia has been somewhat irrepressible her entire life. She goes merrily on her way, rarely giving heed to the possible consequences of her actions. And regardless how often those actions have sunk her deeply in trouble, she simply sees no reason to change." He turned toward Maggie with a sigh. "I must admit, most of the time, I, for one, would regret it if she did."
Maggie grinned up at him. "I love her, too."
‘'So Miss Masterson, Maggie?" She nodded. "You are a distant relation from America? How very odd. I have known the Coleridge family all my life and cannot recall the mention of American relatives."
Maggie maintained her serene expression. Every day it grew easier to deal with her fictional background. Other than the first embarrassing encounter, she hadn't found it necessary to mention Denver in Colorado County, Ohio, mythical haven for trees and bears, again. Her skills at deflecting specific questions had improved, and being American helped. Whenever she tripped up and used a distinctly twentieth-century phrase, she encouraged her listeners to attribute it to yet another odd idiosyncrasy of Americans. She worked the superior British attitude regarding her countrymen to her advantage, even though it seemed vaguely unpatriotic. "Oh, the connection is extremely distant," she said airily. "I suspect it was already half forgotten." It was time to turn the tables. “Lydia said you are very old friends?"
“Yes. My family's land is next to hers and we played together as children. Adam is five years older than I, so I was always tagging along after him. Lydia is four years younger, so she in turn tagged after me."
He grinned at the memory. "Until, of course, she was forced into the mold of a proper young lady and learned the rules of proper behavior."
Maggie inclined her head at the dance floor skeptically. "That was years ago, you say?"
He laughed in response and she joined him. "I said learned them, not took them to heart." The shared laughter dissolved any lingering reservations. It wasn't hard to see why Lydia considered him a friend.
Connor raised an eyebrow inquisitively. "Is your next dance spoken for?"
"Unless it's a waltz, I'll have to pass."
"It is a waltz and I believe it's mine." Adam's voice cut in and Maggie whirled around. She ignored the frantic beating of her heart and flashed him her most withering glare. He smiled down at her, apparently quite at ease and more than a little confident.
"I don't think so, Coleridge," she said through clenched teeth.
Adam's head lowered until his nose nearly touched hers. She widened her eyes and smothered the impulse to step back. His dark eyes glittered dangerously. "Yesterday you said I should have made you listen to me. You shall listen now. You may join me on the relative privacy of the dance floor or we can remain here where virtually anyone can overhear us. Or"—he smirked wickedly—"we could go into the garden.”
She gritted her teeth. "I would love to dance."
Connor narrowed his eyes appraisingly. Adam swept Maggie onto the dance floor. The scene before him was clear and a slow grin spread across his face. Adam definitely did not look like a man who needed to be convinced of his affection for anyone. In fact, it was apparent that Adam had gone well past the realization Lydia’s scheme was expected to bring him to.
Relief flooded him. The idea of crossing Adam held no appeal. In spite of Adam's thoroughly proper and upright behavior in recent years, his reputation as an expert marksman on the dueling field still lingered.
Where was Lydia? Connor scanned the ballroom in a futile effort to locate her, then shrugged in resignation. It would do no harm to let her continue to make her plans. He would set her straight tomorrow night.
His mood considerably lighter, his grin widened. After all, tonight, he had an engagement with a pretty little actress he planned on getting to know quite well. And if he left now, the evening wouldn't be a total waste.
***
“Okay, Coleridge. Cut to the chase. What do you have to say?" Maggie glared up at him as they glided across the dance floor. She fit naturally in his arms. That fact was somehow annoying. Almost as much as the smug smile plastered on his face, a smile that widened to a grin whenever he gazed down at her.
"Ah, Maggie." He laughed. "I am beginning to find your language delightful. Even when I have no idea what you are saying, the sheer sound of your outrageous comments charms me."
Brows knit in confusion, Maggie stared. What was he up to? "What do you want?"
"What do I want?" he said. "Why, Maggie, I wish I to apologize."
"Right." She snorted. "You're trying to tell me Adam Coleridge, the big deal, earl of something or other is going to admit he was wrong? Ha! Fat chance."
"That's exactly what I am going to admit." His expression sobered. Sincerity rang in his voice. “I was wrong. I do not have the right to issue you orders, to tell you who you may see and what you may do." He gazed deeply into her eyes and Maggie's heart leapt to her throat at the emotion revealed there. "I can only offer as an excuse my upbringing and the times I live in, the undeniable jealousy I feel when another man is near you, as well as fears that are somewhat new to me. I fear someone else will discover how remarkable and unique you are. I fear you could love another. I fear I would lose you."
Maggie's mouth dropped open. Thoughts and emotions bombarded her. What was he saying? What did he mean? Did he really care about her? Love her? Could she trust him?
She barely noticed the end of the dance depositing them near the door to the terrace. Adam hurried her outside. Swiftly leading her to a secluded corner, he pulled her into his arms.
"As for Shakespeare." His gaze searched hers. "I will admit I cultivated that talent for the sole purpose of seduction. But, Maggie"—the anxious light in his eyes told her, in spite of his past, right now he meant what he said. And right now she wanted to believe—"never have those words meant anything to me until I said them to you. Never have I known the love of Romeo and Juliet until I spoke their vows to you. It was a ploy years ago. With you it is real."
Maggie stared, stunned. Despite his initial appearance of confidence, an anxious question lingered in his eyes. He was as unsure of her response as she was.
A wry smile touched his lips. "I suspect I have for once left you speechless."
Maggie shook her head in confusion, pulled out of his arms, and backed away. Disbelief battled with hope. Doubt fought with joy. Skepticism clashed with wonder. She struggled to put her rampaging emotions into words.
"You've had me on an emotional roller coaster since the first moment we met." She impatiently waved away his quizzical look. "Roller coaster. It's a ride at an amusement park." She rubbed her forehead, frustrated. "Never mind. It just means I've been up and down, elated, depressed. In shor
t—confused and off balance. I want to be very sure I understand exactly what you're saying."
He nodded encouragement. “Please continue."
"The Shakespeare business is something you came up with to seduce women, but with me you really meant it? Right?”
"Exactly."
Maggie spoke thoughtfully, choosing her words with care. “And unlike women of your time, I'm used to running my own life without interference or assistance from men and you now accept that." She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "Also right?"
"Precisely." He grinned.
"I don't know, Coleridge." She shook her head slowly. She wanted desperately to believe him, longed to believe him. He offered a major concession here, abandoning much of what he'd accepted without question all his life because of her. But could she trust him? They were from two completely different worlds. Their ingrained values, covering virtually all aspects of their lives and societies, clashed at every turn.
She shrugged in uncertainty. "I just don't know." Their eyes locked for a long, tense moment.
"I love you, Maggie," Adam said softly.
Astonishment froze Maggie, and her heart thudded in her chest. It took less than a second for Adam's words to strike her soul. Less than a second for her confusion and doubts to dissolve. Less than a second to throw herself into his arms.
"Adam, oh, Adam." She flung her arms around his neck and clung to him.
"Maggie." His lips descended, crushing hers beneath them. The frustration, anger, and pain of the last days broke under the elation of being back in Adam's arms, and Maggie didn't care what else happened.
“Oh, Adam. I love you, too." His lips covered her face, her neck, her throat, and she responded in kind, frantic for the taste of him.
"I know," he whispered.
"What?" She drew back and peered at him indignantly until finding the twinkle in his eye. "How did you know?"
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