As You Wish Page 5

  But for all the magic of her spell, he could not quite forget himself, his station in life . . . the coil of scandal that originated in the very moment of his birth. The times when he most longed to ignore his unhappy parentage only served to make him feel his disgrace more sharply.

  He stared into her eyes, and she returned him a steady gaze. In this overwrought state, she might well submit to his advances, but when she recollected herself she would realize how low she had stooped and would come to rue her indiscretion. He had no doubt of her proper breeding. She could make a good marriage and live happily--so long as a nobleman’s bastard with no prospects did not compromise her first.

  “I won’t.” He let her go and turned his back to her, shamed by his thoughts. At such a moment, he ought to be lecturing this young woman on the value of life, not calculating his chances of seducing her. He ought to be delivering a sermon to her that would rival Hamlet’s soliloquy.

  Hamlet. What an unhappy reference, with Leah having twice chosen “not to be” over “to be.” Had Fate made an equally poor choice in placing him in the position of helping this young woman? He hoped not, for her sake.

  “You won’t what?” she asked from behind him.

  He spun around and faced her. She no longer bore herself like a Celtic priestess. Her body had wilted, making her look small and childlike. She waited for him to speak, and he realized, however badly suited to it, he must.

  “I won’t simply shrug off these ill-judged attempts of yours.” He forced himself to step closer to her. “Whatever your difficulties may be, whatever miseries you may want to escape, I beg you to confide in me rather than resort to an act of desperation. I may not have the position and wealth that grant worldly influence, but I have connections who do. There must be a way we can help you. There are always alternatives to this.”

  She watched the motion he made toward the pool, then lifted her gaze back to his eyes. “What do you mean?”

  The blank expression on her face bore every mark of confusion, but he had witnessed that form of equivocation before. He threw his hands up in exasperation. “Drowning yourself. There is always another way--and I don’t speak as a stranger to desperation.”

  Her eyes widened. “Did you think I meant to kill myself?”

  “Are you claiming you did not?” he snapped, annoyed that she chose evasion over trusting in him. “How else do you explain nearly drowning in water too shallow to engulf an infant?”

  For a long moment, she only stared, each passing second further depleting his hopes for her candor. Before she answered, she broke away from his gaze.

  “I didn’t want to kill myself. All I can say is that I slipped and fell into the water, and then . . . well, I can’t really explain what happened next. I did try to stand and get out of the pool, but I just couldn’t manage.”

  Her slow manner of choosing words made him suspect her of telling half-truths. He watched her until she lifted her gaze from the ground to meet his.

  “Very well, let us suppose you are telling me all you can about yesterday’s accident,” he said. “Why would you return to the scene of your ordeal today? I should think you would never want to see this spring again.”

  She turned and looked toward the pool, a visible tremor rolling down her body. He scrutinized her profile, waiting for her answer.

  “Sometimes you have no choice but to face your fears.” She swallowed. “You might say I came back here to undo the harm yesterday’s accident did to me.”

  “By leaping back into the spring?” He wished he could believe her, but no sane young woman would make such a choice. Of course, she might not be sane, but that possibility pleased him no better. “What if, once again, you were unable to pull yourself out?”

  She shuddered and tore her gaze away from the water, instead staring off into the woods. “The thought did cross my mind.”

  At least she showed some fear of death--in essence, some will to live. He walked to the edge of the pool and turned his back on the water, providing a temporary barrier between her and the unthinkable. “Why did you not ‘face your fears’ with someone standing by to keep watch?”

  She still would not look at him. “I didn’t want anyone to interfere.”

  “To interfere with what? With your leaping into the pool?”

  “Yes.”

  He let his shoulders slump in frustration. “I don’t like this. If you are telling the truth, I want to hear the rest of the story now. I suggest starting with what brought you to the spring yesterday, followed by as full an account as possible of the accident.”

  “I . . . I’m not ready for that.” Finally, she met his gaze, her eyes bright and direct. “I wish I could open up to you, I really do, but you’d never believe me. You’d think I’m crazy and have me locked away in Bedlam.”

  So, she showed some concern for her perceived sanity as well. Perhaps he could prod her into showing more. He steeled his features into a glare. “And what do you think will happen to you if you don’t cease these attempts on your life?”

  Her eyes rounded yet again. “You wouldn’t! You wouldn’t put me away, would you, David? I told you I wasn’t trying to kill myself. I swear I wasn’t.”

  Of course he wouldn’t consign her to an asylum, even if he knew for certain she meant to hazard her life again. But perhaps stoking up a healthy fear in her would stave off the possibility of another such attempt.

  “If you continue to show a tendency toward self harm, I’ll have no choice,” he said. “Suicide is an abomination, and if physical restraint is the only way to prevent your committing it, then you must be restrained.”

  She stared at him in obvious horror. When her lower lip began to quiver, he almost recanted but reminded himself her fear would serve her well.

  “You are positively gothic!” she exploded, her chest heaving as her breath came in quick puffs. “Though in this day and age, why should that surprise me? All right, fine. I promise I won’t come near this spring on my own again--or try killing myself in any other way. Are you satisfied?”

  “I should think not. I shall have to keep a very close watch on you.” He felt a twinge of pleasure at the prospect but immediately chided himself. “Naturally, Lord and Lady Solebury will wish to attend you as well.”

  “What? You’re not going to worry them with this nonsense about my being suicidal, are you?” She stepped forward and grabbed his upper arm, her warm fingers digging into his muscles. “Please, David, don’t.”

  “They already have their own suspicions, Leah.” With the scent of roses teasing his nostrils, he couldn’t resist continuing to use her given name. How could this beautiful creature want to squander her life? He would do his best, inadequate as that may be, to prevent her. “Indeed, I did not think of the idea myself.”

  She let her hand slide down his arm and moved a few steps away. “This is worse than I thought. Are they thinking of having me committed?”

  He shrugged. “I’m certain the marchioness wishes to help you anyway she can, but she will need your compliance. As for the marquess, well, I have never known him to show a great deal of empathy. If I were you, I should tread very cautiously where he’s concerned.”

  “Oh, God.” She put a hand up to her lips. “If they think I tried to kill myself yesterday, today’s fiasco will only double their suspicions. And I really didn’t. I definitely don’t want to die yet. David, please don’t tell them about finding me here today.”

  He could see she had begun trembling again, and he regretted the necessity of maintaining a severe stance. But the sound of twigs snapping in the woods signaled that the decision would not be his, anyway. Phoebe emerged into the clearing, dressed in dinner attire and followed closely by her maid.

  “Miss Cantrell, thank God you are safe!” she exclaimed, expelling a deep sigh as she hurried forward. “When I found your chamber empty, I thought . . . but that doesn’t matter. What on earth are you doing at the spring? David, are you mad, bringing her back to this place?
”

  He nearly laughed at her automatic assumption of his poor judgment. She had provided stable ground for prevarication on Leah’s account. Should he stand upon it? One glimpse at Leah’s silently pleading eyes made up his mind.

  “Admittedly, not one of my wiser decisions,” he said, grimacing to himself over the power Leah held over him. “I met Miss Cantrell just outside the manor, and she asked if I would accompany her here. She hoped that facing the spring would help alleviate some of the fear she has suffered since yesterday’s mishap.”

  Phoebe looked to Leah, her big brown eyes registering astonishment. “How brave you are, Miss Cantrell! Did your strategy help?”

  She glanced at David and, receiving no further aid from him, dropped her gaze. “If it has, I can’t tell yet. I still feel pretty shaken.”

  “Yes, you look upset, you poor thing. Your face is as pale as the moon.” Phoebe stepped closer to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Let us return to the manor. I have no doubt you will feel much better once you have eaten dinner.”

  Leah gave her a weak smile. “I have to admit I’m looking forward to eating a real meal again. My appetite was still off this afternoon, but now I’m starving.”

  Phoebe laughed. “Starving, are you? What a colorful manner of speech you Americans have. Well, I daresay a good appetite betokens recovery from the laudanum I gave you. Thank goodness!” She let go of Leah’s shoulder and started toward the path to the drive. “Molly, could you run ahead and tell his lordship to meet us in the dining room? I walk rather slowly these days, and by the time we reach the house, Cook will be anxious to serve the first remove.”

  As the marchioness spoke, David could feel Leah’s gaze fixed on him. He looked to her, and she gave him a crooked smile, silently mouthing the words, “Thank you.”

  Unsure he had made a wise choice in concealing the truth, he scowled back at her.

  He had a notion this woman could beguile him into any number of unwise choices. His only defense might be to keep her from realizing it.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Leah felt her heart pounding, even after Lady Solebury had turned away. Thank God David hadn’t told the marchioness she’d come to the spring on her own. Did that mean she’d convinced him she didn’t want to commit suicide? Hopeful, she looked to him and mouthed an unvoiced “Thank you.”

  He shot her such a glare that she almost jumped back--as if the smallest hint of goodwill would have cracked his too-handsome face! So much for winning his trust. She should have known Mr. Bitterness wouldn’t cut her any slack.

  Disgusted, she spun around and followed Lady Solebury up the path to the main drive. She could hear David crunching through the thicket behind her--and she swore she could feel tension prickling between them like static electricity. She couldn’t comprehend his mood swings. Only moments ago, he’d looked at her so tenderly her knees had gone weak.

  The thought of how his arms had felt around her recharged the dancing ions on the nape of her neck. She shuddered with acute awareness of his nearness. If she stopped quickly enough, would he run right into her back?

  Ridiculous! Not only had she gone back in time, her mind had reverted to adolescence. A peek over her shoulder gave her a glimpse of his continued scowl. She looked forward again and walked faster. This actually topped adolescent fantasy for its absurdity. The man who had her shuddering like a schoolgirl had threatened to lock her away in an asylum!

  “Are you quite all right, Miss Cantrell?” Lady Solebury asked as Leah caught up with her on the drive. “Now, your cheeks are flushed.”

  “What? Oh, yes, I’m fine.” She tried to break her thoughts free from David Traymore’s magnetic pull. Her continual distraction had already raised suspicions. From now on, she had to focus all her energy on appearing normal. “Seeing the spring again just unnerved me a little. I guess I’ll need some time before I can put my accident behind me.”

  “Have you remembered anything more about what happened?” the marchioness asked. “Of course, you mustn’t feel obliged to speak about the ordeal if you don’t wish. I don’t want to give you any further cause for distress.”

  “My memory seems to be returning, little by little,” Leah said, scouring her brain for some story to concoct. Never a good liar, she had to settle for stalling. “I’ll tell you everything I can when we sit down to dinner.”

  Lady Solebury’s eyebrows rose just perceptibly. “As long as the telling does not upset you . . .”

  Leah assured her she’d manage but when David chose that moment to step up beside them, she sighed in relief. The marchioness turned to him, asking about conditions in the gate house. Meanwhile, Leah’s mind raced for believable answers to the questions she would face. Why had she come to Solebury House? With whom had she been traveling and to where?

  By the time they reached the manor, she knew she’d never come up with a good story. She would have to stick as close to the truth as possible--without revealing she had traveled back in time, of course. Her stomach gnawed with hunger, but she dreaded the thought of sitting down to dinner. How long would she have before the inquisition started?

  “Oh, good,” Lady Solebury said when they entered the drawing room where Leah had slept the night before. “Our dinner companions have arrived. Ben, Letitia, allow me to present Miss Leah Cantrell, a friend of mine visiting from America. Miss Cantrell, Lieutenant Harlowe and his wife, Mrs. Harlowe. The lieutenant fought in the Peninsula with my late father and Mr. Traymore. I suspect he would like to return to the Continent now that Bonaparte has escaped Elba, but Mrs. Harlowe will hear nothing of the sort.”

  “How do you do?” Leah dropped an uncertain curtsy to a stocky, thin-haired man and a plainly dressed, thirty-something brunette. The smiles they gave her seemed to indicate she’d done well enough. The marchioness had been sweet to introduce her as a friend.

  “Lady Solebury will have you believe my wife holds me on leading strings,” the lieutenant said, his sharp gray eyes crinkling at the corners when he laughed. “If so, I will not be the one to confess it.”

  Leah smiled in response, as Mrs. Harlowe swatted her husband on the shoulder.

  “You will have Miss Cantrell think worse of me!”

  “Ah, Harold, there you are,” Lady Solebury said, looking past Leah’s shoulder toward the door. “Have you greeted the Harlowes? Yes? Well, then, at last you will have the opportunity to meet our houseguest, Miss Cantrell. Miss Cantrell, this is my husband, Lord Solebury.”

  Leah turned around and couldn’t stop herself from staring. Dressed in elegantly fitted black formal wear, the marquess looked exactly how she pictured David would in another decade or so. The father’s main distinctions from his son were a slightly fuller build and sprinkles of gray in his midnight hair. She remembered David saying he didn’t know how the marchioness had ended up with his father, but Leah understood. With looks, presence and power in his favor, Lord Solebury probably could get any woman he wanted.

  She curtsied deeply, smiling without having to remind herself.

  “Charmed,” he said, his dark eyes twinkling as he bowed. “We are so pleased to have you with us, Miss Cantrell. My wife is always eager to entertain when we stay in the country. I hope your visit will endure for some time.”

  “Thank you,” she said, charmed herself. Could this man really be the monster David implied? She glanced at the son and found him watching her.

  He switched his focus to his father, lower lip curling.

  He hates him, she realized. The marquess didn’t acknowledge the frown, but the spark in his eyes dulled. She turned away, feeling sad for them, Lord Solebury because his own son hated him, David because his bitterness poisoned his whole outlook.

  But why should she care about a man who threatened her with Bedlam? A little moodiness was one thing--what woman didn’t get dizzy on a dose of Byronic cynicism? But romanticism had to stop somewhere. Don Juan wielded a cape, never a straitjacket.

  “Shall we move into the dining
room?” Lady Solebury suggested, leading the way into the hall. “How pleased I am to have so many guests! We have entertained very little in recent weeks, you know.”

  She continued to chatter, asking after the Harlowes’ children as she showed everyone which seats to take.

  Leah found herself next to David, watching a servant place soup in front of her. The herb-tinged steam made her mouth water, but she waited for everyone else to pick up their spoons before she did. Who knew what to expect from nineteenth-century manners?

  Potatoes and leeks, she determined with her first taste, letting the hearty broth loll on her tongue. She swallowed, and her stomach contracted, demanding something more substantial. She’d hardly eaten in a day and a half.

  “Miss Cantrell,” Mrs. Harlowe said, reaching for the roll on her bread plate, “I hope you find our country to your liking. May I inquire how long you’ve been in England?”

  Leah copied the other woman’s manners, tearing a ladylike chunk from her own roll. She wished she could have finished at least one course before being questioned. “I’ve only been here a few days. I love what I’ve seen of England so far, and I can’t wait to see more of the country.”

  Instantly, she sensed all eyes on her, three pairs more intent than the others.

  David took up the questioning. “You and I have had little chance to speak, Miss Cantrell. I hope your voyage from the States passed smoothly--and that you had pleasant companions to help speed your time aboard ship?”

  Subtly phrased, but every bit as probing as she’d expected. She forced a smile, dabbing the corners of her mouth with a stiff linen napkin. “Unfortunately, I was seasick most of the trip. I spent a lot of time alone in my cabin, feeling too terrible to care. My traveling companion, Jeanine, is an old friend but sometimes . . . impatient. I’m afraid that being trapped in close quarters with a sick person for, uh . . . weeks took a toll on her nerves.”