As You Wish (2 page)

She had no idea what he meant by “the remainder” of her clothes, but his first statement irked her too much to care.  Once she’d escaped the suffocation of her father’s house a few years ago, she’d vowed never to let anyone else tell her what she could or couldn’t do.  She put her hands on her wet hips.  “You’re in no position to allow or disallow my doing anything.”

He lifted his brows again, then smirked down at her.  “I should say
you
are the one in a rather unenviable position at the moment, madam.  Who are you, anyway?  You’ve commented several times on my being English.  Where are you from?”

“My name’s Leah Cantrell, and I’m an American.”  She suppressed the memories about her father and fought to restrain her anger.  Deciding there was no use debating a stranger’s chauvinism, she held out her hand.  “I didn’t realize I’d perfected my enunciation enough to disguise my Philadelphia accent.  I guess a bachelor’s degree in language and lit is good for something after all.”

He stared at her hand before finally taking her fingers and bowing over them with ridiculous formality.  “David Traymore at your service, Miss Cantrell, though I will warn you I am rarely at anyone’s service.  Unfortunately, I cannot leave you to your own devices.  Despite what you claim, I fear you did strike your head.”

Had she detected an ever-so-slight catch in his voice?  She thought she had and excused his condescension as a macho cover-up for real concern.  Waving off his worries, she absorbed his name and couldn’t help mentally comparing him again to Michelangelo’s  masterpiece.  “David, huh?  Figures.  But wait, you said David
Traymore
.  Oh, I get it.  That’s the
role
you play.”

She knew from her tour that Solebury belonged to the Traymores.  Now that she thought of it, this actor bore a strong resemblance to one of the family members whose portrait she’d seen--the late son of the current marquess.  Yes, his name had been David, Viscount Traymore.  This impersonator had sootier hair and more intense eyes than the real viscount, who had been lost at sea when his father’s yacht capsized in the Mediterranean.  “You do look a lot like him.  But the old-fashioned get-up doesn’t make sense to me.”

“I fear your words make little sense, either, Miss Cantrell.  I assure you I’m not play-acting.”

Strange that he stuck with his character in this situation.  And he took the role so seriously, not like the sing-songing actors at Renaissance fairs and staged medieval banquets.  She grinned.  “Sorry to disappoint you, but I paid attention during the tour.  I know about his yachting accident.”

He stared blankly, as though she’d made up the story.

All at once, she realized the guide might have done just that.  She shook her head.  “Wait a second.  Are you actually the viscount?  Is that yacht story just a fabrication for tourists?  Please don’t tell me the one about the spring is made up, too.”

Still, he looked at her as if she spoke Greek.  “Miss  Cantrell, I am, quite frankly, having difficulty deciphering your jabbering.  I am indeed David Traymore but, until now, no one other than myself has ever dreamed of my gaining the title ‘viscount.’  My father, in fact, took some time to approve my mother’s decision to bestow his surname upon me.”

She frowned.  “Maybe I’m confused about the title.  But you are heir to the Marquess of Solebury?”

He laughed, if such a bitter snort could be called a laugh.  “You are delightfully misinformed, Miss Cantrell.  That honor belongs to my half brother.  Lord William is the marquess’s
legitimate
son, you see.”

She studied his striking features, currently twisted into a grimace.  So he’d been born illegitimately and resented the fact.  But why had the tour guide called him “the lost heir” and distinctly told them the marquess had no other offspring?  Well, she didn’t have the time to get to the bottom of the story.  If she didn’t hurry back to the bus, she’d hold up the whole group, and an angry Jeanine would not be a pleasant roommate.

“You’re right about one thing,” she said, carefully hoisting herself to her feet.  “I’m definitely misinformed.”

He stepped forward to grab her elbow--a good thing, since another wave of dizziness hit her.  Still off-balance, she threw a resentful look at the mere puddle that somehow had almost swallowed her.  But a glimpse of the springhouse made her gasp.  In place of the cracked mortar and crumbling stones she’d seen just a few minutes before, four unbroken walls stood strong and level.  She whipped her focus around toward the big oak--except the big oak had disappeared, and a fragile sapling had sprouted in its place.  Her dizziness intensified, and she staggered backward away from the pool, thinking, for the first time in her life, she might faint.

David Traymore grabbed her around the shoulders, his strong arm the only thing that kept her from stumbling to the ground.  She grasped onto his waist, terrified that he might vanish the way the tree had.  But no amount of anxiety could refute the solid muscles of his abdomen, hot with the energy of life even through the linen of his shirt.  Relieved, she let her shoulder fall against his chest.

“Now you see that you did indeed strike your head.”  He bent and scooped her up like a child, carrying her back toward the path.  “I will take you to the manor house.  My father’s wife will care for you until your injuries mend.”

She felt as confused as a child, too, and feared she might start crying like one.  Forcing herself not to give in to hysterics, she put her free hand against the cool skin of her face.  “I just want to get back to the bus.”

“We shall send a footman out to your people and tell them to bring the coach around to the stables.  Don’t concern yourself  about their being well received.  You will find the marchioness a very kind hostess.  How she ever fell into my father’s clutches I cannot say.”

“I don’t understand this,” she managed to say.  “The guide told us there was no marchioness.  I must be hallucinating.  Yes, that’s it.  I didn’t get enough oxygen while I was underwater, and my brain still hasn’t recovered.”

“Well, your brain will recover nicely under Phoebe’s care.”  He set her on her feet and loosened his grasp, not letting go completely until he saw she could balance herself.  “Can you stand on your own for a moment while I untie Reveler?  If I mount him first, he should allow me to pull you up without much protest.”

Distracted by her reeling thoughts, she hadn’t even noticed the enormous black stallion snorting and shuffling on the other side of the path.  Never having stood so near a horse, she watched in awe as David Traymore untied the reins and stepped into one stirrup, swinging his other long leg over the saddle.  When he motioned for her to come closer, she hesitated.  She had never realized a horse could be so large.

“You are frightened of horses?” he asked, eyes narrowing slightly.  “I shan’t ask why, since your answer would likely make as little sense as everything else you have said.  I assure you Reveler will do you no harm.  He may have the bearing of a demon, but he is as gentle as a pussycat.”

He looked down at the animal, scratching him softly behind the ears and getting nuzzled in return.  “Of course, he does all he can to hide his softer side.”

Witnessing the exchange, Leah guessed the horse and master were well matched, not only in appearance but personality.  Convinced of her rescuer’s “softer side,” she went forward and lifted her arms.  He pulled her up with no trouble, placing her sideways in the saddle in front of him.  She leaned into his chest, soothed by the warmth of his body and the faint woodsy scent of his cologne--a brand she didn’t recognize.

He put one arm around her midsection and held her tightly as the horse trotted up the path toward the house.  She closed her eyes and held onto his hips, a little embarrassed by the intimate position.  Luckily, she had plenty of other worries to distract her--the prospect of Jeanine’s anger, as well as the alarming hallucinations she’d had at the spring.

“Here we are,” David said after a few minutes.  “Hold onto the saddle, and I’ll assist you down after I dismount.”

She opened her eyes and grabbed the horn of the saddle as he slid off behind her.  He turned and lifted her from under her arms, setting her gingerly on the dirt.  Another employee dressed in an old-fashioned costume took charge of the horse, eyeing her soggy form briefly before bowing and walking away.

David took her elbow and steered her across the dusty drive toward the manor.  When she recognized the door as the main entrance, she gulped down another rush of misgivings.  “I could have sworn this driveway was paved.”  She tried to shake off the eerie feeling, telling herself she must have been mistaken.

He ignored her comment and led her up three polished marble steps, which Leah knew had been cracked and stained earlier.  Another costumed man opened the double doors for them, and they stepped inside the house . . . only the shabby interior she’d seen an hour or so ago had somehow transformed into a beautifully maintained decor.

She slapped her hands over her eyes, then uncovered them again, but the dreamlike grandeur was still there.  Instead of the faded wallpaper she’d seen before, intricately carved panels lined the hall.  While the walls had been practically bare earlier, they now displayed a stunning selection of paintings.  And the ragged, garish red rug she remembered had been replaced by an elaborate paisley carpet in rich, dark tones.

“Oh, my God.”  She closed her eyes again.  “What is wrong with me?”

A feminine voice broke into her thoughts.  “What has   happened, David?  Who is this young lady?”

“You will hardly credit the story when I tell you, Phoebe.   It seems I have rescued a helpless maiden from drowning.”

“David, this is clearly no time for your nonsense.”  Warm, slim hands took Leah’s own and rubbed them vigorously.  “Oh, you poor thing, your fingers are like ice!”

A meeker, girlish voice said, “Beggin’ your pardon, ma’am, but I just stoked up the fire in your sitting room.”

“Perfect, Molly.”  The more mature woman took on a tone of urgency.  “Let us move her in there.”

Leah had no choice but to open her eyes in order to be led through the house.  David held her one arm, and at the other was a mahogany-haired beauty, noticeably pregnant and also dressed in costume.

The costumes bothered Leah.  The employees she’d seen earlier had been wearing normal clothing.  And how could she explain the changed appearances of the manor and the springhouse?  Could she trust her perceptions at all?

She began to tremble, making out only bits of the others’ conversation as they talked above her head: “nearly drowned” . . .  “her shift only” . . . “an American” . . . “coach waiting” . . . “brain entirely addled” . . .

They directed her toward a blazing fire, and the heat comforted her a little, but she felt a pang of uneasiness when David left the room.  A girl in an old-fashioned maid’s cap helped her undress and slip into a flannel robe, then the hostess had her stretch out on a backless sofa, wrapping her in a thick down comforter.  She propped two big feather pillows behind Leah and handed her a steaming cup that smelled like some sort of herbal tea.

Leah sipped the somewhat bitter drink, hovering over the cup while the two women fussed with the pillows and comforter.  The tea soothed her remarkably--more than she imagined possible under the circumstances.

Her body began to thaw, and the frightening images in her “addled brain” grew murky.  A strange contentment settled upon her, and she sank back deeper into the pillows.  Gradually, she realized her fear had melted right along with the chill she’d felt.  Now she felt warm, relaxed, almost blissful.

“The tea,” she murmured, gazing into the empty cup.  “What

was in the tea?”

“Her ladyship put in a black drop, I reckon, miss.”  The maid took the cup from Leah’s limp fingers.

“A black drop? . . . Sounds exotic.”  Smiling faintly, she let her head fall back into billowing down. 
Wonderful, warm, secure.
  She felt as though she’d been cold all her life and now, for the first time, had a toasty blanket to warm her.  Her strange experiences took on the hues of a fantastic adventure.  She felt as though she’d never known what it meant to be alive, and now she stood at the brink of ultimate knowledge.

David Traymore–where had he gone?
  She had to thank him . . .  for saving her life.

CHAPTER TWO

David Traymore rode up to his father’s residence for the second consecutive morning, setting a personal record in the frequency of his visits.  During his childhood, his mother had brought him to Solebury House quarterly, dropping him off at the back door, where she collected him again several days later.  As he grew, his service-door entry gained significance, and when he got old enough to understand his position in the family, he stopped coming altogether.  He had believed nothing would ever coax him back, especially after his mother, the only person much concerned in the matter, died.

He slowed his horse at the front entrance, mulling over the event that had changed his mind.  Phoebe, the only daughter of his late army mentor, Colonel Albert Sheffield, had married the Marquess of Solebury.  She had played big sister to David since his father purchased him a commission in the cavalry for his sixteenth birthday.  When Colonel Sheffield lay on his deathbed, David promised him to look after her.  If he had known the girl would end up marrying his own father, he might have hesitated.  But these days, the need to ensure the marquess treated her decently outweighed his own wish to avoid the man.  Hence, once again, he found himself visiting Solebury House.

Swinging down from the saddle, he tossed Reveler’s reins to a waiting footman and took the marble steps two at a time.  He nodded to the butler and brushed past him into the hall just as the marchioness emerged from her sitting room.  Leaving the door ajar behind her, she held a finger up to her lips.

He glanced through the crack, attempting a peek at the beautiful American he had rescued the day before, but a large cabinet clock blocked his view.  Phoebe tapped him on the shoulder, and he heeded her motions for him to follow her across the hall.