As You Wish (33 page)

“My permission?”  The grin on his lips finally faded, replaced by a vague O shape.  Silence seemed to hang endlessly between them, then he laughed again.  “Hell, yeah.”

* * * *

Leah stared down into the arid hole where the spring had gushed.  The mud at the bottom was now dried and cracked.  Around the edges, moss had begun to brown and harden.  She should have known the pool would be gone.  The lost treasures had been returned to the Traymores.  The need for magic had passed . . . for them, anyway.  She could still use a miracle.

A breeze skimmed the nylon covering her legs, and she pulled her arms tightly around her torso.  The night had become cold--though maybe it wasn’t the air, but the . . . finality.  Like the spring, her hopes had dried, gone lifeless.

“I knew you’d be here,” a soft male voice said amidst the crickets’ chorus.

Though she hadn’t heard David come up behind her, somehow his presence didn’t startle her.  He always seemed to show up when she went to the spring.

She turned around and immediately wished he hadn’t come.  Shadows hid his features, but even his silhouetted form sent a shot of longing through her.  In this very spot, she’d felt his arms around her for the first time.  She ached to feel that warmth again.

“I came to say good-bye,” she said, looking down at her feet.  “I was too late.  The spring’s dry.”

“Good-bye?  To the spring?  Then you presumed it would dry up--and yet you appear disappointed.”  He stepped forward and lifted her chin so she had to look into his smile, a smile that showed he shared none of her grief.  “Don’t tell me you will miss being thrust into unknown eras, nearly drowning in the process.  I know I shan’t.”

She swallowed, split between wanting to break free of his torturous touch and wanting to savor every last trace of contact.  “No, that’s not what I’ll miss . . .”

“You are thinking of Phoebe and my father?”  His smile vanished, and his fingers slid from her face.  He turned and stooped beside the spring hole, grazing the dried moss with the back of his hand.  “I have regrets there, as well.”

She touched her chin, where she imagined she could still feel the pressure of his fingertips.  In her preoccupation with losing him, she’d forgotten about
his
losses.  How could she have thought he had everything, when the father he might have had--for the first time--was gone forever, dead almost two centuries.  “I . . . I’m sorry.  It’s a shame you and your father had to separate just when you’d really begun to value each other.”

“If only I had been a bit quicker to see . . .”  He trailed off, staring into the night.  “No, I couldn’t possibly have seen that wretched business in any other light.  Even now I cannot forgive his spurning my mother.  She accepted the choice he made, yet I cannot.  Mama deserved better treatment.”

“Of course she did.”

“What pains me most is knowing how different matters might have been--indeed, almost were.”  He stood and faced her, his jaw set hard.  “Today I learned just how close my father came to marrying Mama before his family interfered.  Among the items at the gate house, I found a betrothal ring engraved with her name.  The inscription is dated 1784, the year before I was born.  Leah, I was very nearly a real son, not a bastard but a nobleman, the legitimate heir to Solebury.”

As she watched emotion flicker across his face, she winced in sympathy.  “But you
are
all that, David--even legitimate, now that Fate has positioned you to take your place as viscount.  A greater power has restored everything originally denied to you.  It’s all rightfully yours.  I really believe so.”

“I am not certain I do.”  He clenched his fists.  “One thing I do know, however, is that I’ve been conveyed here to put this estate to rights.  Thank heaven for your clever thinking, Leah.  I shall never believe I deserve this fortune, but at least the bed-and-breakfast will allow me to share Solebury’s pleasures with the world.”

She smiled.  He did have a good heart, even if he hadn’t found a place in it for her.

He combed his fingers through his hair.  “Forgive me, love.  When I followed you here, I had no intention of carrying on about myself.  I wanted, first, to apologize for the way I treated you yesterday--for upsetting you so.”

She froze, taken off-guard by the endearment and unsure whether or not to admit how much he’d upset her.  If she spelled out her feelings, she would let down the thin veil of dignity she had left, and her confession wouldn’t change his lack of love for her.  Tears burned her eyes, and she turned her back to him.

“I suspect my reasons for moving to another chamber may not have been as clear to you as I supposed.”  From behind her, he placed his hands on her bare shoulders, prompting goosebumps to rise until his touch warmed them.  “The differences between your upbringing and mine are proving great indeed.  I’ve had particular difficulty comprehending your father’s expectations, but tonight he and I seem to have reached an understanding.”

Her father again?  Obviously, David came from a hopelessly male-oriented culture.  While she stood here pining for his love, all he cared about was her father’s views and opinions!  She spun around and frowned up at him.  “What does my father have to do with anything?”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to determine.”  He smiled and reached up to one of her earrings.  His fingers brushed her ear  lobe, sending shivers down the nape of her neck.  “Diamonds become you, Leah.  I believe Phoebe wore these the day she and my father were wed.  She would have liked you to have them now.”

“To
have
them?”  The outrageous statement threw her off track--probably his intention.  He couldn’t have meant
have
the earrings.  He must have meant
wear
them.  She put her hand to her throat to make sure the necklace hadn’t slipped off.  “Lady Isabella lent these to me, and I’ll return them the minute I take them off.  God, I shouldn’t even have worn them out here.  What if I lost one of the pieces in the woods?”

“I know you will take better care than that.”  He let go of her shoulders and reached into his jacket.  “Isabella can tell you whether she meant them as a loan or a gift, but I have something I mean for you to keep.  I only hope, above all things, that you’ll agree.”

She watched him take a small velvet box out of his pocket.  The idea of keeping Lady Isabella’s diamonds was out of the question, but she would love to have a little souvenir from David--and of Solebury.  Knowing the item must have come from the estate, she held her breath.

He opened the box, but his hand still hid the piece from view.  As he took it out, the moonlight caught on a precious jewel, sparkling like fairy dust.  When he held up his hand, she saw the ring, a large diamond with smaller gems sprinkled along a beautifully worked band.

“Oh--”  Her voice caught in her throat.  The ring was magnificent, not a souvenir but a treasure.  She couldn’t speak and could barely think a coherent thought.  Of course, she couldn’t accept it.  It couldn’t be right.  She really wanted a memento of him, but she couldn’t take this.

“I hope you don’t mind that it carries someone else’s name.”  His gaze, when she looked up to it, seemed to pierce right through to her soul.  “Perhaps that can be altered.  Allow me to try it on your finger.”

Before she could protest--maybe she didn’t want to, not yet --he’d lifted her left hand and slipped the ring onto her finger.  The band fit perfectly.  For a long moment, they both stared at her hand in his, adorned with the glittering diamond, like one of those perfect, retouched photos in someone’s wedding album.

“The name it bears is my mother’s.”  His voice came out low and soft.  “You will see the inscription when we have better light.  I don’t imagine she ever got to see it.”

Her gaze shot to his.  “This is the betrothal ring?  You would give me your mother’s betrothal ring?”

He nodded.  “I would hope to make it yours--to signify
our
betrothal.”

Her lips parted but nothing came out.  Could this really be happening?  She felt her hand began to tremble in his.

He closed his fingers around hers.  “I don’t know how people decide to wed in these times.  Your father seemed to think I had lost my wits when I asked his permission to address you, but in the end he did not object.”

“You asked Daddy’s permission?  Wait--was that why you’ve been spending so much time with him?”  Suddenly, a wonderful warmth began simmering up inside her, and the beginning of a smile tugged at her mouth.

His gaze felt heavy on her, intense.  “He assured me your mother would offer no objections, either.”

A giddy little giggle bubbled her throat.  “No one will offer objections!”

“Not you?”  The moonlight glinted in his eyes, lifting some of their intensity.

“Least of all, me.”  She pulled free of his hand to crush him in a hug.  His body was warm and solid, and she could feel his breath come out in a ragged sigh.  So he’d been unsure
she
would have
him
!  Her eyes filled with fresh tears.  “Oh, David, I thought you’d decided to leave me.  If you didn’t mean to leave me, why did you move out of our room?”

He kissed the top of her head, holding her tight against his chest.  “Your father’s arrival reminded me how dishonorably I’d been conducting myself.  I had no right to share your bed without making you my wife, but I hadn’t the means to offer for you.  I had no way to keep you.”

“David, David . . . your perspective is
so
archaic.”  She tilted her face up to grin at him.  “
I
was going to keep
you
!”

He looked shocked.  “You were?”

“Yes, as long as the spring didn’t suck you away from me again.”  She glanced over her shoulder at the hole and felt a new twinge of nerves.  “It won’t, will it?  I mean, do you think it might gush up again, or will it really let you stay here?  You don’t think it will force you back to your own time?”

“History is written, Leah.  The sixth marquess’s bastard son disappeared in 1815 and never returned.”

“So now you’re the current marquess’s legitimate son--but what if
that
David Traymore returns?”  She still couldn’t quite let herself believe Fate could be shining so brightly on her.  All day, she’d cursed herself for wasting her original wish in the spring.  Had she wasted it or not?  “Lord Solebury seems to think his son may only be lost.”

He shook his head.  “Isabella told me that they were all on the yacht when it capsized in the storm.  Though the viscount’s body was never recovered, she saw him go down for the third time.  She is quite certain he is gone.  His lordship has denied the truth for many years, but I believe even his thinking is changing.”

She took in a deep breath.  Yes, this was meant to be; she hadn’t wasted her wish.  She smiled.  “Give me a kiss, my lord.”

“Don’t call me that.”  He leaned down and caught her mouth hungrily, officially sealing their fate.

When they paused, she whispered, “What should I call you?”

“You’ve called me David from the moment we met.  I’ve always liked your informality.”  He grinned.  “Your father goes a step further and calls me Dave.  I like that as well.  It has a contemporary ring.”

“Should we go back to the house and announce our engagement, Dave?  Or shall we stay right where we are, alone?”

“I thought perhaps we’d stop by the gate house and plan the renovations.”  He put an arm around her waist, and they turned toward the path.  “Would you consider our residing there once the building is restored?”

“I’d love to live there!”  Another wish come true.  Any more and she would burst with happiness.  “I already have some wonderful memories of the gate house.  I’m glad the treasure is big enough to repair it.”

“More than big enough.”  He pulled her so close they could hardly walk.  “We can even restore the springhouse, if we want.”

She glimpsed back one last time.  The moon gave the building an eerie glow that made her shiver.

“I don’t think so,” she said.  She was grateful for everything the spring had brought about, but she’d had enough mystical adventure to last her some time.  “What do you say to getting a swimming pool instead?”

“Anything you wish.”  He leaned down and kissed her again.

Copyright © 1999 by Jennifer Zorger

Originally published by Berkley/Jove Time Passages (0-515-12433-8)

Electronically published in 2005 by Belgrave House/Regency Reads

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

No portion of this book may be reprinted in whole or in part, by printing, faxing, E-mail, copying electronically or by any other means without permission of the publisher. For more information, contact Belgrave House, 190 Belgrave Avenue, San Francisco, CA 94117-4228

     http://www.RegencyReads.com

     Electronic sales: [email protected]

This is a work of fiction. All names in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to any person living or dead is coincidental.