When You Wish

by Alexandra Ivy

  Hearing the click of the latch, Miss Cresswell abruptly turned to regard him with wide eyes. Within a heartbeat her expression was effectively guarded.

  “My lord.”

  He moved to stand before her rigid form. “What is troubling you?”

  “Nothing,” she readily lied, her hands clenched at her sides.

  “Mr. Winchell appeared to upset you.”

  “That is absurd.”

  Cedric drew in an annoyed breath. Why did she have to be so blasted independent? Could she not realize he simply wished to help?

  “Miss Cresswell . . . Emma, I may not be a renowned scholar, but I am not precisely stupid,” he said gently. “You nearly fainted when you caught sight of Mr. Winchell.”

  She abruptly turned from him, as if she feared what he might read in her eyes.

  “I was merely surprised to discover him in Kent.”

  “But the vicar specifically told us that Mr. Winchell would be visiting.”

  “I ... did not recognize the name. It has been some time since we were acquainted.”

  Moving forward, he reached out a hand to stroke the line of her tense shoulder. He longed to pull her into his arms and hold her close, but he was wise enough to realize that he might only frighten her away.

  “Emma, if you are in trouble or danger, you must know that you could tell me. I would do everything in my power to protect you.”

  He felt the fine tremor that shook her body. “There is nothing you can do.”

  His heart gave a painful jolt at the hint of despair in her voice. Damn Mr. Winchell. If he discovered the man was indeed the cause of Emma’s distress, he would beat him with his own cane.

  “You have not allowed me to try,” he pointed out in firm tones.

  “Please, I am fine, my lord. You must return to your guests.”

  “Emma . . .”

  “Excuse me.”

  With a speed that he had not expected, she was moving across the carpet and through a side door that led into a rarely used corridor. Cedric knew that he would never catch her before she had raced up the stairs and locked herself in her chambers.

  He heaved a rueful sigh.

  The day had begun with such promise.

  He had devoted a great deal of time and attention to his surprise picnic. So much attention that he occasionally paused to wonder at his preoccupation with the delectable Miss Cresswell. After all, it was one thing to enjoy stealing a kiss from a beautiful maiden or to even be curious about the mystery surrounding her presence in Kent. But to spend three days plotting the best means of bringing a smile to her lips . . . well, that rather smacked of a gentleman who desired more than a passing flirtation.

  He had managed to dismiss his niggling concern with the rationalization that Miss Cresswell was in dire need of a bit of pleasure in her life. She had been so obviously delighted with the passing theater troupe and even the simple roses he bestowed upon her. Soon she would be leaving for her dreary life as a companion. Surely it was his duty to provide her with some amusement before she was gone forever?

  Cedric glanced toward the door, knowing he should return to the guests. It was hardly done to simply abandon them in the parlor. But at the moment he was in no humor to play the entertaining host. In fact, he very much feared that if he returned to the parlor, he might attempt to force Mr. Winchell to confess the truth of his arrival in Kent. Even if he had to choke it out of him.

  With a shake of his head, he quit the library and used the servants’ staircase to take him into the garden. His groom would bring home his carriage. He felt in dire need of a bit of fresh air to clear his thoughts.

  He gave a small shiver at the sharp breeze, but hunching his shoulders, he followed the paved path to the parkland. He had just angled toward the copse of trees, when a sudden call had him glancing up in surprise.

  “Ho, Cedric.”

  His heart sank at the sight of Bart leaning upon his shovel. He knew he could not pass by without at least a brief visit.

  “Good afternoon, Bart.” Cedric moved to regard the fine hole that the gentleman had created. “I see you have been busy.”

  “Aye, I am getting close. I feel it in my bones.”

  Cedric’s smile was decidedly wry. “Then you are fortunate.”

  Although eccentric, Bart could be surprisingly perceptive on occasion.

  “What’s this? A bit blue-deviled on this fine day?”

  More than a bit, Cedric acknowledged to himself. And the worse part was that he didn’t know why.

  It was not his concern if Emma knew Mr. Winchell far more intimately than a distant acquaintance. Or if his arrival had only deepened the shadows that she kept shrouded around her.

  Had she not made it clear that she did not desire his assistance? That she would, indeed, prefer him not to meddle in her affairs?

  So why was his mood suddenly as dark as a brooding thundercloud?

  “Perhaps a bit,” he reluctantly admitted.

  Bart gave a loud snort. “Woman trouble, I make no doubt.”

  Cedric raised his brows at the unexpected accusation. “Why would you presume any such thing?”

  “Only two things give a gentleman the blue devils. Losing a battle or tangling with a female. You haven’t been in a battle, have you?”

  “Only a mild skirmish with the vicar,” Cedric admitted in dry tones.

  “Then it is a female.”

  Cedric grimaced. “Miss Cresswell.”

  A glint of comprehension dawned in the older gentleman’s eye. “Ah, the lovely companion.”

  “She is lovely,” Cedric agreed. “And perverse and most certainly hiding some secret.”

  Bart abruptly straightened. “A spy?”

  “No, nothing so dramatic.”

  Reassured he was not harboring a dastardly sneak, Bart shrugged.

  “If she’s not a spy, then her secrets be her own.”

  It was precisely what Cedric had told himself only moments before, but Cedric found it impossible to dismiss the maiden from his thoughts.

  “They are too heavy a burden for such a young lady. She is so brittle from the strain, I fear she might shatter.”

  Bart leaned forward, as if able to read something within Cedric’s expression. Then he gave a slow nod of his head.

  “I begin to understand. A wounded sparrow.”

  “What?”

  “As a lad, you were forever dragging home some poor creature that had been injured or was ill. Cassie was never certain what she might encounter when she entered your chambers.”

  A reluctant smile curved Cedric’s lips as he recalled his small menagerie. Not a day passed without him caring for a half dozen different rodents, reptiles, and birds. It said something of Cassie’s sweet temperament that she had not forbidden him to bring them into Mayford.

  “Ah, yes, I recall her rather dramatic reaction to the frog that escaped to the drawing room.”

  “You believed you could save anything.”

  “It at least seemed my duty to make the attempt.”

  “Clearly you still feel it your duty,” Bart said in pointed tones.

  Cedric shrugged. It was a tidy explanation. Perhaps Emma did manage to stir his natural instinct to protect her from harm. But that certainly did not explain his fierce desire to pull her into his arms. Or the highly improper dreams that made him awaken with an aching sense of need.

  “I doubt that Miss Cresswell would appreciate being likened to a stray animal.”

  Bart gave a knowing nod of his head. “Nor will she be so eager to be saved.”

  “So I have discovered.”

  With a sudden frown Bart reached out to place a hand on Cedric’s shoulder.

  “Be careful, lad.”

  “Of Miss Cresswell?” he demanded in surprise.

  “No greater danger to a sensible gent than a damsel in distress,” he explained.

  “I merely dislike seeing her so troubled.”

  “Aye, that is how it always begi
ns,” Bart scoffed. “You do a kind deed and next you are popping around to see that she is well and next you are mooning about the color of her eyes or the manner she moves across the room. A wretched business.”

  Cedric ruefully acknowledged that there were worse things to moon over than eyes the color of emeralds and the graceful sway of slender hips.

  “I would not think it all wretched,” he confessed.

  Bart’s hand dropped as he gave a disgusted shake of his head. “Bah. You are as noddy as your uncle. He couldn’t leap into the parson’s mousetrap swiftly enough. I tried to tell him how it would be, but he claimed that he could not live without Cassie. Beef-witted, I say.”

  “Uncle Fredrick never appeared to rue his decision,” Cedric could not resist pointing out.

  Bart gave a disgusted shake of his head. “Like I said, beef-witted.”

  Cedric’s lips twitched. “Perhaps.”

  His tone was offhand, but Bart’s gaze slowly narrowed in an accusing manner.

  “I recognize that expression.”

  “What expression?”

  “You will walk the plank and be happy for it.”

  For no reason Cedric could imagine, he felt a rash of alarm tingle through his body.

  “Do not toss me overboard too quickly, Bart,” he warned.

  “I fear you have tossed yourself over,” the older man mourned. “There is nothing left but to wish you happy.”

  Cedric gave a click of his tongue. Only Bart could liken love to walking the plank, he told himself. Or to confuse the desire to help another as an unspoken declaration.

  It was ridiculous.

  “I must be off,” Cedric muttered. “Good luck with your digging.”

  “Aye, and luck be with you, my poor boy.”

  Ten

  Slipping into the small copse of trees, Emma heaved a sigh of relief. She was certain that she had not been spotted when she had slipped quietly from the house. At least not by Lady Hartshore or the distinguished gentleman who had just arrived at Mayford.

  She had spent the entire morning on edge, waiting for her father to make his appearance. It had been too much to hope that he would have sensed her open lack of welcome and simply returned to London.

  Solomon Cresswell considered no one but himself, and if he decided he wished to speak with his daughter, then nothing would stop him. Least of all concern for Emma’s desire in the matter.

  Moving deeper into the trees, she kept securely out of sight of the main house. She would wait at least half an hour, she decided, before returning. Surely within that time even her father would have come to the conclusion she did not wish to speak with him.

  She paced through the pathways, turning to retrace her steps, and then started over again. She tried not to think of her father seated with Lady Hartshore, no doubt charming her with his easy wit. Or the knowledge his experienced eye was no doubt assessing the priceless works of art that were openly displayed throughout the house.

  The mere thought was enough to make her shudder in dread.

  “Good morning, Emma.”

  Startled out of her dark thoughts, Emma whirled around to discover the Devilish Dandy regarding her with a faint smile.

  As yesterday, he was once again attired in a severe black coat and breeches, with those absurd glasses perched upon his nose. A startling change from his usual preference for brilliant silks and lace. Only the lazy amusement in the green eyes was familiar.

  “Father. What are you doing here?”

  “I did warn you that I would be calling today.” He cast a placid gaze at the trees. “Which is why I presume you are hiding.”

  The accusation of cowardice scraped at her pride, even if it was true.

  “I am not hiding.”

  “No?”

  “No. I merely do not believe we have anything to say to each other.”

  His smile never faltered. “Surely you wish to know why I have come to Kent?”

  Emma lifted her hand to her emerald pendant. “I presume you are either fleeing from the authorities or are in need of money. Those are the only occasions you seem to recall you possess daughters.”

  “Egads.” The Devilish Dandy gave a startled laugh. “I see that time has not dulled that brutal tongue, Emma.”

  She struggled to ignore her pang of guilt. Solomon Cresswell had never given her any reason to trust him.

  “Why should I not speak the truth?”

  “I assure you that on this occasion I did not see you out for protection or to plead for a bit of the ready,” he assured her wryly. “Indeed, I have come with every intention of offering you my assistance.”

  Far from reassured, Emma regarded him warily. Her father helped no one unless there was some reward in it for himself.

  “Then I fear you have made a wasted journey. I desire nothing from you.”

  “Will you not at least allow me to explain?”

  “Why should I?”

  Emma heard him heave a faint sigh. “You are right, of course. I have always been a selfish beast with little consideration beyond my own desires. It was not until I was lodged in Newgate, contemplating my imminent death, that I realized how my sins have harmed my daughters. Until that moment it had all been a game. Now I wish to make amends.”

  Emma shuddered as she recalled those horrible days when they awaited the Devilish Dandy to be carted to the noose. Regardless of what he had done, she could not bear the thought of him dying in such a ghastly fashion.

  Still, she was no guidable fool. It would take more than a passing brush with death to alter her father’s frivolous disregard for others.

  “Very pretty, but somewhat late, would you not say?”

  “I do hope not, Emma. I may not be the father you desire, but unfortunately I am the only one you possess.”

  “I have done quite well without a father,” she informed him crisply. “I am very capable of taking care of myself.”

  He gave a slow nod of acknowledgment. “Yes, I have always admired that about you, my dear. Such fierce independence.”

  “I had little choice.”

  “No, you didn’t. But matters have changed now.”

  Her wariness only deepened at his smooth words. “What do you mean?”

  “As I said, my delightful stay within the walls of Newgate was an enlightening experience.” His expression became uncommonly somber as he studied her pale features. “I came to realize that there was nothing more important in my life than my daughters. I made a promise to myself that if I got out of there alive, I would do everything in my power to ensure their happiness.”

  Unsettled by the seeming sincerity in his voice, Emma wrapped her arms around her waist. Her father was a master at making others believe what he wished them to believe.

  “Really? And how do you propose to do that?”

  He remained immune to her prickly disbelief. “I wish to give you what you have always desired.”

  “What?”

  “True independence.”

  Emma flinched as if she had been slapped.

  How dare he?

  How dare he mock the simple dream that meant so much to her?

  “That is not amusing,” she gritted out.

  “It was not intended to be amusing.” He reached up to pluck the absurd glasses from his nose. The green eyes glittered with a sudden intensity. “I wish to give you a monthly allowance. It will be large enough to ensure you can rent a house and even hire a proper companion to lend you all the respectability you desire.”

  Emma stumbled backward. It was not at all what she had been expecting. Good heavens, she would have been less shocked had he requested she help filch the crown jewels. That at least would have been in character with the Devilish Dandy.

  But this ...

  With an effort Emma drew herself up straight. She did not know how her father had deduced how best to tempt her. Before this moment she would have laid odds he did not even know the color of her eyes. But she did know that she was no
t about to sell her forgiveness for a few hundred pounds.

  “No.”

  Her father remained unperturbed by her sharp refusal. “You needn’t fear the money was stolen from some poor wretch, Emma,” he drawled. “It is a perfectly proper legacy from a great-uncle.”

  Her lips thinned. She did not give a fig where the money came from. She would not be beholden to this man.

  “I do not need anything from you.”

  “We have already agreed upon your competence, my dear. I do not offer the money because I fear you are too dull-witted to manage without me. I merely wish you to have it as a gift.”

  Visions of the Trojan horse rose to mind.

  “Why?”

  He gave a rueful shrug. “Because I have been a horrid father. Because I do not desire to see you hiring yourself out as a common servant. Because I wish you to have a home.”

  Oh, he was good, Emma had to acknowledge wryly. There were no arrogant commands. No embarrassing pleas. No ultimatums. Just sweet temptation dangled before her like a fine wine before a drunkard.

  It was little wonder he had enjoyed such a brilliant career.

  “I do not need your charity.”

  “Charity? Really, Emma, I hardly consider a father supporting his daughter as charity.”

  “Perhaps not among most fathers and daughters. But ours is hardly a common relationship.”

  The Devilish Dandy readily smiled at her accusation. “No, I have never been of the common variety, but that does not make me any less your father.”

  She heaved an exasperated sigh at his tenacity. “I do not wish to argue with you. I have made my decision.”

  Her father reached out to brush her cheek in a familiar motion. “I have no desire to argue either, Emma, but neither do I intend to concede defeat. Sarah warned me that I should find it easier to teach cows to fly as to convince you to accept my offer. Thankfully, I am quite as stubborn as you. I shall remain in Kent as long as necessary.”

  She instinctively stepped form his touch, a frown marring her brow.

  “You cannot continue to stay with Mr. Allensway.”

  Solomon grimaced. “A most daunting prospect, I must admit. He is a ghastly bore. Still, my willingness to endure such company should at least assure you of the sincerity of my desire to make amends.”