He held it up to his right eye. "Whatever you see in the viewfinder will be recorded on film when you press the button. Get it? Do you understand?"
"Amazing." Adam looked around the room, the camera still glued to his eyes. "We speculated it might be a weapon of some sort."
"Weapon?"
"Well," he said sheepishly, "it says cannon."
"Cannon?" Puzzled, she frowned, then realized the truth and laughed. "That's the manufacturer, the company that makes it. Let me have it."
Reluctantly he did so and Maggie took it halfway across the room. "Stand up."
He frowned suspiciously, his eyes narrowed. “Why?”
Maggie laughed. "I'm going to take your picture. Now stand up."
Adam rose to his feet.
"Say cheese." She laughed again at his puzzled look. "Just smile. It doesn't hurt. Although I have heard of primitive tribes who feel taking their picture can capture their souls."
He seemed startled and she grinned, shaking her head. “Don't worry about it. I wouldn't dare capture your soul. Now smile, Coleridge."
Through the viewfinder, Maggie watched a devastating killer smile put a sexy twinkle in his eyes and reveal that lone dimple in his chiseled cheeks. Her heart skipped a beat. No doubt about it, the man was a certified hunk. She stared a shade longer than absolutely necessary to make sure of the focus, a lame excuse in an autofocus camera. Maggie hit the button, took the picture, and set off the flash.
"Bloody hell, what was that?" Adam rubbed his eyes frantically. "You've blinded me! I can't see anything!"
"Oh damn, I'm sorry. I forgot about the flash." Guilt propelled Maggie to his side. “It'll be okay in a second or two. I'm really sorry."
Genuine concern battled with amusement at his plight. After all, he’d never run into anything like this before. Maggie bit her lip to keep from smiling. With a sympathetic expression, she stared up at him.
"It's like looking into the bloody sun." Adam blinked his eyes experimentally. “But you are correct. I seem to be quite recovered now. What was that light?" Curiously, he took the camera from her. "There's no candle here, no gas that I can see. Where did it come from?"
"It's just a little battery-powered electric light." At his questioning look, she groaned. "I can't explain electric power and batteries." She glanced at the camera. "But I can show you how this works and you can take a picture of me."
She stood inches from him, explaining the various parts of the camera and what to do to take the picture. Adam breathed in her heady, spicy scent, listening to her words with only partial attention. How could he concentrate on anything she said when she stood there barely covered by the light wrapper and nightclothes?
She thought she had angered him by cutting short their embrace. In fact, Adam was angry with himself. No matter what concessions he made aloud about twentieth-century women, he firmly believed this creature to be as helpless as the women of his time. She might well have courage and spirit that led her to speak her own mind in a deuced irritating and even infuriating manner. Adam would have dismissed any woman of his time with those qualities from his consideration without a backward glance. But with Maggie, the things that made her so annoying strengthened, in some perverse way, the irresistible attraction she held for him. An attraction made all the greater by their kiss.
He could not remember a mere kiss affecting him that deeply before. Ever. A kiss that seemed to reach to his very soul, closing his mind to everything but the sensation of her lips against his. The feel of her in his arms. The way her body fit in perfect complement to his. No novice to kissing, or what followed, for that matter, Adam nonetheless had a difficult time controlling himself when she pulled away. Loss of control was a unique experience and it shook him in a way no woman ever had.
In spite of her air of independence, she had let him see her vulnerability and fear, confirming a lifetime of beliefs about the fairer sex. No matter how much he wanted her, no matter how much her responses showed she wanted him as well, he would not take advantage of her. He would temper his passions and concentrate on helping her return to her own time. If, of course, that could even be done.
"So, do you think you can do it?" Maggie's question brought Adam's attention back to the matter at hand. The so-called camera device.
"Certainly," He accepted the camera from her with confident enthusiasm. "Stand over there." He gestured to the door. Gazing at her through the viewfinder, he paid less thought to Maggie's instructions than to the way her nightclothes clung to her voluptuous figure. The way her hair flowed freely to a cloud of misty curls at her shoulders. The way that even in the black-and-white tones of this viewfinder thing, sparks shot from eyes he already knew were a brighter green when angered, a deep, almost forest color when aroused.
"Are you going to take a picture or what?"
"Sorry." He prepared to activate the device. If he wanted to keep his intentions toward her honorable he needed to pay more attention to her twentieth century marvels and less to her timeless attributes.
Adam pushed the button and the flash went off. This time he was prepared.
Pride at his accomplishment shone in his eyes. "How was that?"
"It was fine." She grinned in amusement at his satisfied expression.
"When do we see this picture?" he asked eagerly.
"Oh, Coleridge, I'm sorry. It has to be developed."
Sympathetically, Maggie noted his disappointment. He looked like a little boy who had just been given a toy without batteries. ‘'I don't have the skills to process the pictures. Even if I did, I'm sure the chemicals involved haven't been invented yet. I'll get them developed when I get home. But. . ."
A surprising sense of dismay shot through her at the thought. "I guess you won't get to see them."
She wondered at the vague feeling of loss but shook it off.
“How do you propose to go home?" Adam returned to his chair.
"I don't know." She sighed and sank back into her own chair. "I'm not even sure how I got here. All I know is I took a carriage ride with a little old man for a driver." She strained to remember and tried to ignore Adam's intense scrutiny.
"He was quite a philosopher, going on about chances and choices and destiny. It was a foggy night. And all of a sudden, it felt like something hit the carriage. Maybe a car." She glanced at Adam. "Do you understand cars?"
"The vehicles in the pictures?"
She nodded.
"Go on then." He observed her as intently as if she were a bug under a microscope.
"Well, that's about it. It was like I was thrown through the air. I remember hitting something and . . ." Her gaze met Adam's. "The next thing I remember is waking up here. Pretty nuts, isn't it?”
A frown of concentration creased his brow. “It is most unusual."
"I still can't believe this." She shook her head in wonder. "I mean I wake up one morning and it's May 1995, and the next morning I wake up it's l818."
“What was the date in 1995?" Adam said thoughtfully.
“Let's see." She paused, pulling her thoughts together. "We arrived in London on the seventh and we'd been there for five days so it was . . . the twelfth, I think."
"Please be precise."
She fought to remember, drawing her brows together in a puzzled frown. "Okay, let me think. We have—had—tickets to a show on the thirteenth. I remember because they were so hard to get. And that was the next night so . . . yes, it was the twelfth. Definitely May twelfth." She nodded firmly, more than a little pleased with herself.
Adam leaned back and eyed her cautiously. He seemed to choose his words with care. "I do not want to put too much importance on this," he said slowly. "But the night we found you was April twelfth. Disregarding the years, of course, that's a discrepancy of a month."
"A month," she echoed.
"Lydia and I were arriving home after concluding a particularly unpleasant discussion about her future. I had nearly forgotten that," he said. "I mustn't let that business s
lip; however, it doesn't signify at the moment. We were walking to the door when we heard a carriage out of control. There was a great deal of fog so we never actually saw the vehicle."
He leaned forward and gazed into her eyes. "The object you hit was me."
They stared at each other for a long moment, realization hitting simultaneously.
"The carriage," they said in unison.
"That's it!" Maggie shouted with excitement. "That's the answer."
"It does appear so." Adam smiled at her enthusiasm.
“And if the carriage brought me here"—Maggie's mind raced—"it can take me back."
She jumped up and leaned over the desk. "With that month difference maybe I can go back when it's May twelfth here. Oh, Adam, I know it, I feel it. The carriage will come a month from now and I can go home!"
Chapter Five
Adam stared at her green eyes glittering with excitement. Could they have found the answer? Could it possibly be that simple? Merely wait for the right day and a carriage would appear to spirit her back to her own time?
The thought of Maggie vanishing from his life as abruptly as she'd appeared caught Adam by surprise. Not until this moment had he realized how very much he wanted to know this visitor from another time. He wanted to learn more about her world and teach her about his. He wanted to share her thoughts, her feelings, and more. Much more.
But if indeed she would only be with him for less than a month, his desires were not only unwise, they could destroy them both. His resolve to keep his distance strengthened.
"It is certainly plausible," he said lightly, concealing the conflicting emotions. "It seems your stay with us shan't be long after all, if indeed this theory is correct."
"Guess not. Less than a month now, if we're right. And it really feels right." Excitement rang in her voice.
Then it hit her. Less than a month until she returned to 1995. Less than a month to be with this man who affected her like no man ever had. If she returned, and confidence filled her now that she would, he'd be long dead and buried before she was ever born. As strong as the pull between them, involvement with Adam would only break her heart. A weird quirk of fate had brought them together but gave only a tantalizing glimpse of what might have been.
Maggie and Adam fell silent, each deep in their own thoughts. Lydia swept into the room unnoticed. Far more astute than most gave her credit for, she immediately sensed the tension in the air and assumed it had more to do with their obvious attraction to each other than the overwhelming problem of time travel.
Lydia had already noted the sparks between her brother and their houseguest, even while giving the well-practiced appearance of being oblivious to the goings-on around her. She’d developed the skill years ago when she first realized young ladies were not often in demand for their intelligence or perception. She eyed her brother and their guest speculatively. This was going far better than she'd dreamed. Adam had not mentioned that ridiculous husband nonsense once since Maggie's arrival.
"Here you are." Her announced presence startled both Maggie and Adam. "Maggie, you're not dressed yet?"
“Oh I—" She glanced at Adam. “I had other things on my mind."
"Hurry off to your room then," Lydia said in the manner of a beneficent general ordering his troops. "I'll send Jane up to help you dress and . . . have you eaten?”
Maggie shook her head.
"Then I'll have a tray sent up as well. Do try to be quick, we must be off. My modiste has sent word that she needs a fitting as soon as possible. With luck, we shall have your clothes, or many of them anyway, completed by tomorrow."
Flushed with triumph, she turned to Adam. "I told you I could accomplish this. Nearly an entire wardrobe in a matter of a few days."
“What wardrobe?" Maggie asked.
"Why, a wardrobe for you, of course.”
"Lydia,” Adam said quietly, "she's not going to be here long."
Lydia frowned. "Whatever do you mean?"
Adam glanced at Maggie and she signaled for him to explain.
"We believe Maggie came here, to our time, byway of a mysterious carriage on the night of May twelfth. We think she is to return on that same day in our time. Less than a month from now."
"Oh, dear." Lydia's mind raced. This new development could hamper her plans to distract Adam with Maggie. "Are you positive?"
"No," Maggie said quickly. "But it makes sense. I guess we just have to wait and find out."
"I see." It sounded as if this theory had more basis in fancy than fact. And that meant if it was convenient to ignore it, Lydia would. Brightening, she pointed out what to her was far more obvious. "Regardless of the length of time you'll be with us, you will need to be attired in the
latest stare of fashion." She smiled impishly. "After all, you are a distant relation of the Earl of Ridgewood, remember? Now go along. I'll see you in the foyer when you're ready."
With one last glance at Adam, Maggie left the library.
Lydia turned to her brother, who seemed distant, lost in his own thoughts. "Adam, whatever is the matter?"
"What? Oh, nothing, nothing to concern you. Just pondering this whole confounded situation." He bestowed a tolerant smile on his sister. "Take care of this wardrobe business and I will deal with the rest."
She stared at him for a long moment. That condescending attitude he adopted whenever anything of extreme importance came along had irritated her since childhood. Very often, she refused to put up with it. But this time perhaps it was wiser not to distract him from Maggie's problems by doing battle head on. His words dissolved the twinge of guilt she might have felt by playing with the lives of two people who might not possibly have any future together.
***
The trip to the dressmaker occupied Maggie and Lydia for most of the day. Maggie never appreciated the ease and convenience of mass-produced, off-the-rack clothing until forced to act as a human mannequin for some French-accented seamstress. But she had to admit, the woman was a genius. The clothes she whipped up were absolutely gorgeous. Maggie chastised Lydia more than once for the vast amount of money being spent and the wide array of clothing Lydia insisted she needed.
"Really, Maggie." Lydia sighed after one particularly heated debate when the modiste and her assistants left them alone. "I'm sure I know what you require far better than you."
Maggie tried to interrupt but Lydia quieted her with a stern glance and continued. "The clothes you arrived in and the ones I've seen displayed in your magazines may very well be suited for the life you are used to leading. But in my life they simply will not do. So, please, allow me to deal with what I know best."
"But ball gowns?" Maggie shuddered. “Do I really need ball gowns?"
“Of course." Lydia sounded surprised that she would even ask such a question. "Maggie, it's the height of the season. Adam has ignored invitations since you've arrived, not that he accepts many anyway, but there are obligations he—and I—are committed to. It would hardly do to leave you home alone. Besides”—a twinkle shimmered in her eye—“you shall have a wonderful time. There is nothing like a soiree or, better still, a ball with a huge crush of people and, of course, the waltz to make you feel just the thing."
"Waltz?" Maggie groaned. "I don't know how to waltz."
Lydia frowned. "Well, I know it is still not considered acceptable everywhere, but I assumed everyone knew how to waltz by now. Surely in your time . . . ?"
"We don't waltz," Maggie said miserably.
"What do you do? Country dances or quadrilles perhaps?"
"Not exactly." Maggie searched for the right words. "Dancing is a kind of freestyle thing."
"Freestyle?" Lydia frowned in confusion. "I fear I have no idea what you mean. At any rate, it doesn't signify because here we waltz. We will have to teach you. Or rather, Adam will. He's quite wonderful and very sought after as a partner when he deigns to make an appearance."
"Really? How nice," Maggie said coolly, surprised how annoying she found tha
t bit of information.
"Oh, my, yes." Lydia continued, apparently oblivious to Maggie's attempt at nonchalance. "Adam is considered quite a catch on the marriage mart. He has a significant fortune, a well-respected name and title, and, even though he is my brother, I have to admit he is an extremely handsome figure of a man. I have lost count of the number of eager girls and ambitious mamas who have set their caps at him in the past."
“So how has he escaped?" Maggie pretended more interest in the piece of silk she fingered than in the answer to her question.
"I daresay I don't know," Lydia replied just as lightly. "Before Father died, Adam was considered quite a rake. Gambling and wenching and such. He had a rather unsavory reputation with a wide variety of women. In fact, at the time, I'm not sure a decent family would have had him for their daughter in spite of his wealth and position. Although there were some who still insisted on throwing their daughters at him.
"He came close to marriage once, but I always thought it more a matter of convenience than any genuine affection on his part. I'm not sure Adam ever realized how taken the young woman was with him. I've always thought she read far more into his attentions than was called for. Adam always considered the marriage mart something of a game. He broke a fair number of hearts."
"Adam Coleridge? The same stuffy, uptight Adam Coleridge I've met?” Maggie scoffed. "That's really hard to believe."
“Nonetheless, it's true. Adam flirted with proper young ladies from the best families but gave his full attention to those who were, well, rather less than proper. I'm not supposed to know about such things, but people, especially servants, do talk. And if one is simply observant . . ." Lydia shrugged.
“At any rate, when Father died, seven years ago this summer, Adam changed dramatically. After the funeral he locked himself away for nearly two months. Refused to come out of the library, Father's library, at Ridgewood Manor. It was quite frightening. He would not talk to anyone and barely ate enough to live. The servants muttered that he had gone quite mad.
"When he finally came out, he made no mention of exactly what he did during that time and quite honestly I was afraid to ask. I was barely sixteen. Adam was all the family I had left and"—she sighed deeply—"I was concerned about his health and his mind. And he seemed fine, just extremely different. Much more sedate and controlled. Reformed, if you will.
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