Maggie gazed up at Adam with delight. He really was tall. She'd noticed his height earlier, how he always seemed to be towering above her. But some flaring emotion usually prevented her from paying any attention to something as mundane as height, at least in their encounters so far. At five feet, four inches, Maggie was used to being on the short side, used to looking up at most men. Adam was a good ten inches taller. And tall men brought out the best—or was it the worst?—in her.
Adam's already familiar smile of amusement played on his lips. "Are you quite ready?"
"I suppose." She drew a deep, nervous breath. “What's first?"
"Do you know nothing at all about dancing?" An eyebrow rose in surprise.
“Of course I do. I'm not stupid." Maggie bristled at his condescending attitude. "I'll have you know my mother made me take ballroom dancing when I was a kid."
"And that was . . . how long ago?" The smile widened into a definite grin.
"Don't be so smug. I'm just not used to this. I'd like to see how you'd do dumped in a totally new environment."
The defense of her lack of social skills seemed a source of incredible amusement to him. Annoyed, Maggie made a concerted effort to stay calm. "But I've always been a fast learner, so let's get going."
"My pleasure."
"I'll bet," she muttered under her breath.
The infuriating grin still plastered on his face, Adam nodded to Lydia to begin playing. He took Maggie's right hand in his left. Placing his other hand firmly on the small of her back, he pulled her tight.
Very tight.
"Are we supposed to be this close?" She gasped, knowing full well her shortness of breath had little to do with his tight grasp, and everything to do with the pressure of his hard, firm body against hers.
"Yes." He gazed into her eyes and she lost herself in the excitement they promised, the desire they revealed. Swept away on a tide of nerve-tingling anticipation, Maggie barely noticed Adam sweeping her off her feet literally as well.
"You are doing far better than I expected," he said, a note of approval in his voice.
"What?" Jerked back to reality, Maggie promptly stumbled, stopping them both in their tracks. "Sorry."
What was wrong with her? Every time she looked into this man's eyes, every time he touched her, she turned positively worthless. If this kept up she wouldn't need to worry about any kind of involvement with him. She'd simply melt into a small puddle at his feet and that would be that.
Squaring her shoulders and taking another deep breath, she glared up at him. The amused, vaguely superior expression she found so irritating remained on his face, almost as if . . .
He couldn't possibly know what she was thinking. Or what happened to her when he came within twenty feet.
Could he?
"Shall we continue?" He drew her into his arms once again.
Maggie nodded and concentrated on following his lead and listening to Lydia's music. She caught on quickly and in no time waltzed with Adam as easily as if they'd danced together all their lives.
Her confidence grew and she relaxed, turning her attention toward the man holding her securely in his arms. She promised herself that this time he wouldn't get the upper hand.
"So how am I doing?" She tilted her face toward his.
"Excellent." Adam smiled and tightened his already firm grip.
He had not held her like this before, and he found the feel of her supple body against his delicious beyond all expectation. Hard-pressed to continue the lesson, he reveled in the scent of her hair, the delicate placement of her hand in his, the remarkable sensation of her breasts brushing against his chest.
He longed to reach down and nuzzle the sensitive point on her neck, savor the taste of her skin beneath his lips. Beyond all reason, he wanted to sweep her into his arms and carry her to the nearest secluded spot. To hell with waiting for her to burn as hotly for him as he wanted—no—needed. As he whirled her around the dance floor, her eyes darkened, their emerald tone deepening to the color of a forest glade.
He had seen that color before. He would not have to wait long.
Maggie tossed her head back and laughed with the sheer exhilaration of flying across the room in Adam's arms. In the grip of a sensation nearly as powerful as his touch, Maggie marveled that women ever let the art of waltzing escape them. Granted, the dance was not really suited to social functions of the late twentieth century. But, oh, what a glorious feeling. Her dress swirled around her ankles. Her feet barely skimmed the floor.
Adam executed a particularly intricate move and Maggie followed his lead effortlessly.
"Very good," he murmured, appreciation glowing in his eyes.
"Thanks." Satisfaction rang in her voice. "I told you I was a fast learner. I'm a natural at stuff like this."
"A natural?"
Laughter bubbled from her lips. "Some things just come easy, naturally, like dancing."
"What else comes naturally?" Adam stared down at her, his face the picture of innocence.
"All kinds of things." Maggie tossed off the words lightly, but her glance dared him to go on.
"Indeed," he responded softly, his voice a caress, sending chills of anticipation up her spine. "Can you be more explicit?"
Her eyes locked with his. Drawn into their velvety depths, she read acknowledgment of her dare, and acceptance. She laughed with delight and confidence.
Maggie conceded last night's defeat but she wouldn't lose round two.
She wouldn't let her emotions carry her away. She wouldn't fall in love. And as much fun as verbally fencing with him was, right now perhaps discretion really was the better part of valor and a change of subject was in order.
"Have you thought any more about my little problem?"
"Problem?" He looked perplexed.
"You remember? I'm not from around here."
"Oh, of course." Comprehension dawned on his face. "I have thought of little else but you. And of course your problem."
Was it her or did everything he said have a double meaning? “And . . .”
"I have considered your conclusions." An amused smile played on his lips and he looked down at her. “But let us take your assumptions a little further, shall we? For the sake of argument, say the reason you came here in the first place was because this is where you ultimately belong. You were fated, destined, to come here. This is, if you'll forgive the expression, your future."
Startled by his suggestion, she stared. "I hadn't thought of that."
"Well, perhaps it is something you should think about." He abruptly seemed far more serious and intense. His eyes darkened with meaning that sent desire rippling through her. Once again she abandoned herself to the music and the movement and the man.
If not for the circumstances, if this were her own time and place, she might not ignore the tiny voice inside whispering that perhaps this was indeed her fate. That Adam, perhaps, in all the world, in all of time itself, was the one man right for her.
But it wasn't different.
In spite of their discussion of rules and her future, Maggie's belief that she didn't belong here and would be leaving stayed firm. She was a twentieth-century woman with all the baggage that entailed, including independence and a sense of equality as well as a definite need for panty hose, television, and microwaves. There was no way she was fated to live her life in a place where indoor plumbing was considered up-to-date.
As for Adam, she wanted him and didn't doubt he wanted her as well. There wasn't anything wrong with that. Not for a woman of the 1990s. But in spite of her thoroughly modern ideas could she really have Adam on those terms? No emotions, no commitments, just enjoy the moment? Could she handle it?
This wouldn't be an easy game to play. The stakes were high.
For Maggie, defeat meant losing her heart.
Forever.
***
Lydia’s gaze followed the couple as they twirled upon the polished floor. They danced for nearly an hour and Lydia was pleased
with how quickly Maggie mastered the steps. Always in excellent form, Adam never failed to make his partners look good. But even Lydia had to admit, not quite this good. Adam and Maggie danced as one, as if halves of the same whole.
Lydia frowned. She did not want her brother heartbroken, merely distracted, and she certainly did not believe Maggie's nonsense about leaving in a month. Whatever unexplained force tossed her here in the first place could not possibly be relied on to snatch her back.
When most people looked at Lydia they never saw past the blond curls, pert nose, and amber eyes. They never suspected that hidden within the willowy body beat a heart of pure logic. It simply did not make sense that Maggie's arrival was without purpose. As no other purpose presented itself, Lydia reasonably assumed that, since she had, after all, come on the night of Adam's ultimatum, Maggie's purpose was to help Lydia avoid a forced, arranged marriage.
Perfectly logical.
Lydia’s touch lightened on the keys and the notes drifted to a close. Maggie and Adam continued to dance, never noticing the music had stopped. A satisfied smile crossed her lips.
"Very good!” Lydia clapped her hands and flitted across the floor. The dancers drew apart; only their eyes still met.
"Maggie, you have done beautifully," Lydia said. "Hasn't she, Adam?"
"Beautifully." Adam’s gaze lingered on Maggie.
"Thanks." Maggie addressed Lydia but her attention remained on Adam.
Lydia studied them critically. She could easily take her time. Neither seemed to notice her presence. Her plan was working quite nicely. "Really excellent, Maggie. You should have no problems tonight.”
“Tonight?" Maggie gasped, her focus now firmly fixed on Lydia.
"Of course tonight. We're going to the Duke and Duchess of Broadmore's ball." Lydia strove for a look of innocence. "Didn’t I mention it?"
"No, you didn't mention it." Maggie turned a pleading expression to Adam. “Not tonight. I'm not ready. I can't."
Lydia sniffed. "You will simply refuse all dances except the waltz, which you obviously have a gift for, and follow my example. You shall not only be fine, you shall have a delightful evening.”
"Coleridge," Maggie said.
"I'm afraid, my dear, Lydia is very probably right," Adam agreed, a sympathetic note underlying his words. "The incident in the park has brought you to the attention of the ton. Many are beginning to wonder why they have not seen you publicly. I believe it is time. You can dance and beyond that—“
"I know, I know." Maggie sighed. "Keep my mouth shut. I have—what was it? Oh yeah, a ‘nasty temper’ and a ‘vulgar vocabulary.’ "
"But," Adam leaned over and whispered softly in her ear, "you aren't at all stuffy and there definitely is romance in your soul."
Chapter Nine
Maggie surveyed the Duke's grand ballroom with curiosity. Her hand crept up to touch the filigree heart nestled in the hollow of her throat. The metal warmed by her skin boosted her courage and confidence. So did Adam. The look of stunned amazement on his face when she appeared dressed for the ball confirmed what her mirror already told her. She looked fantastic, like a princess from a storybook. Maggie's build and height were as much made for the style of the times as this dress had been made for her.
The delicate green ball gown highlighted her eyes, emphasized the red tones in her hair, accented her creamy skin. The dress molded to her curves, the high waist complementing her well-endowed figure. At first the extremely low-cut neckline seemed far too revealing and she wondered if she looked as naked as she felt. But Adam's gaze lingered appreciatively on the exposed swell of her breasts and her reservations vanished.
Maggie sailed through the receiving line with ease, thanks to the subtle guidance of Adam and Lydia. The introduction to her hosts, the Duke and Duchess of Whatsit, went without a hitch. Of course, only Maggie thought of them as Whatsit. Remembering names was not her forte, and since they insisted on tacking titles on everyone, well, she might as well give up right now. Maggie barely had time to take in the spectacle around her before she and Lydia were surrounded by men clamoring for their attention.
"Maggie, I'd like to introduce you to Lord Crofton and Lord Wells. This is Lord Handley and this is Mr. Ainsworth. Gentlemen, may I present Miss Margaret Masterson, visiting from America."
Lydia introduced her with a skill and speed that left Maggie struggling with a severe case of sensory overload.
“And you must meet Lord So and So, and of course here is the ever so charming Lord Such and Such."
In the whirl of introductions, names and faces blurred into a kaleidoscope of confusion. But within moments Maggie understood two basic facts about life in 1818 that lifted her confidence yet again. One, these men were all extremely charming and obviously interested in her. And two, regardless of whether it was the nineteenth century or the twentieth century or very probably the thirty-second century, flirting in any time was pretty much the same. Maggie was a master of that fine art.
Fortunately it wasn't especially difficult to maintain the "keep your mouth shut" advice and still disarm the gentlemen around her. After all, they didn't expect brains in a pretty woman, or any woman, according to Lydia. And while Maggie didn't flaunt her intelligence, she did use it to her advantage.
"Delighted to meet you, Miss Masterson." One of the crowd grasped her gloved hand in his and lifted it to his lips. "How long will you be gracing our fair city?”
"My plans are indefinite at the moment.” She hedged and gave the man before her a teasing smile. He wasn't quite as tall as Adam but she still had to look up at pale blue eyes set in a pleasant face, surrounded by sandy brown hair. His stocky build conveyed a sense of power, and Maggie thought him quite attractive. In fact, all the men she met were attractive. Had men lost something through the centuries or did the formal black-and-white attire make any man look great?
"I'm afraid I didn’t quite catch your name."
"Maggie," Lydia cut in, "this is Lord Lindley."
"Miss Masterson, I hope I shall have the pleasure of a dance?"
His request threw Maggie momentarily and panic surged in her chest. She wasn't sure how to explain, what exactly to say. Before she could, Adam appeared at her elbow.
"Miss Masterson is regrettably sorry, but since she is recently arrived from America, she is not familiar with our dances. She does waltz, but as her relative I'm afraid I cannot possibly allow her to partner anyone outside the family."
Maggie struggled to contain a relieved giggle.
"Extremely sorry, but I’m certain you understand." He steered her toward the dance floor, leaving Lord Lindley with a strange, considering expression on his face that said he didn’t understand at all.
Adam and Maggie took their positions, one of his hands holding hers, the other on the small of her back. A loop around her free wrist held up her skirt, and a fan dangled from her hand.
"I thought it was against the rules to dance with any man more than twice?" A teasing lilt lightened her tone.
"It is perfectly acceptable," he said loftily. "I am your relation."
"But you aren't, really."
"But I could be." His eyes darkened and he swept her into the dance at the start of the music. Taken aback, Maggie nearly stumbled. What the hell was he trying to say? She stared at him but he avoided her gaze, and she reluctantly turned her attention to the dance and the dancers.
Like a setting out of an epic movie, the huge ballroom glittered in gold and crystal. Elaborately dressed women in rainbow hues shimmered with jewels. Men, some in radiant colors but most in black-and-white formal dress, radiated wealth and power. It was all so wonderfully British. Maggie had to remind herself this was no scene from a PBS drama. This was real. And for now she was part of it.
The music died, and Maggie and Adam swayed to a stop at the edge of the dance floor. She opened her mouth to ask what Adam meant by his earlier cryptic comment.
“Ridgewood! Adam!" A rich, masculine voice interrupted her tho
ughts.
"Richard!" Adam's face shone with pleasure.
Maggie turned toward the voice. A tall, ruggedly handsome man with a wide grin approached them, accompanied by a lovely blonde nearly as tall.
"Adam, it has been far too long.” The two men slapped each other on the back exuberantly. Maggie wondered if this was male bonding nineteenth century style and noted how their action had the same feel of men giving each other a high five, or football players patting each other on the butt. Some things really didn't ever change.
"I know. I've been remiss in not keeping up with old friends." Adam cast an admiring glance at the blonde. “But since your marriage I assumed you to have more important things on your mind."
The woman smiled knowingly.
Adam turned to Maggie. "Maggie, this is Lord and Lady Westbrooke, Richard and Amanda. This is Miss Margaret Masterson, a distant relation of ours from America.”
"America, how wonderful!" Amanda exclaimed with delight. “I, too, am from America. Philadelphia. “Where precisely are you from?"
"Denver," Maggie said without thinking. “Colorado.”
At Amanda's blank look, Maggie realized her mistake. She searched her mind, frantically looking for a way out of this dilemma. Where the hell was she from? Colorado . . County. That’s it! Denver in Colorado County. In . . . oh . . ."
What states were there in 1818? She glared in desperation at Adam. He shrugged helplessly and. . . Good God, she was in trouble now! He raised both eyebrows!
“Oh . . ." Tottering on the brink of panic, Maggie struggled to think. "Oh . . ." Come on! Name a state!
“Oh. . . hio?"
Recognition registered on Amanda's face and she frowned. "I'm afraid I am not very familiar with Ohio. Much is still frontier, is it not?"
“Oh, yeah." Maggie sighed with relief and felt as if she’d just won Final Jeopardy. "It's very rustic, rural, very rural. Lots of frontier. Trees, too. Lots and lots of big, big trees. And, um, bears. There are bears. . . "
"I believe you mentioned a breath of fresh air earlier?" Adam finally came to her rescue and took her arm. “Richard, we shall speak later." He nodded to Amanda and directed Maggie away.
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