He continued to stare and she noted a glimmer of hope in his eyes, followed quickly by disdain. Maggie knew without words this man wondered how someone like her could possibly know what his life was like. And she also knew, sadly, he was right.
He turned back toward the horse and the pair sat silently a few moments. "I been thinkin' I might try me luck in America." He glanced at her quickly. "You're from there, ain't ye?"
She laughed and leaned back on the bench. "What gave me away?"
He flashed her an almost wounded look at the sarcasm and she immediately repented. "Sorry," she said again, promising herself to take him seriously. She considered his comment in silence.
"That's not a bad idea," she said slowly. "America has a lot to offer, especially now." She warmed to the subject and realized how much did lie ahead. "There's nearly an entire continent to explore and settle. Natural resources are in abundance. Land. Adventure. A chance for a good future. You could do a lot worse, you know." She stared at him pointedly.
"I hear there's a lot of opportunity in America.” He flashed her a grin. "For an honest man."
She caught the gleam in his eye and laughed. They rode the rest of the way forging bonds of an odd friendship. In spite of the kidnapping and the head bashing, he was taking her home and he certainly didn't have to. She told him all about America, as much as she could remember from history, here and there embellishing a bit to make her country sound even more attractive. She wasn't sure why she wanted this thief-turned-kidnapper-turned-reluctant-rescuer to have a better life. Somehow the idea just seemed right.
In turn, he told her about his life. He had eight kids and never enough to eat. His parents were farmers but he was orphaned at an early age and ran away to the city. Still, farming was where his heart lay. Maggie nodded sagely, confident America in 1818 was a great place for farmers, even though the chance of somebody like him coming up with enough money for passage for a family of ten was pretty farfetched.
He reined in the horse and the wagon rolled to a stop. ‘'Begin' your pardon, miss, but I'll be leavin’ ye here."
Maggie glanced around quickly. The area looked somewhat familiar.
"We're still a wee bit aways from the house we nabbed you in. Right down that street there. But"—he shrugged and looked apologetic—"I can't be takin' the risk that someone ain't out lookin' for ye. And me."
Maggie understood. "Sure, I see what you mean. No problem." She turned and jumped off the wagon, then impulsively turned back and gazed up at him. "Look, you didn't have to bring me this far, and you haven't gotten anything out of tonight. Aside from bruises, that is." She grinned. "I think Adam would be more than willing to pay a reward. Maybe we could get you that passage to America."
“I ain't takin' charity," he said gruffly.
"No, you'd rather steal.” She shot him an impatient glare. “It's not charity." She took a deep breath and forced herself to be calm, continuing in a gentle yet firm voice. "Listen, it's a reward. You helped me out and you could have dumped me after I kicked your friend off the wagon. Come and see us next week. Ask for Adam Coleridge, he's the earl of something or other. Besides”—she threw him a conspiratorial grin—"he'll never miss it. He's got tons of money."
"Bless you, miss," he said quietly, the emotion in his eyes touching something deep within her.
"No sweat." Maggie flashed a quick salute and turned once more to leave, again quickly turning back. "I almost forgot. I don't know your name."
He stood in the wagon, pulled off his hat, and executed a rather well done bow. “Me friends call me Bert."
"Okay, Bert." She laughed, crossed her arms over her chest, and tilted her head. "Is there a last name?"
"That there is, miss. Masterson. Bert, Bertram Masterson at your service." Again he bowed gracefully.
"Bertram Masterson," she said, staring in amazement. Her father's name was Bertram. The name had been in the family for generations. Her name, Margaret, was also a family name. Her father had always been fond of telling the story of how the first Mastersons had come to America because his ancestor had done a favor for a nobleman. The tale had grown to mythical proportions through the years. Maggie had never quite fallen for it, never paid that much attention to the details that seemed more spectacular whenever the yarn was spun. But she did remember the part about the reward.
Passage to America.
“Wow!" she breathed. She stared in awe at an actual ancestor, and he stared back. Maggie shook her head and grinned again. "Come and see us, Bert, and good luck."
"Good luck to you, too, miss.” He sat back on the bench and clicked to the horse. The wagon slowly moved off.
“Bert," Maggie called after him and he turned toward her. "When you get to America, encourage your kids to keep moving west. It'll be a great life. I promise." He nodded and she waved. The wagon pulled farther away.
"After all, Bert," she said under her breath, watching him drive off, “someday a descendent of yours needs to be born in Colorado."
Was she now the cause of her family coming to America or would it have happened anyway? Was she destined to play a part or was it just a bizarre fluke? Had she interfered in history or simply helped it along?
The implications of her actions, the crazy impact of time travel, and a dozen other questions tumbled through her mind. Questions she wasn't up to facing right now. She had to get back. Turning to start the short walk, a shiver of fear skated through her. Would she be safe by herself? She glanced down and smiled wryly. Tired and filthy, her dress torn, Maggie resembled any other beggar on the street. No one would bother her looking like this.
In spite of everything, the knock on the head, the moments of sheer panic, and the bruises inflicted by the bouncing ride, the encounter with Bert had left her with a warm, fuzzy feeling. Maggie threw one last look at the retreating wagon, then headed toward the house that right now felt very much like home.
***
Adam strode into the library with an eager step, then pulled up short. Maggie wasn't here. Disappointment surged through him. Surely she would be here waiting for him. He had even sent a message ahead saying he would be home by midnight. Adam had hurried to settle his business, and pushed his horses to the limit to get back. He glanced at the clock. It was still not quite twelve. Why wasn't she here?
Of course. It was late: she had probably grown tired and was upstairs waiting. Adam grinned with anticipation. The day spent away from Maggie strengthened his resolve to marry her. Tonight he would formally ask for her hand, even though he considered the matter settled already. He turned leave the room and his eye caught sight of a pile of correspondence stacked on his desk. Duty battled with desire and he groaned aloud. It would take only a few moments to go through and then he could turn his complete attention to Maggie. Resigned, he approached the desk, scooped up the sheaf of papers, and quickly shuffled through them.
A discreet knock from Wilson interrupted him. "Milord, Lord St. Clair is here. To see Lady Lydia."
"At this hour?" Why would Connor stop by so late to see his sister? "Very well, Wilson. Show him in and find Lydia."
With a nod, Wilson retreated, returning with Connor moments later.
"Connor." Adam greeted his old friend with genuine affection. "I am sorry we have not had time to get together since your return to London. In fact, I believe we've only seen each other once, at the Broadmore ball." An appalling thought stopped him in his tracks. "Good lord, Connor, you didn't take me seriously, I pray? You're not here to marry Lydia, are you?"
Connor laughed and Adam released a sigh of relief. It wasn't that he didn't like Connor. In fact, he'd always thought of him as something of a younger brother. Lord knew he wanted the best for his sister. But in spite of his sarcastic words the other night, a match between the two of them did not strike him as right somehow. Adam studied him intently. Still . . . the situation might bear another look. Lydia could do far worse.
Abruptly, the laughter died in Connor's throat. "Adam," he sai
d, caution in his voice, "get that look off your face. You know full well I am not about to get myself leg-shackled to Lydia or anyone else. Besides"—he grinned—"Lydia and I know each other far too well to suit. It's been my observation that a successful marriage requires a few mysteries, perhaps even a secret or two."
Adam grinned back. "Well said. So why have you come to see my sister at this late hour?"
Connor shrugged. "She asked me for a favor and I must tell her I shall not go along with her little plot. I had planned to be here earlier but certain. . . er . . Connor seemed to have trouble finding the right words and Adam could not resist a slight chuckle at his obvious discomfort. There was wry satisfaction in knowing he could still make Connor feel as if he were twelve and in trouble again.
"Certain what?”
"Blast it, Adam," Connor sputtered. "Certain previous engagements took longer than expected." He glared as if daring Adam to say something.
"Brandy?" Adam said innocently.
“Please," Connor said, still in apparent discomfort.
Adam poured glasses for them both and they stood, sharing the kind of companionable silence only old friends can.
"Connor? What on earth are you doing back here—" Lydia burst through the door, stopping short at the sight of Adam. "Adam. You're home. How . . . nice.” A honeyed smile graced her lips and Adam immediately grew suspicious.
"Lydia," he said, "Connor has come to explain he cannot take part in whatever scheme you have attempted to rope him into this time."
Lydia's eyes grew wide. A flash of pure horror crossed her face. She turned toward Connor and grasped his arm, fear evident in her eyes. "What does he mean? What do you mean?"
Connor's dark brows drew together in a questioning frown. "There is no reason to be overset. I simply saw Adam and Maggie together last night and realized there was no need to carry through with your plan." Lydia's face paled. Connor glanced toward Adam. "It was a typical Lydia plot. She thought if Maggie was kidnapped, you and she would realize how much you mean to each other and marriage would result. I was to supply the kidnappers. It was actually quite clever." He turned to Lydia and tensed at the mask of shock on her face. An amused chuckle died on his lips.
She released her grip and sank into a chair, burying her face in her hands.
“Lydia?" Adam struggled to control a growing sense of foreboding.
Tears glimmering in her eyes, Lydia pulled her gaze to search his. "But they came, Connor, they came."
Connor shook his head in apparent confusion. "I never sent anyone."
"Lydia," Adam spoke slowly, measuring his words, “where is Maggie?"
"Oh God, Adam, they took her!" Tears trickled down her face.
"Who took her?" Adam fought back the fear and panic that threatened to overwhelm him. In two long strides, he stood in front of his sister. Grabbing her shoulders he pulled her to her feet.
"Who took her, Lydia?” His words rang with anger.
"I don't know. I found them outside, two men. I thought they were Connor's men."
"What happened? How did they get in?” Adam shook her roughly. In all their years, he had never been this harsh with her, never this angry. He could tell by her eyes she was scared. For the first time in his life, he wanted her to be.
"I—" Lydia gasped. “I helped them. I let them in." She sobbed and choked out the words. “I told them what to do. I thought Connor sent them." Her eyes pleaded with her brother.
"Do you know what you've done?" He thrust her away before he completely lost control. "Your childish stunts are no longer mere pranks. You've put Maggie into the hands of God knows who. Men who could kill her or worse. We may never see her again. Your meddling in my life may well have cost Maggie hers.”
Lydia stood facing him, a dazed expression on her face. She lifted her chin defiantly and fire flashed from her eyes. "You meddled in my life first."
"You're right, Lydia." His voice grew quiet and controlled. Deadly. Cold. A tone he had not used since the days when he could best an opponent with his chilling manner off the dueling field as easily as with a weapon on, a voice he would not have thought still came as easily as his own breath.
"Your life, whether you like it or not, is my responsibility. You can relieve me of that by marrying. Until then I shall continue to do what I think is best. And in the future. you will trust me to know what is best for me as well. I will not condone anything but model behavior from you from now on or so help me, Lydia, sister or no sister, I will make your life a living hell."
A voice inside chided him for being so harsh. This was, after all, his spoiled, beloved sister. But the thought of losing Maggie forever turned his heart to icy stone and triggered the rigid self-control he'd perfected years ago to prevent his emotions from affecting his actions, adopted now to deal with his sister and keep him from going mad with fear and helpless frustration.
"Adam," Connor said, "perhaps we can find her. They can't have gotten too far."
Adam nodded. Action was better than doing nothing. Activity would help fill this numbness inside. He turned to Lydia. "How long have they been gone?"
"Not more than an hour," she said quietly.
"Let's go." Adam brushed by his sister and strode out the library, Connor close on his heels. The men raced toward the front door, Adam hoping against hope that as futile as it seemed, maybe, just maybe, there was a chance of finding her. And then, by God, he would never let her out of his sight again.
***
Maggie was less than a block away when the first raindrops hit. She'd been dimly aware of the thunder and lightning but was far too busy with other problems to pay any attention. Until now. "Great. Just what I need. The perfect ending to a perfect evening."
She trudged toward the house, every step increasing her irritation and her questions. Who would want to have her kidnapped anyway? Bert mentioned the name Connor and it sounded vaguely familiar, but she'd met so many people here it was hard to keep them all straight.
And who was this woman Ben described as an angel? Maggie really hadn't met many women at all since her arrival. The chances that she'd made any female enemies were pretty slim. The thought of Lady Hargreave flashed across her mind but she dismissed the idea. The woman didn't strike Maggie as the kind who would expend a lot of effort on something like a kidnapping unless she could gain a great deal in return. No matter what she once had with Adam, she had nothing to gain now. Besides, there was no way anyone would describe that evil woman as an angel.
The gentle rainfall quickly progressed to a full-fledged downpour. Maggie tried to run, but her drenched gown weighed her down and made the attempt impossible. Forced to concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, Maggie plodded forward until she finally reached the house. She dragged herself up the first steps and the door flew open. Adam rushed past so quickly she got only a glimpse of his face. Her heart stood still at his expression. Cold. Determined. My God, what had happened in her absence? His speeding figure knocked her off balance and she tottered precariously on the stairs.
"Hey!" She flailed her arms, struggling to keep from falling on the rain-slicked step.
Adam halted his headlong rush and whirled toward her.
“Maggie?" He peered at her through the pouring rain. "Maggie!"
His expression of sheer joy sent excitement and pure happiness racing up her spine. He grabbed her, pulled her into his arms, and crushed her to his chest as if he would never let her go.
"Oh God, Maggie." He kissed her lips, her cheeks, her eyes, and held her face between his hands. "I thought I might never see you again." His anxious gaze searched hers. "Are you unharmed? Did they hurt you?"
The concern she read in his face nearly broke her control. "I'm okay." She gave him a teasing smile. "I told you I could take care of myself."
"So you did." He grinned down at her. “But I did not know that extended to foiling kidnappings."
His grin was her undoing. The terror and fear of the last hour swamped o
ver her and tears burst her dam of emotions.
"Oh, Adam." She sobbed. "I've never been so scared. I didn't know what was going to happen. Who those people were. If they were going to kill me or what."
He pulled her tight again and murmured in her ear, "You're safe now, my love. That's all that matters. I have you back."
She shuddered. Relief and exhaustion hit simultaneously and her head seemed light, her tired mind fogged. Being in his arms again was like coming home. Maggie's heart warmed in his embrace. Her strength drained away and she sagged against him. At this moment, this was where she belonged. In opposition to everything she believed in, right now she wanted to depend on him, wanted to be taken care of, wanted to be his. She tilted her head up at him and smiled.
"It's good to be back." The smile and her voice grew faint. She was too wet and miserable to keep going. "Now," she said with a sigh, "do you think we could get out of this damn rain? I'm soaked."
Adam whooped with delight and scooped her up in his arms. "Even your atrocious language is music tonight."
He laughed, carried her into the house, and deposited her on the sofa in the library. One of the maids already had blankets, and Wilson provided a hot cup of tea. Adam sat beside her. In front of the fireplace, she snuggled in his arms. Her lids drifted closed, the warmth of the room and the man flowing into her.
Maggie's eyes snapped open. Something she'd paid no attention to now registered in her rapidly clearing mind. She jerked upright on the sofa and scanned the library.
“You!" She pointed to Connor standing quietly with Lydia across the room. "It's you. You're the one. Bert said something about a man named Connor. I couldn't place it at the time but he was talking about you, wasn't he?" She glared at Connor, who appeared distinctly uncomfortable and more than a little guilty. "Why in the hell would you have me kidnapped?"
"Well actually, my dear . . ." Connor stammered.
"He didn't have you kidnapped, Maggie." Adam's cold, oddly harsh words drew Maggie's attention. His gaze met hers. "Lydia did."
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