"Oh, knock it off, Lydia. I don't have a reputation and I don't care what anybody thinks." She grinned. "If going into that hideout of his will make him listen to me, then anything is worth it." She stood and headed for the door. "I'll see you later."
"Wait," Lydia said. "If you are determined to do this, at least change your clothing. You look like—what is that quaint expression you use?—oh yes, pond scum. Your clothes have the appearance of having been slept in."
"Actually, I did sleep in them," Maggie said sheepishly. "Okay, I'll change and then I'll go."
Lydia sighed in resignation. "And when you are ready I shall accompany you."
"Oh, no, you won't." Maggie shook her head vehemently. "I don't have anything to lose here but . . . This is your world. I don't see this as any big deal but I've been here long enough to know your society, your—what is it you call it?"
"Ton?" Lydia said helpfully.
"Yeah, the ton, they are not forgiving of people who break the rules. You've gotten away with a lot in the past, Lydia, but don't push it." Maggie shot her a firm glance. “You're not coming."
Lydia beamed. "That is so very thoughtful and kind but I'm afraid my mind is quite made up. I shan't allow you to go alone and the idea of missing out on an adventure of this magnitude, well, it really is worth the risk, don't you think?"
Lydia paused, abruptly serious. "Maggie, I am three and twenty, far past the time when most women wed. I have been out in society since shortly after my seventeenth birthday. To date, I have had numerous offers of marriage but none that I have been willing to settle for. It may well be that I will never find the love I desire, but I refuse to accept less. By accompanying you, my reputation shall very probably be destroyed."
A smile danced on Lydia's lips. "At the very least, after this Adam shall not find it at all easy to marry me off to some respectable but boring peer. The only men that will be willing to accept me will be somewhat less than respectable." She shrugged sagely. "It's been my observation that men who are less than respectable are usually extremely interesting. Eventually, if I am forced to take a husband not of my own choosing, I prefer he be interesting." Lydia's eyes twinkled. "You do plan to go all the way inside, do you not?"
Maggie groaned, accepting the inevitable. "Oh yeah, all the way. We might as well leave no stones unturned, no conventions intact."
Lydia clapped her hands together. "Wonderful. This shall be exciting! Now hurry and change so we can be off."
Maggie sighed and stalked out the door. Bringing Lydia was a big mistake. Not only would Adam be irritated by her appearance at his precious club, he'd be angry that she'd dragged Lydia along with her. Oh, well. Maggie turned toward the stairs. Things could hardly be much worse. This might very well be her last chance with Adam.
Lydia’s voice followed her up the stairs. "Oh, Maggie." Maggie paused to listen. "Do wear something pretty. Adventures always go so much better when one looks one's best."
Chapter Eighteen
"What do you think? Should we knock or just barge right in?" Maggie eyed the entry to Adam's club. Well aware of the startled male eyes peering at them from a nearby bow window, she and Lydia paused to consider their next step at the door of White's.
"Well," Lydia said brightly, "I should think if we knock, it would allow them the opportunity to refuse us entry. I believe barging in may well be our wisest choice."
“Good move." Maggie squared her shoulders and took a deep breath. While the idea of intruding on a hallowed men's club, a sacred shrine to testosterone, held a lot of appeal, now that she was actually here, the reality of what she and Lydia were about to do sent a flurry of winged creatures fluttering in her stomach. "The best defense is a good offense," she murmured. “Let's go.”
Maggie gripped the door handle and shoved, nearly stumbling when the barrier to the masculine sanctuary opened smoothly. They stepped firmly across the threshold. Maggie barely registered a vague impression of dark wood and dim lighting before the apparent guardian of the male stronghold bore down on them, sputtering and spewing like a masculine avenging fury.
"I beg your pardon, miss, but women are not permitted to enter. This is a men's facility and we do not—"
"Can it, pal," Maggie snapped. "Here's the deal. I'm here to see Coleridge. Adam Coleridge. The big shot earl of something or other—"
"Ridgewood," Lydia supplied helpfully.
"Yeah, thanks." Maggie nodded to Lydia then directed her best withering glare at the flustered, red faced protector of male virtue. "Ridgewood, that's who I'm here to see. And I'm not moving one inch until I do. So if you're really so threatened by having two measly women in your bastion of male chauvinist pigdom, I suggest you get him out here right now. Do I make myself perfectly, totally, and completely clear?"
The sentinel was almost comical in his helpless rage and Maggie wondered briefly if he would succumb to some kind of fit right here on the floor. He drew himself up to his full height, not much taller than she, and glared with righteous indignation.
"My responsibilities are to this club and to its members and I shan't—"
"You shall. You will. You'd better,” Maggie shot back. “The way I see it, you have two choices. You can stand here and let me make a scene so outrageous it will go down in history, and believe me, pal, I know what will go down in history, or you can haul Coleridge's butt out here. And you can do it now."
"I have no intention—"
"I'll handle this."
Maggie whirled at the sound of Adam's voice and her heart thudded in her chest at the sight of him. His figure, tense with controlled anger, filled a nearby doorway. His face, hardened with fury, was a fitting setting for eyes that blazed malevolently. Maggie started at the sight of the man she loved giving every appearance of an intent to kill her, slowly and painfully. Only the somewhat haggard and weary look around his eyes that even rage could not disguise kept her courage up.
"Coleridge has, as you so colorfully put it, hauled his butt out here." In two long strides, he reached her, roughly grabbed her elbow and steered her to a corner of the foyer. Not actually discreet, but the two of them no longer stood in the center of the room.
He glared down at her upturned face. "What in the name of all that’s holy are you doing? Your presence is not only appalling but scandalous. There has never, I repeat never in the history of this club been a woman inside these doors. I know life is much different where you come from but I cannot believe even you have the audacity to totally fly in the face of the conventions of my world. Of my life."
His fury mesmerized her. For a moment, fascination with the sheer power of his anger overwhelmed her and she lost track of exactly what he said. Until he spit out the words guaranteed to catch her attention.
“Have you absolutely no sense of propriety? No understanding of a woman's place?"
She choked back a strangled gasp. "What a load of crock that is, Coleridge. I have every sense of a woman's place. It's in the house and in the senate!"
"What the bloody hell does that mean?" Confusion rang in his voice.
"Never mind," she snapped. "It was an automatic response. It's from a bumper sticker. It doesn’t—what? Lydia?"
"Signify?" Lydia suggested.
"Yeah, that's it, signify." Maggie sighed in exasperation and clenched her teeth. "You’re getting me off track with your sexist, antique attitudes so shut up for a minute and let me talk." She glared at him and his smoldering eyes narrowed. “That's better."
“What do you want?" The words were clipped, slow and dangerous.
"I want you, you idiot." She stared into his rage darkened eyes. "I want you. I want to spend the rest of my time here with you. Every minute. Every day. Every night. I don't want to waste any more time yelling and screaming. I don't want to squander precious hours with both of us miserable. Being together now, when we can, has got to be worth something. Maybe it will hurt more when it's over, than if we stopped seeing each other right now. I don't know and I don't care. It'
s a risk I sure as hell am willing to take."
He raised a skeptical eyebrow.
"Don't you do that to me." She said, infuriated. "Don't you give me that superior little quirky thing you do with your eyebrow. It drives me crazy. I'm surprised you've managed to get through life without somebody trying to rip it off!"
Maggie drew a deep breath and threw down her final gauntlet. "Look, Adam. I know this is scary and maybe it's too much to ask. Maybe, you're all brave and macho when it comes to duels or whatever but when it comes to your heart, maybe you're just too much of a coward to take a chance."
Maggie tore her gaze from his and struggled to find the right words, fighting to gain control, willing herself to calm down. Her hands trembled. She raised her gaze again to his, hoping he could read all her emotions and mentally whispered a silent prayer to reach him.
"If I can't be with you for the rest of my life, I want to cram a lifetime of memories into the days we have left. We don't have forever and way too soon this will all be over, but I don't want to live without you. Not until I have to."
Adam stared at the fiery creature before him. His Incomparable. His Original. God, she was magnificent. Her green eyes flashed and glittered like living emeralds. Priceless. Color flushed her cheeks. Her attitude was stubborn and unyielding, her stance defiant. He read the challenge in her eyes and a glimmer of uncertainty as well.
How could he resist? How could he turn away? How could he tell her he had already decided a few days with her were well worth a lifetime with anyone else?
“I accept," he said calmly.
Her eyes widened with apparent surprise at the ease of her victory and his surrender. “What do you mean, you accept?"
A smile tugged at his lips. "I mean, I accept your proposal, or challenge, or terms." He grabbed her and pulled her into his arms. Adam lowered his head until they stood nearly nose to nose. His gaze bore into hers and he noted with satisfaction the apprehension in the glowing depths of her eyes.
He gritted his teeth, his quiet words for her alone. "If you ever come here or any other place that is strictly out of bounds for women of my time and my world again, you will live to regret it." Maggie narrowed her eyes and opened her mouth. "Be quiet. I am not finished. I, in turn, will not use such a place to avoid dealing with you." Relief flared in her eyes and a smile teased the corners of her mouth. "Now," he growled. "Kiss me."
With a joyous cry she threw her arms around his neck and his lips crushed hers, seeking, devouring, breathing the life from her and returning it again, nourished and full. Maggie paid no attention to the faces staring from every foyer opening. She could have been anywhere and would not have noticed or cared. All she knew was the power and glory of Adam's plundering lips and her own impassioned response. All she wanted was to drown herself in the cascade of emotion and sensation rushing over her. All she needed was to be here, in his arms, where at least for now, she belonged.
Gently, Adam pulled back and Maggie stared up at him. “Wow," she breathed, and sagged against him, her knees too wobbly to support her. "We really do that well, don't we?"
He threw back his head and laughed with delight. "Yes, my darling Maggie, we do indeed." He gallantly offered her his arm and escorted her toward the door. "Now, shall we go home?"
“Lydia?" he tossed over his shoulder. "Your presence here has not gone unnoticed and we will discuss your actions at a later point." He sighed in surrender. “Right now, I will be happy to simply assume you are directly behind us."
“Of course, Adam, I'm coming."
Lydia trailed after Adam and Maggie, taking in as many of the details of White's as she could. This was an opportunity that came to a woman only once in a lifetime, if then. She peered around. It was all rather disappointing. She wasn't sure exactly what she had expected, but something . . . well . . . more. This was the epitome of the English men's club, the ultimate haven for the men of her world. A sanctuary where they pursued such manly pastimes as drinking and gaming. And it appeared dull and boring.
"What a shame,” she murmured under her breath and swept through the hallowed portals of White's with a vaguely superior sense that even if men deemed it necessary to hide away from the world surrounded by their own kind, it was somehow pleasant to know the women who were forbidden entry weren't missing very much at all.
***
Edward Lindley lounged inconspicuously among the curious club members now dispersing from their positions in the doorways and entries surrounding the foyer. Many muttered in outrage at the feminine intrusion into their sanctuary. Still others chuckled in amusement and more than one wager was laid as to how soon there would be a Ridgewood heir.
Edward’s casual attitude belied his intense scrutiny of the scene in the foyer. Judging by Ridgewood's miserable demeanor in recent days, Edward had been certain Maggie would have no more to do with the man. Now, however, it was obvious the pair had reconciled. Too bad. Edward actually liked the headstrong beauty. The idea of taking her for himself had entered his mind more than once. Still, perhaps it was not too late. Perhaps the seed he'd planted during their talk would eventually bear fruit.
If not, there were other ways to separate the American from Ridgewood. Other ways to destroy the earl's happiness.
Other ways to make him pay.
***
Maggie and Adam spent the next week alone together at his country home a few hours outside London. The house itself was a huge Palladian structure, enormous and elegant but somehow still a home. Adam’s eyes glowed with pride as he showed her around. The better part of his childhood was spent here and Maggie envisioned hordes of happy children joyously careening through the halls. She ignored the pang in her heart at the thought. Those children would not be hers.
As lovely as the house was it could not compete with the beauty of its setting. The glorious English countryside blazed with a profusion of spring flowers, the rolling meadows and fields fresh and green and new with the promise of the season. This was how she had imagined it in visions conjured up by childhood tales of Alice in Wonderland and Peter Rabbit.
They filled long, lazy days discovering each other. Adam shared his love of horses and they rode nearly every morning. Maggie adamantly refused to ride sidesaddle and Adam grudgingly conceded. For one not used to it, the saddle could indeed be not only difficult but dangerous. Still, he drew the line at her desire to wear jeans, arguing that even if she did not care about her shattered reputation her actions reflected on his family. Maggie grumbled but compromised and directed a servant in fashioning a type of split skirt for riding that Adam reluctantly accepted.
The influence of the man she loved and the charm of the country reawakened the urge in Maggie to paint, an urge she thought had died long ago. Adam sent to London for supplies and Maggie applied paint to canvas with inspired abandon. Each brush stroke came stronger and surer and her canvases glowed with energy and light. With Adam lying on the grass by her side, she created works radiant with life, shimmering with color, ebullient with emotion. She alone recognized the influence of the impressionists yet to come. Maggie basked in Adam's enthusiastic admiration, warmed by the beacon of respect in his eyes.
It had been years since she'd picked up a brush for pleasure. Years since she'd had either the time or the desire to express herself on canvas for the sheer joy of creation. Instinct told her these were the best works of her life. The knowledge filled her heart. These paintings would stay with Adam, a part of her that would be with him always.
While she painted they talked about their lives and their worlds, their dreams and desires. Adam told her about his childhood and she pictured the golden-haired little boy running barefoot through the fields. He talked about his shimmering memories of a princess like mother, beautiful and spirited and far too wonderful to grow old and Maggie saw the heartbroken twelve-year-old coping with the death of a beloved parent and struggling to be a man. Eventually Adam told her of his wild youth, of his rebellious nature and scandalous actions. He s
poke quietly of the father he had loved and fought and learned to understand only when it was too late, and Maggie glimpsed beyond the strong, confident adult at her side to the impulsive, headstrong young man, reckless and confused.
Maggie gave of herself as well. She shared with Adam her grief at the death of her parents and talked quite a bit about her sister, how Kiki had been both mother and father to her. She spoke with justifiable pride of her sister's successful career in a highly competitive field. She’d never told her sister of her feelings and a rush of shame swept through her at her selfish omission.
Maggie and Adam spoke of the future. His curiosity extended far beyond her abilities to explain. Some things he simply would not believe. He accepted the idea of airplanes but drew the line at space travel. When she told him men had walked on the moon he accused her of making it all up. But the concept of telephones and television and computers fascinated him. The gleam in his eye told Maggie he would like nothing better than to get his hands on one of the cars he'd seen in her magazines. She'd laughed when he found the very thought of drive through fast food, well. . . "highly distasteful and positively uncivilized."
Maggie refused to talk specifically about history yet to come. He had read her magazines. He knew her world was not perfect. But she could not bear to tell him of the horrible things man would do to man in the coming years. She could not tell him her own country would be ripped apart by civil war. Could not tell him his country would be threatened by conflicts so enormous they were called world wars. And she could not tell him about weapons that could wipe out entire cities.
The battle of the sexes, however, was one war she eagerly leapt into. Maggie argued for hours on the topic of the intelligence and abilities of women. Adam acknowledged that she was indeed superior to women of his day but remained skeptical about women overall. Maggie grew more and more frustrated trying to convince him women shouldn't be treated like mere property, that they could, and should, take care of themselves. He would appear to give in and she would feel victory within her grasp, only to note the teasing glint in his eye and realize he was humoring her.
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