David felt his cheeks grow hot. “I assure you my intentions are all that is honorable, sir. I mean to demonstrate my good--”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Spare me the bullshit. Just because I’ve never been on this side of the Atlantic before, don’t think I haven’t heard what type of morals you Europeans have. I know what you think of American girls. Well, my daughter is one girl you won’t take advantage of any longer.”
“No one is taking advantage of me.” Leah’s eyes smoldered into a dark shade. “Not David and not you. I make my own decisions.”
“Not when your decisions are stupid.” Mr. Cantrell stepped closer to her, scowling down his nose.
She made no move to retreat. “They’re more sensible than any I’ve ever made before.”
“Moving in with a guy you’ve known three days is sensible?”
David stood stunned, scarcely believing they continued to trade such barbs. Any father in the nineteenth century would have dragged his daughter away by now. And what could Leah be thinking, exacerbating her father’s fury? At this rate, they would never gain Mr. Cantrell’s blessing.
“Leah, please,” he interrupted. “This is no way to try to alter your father’s views. If I could have a word with you in private . . .”
“Over my dead body!” Mr. Cantrell bellowed. “You’ve had all the private time with my daughter you’re going to get! This is a matter between her and me.”
David frowned. He rather thought it a matter between Mr. Cantrell and himself--and possibly that oaf Kevin, had he shown any propensity to do more than gawk from the settee.
“Then leave him out of this, Daddy.” Leah turned to David. “He’s right. You shouldn’t have to be subjected to this. Why don’t you wait for me in our room? I’ll come up after these two have gone.”
Our room
. His cheeks burned again, and he braced himself for Mr. Cantrell to slam his fist into one of them. Leah had admitted outright that they’d shared a bedchamber. She had confirmed, in front of her father and his favorite, that the two of them had slept together.
Yet the blow didn’t come.
He looked to Kevin, whose lips puckered as though he’d eaten sour grapes--nothing worse. The fop turned his face away without getting up, let alone issuing a challenge.
“Well?” Mr. Cantrell tapped his foot on the floor.
David felt as though he had traveled not only through time but to another planet. He was perfectly capable of standing his ground--but only when he knew where his ground was.
He hesitated. “I shall, of course, honor your wishes, sir, though I do wish you would hear my piece.”
Mr. Cantrell crossed his arms over his chest, unmoved by the request.
What more could David say? If the man refused to listen, he had no further recourse. He turned to Leah. “I will be in the garden.” Under no circumstances could he await her in the bedchamber, as she had suggested. “Please send for me directly, if you or your father should want me.”
He bowed and stalked from the room, continuing out the front door and into the park. He strode through the gardens without purpose, his mind brimming with emotion. Confusion, frustration,
shame
. . . how had he come to this point? He had always striven to compensate for his birth by conducting his life with the utmost honor. But blood always told, did it not? Now he’d debased himself entirely, taking a woman out of wedlock and against her father’s wishes. How had he sunk to such depths?
Snapping out of his reverie, he found himself at the head of the path that led to the spring.
The spring. Of course.
Obviously, his life had gone awry because he was not meant to live in this century. He had to return to his own time. He had to relinquish Leah. As painful as the duty would be, it was the only way to end the injury he did her and her father, the only way to restore his own honor. He had to go back to the nineteenth century, where he knew how to tell the difference between right and wrong . . . in short, where he belonged.
He looked back at the house once more and felt a sharp stab of reluctance. Lord, how he wanted to be with her, more than he ever had before, more than he ever would want anyone else again.
But he would not allow her or himself to fall any further into disgrace. Swallowing the aching lump that had risen in his throat, he turned and walked into the woods.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Leah had to defend herself through a marathon argument before her visitors finally agreed to leave. Even then, her father assured her they’d be back. They refused Lord Solebury’s invitation to spend the night in favor of getting a room in the village. This, her father explained, would give her “a chance to think” before they returned for round two.
“By then you should have come to your senses,” he said, climbing into a rented car in front of the manor. “I expect you to be ready to leave with us tomorrow.”
Kevin stared at her through a rolled-down window on the passenger side. The puppy-dog slant of his eyes gave him the look of a high-school drama student--and not one at the top of his class. “Please remember everything we’ve had together, Leah. Three years is a lot of history.”
She nearly laughed. “You think we have a lot of history? Well, we don’t, because nothing happened in all those years. Our relationship didn’t develop and neither did you or I. We had three years of stagnation.”
“But you’ve only known
that
guy a few days.” With a pout, he motioned toward the house. “What makes you think you’ll ‘develop’ with him?”
“I’ve already done more growing with David than you’ll do in a lifetime.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Two hundred years’ worth!”
The sound of the ignition cranking kept him from answering--though she doubted he had much to say for himself anyway. In fact, before David had left, Kevin had been unusually quiet, probably intimidated by his rival’s glares. She held back a smirk at the thought--not very nice of her, but, damn it, he’d put her through hell plenty of times. Let him suffer for once, assuming he had the capacity.
Her father leaned in front of him to look out at her. “We’ll be back soon, Leah.”
She didn’t bother answering, and he ducked back and put the car into gear. As they pulled away, she walked to the front steps and waited until they’d rode up the drive. With a sigh, she leaned back against a wrought-iron railing.
Where was David? Guilt pricked at her as she remembered telling him she’d meet him hours ago. At the time, she hadn’t expected to get caught up in such a long argument. He’d said he’d be in the garden, but she couldn’t see him from where she stood. She doubted he’d still be outside after all this time, but she skipped down the steps to take a look.
The rose garden, beautiful in spite of a thriving weed population, had only bees to enjoy it. She walked past the fragrant bushes and swept her gaze across two overgrown terraces. Several stone benches, crumbling among the thicket, all stood empty. She wandered along the side of the house and came across a weather-battered gazebo. Still, she didn’t see David. He’d likely gone inside hours ago.
As she retraced her path, her sense of guilt multiplied. She should have made sure she got away from her father and Kevin sooner. Their sudden appearance had to be strange for David.
She hurried inside and did a quick search of the first floor but met no one. Rushing upstairs, she checked their room, but he wasn’t there, either. As she turned to leave, she noticed the wardrobe was partly open.
His half of the closet looked empty.
She stepped forward and slid the doors apart. Her clothes still hung where she’d put them, but David’s things were gone. With a sick twisting in her stomach, she went to the dresser and yanked each drawer open. One after the other proved empty--no sweaters, socks, underwear, ties. And Viscount Traymore’s papers were nowhere in sight.
David had left.
But how could he? She sank down on the bed, her chest tightening. Maybe she should have seen this coming. When she told him she was going to throw Kevin’s ring in the spring, he hadn’t even cared. She should have known right then that he didn’t return the feelings she had for him. And this morning, when they first woke up, he’d been distant, staring out the window, reluctant to kiss her.
She flopped onto her back. Obviously, he didn’t love her. He must have felt some attraction, of course, but that didn’t mean much. What nineteenth-century man, used to all the women he knew being either married or virgins, wouldn’t respond to a woman who practically threw herself at him? His response simply hadn’t been enough to withstand the stir her father kicked up. No, that would take more than simple attraction.
Where had he gone? She rolled off the bed and went to the window, staring out toward the patch of woods that hid the spring. A shiver ran down her spine. Had he gone and wished himself back in time? No, he wouldn’t have taken Viscount Traymore’s clothes unless he meant to stay in the current century. But maybe he’d packed them up and given them back to Lady Isabella. Or maybe Isabella herself had taken her nephew’s things from the room.
She spun around and checked the dresser tops and nightstands for a note. She turned over both pillows to see if he’d pinned a letter there. Damn him! He didn’t even care enough about her to scribble a brief explanation of why he’d left. Would he have told Lord Solebury or Lady Isabella his plans? Probably not, but she had to find them and ask.
As she burst through the bedroom door, she almost knocked down Mavis. The maid barely managed to keep her footing and hold onto the basket of laundry she carried.
“Mavis! I’m so sorry.” Her voice came out breathless. “Do you know where the marquess and his sister are?”
“Her ladyship is havin’ a lie down and asked not to be disturbed.” The girl paused to shift her basket from one hip to the other. “Lord Solebury is in his room as well, but I daresay you can see him, if you like. Lord--er, Mr.--that is, your friend is already in there with him.”
“David is?” Her shoulders slumped with relief. Then she considered that he might only be saying good-bye. She had to act quickly. “Where is Lord Solebury’s room?”
“That way.” Mavis nodded her head in the direction she’d come from. “The third door on the left is his lordship’s dressing room. Through that is the bedroom.”
“Thanks.” Leah hurried down the hall.
The door Mavis had indicated was open, and Lady Isabella stood inside, her face turned toward the door to the inner room. When she saw Leah, she held a finger up to her lips, then looked back toward the bedroom.
From where Leah stood, she couldn’t see into the other room, but she could hear David’s soft-spoken words. “So you believe a father and son should, above all, strive to express their love for one another?”
“Oh, yes.” The marquess’s voice was hushed, too--far more serene than usual. “Men have never been very good at expressing their feelings--Englishmen, especially. And we Traymores must be among the worst of our gender. Did my father ever tell me he loved me? Never! Of course, I knew he did. Or I believed he did. Perhaps I didn’t, quite. I always seemed to be trying to prove myself to him, trying to win his love.”
Leah told herself she should walk away and leave Isabella to eavesdrop alone, but she didn’t want to miss talking to David. She had to try to convince him to stay with her, to at least give her a chance. She debated whether she should spoil Isabella’s entertainment by letting the men know they weren’t alone.
“How did you attempt to prove yourself?” David asked Lord Solebury.
“In all the wrong ways, I’m afraid. I tried to assert myself, show what grand ideas I had, how well I could conduct my life on my own. Years later, when
my
son reached maturity, I realized my father would have better appreciated my coming to him for advice. I know I felt that way about my son.”
“Your son?”
Despite herself, Leah leaned closer to the door. The marquess had referred to his son in the third person. Had he realized David wasn’t the viscount?
“Yes. I can’t tell you how many times I wished he would have--I’m sorry. I mean
you
would have . . .” His lordship paused. “This is very odd. You and I never used to speak like this. Now, after so many years without contact between us, I feel almost as though I’m talking to another man. I hope I haven’t offended you. I assure you that I cherish and respect you as much as ever.”
Lady Isabella’s eyes narrowed, and she looked to Leah.
“Pardon me, your lordship,” David said, “but perhaps you should consider that I may be another man. I’ve told you that I don’t recall a life as your son. I would be honored if I could, but I simply don’t.”
Leah froze, waiting for the marquess’s rare serenity to shatter. A long minute passed while she watched Lady Isabella stretch her neck closer to the door, her thin eyebrows pinched together above her nose.
“Doubtlessly, this absurd sense of unfamiliarity is due to all the years that have passed since we’ve seen each other,” Lord Solebury said. “Your memory may be faulty at the moment, but who could you be other than my son?”
“Perhaps we should leave that question open.”
The lines in Lady Isabella’s forehead smoothed. She blinked rapidly, avoiding Leah’s gaze. Finally, she murmured, “Perhaps we ought to make our presence known.”
“Definitely.” Preoccupied with her own problems, she couldn’t feel much excitement over the progress David seemed to be making with his family. She swept a hand toward the bedroom door. “After you, my lady.”
Isabella knocked on one of the wooden panels and pushed the door open. “Pardon me. I’m terribly sorry to interrupt. I wondered if you wanted to come downstairs for tea, Jon.”
Leah stepped in behind her and looked straight to David. His gaze met hers, and he nodded a stoic greeting that made her ache with hopelessness. He got up from his chair, but his movements were lethargic. If he’d loved her, he would have sprung up the second she walked in the room. He would have broken into a big grin at the mere sight of her.