For the first time in their acquaintance, she wore conventional attire, a maize-colored silk gown and overdress that cascaded down her gently curved body. Her rich auburn hair had been subdued into a loose knot atop her head, but small twisting curls escaped, playing on her cheekbones.
“I wish,” she said softly to the empty air before her, “that I could go back to the time where I belong.”
He contemplated her strange words. There must have been a time when she felt she “belonged” more than she did now--though to what or whom remained a mystery.
She stared at the water with eyes that alternately widened with apparent fright, then narrowed as though she willed her fears away. With her almost preternatural beauty, she might well have been a Celtic priestess, hovering before the spring to invoke the powers needed for a Druid rite. But he knew her for mere flesh and blood, and his heart sank to realize she must be summoning courage for something far more dreadful.
Reluctant to accept the evident, he resolved to allow her another moment, hoping he had misinterpreted her motives. He waited and watched as she lifted her hand and peered into her palm, then clasped her fist together. Whatever she held had a weighty significance for her. She looked back at the water and took a deep breath. Closing her eyes, she stepped forward, teetering on the brink of the pool. He could no longer doubt she meant to plunge into the water.
“Damn you,” he hissed, leaping out from his hiding place.
Still oblivious to his presence, she swayed precariously forward.
He vaulted forth and snatched her around the waist. One yank set her feather-light form aloft, alighting again a yard away with his arms to keep her from tumbling.
“Damn you to hell, woman!” He trapped against her his chest, through she made no effort to escape. “Is that really what you want?”
“Oh, my God,” she gasped, her eyes rounded like two green moonstones. She clutched him as tightly as he held her and dragged him yet further from the spring, apparently seized--rather belatedly--by terror.
He could feel her body trembling, and his initial anger melted into compassion. What on earth had she suffered that left her so determined to end her life?
The faint scent of rosewater drifted up from her hair, and he placed his hand on the side of her head, cradling her against his body.
“David,” she whispered.
Though she had called him by his given name before, the second time startled him as much as the first. He ought to have found the stolen liberty presumptuous, even rude, but her artless manner drew quite the opposite response. She used the familiar address so naturally that he felt almost as though they belonged on intimate terms. He even had a compelling urge to address her the same way.
“Leah?” The word fairly caressed his tongue.
She looked up at him, her eyes still wide and lips slightly parted, as though inviting a kiss. Indeed, everything about their circumstances cried out for kissing, from their intimate embrace to their use of given names. Even the vulnerability he read in her uptilted eyebrows implied an inclination to bend to his will. She moistened her lips, heightening the tension to an unbearable intensity.
But for all the magic of her spell, he could not quite forget himself, his station in life . . . the coil of scandal that originated in the very moment of his birth. The times when he most longed to ignore his unhappy parentage only served to make him feel his disgrace more sharply.
He stared into her eyes, and she returned him a steady gaze. In this overwrought state, she might well submit to his advances, but when she recollected herself she would realize how low she had stooped and would come to rue her indiscretion. He had no doubt of her proper breeding. She could make a good marriage and live happily--so long as a nobleman’s bastard with no prospects did not compromise her first.
“I won’t.” He let her go and turned his back to her, shamed by his thoughts. At such a moment, he ought to be lecturing this young woman on the value of life, not calculating his chances of seducing her. He ought to be delivering a sermon to her that would rival Hamlet’s soliloquy.
Hamlet. What an unhappy reference, with Leah having twice chosen “not to be” over “to be.” Had Fate made an equally poor choice in placing him in the position of helping this young woman? He hoped not, for her sake.
“You won’t what?” she asked from behind him.
He spun around and faced her. She no longer bore herself like a Celtic priestess. Her body had wilted, making her look small and childlike. She waited for him to speak, and he realized, however badly suited to it, he must.
“I won’t simply shrug off these ill-judged attempts of yours.” He forced himself to step closer to her. “Whatever your difficulties may be, whatever miseries you may want to escape, I beg you to confide in me rather than resort to an act of desperation. I may not have the position and wealth that grant worldly influence, but I have connections who do. There must be a way we can help you. There are always alternatives to this.”
She watched the motion he made toward the pool, then lifted her gaze back to his eyes. “What do you mean?”
The blank expression on her face bore every mark of confusion, but he had witnessed that form of equivocation before. He threw his hands up in exasperation. “Drowning yourself. There is always another way--and I don’t speak as a stranger to desperation.”
Her eyes widened. “Did you think I meant to kill myself?”
“Are you claiming you did not?” he snapped, annoyed that she chose evasion over trusting in him. “How else do you explain nearly drowning in water too shallow to engulf an infant?”
For a long moment, she only stared, each passing second further depleting his hopes for her candor. Before she answered, she broke away from his gaze.
“I didn’t want to kill myself. All I can say is that I slipped and fell into the water, and then . . . well, I can’t really explain what happened next. I did try to stand and get out of the pool, but I just couldn’t manage.”
Her slow manner of choosing words made him suspect her of telling half-truths. He watched her until she lifted her gaze from the ground to meet his.
“Very well, let us suppose you are telling me all you can about yesterday’s accident,” he said. “Why would you return to the scene of your ordeal today? I should think you would never want to see this spring again.”
She turned and looked toward the pool, a visible tremor rolling down her body. He scrutinized her profile, waiting for her answer.
“Sometimes you have no choice but to face your fears.” She swallowed. “You might say I came back here to undo the harm yesterday’s accident did to me.”
“By leaping back into the spring?” He wished he could believe her, but no sane young woman would make such a choice. Of course, she might not be sane, but that possibility pleased him no better. “What if, once again, you were unable to pull yourself out?”
She shuddered and tore her gaze away from the water, instead staring off into the woods. “The thought did cross my mind.”
At least she showed some fear of death--in essence, some will to live. He walked to the edge of the pool and turned his back on the water, providing a temporary barrier between her and the unthinkable. “Why did you not ‘face your fears’ with someone standing by to keep watch?”
She still would not look at him. “I didn’t want anyone to interfere.”
“To interfere with what? With your leaping into the pool?”
“Yes.”
He let his shoulders slump in frustration. “I don’t like this. If you are telling the truth, I want to hear the rest of the story now. I suggest starting with what brought you to the spring yesterday, followed by as full an account as possible of the accident.”
“I . . . I’m not ready for that.” Finally, she met his gaze, her eyes bright and direct. “I wish I could open up to you, I really do, but you’d never believe me. You’d think I’m crazy and have me locked away in Bedlam.”
So, she showed some concern for her perceived sanity as well. Perhaps he could prod her into showing more. He steeled his features into a glare. “And what do you think will happen to you if you don’t cease these attempts on your life?”
Her eyes rounded yet again. “You wouldn’t! You wouldn’t put me away, would you, David? I told you I wasn’t trying to kill myself. I swear I wasn’t.”
Of course he wouldn’t consign her to an asylum, even if he knew for certain she meant to hazard her life again. But perhaps stoking up a healthy fear in her would stave off the possibility of another such attempt.
“If you continue to show a tendency toward self harm, I’ll have no choice,” he said. “Suicide is an abomination, and if physical restraint is the only way to prevent your committing it, then you must be restrained.”
She stared at him in obvious horror. When her lower lip began to quiver, he almost recanted but reminded himself her fear would serve her well.
“You are positively gothic!” she exploded, her chest heaving as her breath came in quick puffs. “Though in
this
day and age, why should that surprise me? All right, fine. I promise I won’t come near this spring on my own again--or try killing myself in any other way. Are you satisfied?”
“I should think not. I shall have to keep a very close watch on you.” He felt a twinge of pleasure at the prospect but immediately chided himself. “Naturally, Lord and Lady Solebury will wish to attend you as well.”
“What? You’re not going to worry them with this nonsense about my being suicidal, are you?” She stepped forward and grabbed his upper arm, her warm fingers digging into his muscles. “Please, David, don’t.”
“They already have their own suspicions, Leah.” With the scent of roses teasing his nostrils, he couldn’t resist continuing to use her given name. How could this beautiful creature want to squander her life? He would do his best, inadequate as that may be, to prevent her. “Indeed, I did not think of the idea myself.”
She let her hand slide down his arm and moved a few steps away. “This is worse than I thought. Are they thinking of having me committed?”
He shrugged. “I’m certain the marchioness wishes to help you anyway she can, but she will need your compliance. As for the marquess, well, I have never known him to show a great deal of empathy. If I were you, I should tread very cautiously where he’s concerned.”
“Oh, God.” She put a hand up to her lips. “If they think I tried to kill myself yesterday, today’s fiasco will only double their suspicions. And I really didn’t. I definitely don’t want to die yet. David, please don’t tell them about finding me here today.”
He could see she had begun trembling again, and he regretted the necessity of maintaining a severe stance. But the sound of twigs snapping in the woods signaled that the decision would not be his, anyway. Phoebe emerged into the clearing, dressed in dinner attire and followed closely by her maid.
“Miss Cantrell, thank God you are safe!” she exclaimed, expelling a deep sigh as she hurried forward. “When I found your chamber empty, I thought . . . but that doesn’t matter. What on earth are you doing at the spring? David, are you mad, bringing her back to this place?”
He nearly laughed at her automatic assumption of his poor judgment. She had provided stable ground for prevarication on Leah’s account. Should he stand upon it? One glimpse at Leah’s silently pleading eyes made up his mind.
“Admittedly, not one of my wiser decisions,” he said, grimacing to himself over the power Leah held over him. “I met Miss Cantrell just outside the manor, and she asked if I would accompany her here. She hoped that facing the spring would help alleviate some of the fear she has suffered since yesterday’s mishap.”
Phoebe looked to Leah, her big brown eyes registering astonishment. “How brave you are, Miss Cantrell! Did your strategy help?”
She glanced at David and, receiving no further aid from him, dropped her gaze. “If it has, I can’t tell yet. I still feel pretty shaken.”
“Yes, you look upset, you poor thing. Your face is as pale as the moon.” Phoebe stepped closer to her and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Let us return to the manor. I have no doubt you will feel much better once you have eaten dinner.”
Leah gave her a weak smile. “I have to admit I’m looking forward to eating a real meal again. My appetite was still off this afternoon, but now I’m starving.”
Phoebe laughed. “Starving, are you? What a colorful manner of speech you Americans have. Well, I daresay a good appetite betokens recovery from the laudanum I gave you. Thank goodness!” She let go of Leah’s shoulder and started toward the path to the drive. “Molly, could you run ahead and tell his lordship to meet us in the dining room? I walk rather slowly these days, and by the time we reach the house, Cook will be anxious to serve the first remove.”
As the marchioness spoke, David could feel Leah’s gaze fixed on him. He looked to her, and she gave him a crooked smile, silently mouthing the words, “Thank you.”
Unsure he had made a wise choice in concealing the truth, he scowled back at her.
He had a notion this woman could beguile him into any number of unwise choices. His only defense might be to keep
her
from realizing it.
CHAPTER FIVE
Leah felt her heart pounding, even after Lady Solebury had turned away. Thank God David hadn’t told the marchioness she’d come to the spring on her own. Did that mean she’d convinced him she didn’t want to commit suicide? Hopeful, she looked to him and mouthed an unvoiced “Thank you.”
He shot her such a glare that she almost jumped back--as if the smallest hint of goodwill would have cracked his too-handsome face! So much for winning his trust. She should have known Mr. Bitterness wouldn’t cut her any slack.
Disgusted, she spun around and followed Lady Solebury up the path to the main drive. She could hear David crunching through the thicket behind her--and she swore she could feel tension prickling between them like static electricity. She couldn’t comprehend his mood swings. Only moments ago, he’d looked at her so tenderly her knees had gone weak.