by Candace Camp
“A maze!” Eve exclaimed. “This must be quite old.”
“A century at least. It was allowed to fall into disrepair some years ago. When Oliver and Royce and I were children, it was overgrown, but we found it a wonderful place to play. Oliver had it trimmed up when he came into the estate so it looks much as it did originally. He improved the center, too; you’ll see.”
Another turn and a coiling curve, and they were in the heart of the maze.
“Oh!” Eve let out a gasp of delight. “You’re right. It’s lovely!”
She turned around, taking in the small circular area. Green hedges grew high all around, enclosing them from the outside world, so that they seemed to be standing in a small verdant room. Stone benches stood on either side of a small pond in which two large goldfish swam, making lazy ripples in the water.
“It’s wonderfully peaceful.”
He nodded, looking down at her. Eve realized that he had not let go of her hand as they navigated the maze. His thumb was slowly circling her palm, sending pleasant shivers up her arm. She should tell him to stop it, should snatch her hand away. Indeed, she should have done that some time earlier.
“I have thought about what you said.” His voice was low and serious, for once without amusement or charm. “I would not harm you for the world. This morning I made up my mind that I would not seek you out again, that I would not try to entice or persuade you into my bed, no matter how much I wanted you there. But now, looking at you . . . I find I cannot remember any of those excellent reasons we should stay apart.”
Eve’s first thought was that neither could she, though some lurking influence of reason kept her from saying the words.
Fitz reached up and stroked his knuckles slowly down her cheek. “Your skin is like satin. Sometimes when I’m sitting there, watching you across the drawing room, I think about how it felt beneath my fingers, how smooth and soft.”
“Fitz . . .” Eve’s voice was shaky. “We should not.”
“I know. I know.” He cupped her face in his hands. “I want to be wise. But when I am with you all I can think about is kissing you. Tell me you don’t feel the same.”
She opened her mouth, but the words would not come out. “I can’t. You know I want—“
Whatever else she was about to say was cut off by his mouth as it clamped down on hers. And, as it had every time he kissed her, desire flooded Eve. Her body warmed, her abdomen turning heavy and achy, echoing the changes in her breasts. Whenever she was apart from Fitz, she told herself she was exaggerating the way she reacted to his touch, but as soon as he kissed her, she knew that her memories, if anything, paled in comparison with the reality. Heat blossomed between her legs, and she wanted to press herself against Fitz, to feel his hard muscle and bone digging into her flesh.
His hands had dropped to her hips, pulling her up against him. She put her hands on his arms and slid them upward, exploring the hard curves of his muscles beneath his coat. She wondered what it would feel like to let her hands roam over his bare skin, to see and touch him naked. What would it be like to give in to her desires? To sink to the ground with him and let herself go?
No. It would be madness.
Eve pulled herself away, half turning from him. “No. Please, Fitz, I must not.” Her hand went to her mouth. Her lips were soft and damp, faintly swollen and tender from his kisses.
“I know. Of course. You’re right.” He swung away and stood, staring intently down at the pond.
“Did you . . . did you really decide not to . . . do this?” she asked after a moment, her voice light and a little wondering.
“Yes, of course. I thought about what you said—your reputation and how if any scandal were linked to your name it would be disastrous for you. I considered how, no matter how discreet we were, some word might leak out. Or how rumors could spread even if no one knew for sure.” He turned back to her. “I would not hurt you for the world, Eve, you must know that. I am not so concerned for my own pleasure that I would take advantage of you in any way.”
She looked back at him, her blue-gray eyes lambent. “I am glad that you have . . . such concern for me.”
“Of course I do.” He moved quickly back to her, taking her hands in his. “I can promise you that no man would dare say a word against you. They’d not want to face me at twenty paces.” His blue eyes glinted in a way that Eve had never seen before.
A faint smile curved her lips. “But you could hardly shoot them all.”
He returned a cocky grin. “They wouldn’t test me.” The amusement dropped from his face. “But I could hardly call the women out. Or stop their gossip.”
“I know. And I—I appreciate your seeing that.” Eve paused. “Still . . . we are far from London.”
His eyes narrowed. “Eve, what are you saying?”
“Just fustian.” She shook her head. “I’m talking nonsense. We shouldn’t even consider it.”
“Absolutely not.”
They stood for a long moment, gazing at each other. And then they were in each other’s arms again, their bodies straining together, their lips meeting in hunger. She was mad, Eve thought as she wrapped her arms around his neck, going up on tiptoe to kiss him. Completely mad.
A girl’s laugh wafted through the air. Eve and Fitz froze. A moment later they heard the low rumble of a male voice. They broke apart, and Eve whirled to walk a few steps away. Her nerves were clamoring, and she was sure her face must be flushed.
“How could we have forgotten?” she moaned softly. Her fingers went to her hair.
Fitz moved closer, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair back behind her ear. She could not suppress the shiver that ran through her at his touch.
“You look beautiful,” he assured her in a low voice.
She pulled out a pin and repinned the hair he had just touched. “Do I look—? I feel—” How could she describe the jangling of her nerves, the excited, heated rush of pleasure that still pumped throughout her body? “I am afraid they will know what we were doing the instant they look at me.”
“Don’t worry. It won’t be that soon.” His voice was barely above a whisper. “Even Neville doesn’t know the maze. Let them stumble about a bit.”
“What about Vivian?”
“The devil!” He scowled. “She knew it well enough when she used to visit Charlotte. But it’s been years. I don’t know how well she would remember it.”
“It’s never wise to underestimate Vivian.”
He nodded. “Too true. You sit down and observe the tranquil pond. I shall sally forth to find them.”
They heard Lily’s laughter again, much nearer, followed by Neville’s voice, “Another dead end! Miss Bascombe, I fear that you are a terrible scout.”
These words were followed by a softer female voice, the words unclear. Fitz nodded toward Eve, and she sat down quickly on one of the benches, gazing at the fish swimming about the pond and trying to still her own tumultuous thoughts. Fitz strolled away.
A moment later she heard him laugh. “Lady Vivian! Cousin Camellia. What took you so long? Mrs. Hawthorne and I have been waiting for you an age.”
“It’s been twelve years since I’ve been here,” Vivian pointed out. “But you’d best go find the others. Lady Sabrina was quite certain Cam and I were headed the wrong way, so the three of them blazed their own trail.”
A moment later Vivian and Camellia entered the heart of the maze, joining Eve on the benches. Vivian cast an appraising eye over Eve but said nothing other than a comment on the beauty of the pond. Camellia launched into a description of Lady Sabrina’s attempts to divert Neville onto a path alone with her and Lily’s determined thwarting of her every attempt. By the time Fitz led the others to the pond, the three women were deep in conversation.
Lily’s color was high, and there was a decided sparkle in her eyes. However, the light in Sabrina’s eyes was not as pleasant, and she had a difficult time maintaining her usual sweet tone. At least, Eve thought gratefully, Sab
rina was so irritated with Lily that she did not spare a glance for Eve or make a comment on the fact that Eve and Fitz had separated from the others.
After a brief interlude admiring the pond and its surroundings the party started back, Fitz leading the way out. Once again Lily and Sabrina jockeyed for position beside Neville. Cam rolled her eyes and dropped back to stroll with Vivian and Eve. Eve was glad that the two of them kept up most of the conversation, for her thoughts kept running back to how foolish she had been and how close she could have come to ruining her reputation. It made her blood chill to think of what would have been the consequence if Lady Sabrina had come upon her and Fitz locked in a passionate embrace. She could not continue to give in to her desires like that. She had to hold herself aloof from Fitz. She had to make it clear to him that she would not have an affair with him. If she did not, she could easily lose her reputation and all hope of future employment.
And quite frankly, she had more to lose, even, than that. It would be all too easy to lose her heart to Fitz, to let the passion he could bring up in her lead her into falling in love with him. She had given her heart before to a man who loved her but could not meet her passion. She was not about to give it again to a man who could satisfy her desires but would never love her.
When they reached the house Lady Sabrina and Vivian departed in their carriage, and the rest of them split up. The Bascombes and Mr. Carr headed toward the game room, but Eve noticed that Fitz started down the hall toward his brother’s study. She hesitated, her gaze going to the game-room door. Surely Camellia’s company would be enough chaperonage for a few minutes, Eve thought.
She turned and lightly hurried down the corridor after Fitz.
He was just sitting down behind the desk when Eve entered the room, and he bounced back up when he saw her.
“Eve.” He smiled. “Come in. You have saved me from the account books the estate manager brought me. Please, sit down.”
“No, thank you. I will not take up much of your time.” Eve clasped her hands in front of her and came to stand in front of the desk across from him. She had to be firm. “I wanted to say that what happened earlier was my fault. I should not have said or done what I did.”
“There was no harm. No one saw or heard anything.”
“This time. But next time we might not be so lucky.”
“Don’t worry.” He walked around the desk and took her hands in his, his eyes warm as he looked down into her face. “We shall be more careful. No one will know.”
Eve pulled her hands from his. “That is not all that matters. Just because no one will know doesn’t make it a good thing to do. I am not interested in a casual affair. But that is all you are interested in. Isn’t that right?”
“I would not call it casual,” he said, but his face had lost its warmth, and he took a step backward. “Are you saying that you want more than that? Marriage?”
“No.” Eve’s eyes flashed. His actions had betrayed his feelings for her . . . or rather his lack of them. Obviously he was in no danger of losing his heart to her. “I don’t want marriage, either. What I am saying is that all you care about is your pleasure. Your desire.”
“The pleasure would be mutual. I promise you that.”
“I refuse to risk my entire future on the hope of pleasure,” Eve shot back. “I intend to establish a life for myself. I want to be a good chaperone to Lily and Camellia and get more such employment in the future. I don’t want to be dependent upon my father or indeed any man. And I don’t want to provide a few weeks’ entertainment for you.”
Fitz’s mouth thinned, and there was a flash of something like steel in his blue eyes. Then he nodded briefly. “Of course. If that is what you wish.”
It was not what she wished, Eve knew. But she was even more certain now that it was the only thing she could do. With a short nod she turned and walked out of the room.
Her head was pounding, she realized as she walked down the hall, and she could not bear the thought of joining Neville and the girls in what was bound to be a lively and noisy game. There was, after all, no other kind where the Bascombes were involved. Somewhat guiltily she turned toward the stairs, promising herself that if she could just lie down for a few moments with a cool cloth on her forehead, she would be fit thereafter to oversee the group again. Cam, after all, would be with the other two, and Neville had promised Fitz not to pursue Lily.
As she neared the stairs her gaze went automatically toward the hall table. She had been checking the place every day since she had gotten the note. There had not been another message for her, much to her relief, but she continued to check.
Today, however, there was a white square sitting alone on the table. She stopped, her heart pounding. There was no reason to think that the piece of mail was for her, she told herself. It was far more likely that Mary or Rose had written their sisters or that the earl had sent some missive to Fitz. For that matter, most of the time the mail was addressed to the earl. Still, Eve could not subdue the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. She forced herself to walk over to the table.
Eve’s name was written across the front of the white square—not this time in the same blocky print but in a dark, forceful masculine hand. Her fingers trembled slightly as she picked it up and turned back to the staircase. She did not dare look at the letter there where someone might walk in at any moment. She carried it up the stairs to her room, trying to convince herself that the letter would turn out to be perfectly innocent. The problem was she could not think of any man who would have written her besides her father, and this was not his ornate, rather spidery hand. Friends of her husband, of course, had sent her letters of condolence, but his death had been two years ago, and those were long since received, even from the officers who had been sent to serve in India.
Inside her room she shut the door and examined the letter closely. Unlike the other note, this one had been sent through the mail; it was clearly stamped. The wax seal on the back was stamped with a different design, though it, too, was an anonymous, general sort of seal rather than initials or a crest or some more distinctive symbol.
She was putting off reading it, she realized. Eve slid her finger beneath the flap and broke the seal. Opening it, she read:
“Mrs. Hawthorne,
The watch is dangerous. Destroy it. Throw it away. Otherwise the Truth will come out, and you will suffer for it. Your husband’s Reputation will be ruined.
He was not the man you think. The watch carries the taint of Scandal, and it will stain you as surely as it would have stained the Major.
Signed,
Your Friend
Eve stared at the letter, her mind reeling. What could this mean? Bruce, involved in a scandal? His reputation ruined? It was absurd. Whatever faults Bruce might have had, he had been an honorable man. Duty had been his byword. Yes, he had had his secrets, chief among them his inability to perform as a husband. But that was a private matter, affecting no one but herself. Bruce would never have knowingly entered into anything scandalous.
Almost as ludicrous was the idea that his final gift to her could somehow be proof of this scandal. She tossed the letter onto the bed and went to the drawer where she had hidden the watch. She pulled it out and sat down to examine it more thoroughly. She ran her fingers over the elegant enameled front decorated with pearls and the ornately engraved back. She opened it to read the inscription on the inside of the cover: “For my beloved wife.” She even placed her thumbnail beneath the plate that covered the watch works and pried it open, thinking that perhaps something had been hidden inside. There was nothing but the usual wheels and cogs.
Closing the watch again, she sat, thinking. The two notes were very unalike, even in their messages. The first had only told her to leave. This one advised her to get rid of her watch and impugned her late husband. But despite the differences, they must have been written by the same person. It was too absurd to think that two different people were writing her anonymous notes.
It ma
de no sense. Eve closed her eyes. She thought briefly about snatching up the watch and the notes and running downstairs to Fitz. But she knew she could not do that, not after she had just crowed about her desire not to depend on any man. Not after she had told him she wanted him to stay out of her life.
Besides, he was the earl’s brother. And she certainly did not want news of this letter getting back to the Earl of Stewkesbury. He would not want her chaperoning his cousins if she was somehow involved in a scandal—or even if there was a possibility that she could be involved in a scandal. The fact that she did not know what the scandal was did not change the fact that it could explode right in her face at the worst possible moment. The earl would not be willing to risk that, not when his cousins’ all-important introduction to the ton was at stake.
Carefully she wrapped the watch back up in her nightgown and returned it to the drawer, sliding the second note under the first one she had received and covering both with the nightgown. She walked over to the window and stood, staring out over the landscape.
Someone out there had written to her. She could not imagine who had done it or why. She was not even sure whether that person was someone who wanted to harm her in some way or someone who was trying to save her from harm. A friend surely would have told her directly if he knew of a problem about her watch. Unless, of course, the sender did not want her to know that he knew about the scandal. Perhaps he was even involved in it. In that case, it was likely that he was as interested (no, probably even more so!) in saving his own reputation as in preserving Bruce’s.
Or maybe he just wanted the watch and had come up with an elaborate scheme to get it from her. But that idea, she admitted, seemed far too unlikely. Better simply to steal it . . . which brought her back, of course, to the man who had broken into Willowmere the other day. It seemed more likely to her now that the events were connected.