by Lauren Royal
“We’ll return for it!” he said without slowing.
By the time they rounded another corner and skidded to a stop, they were both huffing and puffing. When he released her hand, she felt a loss. “Safe,” he declared with a breathless laugh. “I don’t think they saw us.”
Her chest was heaving, and she noticed him noticing. “Whyever does it matter?”
Chagrined, he returned his gaze to her face. “If one of them is sabotaging this project, I don’t want him to know I’m investigating. They’ll all be hard at work in a few minutes. Then we can sneak into the palace.”
“Like spies,” she said with a smile, wishing he was still touching her.
“Like spies.” He grinned, glancing around the extensive public gardens. “In the meantime, I’ve been hankering to try the maze.”
“Not the maze,” she said with a groan. “I despise mazes. I always get lost.”
“If you know the left-hand rule, it’s impossible to get lost.”
“How is that?”
“I’ll show you. We won’t get lost.” Apparently noting her skeptical expression, he took her hand again and began walking. “Besides, I reckon I can make it fun to get lost.”
Something had changed in the quality of his voice, something that made bubbles start pinging in Rose’s stomach. The grass felt cool and springy beneath her stockinged feet. “I missed the gaming again,” she realized.
“I’m sorry,” he said, not sounding at all sincere.
“It’s a favorite recreation of the duke’s. I had hoped he would teach me so I could win enough for a new gown.”
“Is that so?“ Kit’s eyes were an unreadable, murky green. “A gown is a mere pittance at the court gaming tables. Word has it the Duchess Mazarin lost ten thousand last week on a single bet.”
“Ten thousand pounds?”
He nodded. “Pounds.”
“That’s my whole inheritance!” Perhaps it was just as well that she’d missed the gaming. “I’ve got better things to do with my money.”
“You have big plans for it, then?”
“Unlike my dowry, it’s mine. It won’t belong to my husband.”
He slanted her a glance. “I’m not in need of it. I cannot speak for the duke.”
The thought startled her. The truth was, she had no idea whether the duke was in need of funds or not. He dressed richly and had given her diamond earrings, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. For all she knew, he could owe his tailor and jeweler a fortune.
“Well, he won’t be getting it,” she said.
“I admire your conviction. What do you plan to do with it?”
“Maybe I’ll give it to Ellen,” she said with a sly smile, “so she and Thomas can move their pawnshop to London.”
“Be serious.”
“Is this more of the getting-to-know-each-other game?”
They’d come to the entrance of the maze. “Tell me,” he said softly.
Her sisters had both nurtured dreams since childhood: Violet wanted to publish a philosophy book, and Lily wished to build and staff a home for stray animals. But in truth, Rose had never made such high-minded plans. She’d only ever hoped to find love and be happy.
She’d just never dreamed that goal would prove so difficult.
“I want to travel,” she said. “I wish to see the world.”
“Travel can be fascinating, but it can also be tiring and tedious. Does the duke enjoy it?”
She had no idea. In fact, she realized now, she knew little of the duke at all. They’d never had a serious conversation, never shared a confidence, never discussed likes, dislikes, values—or much of anything at all.
But she’d spent hours talking to Kit, about anything and everything. They’d become friends before he ever kissed her. She knew he wanted to travel, to Italy and elsewhere.
“Let’s go inside,” she said. “I’d have you show me this left-hand rule.”
The look he gave her made it clear he knew she was avoiding his question. But he took her remaining shoe and set it down with his own things, then led her inside the tall hedge maze.
“Put your left hand on the wall as we walk,” he instructed. “And leave it there. Just follow that left wall without breaking contact, and I guarantee you’ll find the center without getting lost. Go on,” he urged when she hesitated. “I’ll follow you.”
Slanting him a wary glance, she did as he said, skimming her left hand along the leaves as she marched through the hornbeam hedges. When they reached a dead end, she turned on him. “It didn’t work.”
“Keep your hand on the wall,” he repeated. “Follow it around.”
“It’s a dead end.”
“I didn’t say you’d never come to a dead end. I said you wouldn’t get lost.” He took her left hand, pressed a slow, warm kiss to the palm, then placed it back against the hedge. “Keep going.”
She did, but not before releasing a long, shuddering breath. She could still feel his lips on her palm, even as she slid it along the leaves. Why had he done that?
Had he not given up on her?
The towering hedges made the path shady and intimate. At the second dead end, she turned to him again. “This cannot be the optimum route.”
“Of course it isn’t.” He looked amused. “You’d have to know the pattern of the maze to take the optimum route. But this is a safe route. You won’t wander the same way twice, and you’ll find the center.” He pressed a quick kiss to her lips, so fast and light she wondered if she might have imagined it. “Keep going.”
At the third dead end she turned to him once more. “This is a waste of time.”
“Of course it’s a waste of time. It’s a maze—there are few things more frivolous.” Smiling, he trailed a finger down her cheek to her chin. A frisson of warmth followed. His thumb grazed her bottom lip. “But there’s nothing quite so delightful as wasting time with someone you care for, is there?”
He cared for her. What did that mean, exactly? Too tired to think straight, she held her breath as he leaned close and slowly brushed her mouth with his.
She definitely wasn’t imagining this.
Giddy with exhaustion, she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. He was right: There was nothing else quite so delightful. Forgetting that she shouldn’t encourage him, she sank into the kiss, into the intimate dance that made her head feel dreamy and her stomach flutter with excitement.
“Keep going,” he whispered when at last he drew back.
Dizzily she trailed a hand along the cool leaves, the trodden dirt path hard under her stockinged feet. At the next dead end, she felt his hands on her shoulders, turning her into his arms. His fingers cradled her face, and as he lowered his mouth to meet hers, his woodsy scent filled her head.
The morning was chilly, but he was so very warm and solid. As he deepened the kiss, she surrendered all too willingly, leaning into the delicious heat of his body. When he bit down gently on her lower lip, her breath caught.
“Kit,” she murmured.
“Hmm?” He kissed both sides of her mouth, where her dimples would be if she were smiling.
“I think…” She was so lightheaded, her thoughts refused to come together. Was it the exhaustion or the kissing? “Let’s keep going.”
She felt limp, so weak she could barely keep her hand to the hedges as she went along. Another dead end loomed ahead, and this time she turned to him before they even reached it.
He laughed, his smile affecting her nearly as much as his kisses. “I think you’re enjoying this maze more than you anticipated.” He reached to tap the lip he’d just bitten, traced her mouth, then trailed a finger down her chin to the delicate hollow of her throat. His gaze went a glittery green as he drew circles there.
She shivered and went on her toes to press her lips to his. It was a kiss that held nothing back, that carried all the force of her frustration, her resistance, and her inexplicable need. They were clasped to each other from top to toe, li
ke they were molded together. Her every nerve was on fire at the feel of his muscles pressing up against her softer form.
By the time he broke away, she was gasping for breath, and she couldn’t have held her hand to the wall had her life depended on it. He scooped her up in his arms, carried her a short distance to the center of the maze, and deposited her on a bench.
No one had ever carried her before—at least, not since she was a small child. It was beyond romantic. She’d felt safe and cherished enfolded in his arms, and she was sorry the experience hadn’t lasted longer.
But she was also sorry there hadn’t been more dead ends.
Feeling boneless, she placed her hands on either side of herself for support. The maze’s center was an oval, grassy space, a tiny hidden garden with two old trees and the bench between them, nothing more. A secret place that exuded an air of tranquility and the scents of greenery.
Kit stood over her. “Told you we’d find the center.”
She leaned back on her palms, blinking up at him. “That always works?”
“Well, not necessarily quite so enjoyably,” he said with a grin. “But yes, it always works. From a mathematical standpoint, it must.”
She shook her head, then stopped when it made her feel woozy. “I was never all that good at mathematics.”
“And I cannot speak anything but English.” Stepping back, he leaned casually against one of the trees, looking wide awake and irresistible. “We all have our strengths and our weaknesses. Don’t underreckon yourself.”
“You don’t,” she said, knowing it was true.
“I don’t what?”
“Underreckon me.”
“Of course I don’t. I couldn’t love a girl if I didn’t admire her as well.”
That single syllable, love, threw her. She was reeling under Kit’s onslaught of affectionate actions and words. He quite obviously hadn’t given up.
And he admired her.
Did she admire Gabriel? She didn’t know. He’d proven himself kind and solicitous and generous, but he’d also kept a pawnbroker’s change.
She hadn’t slept in more than a day. She was so tired and confused and dizzy. Her knees still shaky, she stood and walked to the other tree, putting the bench between herself and Kit.
She turned away, running her fingers down the trunk, smiling dazedly at the carvings made by others who had found their way to the center. “Look at all the initials,” she said quietly. “Hundreds of them. Do you suppose all these people made it here using the left-hand rule?”
His low laugh sounded by her ear, surprising her. “No,” he said from right behind her, his voice reawakening that flutter in her middle. “I’m sure most of them were lost for hours, both on their way in and on their way back out.”
She smiled, the only reaction she could manage at the moment. Not that it mattered, since she was facing away. “You’re fooling.”
“Maybe. You’re tired.”
“Definitely.”
She felt his fingers on her face, warm and sure, his lips brushing the back of her neck, trailing up her nape. She let her head fall back against him, breathing in frankincense and Kit.
“Romance,” he muttered under his breath, pulling away.
Or at least she thought she’d heard him mutter. She straightened woozily and turned to face him. “What?”
“Nothing.” He pulled his knife from his belt. “Who do you suppose made all these carvings?”
“I’m sure I don’t know.”
He moved around the tree, examining all the initials. “Do you think the king has left his mark?” He set his knife to the wood and began scratching. “Or his mistresses? Do you expect any two people have been here who fit together as perfect as we?”
She followed him around and stopped, swaying slightly as she stared. He’d engraved RA and CM, and now he was busy surrounding both with a heart.
Her own heart melted. “Kit,” she whispered.
The knife dropped to the dirt as he turned her around to back her against the tree, his mouth on hers for a brief, fierce moment that drove the breath from her lungs.
Then he moved away and left her sagging against the tree, bracing herself on the rough bark to stay upright. “Come back,” she said plaintively.
His crooked smile held satisfaction, amusement, and a tinge of exasperation. “No,” he said, pushing his hands into his pockets. “Not until you admit you care for me.”
“I…” Her senses were still spinning, making it hard to absorb his meaning. “I do care for you. As a friend.”
“As more than that.”
“But…”
“But nothing.” One of his hands reappeared to rest on her cheek, and he pressed a sweet, lingering kiss to her forehead. Then he retreated, looking resolute. “Until you admit the truth, Rose, that’s the last kiss you’ll get from me.”
She looked away and pushed an errant curl behind her ear, feeling like she should say something but not knowing what.
She’d made a complete fool of herself.
“A gift from the duke?” he asked, gesturing to her diamond earring.
She swallowed and nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
“I’m not giving up without a fight,” he said, his voice husky and shaky. “We’re too good together. I want to be with you.”
Heaven help her, she wanted to be with him, too, and not just because his mere proximity made her forget her own name. Of all the young men she’d ever met, he was the only one who appreciated her for more than her beauty—who valued her intelligence, who was awed by her talent with languages. She wanted him more than she could remember ever wanting anything.
But in the end, she said nothing, because a duke had offered for her hand. And risked his life defending her honor.
How could she accept an architect over a duke?
She felt the headache coming on. “I think we’d best go back.”
He scooped his knife off the ground and slid it back into its belt sheath.
She rubbed her temples. “How do we get out? The right-hand rule?”
Though his gaze still glinted with intensity, one corner of his mouth quirked. “How about the rule of knowing the way you came in?”
“How many times have you been in this maze?”
“Just the once. But it’s a pattern. Geometry.”
She nodded slowly. “You’re good at geometry.”
“You’ll find I’m good at a lot of things.” He wasn’t smiling now. She searched his eyes, wondering what he meant, but he quickly turned away. “Follow me.”
He led her out without one misstep.
Without running into one dead end.
Without any more kisses.
FIFTY-ONE
LATER THAT DAY, Kit was in the midst of a calculation when a knock interrupted.
“One minute,” he called, pausing to scribble down a number.
He rose and stretched for a brief moment, then padded across his small lodging to open the door. “Lady Trentingham.” He blinked.
How had she found him? The courtiers weren’t lodged near Master Carpenter’s Court.
“May I come in?”
“Of course,” he said, suddenly aware of his state of half-dress: no shoes, no stockings, no coat, no cravat. Just breeches and a shirt, the latter unlaced at the neck and the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He began turning them down.
“No need to do that for me,” she assured him as she stepped inside. “I’ve seen arms and feet before.” Her warm brown eyes twinkled with humor.
He shrugged and waved her toward one of the two chairs that flanked the spartan room’s small table, taking the other for himself. “If this is about me keeping Rose out all night, I assure you—”
“It isn’t. I trust you, Kit.” The countess sat, fluffing her skirts. “How went the romancing?”
He rolled his eyes, a habit he seemed to have picked up from Rose. “I carried her to the center of the maze. And I carved our initials into a tree
trunk. The mere act had me choking back laughter, but she loved it.”
“Excellent. You must do some more of that.”
He wasn’t sure he could come up with anything more. “I’m a very straightforward sort of fellow, my lady. I wasn’t raised here at court. I’m no good at gallant gestures.”
She glanced at the carefully drawn plans he’d spread on the table. “You seem creative enough to me. I’m sure if you put your mind to it, you’ll do just fine.”
Designing buildings wasn’t creative—it was logical, mathematical. Certain requirements had to be met, certain loads had to be supported, certain shapes were inherently beautiful.
But he’d learned by now there was no arguing with Lady Trentingham. “I’ll try,” he told her.
“Excellent.” She tapped a finger against her chin. “The fact that Rose refused the duke’s proposal after he dueled on her behalf—I take that as a very good sign.”
“The duel…” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I realize it’s not my place to say this, my lady, but matters at court seem to be getting rather out of hand. I fear it might be best if you took Rose and left—as soon as possible.”
“We’re leaving tomorrow. Her friend Judith is marrying later this week, and she’d never forgive us if we missed her wedding.”
“No, I mean you should leave today. Before…” Hoping Rose would forgive him, he plunged on. “Are you aware that your daughter was recently in possession of a book? A very—”
“I Sonetti?” she interrupted.
He gasped. ”She shared the book with you?”
The countess’s lips quirked. “Of course she didn’t share it. But the court talks of little else. I’m not deaf, you know.”
“And you aren’t…angry?” He kept his expression carefully blank, wondering if she’d learned how her daughter had come by the book.
Lady Trentingham sighed. “I’m hardly thrilled about the effect on her reputation.”
He nodded his agreement. “Then you’re aware of the danger. It seems that people—men—have decided Rose is…that she’s…”
“Wild? A wanton?”
“And worse,” he snapped. He didn’t want to think of Rose like that. And he knew it wasn’t remotely true.