Damn it to hell, he had no choice but to go after her.
Across the lawn they hurried, the lanterns barely illuminating the soft grass beneath their feet. Silently they entered the maze, high hedgerows reaching more than twelve feet on either side of them. “Tolland,” Hayden called out.
“Cecil,” Miss Rosemoor echoed.
Silence greeted them.
“There’s a clearing in the center,” Hayden said. “Follow me; it’s three rights and then a sharp left.”
“Are you certain?” She strode on ahead of him. “Perhaps we should split up–”
“So I can lose you in here? Stay close by my side. I know this maze well.”
He was relieved to see her acquiesce, waiting for him to reach her side before matching her pace to his. They hastily followed the path, illuminated only by the full moon above them.
As they hurried on, she turned and cast him an appraising glance. “You know this maze well?” she asked with raised brows, a wry smile on her lips. “Dare I ask how you became so well acquainted with it?”
“It’s probably best that you don’t,” he answered with a tight smile, vaguely remembering an assortment of trysts from his past, inconsequential encounters with experienced, willing women of little reputation. He cautiously eyed the woman walking by his side. “You’ve a very sharp tongue, you know. Perhaps your father should have ordered you around a bit.”
“My tongue is only sharp when provoked beyond measure. In fact, I’m generally known for my pleasant disposition.”
“Is that so? Interesting. I suppose I’ll have to take your word.”
“Haven’t you heard that you’ll catch more flies with honey than vinegar, Lord Westfield? It’s a very common adage. Perhaps you should take it to heart.”
“But why settle for a mere fly when I can have a wasp instead? I’m growing rather fond of our verbal spars, Miss Rosemoor. You’re a worthy opponent, indeed.”
“Humph.” She tossed her head, apparently rendered speechless.
They reached the clearing in no time, a bubbling fountain in its center shadowed by a towering yew. Splitting up, they each paced the area, peering into the shadowed recesses and calling loudly for the missing man with no response.
“Tolland, where the devil are you?” he called out. Nothing.
“Any other ideas?” Miss Rosemoor asked acidly.
His nerves prickled at her tone. “I suppose we should follow the path to the end, and then double back to the entrance. It’s possible he managed to drag himself out by now.”
Miss Rosemoor’s head swung left, then right. Two paths led away from the clearing. “Well? Which way?” she asked.
“This way.” He set off to the left. “Tolland?” he called out, his hands cupped to his mouth.
“Cecil?”
Still no answer.
Hayden cursed under his breath, vowing to wring Tolland’s neck when he found him. He’d like to wring Adele’s neck, too, he thought, deepening the scowl that already darkened his features. Insidious woman. Adele had been his mistress for more than a year, nothing more than a casual dalliance with a willing widow. But then her true nature had revealed itself–Adele was a manipulative, petulant woman with designs on Richmond Park. Her demands were ever increasing, her unwelcome visits an annoyance. One day he’d returned from a brief trip to London to find Adele settled in the salon with Madeline, attempting to insinuate herself with the girl. That had been the last straw.
He’d swiftly and unequivocally ended it. Since that time, Adele had tried every trick in the book, from feigning illness to parading her newest conquests beneath his nose, hoping to make him jealous. Her games had annoyed him, nothing more, until now. Now she’d gone too far. Hell, he didn’t care if she shared her favors with every available man in Derbyshire, but Tolland... He grimaced, thinking of Emily. Anyone but Tolland. Tolland was easy prey with his roving eye and flirtatious manner. But Tolland’s indiscretions had always been, well…discreet. There was nothing discreet about Adele, and the devious woman would make certain that Emily knew of her husband’s transgressions. She cut her teeth on such triumph. He wouldn’t allow it.
He looked up, surprised to find that they’d somehow worked their way back to the clearing again without accomplishing the far side of the maze.
“Well?” Miss Rosemoor was slightly breathless.
He scratched his head. Left, wasn’t it? Or right? He couldn’t remember.
“Can you not find your way out?” she asked.
“Of course I can. Let’s try this again. Left here. Then right. Then two more lefts.”
He continued on, hoping he was correct.
Moments later they stopped again, decidedly back at the same juncture as before.
“We’re right back where we started,” she said with a sigh. “I thought you knew this maze well.”
“It’s been awhile. Perhaps we should turn back. Tolland must’ve already made his own way out. Otherwise he’d have heard us by now.”
She nodded in agreement and hurried back across the clearing.
“This way, Miss Rosemoor.” He pointed to the left. “This will take us back to the assembly hall.”
She frowned at him. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, my lord. This way will take us back.” She pointed to the right.
“Having never been here before, I’m not sure how you can say that with such authority. It’s left.”
“I’ve a good sense of direction.”
“As do I,” he replied. “It’s this way.”
Both stood, glaring at the other.
Finally, she shook her head with a sigh. “If you insist.”
Fifteen minutes later they were back where they had started. Again.
“Left, you said,” she huffed. “Now I know never to listen to you. I told you it was to the right. Good sense of direction, you say?”
The exasperating woman flounced off to the right and there was nothing he could do but follow her.
Right back to exact same juncture.
“Oh, this is madness.” She dashed to the center of the clearing and stood on tiptoe on the fountain’s pedestal, bracing her hands against the circular trough. “Cecil,” she yelled, her voice rising in panic. “Someone? Anyone?”
“Tolland?” he joined in. “Can anyone hear us?”
An owl hooted.
She turned on him, her eyes flashing in the moonlight. “Now what are we to do?”
“We rest for a moment, and then we try again. To the left.”
She let out a rush of breath. “Perhaps I could use a rest. I am a bit winded.” Her eyes were bright, her cheeks stained strawberry from the exertion.
Damnation, she was beautiful. Perhaps the most beautiful woman he’d ever met. His gaze met hers, his heart thumping against his ribs. He hadn’t meant to find himself alone–unchaperoned–with the woman. In fact, he’d protested against the very idea. But now, here they were, all alone. Unwatched.
Caught in his gaze, she stepped away from him, backing against the solid wall of clipped yew like a cornered animal. As he moved toward her, his mind ceased functioning properly and instinct took over, all but clouding his sensibility.
“Almost a full moon,” she said at last, breaking the charged silence. “At least it’s a lovely night to get lost in.” His gaze followed hers, up to the bright orb in the darkened sky, a wispy cloud shrouding its lower quadrant.
He took another step toward her, no more than an arm’s length from her now. She turned her head, biting her lower lip.
“We’re sure to have a pleasant summer,” she added, still averting her gaze. “Quite warm, too.”
He wanted to kiss her. It went against all reason, against every rational thought–against his very character. She was a lady, after all. A virgin. An innocent. Emily’s cousin, for God’s sake. But dammit, he wanted to kiss her. Now. If, for no other reason, to silence her mindless prattle about the weather.
He closed the distance between them, placin
g his hands on the tree’s trunk on either side of her head and effectively trapping her. He could hear her rapid breaths, see her eyes widen with something akin to fear. There were no other sounds save the gurgling of the fountain as water trickled from a stone cherub down to the trough below.
Indeed, they were decidedly alone.
“Whatever are you doing?” she asked, her voice a husky whisper.
“I thought perhaps to kiss you,” he answered, unable to suppress a smile as her eyes widened a considerable fraction.
“Kiss me? Have you lost your wits?”
“I’m fairly certain I’ve my wits about me.” He inched his mouth closer to hers, her breath caressing his lips, tantalizing him. “Shall I show you how it’s done? I touch my lips, thus,” he brushed his lips slowly, seductively, across hers, “to yours.” Her deep blue eyes, inky in the moonlight, widened a fraction more. “Like so.”
Then she startled him by reaching a hand up to his head. “Here,” she whispered. “You’ve got something...a bit of a leaf...”
He felt her fingers brush above his ear and he shuddered at the contact. With a quick movement, he reached up and caught her hand, brought it to his mouth as he breathed in her scent, an intoxicating mingling of spices. Cinnamon, perhaps, mixed with anise? His gaze sought hers as he pressed his lips against her palm. Her breath caught but her eyes didn’t leave his face.
Damn propriety–he had to kiss her. His head dipped toward hers and he captured her mouth with his own, his heart hammering in his chest. He reached down to her throat, felt her pulse jump beneath his thumb as her lips parted, allowing access to his plundering tongue. She tasted like champagne mixed with the sweetest honey, and he feasted on her like a starving man.
With a shudder, he felt her hands tangle in his hair, drawing him closer still. He pressed himself fully against her, his urgent erection firm against her hip.
She pulled back at once from the intimate contact. In a flash her hand flew out and struck him solidly across the cheek. “How dare you!”
His hand rose to his stinging cheek, his mind reeling in shock. Most marriageable ladies would eagerly allow him to kiss them senseless if he’d taken a notion to it, the threat of being caught nothing more than an enticement. Which is precisely why he hadn’t made a habit of it. What a foolish, imprudent thing to have done. Next thing he knew she’d be measuring windows for drapes at Richmond Park.
“I assure you it will never happen again.” He would make damn sure of it.
She opened her mouth as if to speak, then snapped it shut.
“Come now, after eight Seasons it’s surely not the first time you’ve been kissed,” he drawled, still smarting with annoyance. At himself. At her.
“I’ll have you know it is,” she replied with surprising vehemence. “I am a lady, sir, and I don’t go about kissing men thither and yon. Dear God, what if someone came upon us?” She looked around wildly, her face suddenly a mask of panic and confusion. “What if we were forced to wed? How could I be so stupid, so impulsive?” Her voice rose a pitch to near hysteria.
“We’ve been yelling with no response for more than an hour. It’s obvious there’s no one about to witness your ruin.”
She nodded mutely, visibly gathering her composure.
“I said it would never happen again, and you have my word as a gentleman that it won’t. Now let’s get out of here and find Tolland.”
“Fine,” she replied tartly, walking on ahead of him.
Toward the right.
He followed her silently, a bit shaken by the terror he’d seen in her eyes. Damnation, he’d only kissed her. He’d said it would never happen again, and by God, he’d make bloody sure it didn’t.
“To think I actually listened to you,” she muttered as he caught up to her. “Good sense of direction, indeed. I think perhaps you must have dozed off during lessons explaining the difference between left and right.”
“I can assure you I’m perfectly capable of telling left from right, Miss Rosemoor. Here, allow me to demonstrate. The lady to my right claims not to have fits of temper in public, yet clearly cannot hold her tongue when piqued.”
“Oooh!” Her cheeks reddened. “If ever a man was undeserving of my confidence in–”
“Confidence?” he sputtered indignantly. “If that was a show of confidence then I’m–”
“Cecil!” Miss Rosemoor interrupted, calling out shrilly as she dashed ahead of him.
“Cecil?” He looked up in confusion, surprised to see that they’d somehow found their way back to the maze’s entrance. There sat Tolland on a wrought-iron bench, a dazed expression on his face as he rubbed one visibly swollen ankle.
Bloody hell, more than his ankle would be in need of a poultice when he was through with the man.
Chapter 4
“I’m sorry, mum,” Emily’s lady’s maid said. “I’m afraid you’ll have to entertain yourself this afternoon. Mrs. Tolland’s taken to her bed.”
Jane’s heart began to race. “She’s not unwell, is she?” It was still more than a moon till the babe was expected.
“No, she’s well enough, miss. Just a bout of the blues is all. Comes and goes with my mistress. Don’t fret; it’ll pass. It always does.”
Jane’s racing heart progressed to a full gallop. The blues? Emily seemed so merry, so cheerful. Fear raced through Jane’s veins.
She could put it off no longer. She would find Cecil immediately and make the necessary arrangements for a visit to The Orchards. It was time to see her Grandmama, to uncover the truth–to face it herself once and for all. She would go tomorrow, once she was assured of Emily’s well-being.
An hour later the arrangements were made, and Jane hurried upstairs to fetch her shawl. She’d go for a walk, explore the grounds. The sun was high in the sky–not a cloud in sight–and the air held the promise of warmth. A perfect afternoon for an invigorating stroll. From her bedroom window, she could see a shimmering lake in the distance–an inviting destination.
She set off with a scowl, drawing her shawl tightly about her shoulders as her thoughts returned to her cousin’s plight. Perhaps she was wrong–perhaps Emily’s maid was simply overstating it. After all, most women occasionally had mild bouts of the blues, didn’t they? Perhaps it was nothing more serious than that, she assured herself as she ambled across the manicured lawn and headed toward the wood, densely shadowed by enormous trees. The rugged, untamed landscape filled her with awe as she walked on, sure that she’d never before seen such beautiful land. Something about Derbyshire felt right to her. She felt eerily at home here even though many years had passed since her last visit to this district.
She passed through two large boulders, amazed at their impressive size. There was nothing like this in all of Essex. For a brief moment she wondered where Cecil’s land ended and Lord Westfield’s began. Dear Lord, she thought, don’t let me accidentally trespass onto his park. She should’ve asked someone about the estate’s borders before setting off so impulsively. The last thing she wanted to risk was accidentally bumping into the man.
Especially after last night. Her cheeks burned at the memory of his kiss. It was bad enough that she’d allowed it, but for a moment she’d actually enjoyed it. She’d been so careful all these years, never allowing a flirtation to progress to anything physical. She’d dodged her fair share of kisses, turning her cheek and scolding eager young men for their boldness. But it had been different with Lord Westfield, as if he’d paralyzed her with his presence. She’d only meant to go into the maze in search of Cecil–nothing more. She should have heeded his protestations.
But she hadn’t truly thought he would corner her like he had, his ardor catching her completely off guard. It was only when she’d felt the evidence of his arousal that she’d finally snapped to her senses.
Her initial instinct upon meeting Lord Westfield had been to act her most charming, alluring self. Just for spite, so she could summarily dismiss him as easily as he had dismissed her upon first
inspection. Yet she’d been unable to do so–somehow he pushed her beyond her usual limits and forced her to match wits at each and every turn. What was it about the man that was so different from the rest–the ones whom she’d been able to smile sweetly at and keep a civil tongue around, despite the temptation to do otherwise?
She’d never fully understand the male species. It would seem she had defeated her purpose, lashing out at him as she had since the moment they’d met. But his response had been to kiss her. And instead of being pleased with her accomplishment and subsequently rebuffing him–as he’d deserved–she’d not only allowed the kiss, but responded with a terrifying, overpowering passion. She’d felt his kiss right down to her toes, and she’d wanted more–far more than any proper maiden could dare wish for.
She shook her head in frustration as a single tear escaped the corner of her eye. She wiped it away and hurried on, scolding herself as she quickened her pace. Whatever had come over her? More often than not she was satisfied with her life–with the choices she’d made. She’d enjoyed a fair amount of popularity, and the proposals she managed to garner each year served to validate her womanhood, to assure her of her desirability, to remind her that she was alone because she chose to be alone.
Other times she thought she’d die from longing. She’d lie awake in bed at night, her heart in knots, wishing desperately to find the sweet, abiding affection her sister Susanna had found in Mr. Merrill, or the consummate joining of heart and soul that her dear friend Lucy had found with Lord Mandeville. But those things were not meant for her–she’d known it all along.
Forcing herself to dismiss her dour thoughts, she continued on, carefully picking her way through the foliage, ducking under branches and dodging stones in her path. At last she emerged from the dense wood, the lake finally in her sights. She quickened her pace in anticipation, but stopped short as she passed a clump of trees to her immediate right. Was she hearing things? She was almost certain she’d heard someone crying. She stepped closer, sure her ears were playing tricks on her. But the sound got louder as she neared a towering fir, and she peered anxiously around its trunk.
Unveiled (Undone by Love Book 3) Page 4
