“Oh, that,” he said, as they went in through the dark hedge. “You don’t have to. I only told you that story because it makes it sound so difficult. I’m not even sure it works that way. Listen, now we’re absolutely alone, I’ll tell you the whole truth of it. I’ll sing you a song that I’m sure you do know, and you turn at the end of each rhyme, first right, then left and then left again and then right. If you start off on your right foot and start singing at six paces, you’ll be there in no time.”
He began to sing an old song in a clear pleasant tenor, a song she knew well enough. It was not one any lady would sing in mixed company.
“I don’t believe it!” she cried indignantly, cutting him off. “You yourself said you told Daffyd the Shakespeare sonnet that was the key to this place.”
“So I did. But that’s not the only way. Am I to blame my ancestor’s tastes?” he asked innocently. “They entertained both high and low, as they lived. They were less priggish in those days. Now, step out on your right foot, and at six paces, begin. And all the verses, mind.”
She looked at him skeptically. He looked back, and shrugged. So she started to pace off her steps, and when she got to the sixth, began singing in a small, self-conscious voice, as much muttering as singing, because they were really very naughty lyrics. While she sang, she turned at the appropriate places, but when she’d repeated the song five times, now oblivious of how she sounded, she was still in one of the long dark green tunnels that made up the maze. She scowled and looked at Leland.
He was biting his lip, and his eyes sparkled.
“Wretch!” she cried. “You did that just to amuse yourself at my expense.” She batted at his shoulder. He turned aside, and, laughing, captured her hands in one big hand. And then he looked at her and stopped laughing, as she stopped fighting and looked at him.
He drew her close, and kissed her. Breathless and surprised, she kissed him back, and found she had to have more of the taste of him. His mouth was sweeter than she’d remembered. She felt the strength of his long hard body against her own, and it dazzled her. He held her gently and deepened the embrace. She closed her eyes, leaned in, opened her mouth to his, and drank long and deep of his kiss.
They paused for breath, looked at each other, and he kissed her again. Or she kissed him; she neither knew nor cared. His hand on her breast thrilled her. She felt her nipple rising to the palm of that big warm hand, and the thrill of it was like shivering heat. He bent his head to run a burning kiss from her earlobe down the nape of her neck, causing her bonnet to fall back and away. She wanted to discard her gown the same way, because everywhere he touched felt on fire. She closed her eyes and gave in to the sensations he roused, breathing in the scent of him, of good lavender soap, clean lemony herbs, and Leland Grant.
She wasn’t afraid of disappointing or displeasing him; she couldn’t think to be afraid. His shoulders were hard under her hands; she could feel his heart beating hard against her own. She couldn’t remember ever feeling this way and was overwhelmed, yet greedy for more.
But he was the one to stop. “Damnation,” he said on a shaky laugh, as he looked around. “There’s nowhere to go further right now. Why couldn’t we have done this in the middle of the maze? You’ve got us so far from it, it will take time to get there.”
Sense was returning to her, he could see it in how her eyes grew wide. She pulled her bonnet back on and tied its strings with shaking fingers. “You mean you want us to do that here and now?” she asked tremulously.
“No,” he said on a long sigh of defeat. “It would be impossible here; just think of how we’d block the path. We don’t want any wandering hedgehog to fall over us. And I don’t fancy leaning back against the hedges; I doubt they’d support us and I’d think it would be far too prickly in any event. Daisy,” he said in a softer voice, “don’t worry. That was just a good omen of days, and nights, to come.”
She nodded.
He saw her retreat from him as clearly as if she’d struck him. There’d be no further lovemaking now. She was too self-conscious.
“Come,” he said gently. “We’ve been here too long. Let’s go home. Would you like to sing our way out?”
That made her smile and she pretended to bat him, as he laughed and pretended to dance away. They both knew it was pretense, and were glad for the diversion as they walked back to their horses together.
They rode in silence, but as their horses neared the house again, she spoke. “Leland?” she said.
“Yes?” he asked warily, because there was something in her voice that alerted him.
“Can we make love together, today or tonight?”
He stared at her. A slow smile appeared on his lips. “I am your servant,” he said, bowing from the waist. “Anything to please you. Would you like to join me on my horse?” he asked. “He’s really faster, and we can get there straightaway.”
Chapter Twenty-One
They raced back home, gave their horses to a stable boy, and arm in arm, went into the house. The butler met them at the door. Leland nodded to him, and led Daisy into the hall. A footman there told him the housekeeper had a question about the dinner menu, and then blushed scarlet. And two maids on the stairs paused to gaze at them round-eyed.
Leland stopped in the hall and sighed. “The look on my face gave me away,” he whispered to his bride. “There were times when this home’s hospitality was ill used,” he explained. In those times, he thought, he’d have gone upstairs with a woman he desired despite how many of his servants saw him. But this was different. This was his bride. And the look on her face now told him it had to be different.
There wasn’t any way that he could take her to their room now without the whole household knowing. He saw that knowledge in her eyes, and realized that must have been like cold water on the fire that he’d lit in her. Because she’d stopped laughing.
But she was obviously determined. She gazed at him with gravity. “Well, we’re here,” she said. “Shall we get on with it?”
All laughter had fled; she was sober, actually steely now. So she’d resolved to take him on, he thought. Gads! He’d assumed a difficult task.
Daffyd and Geoff had told him more about their experiences in the Antipodes than the woman he’d just married ever had done. He’d been content to wait for her to relax and trust him in time. One thing was coming clear, though. That brute of a husband had almost ruined her for lovemaking. The operative word was “almost.” Her new husband was determined to change that, because he felt-he knew-he had to believe-she wanted to change it, too. He’d felt the hidden fire in her.
He’d never wanted a wife who would simply endure him. He could have married any number of well-brought-up young women who would do that. They were trained to. Not only had he met too many eager to learn more from other men after they’d presented their husbands an heir, but too often such women could never be brought to joy. Nor had he wanted a wife who was wildly profligate. He’d had a mother who had ruined too many lives with her appetites. Still, to marry a woman who dreaded the marriage bed because of what she’d experienced there? But he was ever a man for a challenge.
“Then let’s continue this discussion upstairs,” he said. He signaled to his butler. “What we’d like,” he told the man, “is an assortment of Cook’s cakes. I especially like the little ones, with currants. Can we have them brought upstairs? And bring up a few bottles of champagne from the cellar too. The ’94, the ones without tax stamps, from France. We’ve been married three days, we wish to celebrate. Now,” he told Daisy, as the butler, smiling, left. “We’ll have ourselves a revel.”
Her eyes widened, but she swallowed hard, and went up the stairs with him.
She was laughing in an hour. They’d had champagne, and Leland was telling her about some incident at a revel when he’d been at Cambridge. He’d changed to his silken robe, and seemed comfortable, sitting and spinning stories for her. He was a wonderful storyteller.
She sat on their high bed, cross-legged, her pink gown making a pretty contrast to the peach coverlets. When he finished his last story, she pummeled the coverlets with a fist and groaned with laughter. Her hair had come loose from its ribbon, and it framed her face with rosy gold curls. Her smile was radiant; she wasn’t intoxicated, merely merry.
