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
