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 heat 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, slipping the diamond drop from an ear. Then his lips as he leaned close and drew her lobe into his mouth to suckle it gently. She let her head fall back against him, inhaling his scent, drawing it into her lungs as though it might sustain her.
Maybe it could.
“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 gathered her into his arms, his mouth on hers tasting of heat and desire. Turning her, he backed her against the tree. He slid the second diamond drop from her ear and slipped it into his pocket, kissing her lobe and nipping it gently. And lower, following the line of her jaw to her throat, playing in that sensitive hollow that made her shiver.
Wanting to taste him as he was tasting her, she raised her hands to unknot his cravat. Slowly she drew it from his neck, placing her lips where it had been as it fluttered to the ground like a white flag of surrender.
A fitting symbol, because surrender she did.
His skin tasted of warmth tinged with salt and Kit, a heady flavor. Her toes curled into the turf. She slipped her hands beneath his surcoat and around his waist, leaning into him, molding her body to his. She wanted this, wanted him, wanted him there where she ached.
She raised her face for his kiss, and when he obliged her, it was a glorious sensation. But she wanted more. Her body was crying for more.
Blindly reaching behind for his hand, she tried to bring it between them, tried to show him what she wanted. She wanted to feel him, too. She wanted to learn the shape of a man, the shape of Kit. She wanted to give him some of the incredible pleasure he’d given her in the orangery.
But he pressed his hips hard against hers, blocking her attempt. “No,” he whispered, twisting his hand to grasp her fingers instead. He gave her another light kiss. “Not if you won’t have me.”
Her senses were spinning, making it hard to absorb his words. “But last week—”
“I let this go too far then, but not again. I won’t dishonor you. No.”
“Yes…oh, yes…” Her voice went higher in her desperation. “Oh, please, Kit. I want to feel what you can do to me. I want to make you feel it, too.”
He squeezed her hand and kissed her again, a sweet, lingering caress that left her mouth burning with desire. Then he let go of her and stepped back.
Looking resolute, he took a big breath and blew it out. “Until you change your mind, sweetheart, you’re going to have to make do with kisses.”
She looked away, feeling like she should say something but not knowing what.
She’d made a complete fool of herself.
He bent to pick up his knife.
“My earrings,” she finally whispered tremulously.
He dug them out of his pocket and dropped them, one by one, into her outstretched palm. “Did the duke give you these, too?” His voice was husky and as shaky as hers.
She swallowed and nodded.
“I’m not giving up without a fight,” he said low. “We’re too good together. I want you.”
God help her, she wanted him, too, and not just because his touch made her forget who she was and what she was after. He was the only man she’d ever met who appreciated her for more than her beauty—who valued her for her intelligence, who was awed by her talent with languages. She wanted Kit more than she’d imagined a woman could want a man.
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?
The diamonds felt hard in her fist. “I think we’d best go back.”
He scooped his cravat off the ground and stuffed it into his pocket.
She straightened her gown. “How do we get out? The right-hand rule?”
His expression eased to the point where he almost cracked a smile. “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.”
He met her gaze, his own steady. “If you ever give me a chance to show you, you’ll find I’m good at a lot of things. Follow me.”
He led her out without one misstep.
Without running into one dead end.
Without any more kisses.
FIFTY-TWO
LATER THAT DAY, Kit was in the midst of a calculation when a knock interrupted.
“One minute,” he called,
