But her hand refused to let go.
When they reached the top of the steps, he pulled her beneath the cupola and swung her in a tight circle between the fading white pillars.
“We did it,” he said, his eyes sparkling. He had yet to release her from the warmth of his embrace. Nor did she wish him to. His mouth was mere inches from hers. “I owe a debt of gratitude to the diabolical architect who crafted the labyrinth. Finding this folly with you was worth every twist and turn.”
“You’re welcome,” she said softly, without pulling from his grasp. A blush heated her cheekbones at the surprise in his eyes. She averted her gaze. “That is, Imighthave switched the lackluster original design with one of my own making.”
A proud smile curved his lips as he cupped her cheek in his palm. “My diabolical architect. I should have known from the start. I have always loved your clever brain.”
Her heart thumped wildly when he caressed her cheek with the pad of his thumb. A frisson of delicious anticipation touched her spine.
As he tilted his face toward hers, a crack of thunder rent the air—followed by a pair of not-too-distant voices shouting, “It’s going to rain! Which way is the folly?”
“Oh no…Guests.” Rebecca stared up at him in frozen horror. The others must have arrived—and would be upon them at any moment. Out here. Alone in the folly. “We can’t be caught together. We’ll be compromised.”
A long, precarious moment passed before he dropped his hand from her cheek and turned away. “You’re right. Is there any chance you penciled in a shortcut?”
She hiked up the edge of her hem to make it easier to run. “Follow me.”
But as they tore off through the lesser-known paths of the labyrinth, her mind stayed back in the folly, her body back in his arms, her face nestled in his hands. If he would have attempted to kiss her… she might have let him.
And ruined her heart forever in the process.
Chapter 8
Two days later, Rebecca tried to make sense of the smudged columns of numbers in the borrowed ledgers, but her mind was too muddled to sum figures.
’Twas Daniel’s fault, of course. Blast the charming devil. Even though he hadn’t kissed her, she was still ruined.
She had resolved to keep her distance for her own sanity. To regain some small portion of her equilibrium.
But with dozens of guests filling the castle, its hallmark preternatural quiet had been usurped by shouts and voices and laughter.
Rebecca had nothing against such things. She was particularly fond of laughter. But now that the castle had been overtaken, the reality of Daniel’s impending departure weighed down on her like a dense cloud. Once the will was read and the bequests made, he would have no reason to dally in Delmouth.
Only five days remained until he returned to London. Back to his soirées and his convocations. Back to his fast, elegant, busy life three hundred miles away. And once he left, he wouldn’t be back.
Rebecca had learned that lesson already.
She tied a bonnet about her head and shoved her arms into a thick pelisse. If there was nothing for her here in the castle, then it was past time for her to take her search to the village.Someonewas bound to fancy her.
She just had to find him.
With a pinch to her cheeks for a spot of much-needed color, she swept out of her bedchamber and down the stairs to the main entryway.
Daniel fell into step beside her before she even reached the front door.
“Where are you going?” he asked.
“Delmouth.”
He frowned. “Shopping for something specific?”
“A husband,” she answered tartly.
“Then I’m coming with you.”
She glared at him.
