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Maude watched him, indulging in the luxury of just being able to stare unseen. He unrolled what she guessed, from the questions Lady Wallace was asking him, was a plan of the stalls and stage. Their voices just reached Maude from her hiding place at the far end of the long room, Eden’s low, rich, sending shivers down her spine, the older woman’s bright and chatty.
He anchored the corners of the plan with piles of paper, then looked up, his head cocked to one side, as though straining to hear a distant voice. When Lady Wallace stepped out for a moment, Eden turned slowly on his heel, his eyes scanning the room, then he walked straight towards her. He could not see her, surely? Maude held her breath, dropping the edge of the curtain she had been peeping through and feeling quite ridiculously flustered.
‘Hello.’ Eden stood in front of her, his mouth quirking at the sight she presented, curled up like the parlour cat on the window seat. ‘Move up?’
Obediently, Maude swung down her feet and sat up to give him room to join her, so close she could feel his body heat and inhale the achingly familiar scent of him. ‘How did you know I was here?’
‘I seem to be able to sense your presence when you are in a room,’ he said. ‘Maude, are you all right? You are very pale.’
‘I’m a little tired,’ she confessed, catching at an excuse for her behaviour. ‘Elinor Ravenhurst and her husband Theo have returned from France, so I came down for some peace and quiet before the meeting.’
‘And now I have disturbed you,’ he said, running the ball of his thumb gently along her cheekbone. ‘You’ve lost weight, Maude.’
‘Some, I think,’ she confessed. ‘I’ve been overdoing it, I expect.’ He cupped her face in both hands, looking at her with dark, fathomless eyes. ‘You…you haven’t disturbed me, Eden.’
‘Have I not?’ As though drawn by something he saw in her face, he leaned forward and touched his mouth softly to hers. ‘I am sure your friends would say that was a good thing. I am quite certain I should agree.’
‘I meant,’ Maude managed to murmur against his lips, ‘that you do disturb me, but I do not mind.’
The lavish folds of green velvet hid them from the room. Outside, the garden was deserted. They could stay here, in their private hiding place, for hours, barely touching, speaking with their eyes—and perhaps she could learn what his were saying.
‘Where is Maude?’ It was Jessica, answered by Bel.
‘I haven’t see her since we were upstairs.’
‘I have lost Mr Hurst, too,’ Lady Wallace added. ‘He was here just a moment ago.’
‘Leave this to me,’ Eden said quietly, emerging from the curtains. ‘We are here. Lady Maude was feeling a trifle faint—the cool of the window seat has revived her, I am glad to say.’
He offered her his hand and she stood, feeling quite shaky enough to give credence to Eden’s assertion that she was unwell. ‘I’m sorry to keep you waiting,’ she apologised, taking a empty chair next to Mr Makepeace. Her friends, thank Heaven, appeared to have decided that it was best not to draw attention to her any further and the meeting began.
As the discussion unfolded, Maude began to feel better, although whether it was the praise heaped upon Eden and herself for their work so far, or the gentleness of his caresses that seemed to linger on her skin, she did not know.
‘We have had over a hundred acceptances already,’ she said, when it was her turn to speak. ‘And at least a dozen offers to perform. I do think that members of the committee should each present a piece.’ She said it, part seriously, part in jest, but to her surprise everyone nodded their agreement except Eden.
‘I will be directing,’ he said firmly. ‘I never perform.’ And nothing could shift him from that position. Watching him from beneath her lashes, Maude had the distinct impression that the thought of performing made him nervous. Which was rather endearing, considering how confident he appeared on stage and how forcible his presence could be.
It seemed that very little now remained to be done. Those things she had thought of and had made a note of to raise in the hope that others in the group would take on, had all been swept up already by Eden and organised with ruthless efficiency. He and Ashe had their team of carpenters, augmented by some of the handier of the soldiers, drilled with military precision to strip down and rebuild the stalls in hours, the theatre orchestra were practising interval music and the pianist was well prepared and confident of accompanying whatever the amateurs might decide to sing.
It seemed that all Maude’s excuses to keep her mind busy had gone. Which meant, she realised, that she was going to have to think about what had just happened with Eden and decide what to do next. She was frightened, she realised, as the meeting broke up and transformed into a tea party. Frightened that she would somehow misread Eden’s intentions and feelings, might scare him away by revealing her true feelings for him to soon. Or leave it too late.
‘Come to the Unicorn tomorrow, Maude,’ Eden said to her as they stood to one side, sipping tea. ‘I have missed you.’
‘And I, you.’ She did not look up at him, content to feel him so close beside her, unwilling to confuse herself further by trying to read his expression.
‘And we need to talk, I think,’ he added, as much, it seemed, to himself as to her.
Yes. Maude drew in a deep breath, down to her toes. Time for the truth. Courage, Maude. ‘I’ll come tomorrow,’ she promised.
‘Maude, I would like to speak with you in my study, if you have finished your breakfast.’ Lord Pangbourne folded his newspaper and fixed her with such a beady eye that her overactive conscience produced an uncomfortable twinge. Could Papa, in some way, guess what she was intending to do today?
‘Yes, Papa, of course.’ Another white night had produced the resolution that she was going to tell Eden she loved him and see what his reaction was. Not enthusiastic, she feared. He would see the barriers to their happiness even more clearly than she could—and that was assuming he wanted to marry her anyway and it wasn’t all just desire mixed with friendship.
She still had not decided what words she would use. How did you propose, in cold blood, to a man?
Still pondering, she followed her father out of the breakfast room and into his study. She loved that room, dark and full of books and smelling of bay rum, brandy and leather.
‘Sit down, my dear.’ He took his seat behind the desk and unlocked a drawer. ‘You recall me telling you that an old friend had died?’
