“Don’t you have anything to say for yourself?” She started at the duke’s voice. “I’ll have you know that I was worried sick about you when you didn’t return on time.”
She examined his face. Had anxiety been one of the dark emotions lurking behind his anger? The duke worried sick over her? “I apologize, Your Grace. Is—” She blinked in surprise as he grasped her by the shoulders. “Is something wrong with one of the children?”
His answer flayed her with guilt. “Mary was beside herself. I did my best to comfort her. But she wanted you.” He paused to allow time for emphasis. “Not her mother. Not me. Not Cook. She wanted Lady Ivy, and Lady Ivy wasn’t here.”
Ivy shrank inside. She had been derelict in her duty. “Your Grace, I’ll go to her right now.”
He wasn’t finished. He wanted to flog her conscience one last time. “Lady Ivy was playing peekaboo in the maze with a man.”
Ivy cringed. “I’ll explain to her that it wasn’t what it appeared to be—that it was nothing.”
“Good. Because even though I sent her off to bed, I thought I saw her peeping down through the curtains a moment ago. I don’t believe she can see us from where she’s standing. But just in case, you might explain to her when you go upstairs that this is nothing, too.”
He lifted his hands from her shoulders and cupped her chin. Ivy stood motionless, mesmerized by the intensity on his face. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t raise a finger to resist. He bent his head to hers and when he kissed her, the invisible moon could have fallen out of the sky, and she wouldn’t have cared. He swept his tongue across her lips, slowly penetrating her mouth. Desire like steam enshrouded her. She didn’t understand how a man’s kiss could feel wondrous and wicked at the same time, or how she could want something when reason argued it would only fade to ashes.
And yet—it had to be her imagination—she felt a shudder go through him, too, as they kissed.
Perhaps he couldn’t control himself any better than she could. Where was the consolation in knowing he was also at the mercy of this lust?
“We can’t stay here,” he murmured, locking one hand around her waist to draw her against him. “Let me take you inside.”
How melodious his voice sounded in the darkness of the maze. “You mean us—together?”
His hand pressed against her spine until she felt the heat and hardness of his body. “Yes. In private.”
His next kiss sought to subdue her, to remind her that domination could be sweet and gentleness could feel like torture. Her knees trembled as his tongue entwined with hers. His hand stroked the contours of her hip until her heart pulsed through her body.
When he broke away, breathing hard, she was bereft, too dazed to disagree to his request. “Come inside the house. It’s time to revisit the rules.”
She hesitated. “Shouldn’t I see to Mary first?”
He didn’t even pretend to consider her suggestion. “You can look in on her later.” He reached for her good hand. “How is your wrist?”
“It’s all right, thank you.”
“Stitches didn’t get torn from slapping someone in the face?” A cynical grin crossed his features as he guided her through the hedge with unerring expertise.
“Not yet, Your Grace. Where are you taking me?”
“To the Chinese Room.”
She pictured furnishings with a Far Eastern influence, perhaps even a peacock motif, and said, “That sounds pleasant.” If she could make it there. His kisses left her feeling shaky. Hurrying through the labyrinth with his hand grasping hers gave her little chance to compose herself. “I must say, you know this maze rather well.”
“As well as you know Fenwick’s gardens.”
“It’s all different now,” she said softly, breathless to keep apace. “You could ride a horse to the door and nothing would stop you.”
“What do you mean?” he asked, clearly distracted, too intent on their destination to understand what she was trying to explain.
They didn’t talk again until after they had sneaked through the house and he opened the door at the end of a long hall onto the Chinese Room. Dragons writhed and breathed fire on the scrolled panels covering the wall. But Ivy’s gaze went immediately to the room’s central decor—a startling replica of a pagoda that enclosed a blue silk couch that would have comfortably seated five people. Or a pair of recumbent lovers.
* * *
He closed the door and caught her in his arms again. At an indistinct point between his dizzying kisses and her tentative attempts at questions, he led her to the couch. She sat for only a few moments before he lowered himself beside her and bent her backward, stroking her cheek. “Ivy.”