On the terrace, wrapped in her warmest shawl, Emme considered her options. She didn't want to marry Rhys. If she were honest with herself, she would say she didn't wish to marry him under such circumstances. No other man had ever tempted her, had ever made her forget herself the way that he could. If she had to marry, he was certainly an impeccable choice. But he had no wish to marry her, she knew. Being forced into matrimony, would they ever be content with one another? Or would resentment grow and fester between them until they were both miserably unhappy?
With a heavy sigh, she rose and traversed the narrow path that led to the garden. The roses were still in bloom. In spite of his previous edict that she not leave the house unescorted, she needed to be alone with her thoughts. She was not foolish though, and intended to remain in sight of the house.
She walked idly down the path, impervious to the drizzle that had begun to fall. Her mind and her heart were heavy. The feeling of his lips on hers was a fresh and torturous memory, as was the feel of his hands on her body. It had been sinful and wicked, yet glorious at the same time. Had he not halted their lovemaking, she knew she would not have. She would have given herself right there. It was lowering to realize that she had so little strength of will.
Could she really go through with it, she wondered? Could she marry him after only a handful of words had been exchanged between them? Did she have any choice? The answer to that was obviously no. If she had any hope of maintaining her standing in society, she would have to go through with it. It wasn't simply her standing; it was her family's as well. Her younger sister had not yet had her debut and with her family's less than stellar reputation and utter lack of fortune, it was the only option to preserve Larissa's chances for a secure future.
Emme looked up and realized that she had gone further than she had intended, and turned to head back to the house. As she turned, she saw the dark shape on the path behind her. Her heart thudded in her chest, and her palms grew damp with fear. It was not a ghostly visitor who followed her, but a man. She didn't know what instinct propelled her, what primal knowledge came, but she sensed the danger and ran. Her feet slipped on the wet stones, but she didn't stop. She could hear him behind her, the soles of his booted feet crunching on the loose stones. Without slowing her pace or looking behind her, she rushed forward, heading toward the maze. Hiding wasn't the best solution, but her pursuer was blocking the way back to the house. The maze would at least provide cover, and perhaps a way out that he would not be aware of.
She ran, her breath hitching in her side. Branches tore at her hair and clothes, but she paid them little heed. Reaching the center of the maze, she quickly exited the other side. No heed was paid to the twists and turns, and she didn't question how she knew which turns to take. The knowledge was simply there, and she was grateful for it.
Inside the house, Rhys studied the sheaf of papers in front of him, though he could not actually focus on them. He had just sent a letter to Emme's stepfather by special messenger, not requesting her hand so much as informing him that he would be wedding her within days. It would not be well received. He stood and walked to the window, staring out at the garden. Rain had just begun to fall. Where was Emme, he wondered? What refuge had she sought from the vicious gossips that morning?
He couldn't fathom his behavior of the night before. That she was compromised was not at issue. Regardless of what had happened between them, just being in one another's presence, without a chaperone, in varying degrees of undress as they had been, was more than enough to see them wed. It was the visceral reaction he had that disturbed his peace. He was not some green lad to lose his head at the sight of a pretty girl, or a shapely figure. This was something more. The intensity was alarming. Excessive passions had never plagued him before. He certainly had not lived like a monk by any stretch of the imagination, but never had he felt such an intense and consuming desire.
Unable to concentrate, he stepped outside onto the terrace and moved toward the rose garden. He couldn't say that he was being directed, but he did feel compelled, as if pulled in the direction of the maze. As he neared the boxwoods, he could hear the sound of footsteps, of running. Emme rushed out of the maze toward him, her hair and clothing disheveled, and a scratch upon her neck. What he noted more than that, was the other footsteps, still inside the maze, receding now. Someone had been chasing her.
"Emme, what is it? What's happened?” he demanded.
She was gasping for breath and shaking, but she shook her head, and he understood that she wasn't yet able to speak. His every instinct told him to go into the maze and find whatever or whoever had frightened her, but he couldn't leave her unprotected. He wiped her face, pushing her hair back. Her eyes were wild and panicked. She was obviously frightened.