I give up following the familiar route and decide to take the shortcuts instead. I end up at Eros first, but I retrace my steps and, finally, find the little clearing with the statue I’m seeking.
The statue—and a man, standing in front of it, stroking the wing of the eagle.
His back is to me, but I would know him anywhere.
“Oliver.”
He turns, regards me for a moment, and then gives a little bow of the head. “Hello, my lord.”
I take a step closer. I almost don’t dare to believe that he’s real.
And yet…he is.
Oliver is wearing the black uniform and red silk mask of the household staff. He touches it self-consciously as I stare at him. “Last minute decision to come along,” he says lightly. “I didn’t have a costume planned, and it didn’t seem like the time to break out the leather, so I…” He shrugs, biting his lip, and I immediately want to bite it myself.
I take another step, and another, until I’m looking down into his masked face. I want so badly to touch him, but something holds me back, makes me shy. Still, I reach up to pull off the mask I’m wearing tonight, unwilling to have any barriers between us. “You knew me,” I say. “Despite my mask?”
“You think Iwouldn’trecognize that hair of yours?” he says, and—to my utter shock—reaches up to ruffle it with a smile.
“I thought it wasn’t so bad tonight,” I say. “My hair.”
He just laughs. “You look amazing. You always look amazing in that suit.”
“Youlook amazing in everything,” I counter.
“And in nothing?” His mouth turns up at one corner in a very suggestive manner.
Is he—could he possibly be—
“Are you flirting with me?” I ask, all astonishment.
“You’re a sexy English aristocrat. The wholepartymust be flirting with you. Haven’t you noticed?”
“There’s only one person in this whole world whose flirtingmattersto me.”
We’re interrupted by shrieks and giggles, as someone in a vivid red cloak runs past the entrance to the clearing, chased a few seconds later by someone who seems to be dressed as a wolf—or else, someone in dire need of a shave and a haircut.
“Oliver—can we—” I gesture futilely.
“Talk?”
I nod. “Talk.”
“Yes, my lord. I think we should.”
I’m not sure I like the change from flirty to serious. I stand there a moment looking at him, until he slides his fingers into mine and says softly, “I’ll follow your lead, my lord.”
I raise his hand to my lips, kiss it, and then hold on tight to him as I lead him back out of the maze. The sky is clear and the moon is waxing, while the grounds are lit up here and there with glowing jack-o’-lanterns, soft solar lamps and twinkling light strings. As one, we turn to view the maze from the outside, smiling now as we hear the screams and laughter carried out of it on the light breeze.
I’m still holding his hand, still wondering howlonghe’ll let me keep hold of it, when he turns to me. “I’m sorry for storming out on you last week, and for—for everything that night. It was a dick move.”
“You were under a great deal of stress,” I tell him. “And I was being selfish. I’m sorry for my reaction and for giving you an ultimatum. It was completely unfair and, really, quite ungentlemanly of me.”
He gives a soft, regretful laugh. “Youwere under a great deal of stress, too. How about this: we were both jerks, and I forgive you.”
The night air is cool for California, but balmy by English standards, so that when Oliver shivers, I immediately begin to take off my jacket. “There we are,” I tell him, throwing it around his shoulders.
“Oh, I’m fine,” he says, but he clutches the front of it close.
