THE PAST
August 1803
Louisa scrambled down the grassy hill, her dress the worse the wear for her headlong flight and her bonnet sliding half off her head. After her governess had agreed to escort her to the Bath Vauxhall Gardens, she had planned her escape perfectly, waiting for poor Miss Huxley to be distracted by the delights of the artificial rural scene—clockwork figures moving with mechanical precision—and making a dash for it.
Now, she straightened her bonnet and squared her shoulders. There was only a matter of time before she was caught, and she was sure her mother would send her to her room without supper. But it was worth it for these few moments of freedom.
A warm breeze tickled her cheeks, brushing the few loose curls back from her face with a lover’s hand. At seventeen, she hadnever had so much as a kiss from a lover, but she could imagine he might touch her in much this same way.
Hope swelled in her chest.
One day, perhaps when she was married, she would be able to come to places such as this without fear of repercussions. She would enjoy the feel of sunlight sinking into her skin, the bright bobbing flowers, and the rustle of leaves in the far-away trees without the thought of imminent capture.
She picked up her skirts, passing the bowling green and making her way to the maze. Perhaps if she was very lucky, Miss Huxley would agree to keep her dash for freedom strictly between them.
Unlikely. But she would endeavour to try.
The maze came into sight. At night, she knew it would be lit with torches, lovers seeking refuge in its anonymity. She had never been to London’s Vauxhall Gardens, but Miss Huxley had once been tricked into listing all the dangers a young lady might fall into if she visited without a chaperone.
In Louisa’s opinion, those dangers sounded positively delicious.
What young ladydidn’twant to steal kisses with handsome strangers? So long as no one else was privy to it, her reputation would remain untarnished, and she would have another experience to add to her collection. Experiences, as far as she was concerned, were things to be kept and cultivated, trapped like shiny pebbles in a glass so she could examine them in the future.
A kiss would be a rather spectacularly shiny rock.
A matronly lady gave Louisa a disapproving look, but there was no one else around as she entered the maze, and finally she heaved a sigh of relief. At least now Miss Huxley wouldn’t be able to find her; her governess would not be prevailed upon to enter the maze by herself, evenifher charge were known to be inside.
As a general rule, she was not especially flighty, but she was in possession of an active imagination, and although it was deeply unlikely she would find a handsome pirate—or, at a pinch, a roguish highwayman—she fancied her luck was higher in the maze than at the Upper Rooms. The young ladies there were all united by their inclination to find a good match, but Louisa had never yearned for a house and children. She longed for adventure. She was not on the hunt for a husband; she would far rather find herself a lover.
Unfortunately, as she wove her way deeper into the maze, she did not discover anyone at all disreputable. In fact, when she finally stumbled across a young gentleman, he looked respectable to the point of staid, with his cravat neatly but plainly tied and his waistcoat an ordinary blue, its buttons small and undecorated. When he saw her, his expression transformed from surprise to shock to horror, and a flush started on his neck, rising to his cheeks.
Which brought Louisa to his one saving grace: how very startlingly handsome he was. Almost frighteningly so, the chiselled lines of his face and sensual mouth only enhanced by the stern look that clenched his jaw. His eyes were the crisp, cold blue of a frozen sky.
“Hello,” she said cheerfully.
He cleared his throat. “You’re alone.”
“Yes. So are you.”
“Yes,” he said, and the corner of his mouth twitched before he wrestled it back under control. “But I have a feelingyoushould not be.”
“How fortunate it is that you have found me then.” She grinned at him, and he folded his arms as he looked back at her.
“I’m not your chaperone. And I wouldn’t be a very good one, either.”
“Why is that?”
“Being found with me would be worse for your reputation than if you were merely found alone.”
“Then we should endeavour not to be found.” She stepped closer, enjoying the way his gaze swung across her face and down her body before returning to her eyes. “What’s your name?”
“I think perhaps it would be better if we remain strangers,” he said dryly, arms remaining firmly folded.
“Why?”
“So I may maintain plausible deniability.”
She stepped closer still. “You wish to deny meeting me?”
