“Now that you mention it, I think the Regent lost a boot at Hampton Court the other day. And I hear that the hedges at Versailles are full of shoes.”
He did not care about control at that moment or about Adeline sitting next to him, her hand a hair’s breadth from his own. He was lost to the joy of their ridiculous situation. When their laughter subsided, he drew a steadying breath.
“Forgive me, Miss Wilkinson. I have been surly. These Society functions…” He trailed off, shaking his head. “They are not to my liking.”
Her expression softened. “Nor mine if I am given the choice. I have little experience of them, and what little I do have is not pleasant. I cannot say I enjoy feeling on display. But it is a duty, so I put on a mask.”
Winston blinked, surprised by the honesty of her admission. It chimed so perfectly with his own thoughts that he felt, for the first time, a thread of true kinship between them.
“Perhaps I should build myself a hermitage,” he said wryly. “I have read of an old English saint somewhere in the north who lived on a small island. But Louisa would never forgive me. She seems to thrive in Society.”
Adeline smiled faintly. “She does. But she thrives most where she feels loved.”
The words struck too close. Before he could reply, she shifted, rising gracefully from the gravel. He followed, slipping his foot back into the boot once it had been liberated. They were close, so close. Too close. He could see the pulse at her throat, the way her lips parted as though to speak, but no words came.
Heat surged through him, desire breaking past restraint. He wanted, desperately wanted, to take her in his arms. Just a moment’s reprieve from the crushing weight of duty and grief. To lose himself again, if only for a heartbeat. His hand hovered near hers, fingers aching to close the distance. She lifted her eyes to his, and the world seemed to hold its breath. Their lips met, softly at first, then with increasing hunger, edged with all the fury of denial and longing. It was intoxicating.
“Papa! Lady Adeline!” Louisa’s bright voice rang out from mere yards away.
They flew apart, breathless, guilt and desire warring in Winston’s chest. He turned sharply to see Louisa skipping toward them, hand in hand with Robert Grebe. The servant bowed. His expression was mild.
“Your Grace. I was tasked with aiding lost guests in the maze. I found the young lady wandering and thought it best to return her to you.” He held up a folded map. “If you wish, I can guide you out.”
“Oh no, Papa! Let us do it properly and find our own way out. Using a map is cheating!” Louisa cried.
“Very well,” Winston agreed, putting out a hand for his daughter. “Thank you, Mr. Grebe, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Your Grace. At your service and your family’s,” Grebe replied smoothly.
Winston remembered him and his story. He nodded gruffly to the man.
“Good man, Grebe. Thank you.”
As they walked past the servant, Winston noticed that Adeline could not bring herself to look at the man. He remembered her reaction to his name.
A mystery. But not one that will be solved here.
As they walked on, Louisa skipped ahead, chattering. “Papa, did Mama like mazes?”
The question pierced him. He hesitated, then, to his own surprise, laughed.
“Your mother was always lost at Greystone. Once she left a trail of thread to find her way back to the drawing room.”
Louisa clapped her hands in delight. Adeline smiled at her pupil. To Winston, it appeared forced.
“What myth does that remind you of, Louisa?”
“The Minotaur!” Louisa crowed, proud of her knowledge.
Winston watched, unexpectedly moved by Adeline’s gentle teaching. He found himself speaking without thinking.
“Your mother was beautiful. And she loved you dearly.”
Louisa’s face lit with joy. Winston’s heart twisted, for he knew the truth lay elsewhere. Adeline’s gaze lingered on him, perceptive and searching. He looked away.
Chapter Fourteen
Winston stepped from the maze, his mood uneven. He had expected relief but instead felt dismayed by the sight before him. Boards had been laid across the lawn, forming a makeshift floor upon which couples were already gathering. A string quartet tuned their instruments on a raised dais, and the swirl of silk and the gleam of polished shoes spoke of only one thing…dancing.
