“You vanished rather suddenly last night,” he said. “I confess, I found it almost wounding.”
She snorted. “I doubt you’ve ever been wounded in your life, Foxmere.”
“On the contrary. I am riddled with old injuries.”
She was about to deliver a retort when he surprised her by gesturing to the maze. “Will you walk with me?”
It was the most polite request he’d ever made. Reluctant curiosity, or the urge to be in control, propelled her to accept.
They entered the maze together, the world narrowing to gravel and clipped topiary, the sun low enough to paint everything in gold. For a while, they walked in silence, the only sound the crunch of their shoes and distant laughter from the party.
When he spoke, it was without preamble. “What happened to you, Louisa?”
She almost laughed. The question was not a weapon but a hand extended in darkness.
“Nothing happened to me,” she said. “Some of us are simply born knowing how the world works.”
He shook his head. “No one is born cynical. Not even you.”
They took a left turn, then a right. The path narrowed, and he let her go first, as if afraid to crowd her.
“My friend,” she began, then stopped. “I had a friend. The cleverest girl I ever knew. She married a man with the vocabulary of a turnip but the face of a Greek god. Everyone said she’d caught a prize.”
He listened, his expresion unreadable.
“She thought she could reform him, or at least teach him to read. By their second anniversary, he had broken her heart, her spirit, and three of her front teeth. The only thing he ever read was her mail.”
Louisa’s voice was steady, but her hands trembled on the stem of her glass.
“Love is the most effective trap ever devised,” she said. “It promises freedom while stealing it away piece by piece.”
She realized they had reached the center of the maze. A stone bench sat under a ring of night-blooming tobacco, its white flowers glowing. She sat, needing the anchor.
Foxmere remained standing. “I suppose you think I’m the same as him.”
She looked at him and found a man less sure of himself than he had ever let on.
“No,” she said. “You’re worse. You know exactly what you’re doing.”
He barked a laugh, but it was hollow. “True. But you see through me, Louisa. That is both a blessing and a curse.”
He moved to sit beside her, leaving a polite gap between them. The hush of the maze was complete, a world apart from the party.
“I never wanted to trap you,” he said. “Not for a moment.”
She thought of the dance, the notes, the library, the stupid book and its missing pages.
“I know,” she said, softer than she meant. “You only wanted to play.”
He smiled, but the curve of his mouth was sad. “Yes, Primrose. But it turns out I’m losing.”
They sat shoulder to shoulder for a long time. The night-scented air curled around them, thick and sweet. Louisa stared at her hands, at the way her fingers trembled even when she willed them to stillness.
He reached out, slow and careful, and tucked a stray lock behind her ear. His hand lingered, gentle at her jaw, the touch more a question than an assertion.
She closed her eyes. For a heartbeat, the world held still.
Their faces drew closer. So close she could taste his breath, sharp with gin and a trace of longing.
