Chapter Four

D anny watched the landscape change from the wild heath and forgotten moor of southern Kent to the fastidiously cared for and maintained trimmings and plantings of birch and oak along Fellow Hall's drive.

She'd forgotten how long the journey was from estate to estate. Bromley Manor may have abutted the grand neighboring acres for hundreds of miles along the western side, but that short walk from back yard to back yard meant nothing when an introduction required the conveyance of a proper carriage and a roundabout trip through the front gate.

Etiquette never failed to inconvenience everyone. At least her papa had elected to put the top down on the curricle to let in the warm, July air.

Lord Bromley shifted across from her—one hand fiddling with the reins while his other drummed rhythmically on black trousers—clearly as eager to exit the carriage as she.

"We're nearly there, Papa," she said. She spied the Grandfellow family cemetery up ahead, the trademark stone angel visible through a picket of dark iron. Heart suddenly heavy, she drew attention away from that side with a cheerful laugh she did not feel. "What a lovely day! Perhaps we shall be asked to have tea on the veranda. I've missed Cook's apple honey scones."

Lord Bromley rubbed a hand on his belly as if remembering how he and Uncle Jack used to eat the pastries until they'd been ill and had encouraged her to do the same. The grin he shot her way was full of youth-filled mischief. "That woman could make a strip of leather taste like braised beef."

Danny would give her right arm to keep that spark in his eye. "I bet we could steal her away with the promise of a new kitchen."

"Daniella." He frowned, though the spark hadn't faded. "It is bad form to steal servants away from a lord as he gets his bearings."

Danny bit back a smile at the half-hearted reprimand. "Shall we wait a month or so and then steal her away? It would give us time to order the necessary equipment for the range."

Her papa threw back his head and barked a laugh. "Devious daughter."

She inclined her head at the compliment and let her smile surface.

She'd missed the easy smiles and easier laughter. Her papa never failed to teach her the complexity and beauty of open communication and unconditional love, two things she demanded for herself and her future, and two things horribly lacking in the nine offers of marriage she'd received thus far.

There'd been some fine proposals. Mr. Pendor had offered no less than six horses—with an accompanying phantom—for her pleasure, and Mr. Richmund had written such a lengthy poem about her beauty, she'd truly felt her worth in such an arrangement. But what men misunderstood, gentlemen especially, was the interactions never failed to sound like the haggled buying and selling of merchandise instead of the foundation of a marriage.

Her thoughts strayed to a different man, one of mystery and danger in a moonlit courtyard, and somehow the most honest person she'd ever met. The man had made every effort to deceive with words and flattery, but his actions had been true to character, whatever that character was.

She blew a strand of hair from her face, one of several that had escaped her coif with the unpredictable wind and berated her lack of restraint. How irritating! She should not be thinking about some criminal she'd threatened in the dark. Her intuition had never failed her. She believed in it wholeheartedly, which made her feelings about Mr. Seymour—undoubtedly a false name—even more vexing. He'd as much as admitted he'd been at the Leishires' home for mischief, but she'd have sworn the man's intentions had been noble.

And that kiss. What humiliation that she thought of it years later and her skin still went warm beneath her dress.

"You're frowning, my dear."

Danny forced the downturned corners of her mouth to lift. "'Tis nothing, Papa. I but fear what Mama will say when she learns I accompanied you today on your visit."

He flinched. "Let's hope the new Duke of Grandfellow is young and handsome."

Because youth and title forgave all. As if her mama would not hope for a match for her eldest daughter if the man were old and as homely as a bilberry bush. Danny was torn between hoping for the latter and dreading the former. Younger men were harder to dissuade.

As the carriage rumbled around the bend and out of sight of the cemetery, Danny breathed a sigh of relief. If nothing else of this visit went to plan, she'd be a successful distraction. Now if only the young and handsome, or old and weed-like, duke would be so accommodating. Danny patted her reticule in her lap, the healthy weight of her newest read—a collection of journals by adventurers explaining the proper footing and mechanics of glissading—and her trusty hand pistol a comfort like nothing else.

Over the vine-covered bridge, through the copse of thick oaks, and out the other side, and Fellow Hall rose up in all its majesty of towering pillars and formidable stairs, the afternoon sun casting giant shadows across the front drive, the same front drive she'd played in as a girl, stacking rocks and earning disapproving glares from Mrs. Smith.

The carriage stopped at the base of the stairs and her papa handed his card to Lancaster as the butler appeared as if from the limestone itself.

Lancaster bowed. "Greetings, Your Grace, Lady Daniella."

Papa would have none of that. Descending from the vehicle, he clapped the other man on the shoulder and said, "Good to see you, Lancaster. Is the new duke at home?"

"I shall check, Your Grace."

The man made his ascent up the stairs, presumably to do just that, and Danny swore she heard Lancaster sigh. A non-tiresome new duke appeared out of the question. Which left one of two options: The man was old and demanding, or young and arrogant. Both were creatures she'd taken to avoiding for their wayward glances and wandering hands.

Danny glanced longingly at the hedge maze, wishing she'd chosen one of her subdued and modest frocks instead of the vibrant yellow silk that left her neck and arms bare.

Her papa missed nothing as he helped her down. "It may be some time before Lancaster sends word back. Perhaps a stroll in the gardens is in order?"

She hated refusing. "It isn't proper to enter someone else's property without permission."

"Nonsense. Mrs. Smith accepts visitors all the time. You would do her a service by taking yourself. Besides, no one will be in the maze this time of day." He tweaked her nose when she sent him a grateful grin. "Run along now."

She kissed his cheek and made her escape.

There was a trick to the maze, like all great puzzles. Having learned the six lefts, two rights, and four lefts pattern by the time she'd reached eleven, Danny wove through the hedges with confidence, her destination the center of the maze, where one of her favorite statues stood guard over a three-tiered fountain, and a lovely oak bench perfect for avoiding all manner of unpleasantness.

So many of the figures were women, struggling to free themselves from the embraces of devils and men. With Uncle Jack's weak knees and past year of failing health, no one seemed to mind how the hedge had started to encroach on the path, or how the statues along the way sported patches of mossy neglect. A pity that, since the brilliant greens of the leaves had given way to early oranges and yellows of autumn, leaving the entire surrounding feel of a world apart, where at any turn one could stumble upon a mythical creature wandering through the fire of color.

Danny made her second right and came up short at the tall creature standing under her beloved fountain, barely managing to keep her cry of surprise inside. She composed herself and laughed at allowing her imagination to make her a ninny, and instead turned her attention to the most certainly human person who seemed to find the fountain as engrossing as she.

Upon further study, the human was far too well dressed in a top hat and navy overcoat to be anything but a gentleman. Perhaps another neighboring peer visiting to admire the grounds?

The man turned to seemingly get a better view of the sculpture in front of him, revealing a strong-chinned profile and black hair that curled below the ear.

Danny gasped. The hair color was different and the ensemble more refined, but she was certain she recognized that mouth and chin from a dark memory that had plagued her every waking fantasy for the past three years.

The man was no gentleman at all, but a devil in a nice coat.

*

Percy did, in fact, get lost. While admiring a rather unseemly statue of a man groping an angel's leg, he hadn't heard Mr. Brinkley move on. When he'd come to see the other man had disappeared, he'd shot off through the maze, taking several senseless turns before he'd realized he should have stayed put.

The nearby sound of water prevailed on him to take the next right turn and he found himself at what must have been the heart of the maze, three-tiered fountain front and center.

Overheated from his rush, he stepped up to the water's edge and let the fountain's spray cool him, admiring yet another ridiculous statue of three women twisted into such a knot, it looked as if their feet had fused into a long serpent tail. And the faces: Brows drawn, mouths open in silent screams. Were the women in the throes of passion or pain?

Click-click .

Percy froze. He could've gone the rest of his life without hearing the telltale sound of a gun cocking.

"Turn around," a voice said. "Slowly."

Percy did as commanded. Shielding his gaze from heaven's glare, his eyes adjusted slowly, and the vision of an angel cleared. The lady from the Leishires' ball.

He glanced around, certain a piece of the sculpture had fallen on his head, and he was hallucinating. Checking and finding his head free of bumps, he pinched the top of his hand to find only located pain. This was real. She was real.

The same dark curls framed her tanned cheeks. The same burning gaze stared through him, leaving a man to envision the wildest and naughtiest of fantasies. And the same frown, marring an otherwise perfect full set of lips. Lips he remembered tasted like forbidden fruit.

And she was training a Remington Model 1890 at his chest, hands rock steady, like a veteran revolveress's.

Her hands weren't the only things resembling a rock at the moment. Whatever reaction to the fresh air had addled his brain to conjure the image of Lady Daniella, stunning in yellow silk, holding a pistol like she knew how to use it, Percy would never leave the country again.

"Lady Daniella." Even her name was a lesson in temptation. "What are you doing here?"

"That's my line, sir." She leveled the barrel higher, no doubt a sight between the eyes. "I let you get away last time, but I won't forgive you if you mean any harm to this estate."

Let him get away? Looking at her face, remembering how her body was soft and responsive when against a hard chest— his hard chest—his body was strung as tight as it'd been the night at the ball. Despite all his best efforts, the truth was he'd never gotten away, not from thoughts of her. But unlike that night, there was no flirtation in her voice, no excitement. She sounded as if any actions he'd take in this place would be a personal assault on her person. Fellow Hall meant a great deal to her.

Percy's stomach dropped out. He hadn't heard anything about the previous duke marrying. Was she the Duchess of Grandfellow?

"You didn't marry the duke, did you?"

She startled, dropping her arm. "Do you mean Jack?"

Jack? Percy's insides revolted against the affection and familiarity in her voice. Good thing the man was dead, or he'd be tempted to stretch his killing muscles and make the old duke bleed.

Her laughter cleared the red haze. "No," she said. "Jack was a good family friend. I grew up coming here." The humor in her gaze evaporated. "If you even think of using the man's death to your advantage, I will drown you under Athena's Justice ."

Percy didn't like the idea that she called down the power of the gods against him. One goddess before him was bad enough. He raised his hands in surrender. "I have no intention of ruining anything." At her narrowed gaze, he said, "I speak the truth."

"Really?" She stuck out her chin, as her words struck their mark. "So much for your American accent."

Percy winced. Damn it! "Yes, about that... There were extenuating circumstances that dictated a more covert character."

"Such as?"

Percy blinked. She was asking for details? "They're personal."

She tried again. "Who are you, then?"

He grimaced, but his answer was honest. "Hard to say anymore."

She snorted and shook her head, and Percy didn't like the new spark entering her eye.

"Well, then." Her sweet smile was terrifying, as was watching her place her gun away in her reticule as if she no longer needed it. "I'll leave you to your personal endeavors, then. Spending the next few hours finding your way to the exit will provide ample time for you to contemplate your circumstances , and for me to contact the proper authorities."

She turned to leave the way she'd come.

Percy watched, mesmerized at her fierceness, and then remembered he hadn't had breakfast or lunch. "You would leave me here?" he asked incredulously. "With these monstrous statues? To fade away from starvation and thirst?" He'd be impressed by her callowness if he weren't so hungry.

She scoffed, clearly affronted, and pointed at the fountain. " That is Athena, the Goddess of War and Wisdom, as she battles her sisters for the good of mankind."

Athena's Justice. Ah.

She wasn't conspiring with the gods, then. Small mercies.

"I am to perish in agony and be at the mercy of the gods? You are cruel."

Her brow cocked on one side. "Dramatic, aren't we?"

How he loved that saucy tone, loved how it parted those ripe lips and drew them to one side.

His hunger shifted. It was suddenly imperative she did not leave, not until he got a taste of her. A small one, he promised himself. Not so much he'd ruin her, but enough to last him another three years. He'd go mad if he didn't partake.

She turned away again.

"Wait!" He angled himself between her and her chosen exit. "If I am to be lost here," he said as he stalked closer, feeling his body coil in tight anticipation of her skin against his, "I have a boon to ask."

She eyed him suspiciously, but she stood her ground like a general on the battlefield. "You don't deserve a boon."

She had him there. "True." He smiled, not missing her quick inhale when he was close enough to run a finger down her arm. Would she make that same sound in bed, when he nudged himself between those lovely thighs... He shook himself. A chaste kiss was all he'd take. All he'd allow himself. She did have a loaded gun, after all.

He dipped his head and brushed his lips against her ear. "But I did accommodate you once, did I not? 'Tis only fair to return the favor."

She shuddered.

Percy's blood pumped hot. If he didn't take her in his arms this instant, he'd really turn into the maze's monster, a frustrated beast denied by an angel. But still, he did not act. If she said ‘no,' he would not force her or further tempt the temptress. Seduction was for underhanded gentlemen. When he won a woman, it was with a clear head.

He stepped back to give her space. "What do you say, Daniella?" Her name was sin on his lips. "May I kiss you and save us both the unbearable waiting?"

He didn't have to wait long.

She flung herself into his arms. "God, yes." Her fingers curled into his hair and dragged him down so she could demand against his lips, "There's no escaping me this time, sir. I will kiss you until I am satisfied."

God help him. He cupped her bottom and lifted her against him, throwing his pesky morals into the illy-decorated fountain. He was a gentleman now, and it was his responsibility to see to the lady's demands.

He found the duty was no task at all.