Chapter 1

CHAPTER1

“Come out, come out, wherever you may be,” Adam Robins whispered into the thick silence of the shadowed gardens, stalking down the pathways like a beast on the prowl. “This fox is eager for a bite of something plump and juicy.”

Soft laughter rippled from the nearby hedge maze, stoking his appetite. He could think of nothing more delicious than a breathless chase through darkened avenues, ending in the capture of his prize. And he would reward them both until her gasps filled the night air.

“Where are you, my little vixen?” he purred, listening for her voice, her footfalls, to mark the beginning of the chase.

Stifled laughter stirred up the embers within him, fueling his desire. He had never encountered a young lady so daring, and though the thrill of her would not last—it never did—the excitement of his latest conquest was still ripe.

“You shall have to catch me,” she murmured from somewhere in the dark, close to the yawning mouth of the hedge maze entrance.

Her voice tugged on the muscles of his stomach, priming him for the very different race that would greet him when he found her. A race to the highest heights of pleasure.

“I hope you are surefooted,” he said, grinning as he crept toward the beginning of the hedge maze. “If you fall, I will show no mercy.”

“Perhaps I shall fall on purpose,” she cooed in reply, her words laced with the potent intoxicant of seduction. “But I do not think you will catch me, my fox. I fear you lack the stamina.”

He smirked. “Is that so? Well, we shall see who tires first.”

“Yes, let us see,” she mewled.

A second later, he heard his cue: the snap of a twig underfoot as his paramour began her race through the maze, her sultry giggles making him all the more ravenous as he took off after her.

In the daylight, the maze might have been simple enough. In the dark, Adam could not see a thing, not even the lights of Lord Bainton’s manor piercing through the high, dense hedges. Yet, somehow, it distorted sound, sucking the orchestra’s music into the long avenues and pathways, until it sounded like the orchestra was somewhere in the maze with Adam. It all but smothered the faint scuffle of his paramour’s footfalls, as did the rustle of nearby trees and the laughter that swept down from the terrace, making him feel crowded, though he was almost entirely alone.

“Where are you, my little vixen?” he called, rounding a left-hand corner and finding himself staring at a blocked path. A dead-end. His third, so far.

“Right here, my sweet,” came the honeyed reply as the hedge beside him rustled.

She was on the other side of it. How she had managed to get there, he did not know.

I fear I shalltire of this before her.

Although Adam relished games, he was not too fond of losing.

“Are you surrendering so soon?” his lover asked as her finger slipped through the tightly packed leaves, beckoning to him.

He dipped his head to kiss the proffered finger, but she drew it back quickly, taunting him.

“I do not surrender,” he told her, his eagerness restored. “But I might have to punish you when I catch you.”

“Oh, I do hope so,” she replied, her footsteps retreating.

Doubling back on himself, he decided that the mythical rule of only turning left was utter nonsense and went where his instincts took him. Like a true hunter, he followed his senses, feeling for the vibrations of his prey in the hedge and the earth, scenting her on the breeze—or rather he would have done, but the boxwoods were fragrant that night, drowning out her rich perfume.

I should have insisted on meeting at my carriage instead.

He felt grumpier with every wrong turn and dead-end he ran into. But Miss Eastleigh had enticed him to venture beyond his usual exploits, challenging him with a letter that had arrived that morning. He remembered every word, like the most divine poetry.

Tonight shall be a night to remember, my sweet. The first ball of the Season requires a special celebration. I will wait for you in the gardens of Bainton Manor. Come and find me… if you can.

How could he have possibly resisted?

“I am close, my little vixen,” Adam said, though he had no notion of where she was.

She could have been back at Bainton Manor, sipping from a cup of punch, laughing at his entrapment in the maze, for all he knew.

“Are you? Then why do you sound so far away?” Miss Eastleigh asked.

His head whipped around, a lull in the music and chatter giving him her location. Vaguely, at least. He smiled, pleased with himself, and broke into a sprint, hurtling in the direction of his lover, his excitement rising higher and higher with each step he took.

“I hear you,” he whispered, satisfied by the crunching sound of her footfalls somewhere up ahead.

“Yet, you have not caught me. How disappointing,” she teased.

He prowled on, halting sharply as he saw something on the ground. A flash of white. Puzzled, he bent to pick it up, his nose struck by a waft of Miss Eastleigh’s potent perfume. It was a silk handkerchief, doused in her scent.

“Are you leaving gifts?” he called, drawing the silk across his upper lip, smiling against the cool stroke of the fabric.

“Breadcrumbs, my sweet,” she replied, “or you shall never find me.”

In truth, the entire chase was beginning to bore him, but to admit that would have been admitting defeat, and that was something he could not do. Not until he had received his prize. One last taste of Miss Eastleigh. After that, perhaps it would be better if they did not see one another again, for though she was daring and that thrilled him, he was not fond of being under her control, allowing her to take the reins. That was his territory.

So, he ran on, playing her little game, whispering sultry words to figure out where on earth she was. All the while, he wondered what delights he might be missing in the ballroom of Bainton Manor. What coquettish glances were being offered to another in his absence? Which ladies might fall for the temptation of another rogue like him, while he was haring around a ridiculous maze in the dark, half-blind and increasingly irritated?

At length, he reached the center of the maze. In the middle of the gravel circle, draped over the wall of the fountain that spouted there, was something that gave him pause, making his efforts seem more worthwhile. A pair of stockings, ribbons gleaming.

“Another breadcrumb?” he asked.

There were “entrances” at each point of the compass in which he stood, but the gravel hid any traces of the path Miss Eastleigh had taken. Unless her stockings were a clue.

A bare leg appeared from the western entrance, a slender hand pulling skirts and petticoats up to the thigh. Adam bit his lower lip, his temperamental furnace of passion fully burning now. He might have been infuriated and doubted he would entertain Miss Eastleigh again, but he had to admit she knew how to keep him on his toes.

“I shall not grant you another,” Miss Eastleigh said from behind the hedge.

A moment later, her milky white leg disappeared, and Adam heard her running. He took off without hesitation, hungry once more for the challenge she had set before him, and certain that he would catch her within minutes.

But either she could somehow walk through hedges, she was hiding underneath the hedges as he passed by, or she was unnaturally quick, for she had vanished into thin air. Now and then, he could hear her footfalls hurrying this way and that, but as for a glimpse of her, there was nothing. She was like a specter that he had imagined, tricking him into this wild goose chase.

Harry tried to stop me.

Harry was his best friend. More of a brother, really. The moment Harry had heard about the letter, and what Adam had intended to do in Lord Bainton’s gardens, he had tried to talk Adam out of it, claiming it sounded like trouble. But Adam liked trouble. Relished it. Welcomed it.

Now, Adam wished he had listened, for he was just embarrassing himself.

“My little vixen, where are you?” he called, struggling to hide the vexation in his voice.

“Not much farther,” she crooned.

You have said that ten times already.

He grumbled inwardly, stuffing her stockings into his waistcoat pocket as he plowed on. After all, even if nothing came of the chase, he still had to find his way out of the maze.

Just then, his eyes fell upon yet another “breadcrumb.” A gossamer-thin petticoat, pooled on the ground. And right beside it, a narrow gap in the hedge. It appeared to be either a secret entrance or a secret exit, so overgrown that he might have missed it had it not been for the petticoat drawing his attention to the area. Indeed, eyeing the gap, he was not certain if it was a mistake in the design, or if it was supposed to be there.

“I almost have you,” he said, convinced she had used the narrow passage to her advantage.

Perhaps she had been using them all along, and he had not seen these secret gaps in the hedges. It would certainly explain how she had gotten so far ahead of him and kept evading him.

She did not reply, making him even more certain that she had slipped out through the gap.

You cannot play games with me and expect to win.

He squeezed himself between the hedges and half stumbled into unknown territory. Only, it was known to him. He had escaped the maze, emerging onto the sloping lawn that led down to the lake… and his reward was waiting.

She stood at the water’s edge, gazing out with her back turned to him. He grinned and stretched his arm back through the hedge, swiping up her petticoat so he could return it—once they had enjoyed one another, of course.

With the petticoat draped over his arm like a waiter serving wine at one of the beau monde dinner parties he was often invited to, he approached his paramour with cat-footed stealth. She had made him chase her, so it was only fair that he should end their game with a surprise capture.

Perhaps she thought I would not see the secret exit.

His blood rushed in his ears as he edged closer. She did not turn to face him, did not give any indication that she knew he was there, and the realization pleased him greatly.

Half a step away from her, and she still had not moved. The wolf in him wanted to howl out his victory, for the soft grass had covered the sound of his advance; she had no idea that she had lost the chase already. Or, if she did, she was very good at pretending. He liked that about her.

Maybe another fortnight or so in her company would not be so bad.

He was curious as to what other challenges and bold encounters she might suggest.

At last, he lunged, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing his lips to the curve of her neck, just the way she liked it. He waited for her to start writhing in his arms, relishing every moment, but instead of moans of pleasure and her acceptance of his victory, a very different sound erupted from her throat.

A scream, so bone-chilling and blood-curdling that he froze. His arms, locked around her waist, would not budge, and it only seemed to be making her scream pierce louder.

Miss Eastleigh twisted around in his startled embrace… but there was nothing familiar about the woman staring up at him. He blinked, baffled by the changeling in his arms. She should have had a somewhat round face and light blue eyes, so why were there two fierce, terrified hazel eyes burning into his soul?

“Fire!” the stranger shrieked at the top of her lungs. “Fire! There is a fire!”

Adam blinked again, idiotically gazing around for the fire she was wailing about. But there was nothing but the still night and the glittering lake, unless she was referring to the handful of torches that lit the path back up to the manor.

“I—” he stammered, preparing to explain that there had been a misunderstanding.

But before he could say a single word more, and before he could truly understand what was happening, the woman drew her arm back past the peak of her shoulder.

He stared at her curled fist as it grew larger and larger, too stunned by the scream still ringing in his ears to figure out why… and then, it hit him.