Chapter Five
The sound of whispered voices floated through the maze, and once again, Emilia had the overwhelming urge to flee. But the fact that her hand was being held firmly by another kept her from charging towards yet another disaster.
The mystery man led her back further into the maze. She had tried to protest, but he continued to shush her.
“If we step out into the open, we are sure to be seen,” he whispered. “Our best chance at not being discovered is to hide and wait until the other couple has left.”
Emilia scoffed. “So your plan to avoid scandal is to completely seclude yourself in a compromising position with a young woman?”
He looked at her, his gaze narrowing slightly in frustration.
“I apologize if my presence here has interfered with any plans that you had for the evening.”
“What are you insinuating?”
He looked her over, and Emilia felt her entire body go warm, though she suddenly wished she had taken his coat when he had offered it.
He forced his eyes back to hers, as his voice dropped low. “Nothing good ever happens in a hedge maze after dark.”
“In that case,” she challenged, “Would you care to explain what you are doing out here?”
His shoulders heaved with a sigh, a flicker of embarrassment shown across his features, but he schooled it quickly.
“I was looking for my sister,” he murmured.
“Your sister?” Emilia felt her stomach drop to the ground. Her gaze lowered to her dress, and slowly all of the little pieces began to fall together, creating a picture as clear and devastating as the sky-blue eyes that watched her as she backed away from him. Another chill ran through her.
“You are freezing,” he exhaled in frustration, holding his coat out to her once more. “Please put this on.”
Emilia accepted it without protest, wrapping the thick fabric around her shoulders. A spicy citrus scent enveloped her senses, and the warmth was immediate, but it did nothing to stop her trembling.
“Who is your sister?” she whispered, though she feared she already knew what his answer would be.
He drew breath to answer, but voices drifted through the hedges again, much closer than they had been before. There was no time for them to run.
Before Emilia could form another thought, she found herself pressed firmly against his chest once again.
He gripped the lapels of his coat where it lay around her shoulders and drew her tight against him.
Branches scraped and rustled as he pushed both of their bodies into the tall hedges that had stood behind them.
Emilia knew that they could not possibly be entirely hidden, but perhaps the darkness would prove merciful enough if the strolling couple passed without looking too closely.
Emilia tried to steady her breathing, but with her face buried so near his neck, every inhale filled her with the scent of him.
That morning on the Thames, when he had carried her from the river, he had smelled of salt and summer rain. Now, all she could smell was spiced soap clinging to his freshly washed skin.
The world began to tilt, and Emilia knew she had to steady herself before she was lost beyond hope. Her senses always acted as her anchor, and if she could focus her mind on what was tangible, it would help quiet the mounting chaos inside.
She breathed in again.
Bay. Rum. Cinnamon. Clove.
She took in another breath and smelled the bright notes of orange that clung not only to his coat, but to the loose locks of hair that had fallen just below his ear.
Emilia had never tasted wine, but she imagined this must be what it felt like—this dizzying warmth and slow unfurling of the senses that made the world feel softer and far too vivid all at once.
She held in her next breath before it completely overwhelmed her.
She must anchor herself in something else.
Another sense.
Touch.
Her back pressed into the hedge, twigs biting through her skirts and pricking at her skin.
She was certain there would be bruises by morning.
How she would explain those, along with whatever damage Louisa’s gown sustained from the snaring branches, she could not begin to imagine.
The thought knotted her stomach, and she forced her mind onward.
What else could she feel?
Strong arms around her back. The solid breadth of his chest rising and falling against hers. The faint brush of his jaw against her forehead as he shifted with each breath.
This was decidedly unhelpful.
It was time to move on to sound.
All she could hear was the thunder of her own heart and the slow, even cadence of his breath near her ear.
How was he so calm?
Her trembling worsened, and her breath caught painfully in her throat as she swallowed a sob. They would be discovered. Ruined. And it would be entirely her doing.
His arms tightened around her.
“Shhh…” he murmured against her temple. The sound drifted over her like a wave of warmth and her body relaxed almost at once.
She listened to his breathing again, but this time instead of fighting it she matched it, slowing her own to follow its rhythm. The frantic pounding in her ears eased, and air began to fill her chest without resistance.
But the murmured voices grew louder. They were so close Emilia could hear the rustle of skirts brushing against the gravel path and the soft, breathless laugh of a young woman.
They were almost past them. If only they would keep walking. If only they would not glance this way.
“Mr. Huxley…”
The girl’s flirtatious whisper was immediately stolen with a gasp. Emilia felt the arms that held her begin to tremble as his entire body tensed against hers. Before she could fully understand what was happening, he stepped back from the hedge, completely exposing them.
The girl turned first, pulling out of a young man’s embrace. She was roughly seventeen with golden hair, and her face flushed either by the cold, excitement, or embarrassment.
The gentleman was the same one Emilia had seen speaking with Lady Charlotte at the refreshment table.
His eyes widened as he took in the scene before him.
His gaze darted between the two of them—Emilia with her hair falling from its pins, wrapped in a gentleman’s coat, standing alone in a secluded garden with said gentleman, who was dressed in only his shirtsleeves and waistcoat.
She would not survive this.
“Your Grace!” The young man’s words pulled forth the truth she had been trying to ignore. But there was no denying it now.
The man whose coat she wore...
The man who had pressed her into a hedge and shielded her with his own body...
The man who smelled of spiced rum and citrus...
The man who had pulled her from the River Thames, saved her life and now had perhaps destroyed it—was the Duke of Kenswick.
“What are you doing out here?” The young man’s eyes narrowed on them, the shock wearing off and instead settling on them with pointed accusation.
“Mr. Huxley,” the Duke said, his voice perfectly calm and even, though something sharp pierced at the edges. “Considering I left my sister in your care less than a quarter of an hour ago, I believe I should be asking you the very same question.”
The girl at his side gave a small, presumptuous laugh, taking Emilia completely by surprise.
“She is undoubtedly in much better care than she would be with you.”
The poor girl either had no idea the status of the man who had just emerged from the bush before her, or she was still young and ignorant enough to underestimate the significance.
The Duke’s jaw tightened, but his eyes remained completely fixed on Mr. Huxley. The younger man flushed, obviously feeling enough embarrassment for him and his companion, but not quite enough to surrender quietly.
“I left Lady Charlotte properly attended with my eldest sister, Your Grace. I believe the question at hand is…” Mr. Huxley raised a brow, nodding towards Emilia. “What precisely have we interrupted?”
Emilia felt the world tilt again, only this time there was no solid and unshakeable form to cling to to make it stop.
Voices began to drift from the terrace. The absence of rain and the sound of slightly raised voices coming from the garden were beginning to beckon to the other guests inside. If Emilia could see them, leaning over the balustrade and peering into the dark night, surely they could see them.
Her uncle’s rage-filled face flashed through her mind as the gravity of the situation fully began to take root. Her reputation would be left in tatters, and her family’s name spoiled beyond repair. Louisa’s chance at a season would be ruined before it had even begun.
Emilia’s chest tightened painfully, the tears stinging at her eyes.
Everything around her began to fade into a muddy haze, as though she was floating underwater.
She heard the Duke and Mr. Huxley speak again, but nothing made sense.
The words were tangled together, slipping past her like the rain through her fingers.
She could not breathe.
She could not think.
She could not—
“We are to be married.” The Duke’s voice cut clearly through the haze of her mind.
Emilia’s head snapped up. Everything around her was still a blur, but her eyes focused on him clearly. He stood there, calm and composed, with the complete confidence of a man who was utterly in control, even though everything around him was relentlessly spinning.
Had he truly said he was going to marry her?
∞∞∞
Nathaniel felt the words leave his mouth, but each one sounded foreign even to his own ears.
Once he said them, he knew there was no going back.
There was only one way this young woman left the garden without her reputation in shatters, and that was attached to him.
Even then, he knew he would have to be convincing.
Mr. Huxley would not be a problem. If the man wished to inform the world of what he had seen among the hedgerows, he must first confess his own presence there.