“Is everyone ready?” Maddie stood at the front of the tent, wisps of brown hair whipping about her head, the hint of a smile on her face.
Harrison studied her from under his lashes, admiring the fine bone structure beneath the tanned skin from her outdoor pursuits. She was a fascinating amalgam of proper lady and rebellious upstart. A conventional beauty with a penchant for mischief.
It was the rebellious side of her that had drawn him in all those years ago, two moths seeking the same light. The attraction had compounded until he was starving for her, with a ferocity that should have scared him. He always assumed they would end up together, that their personalities were a perfect match. And as he got older, the craving for her grew worse until she broke his heart, when he realized his feelings were unrequited.
But unrequited no longer.
He drummed his fingers on the table, restless and edgy. She’d avoided him ever since the gazebo. He told himself this was a good thing, that her reaction meant he’d rattled her, but it was hard to see her smiles bestowed anywhere but him. Difficult to hear her laughter aimed at others while receiving none for himself. He was greedy when it came to her attention and she was depriving him of it, and the loss shredded his insides like a thousand tiny cuts.
His eyes moved to Lockwood, who stood talking to Kit in the corner of the tent. The duke was a decent enough sort, Harrison supposed, and if he weren’t in love with Maddie he’d bless their marriage with his whole heart. But his heart was spoken for, given to Maddie all those years ago when they’d played in the surf and tramped across the chateau grounds. Watching fireworks and chasing butterflies, digging up clams and climbing trees.
The question was what Maddie wanted.
Betrothals were not easy to break, especially one as high profile as Maddie’s, and calling it off would cause quite the scandal.
That possibility didn’t scare him, however. In fact, he liked scandal. He’d created so many in both New York and Paris that no one even bothered discussing him anymore. One thing he’d learned was that money smoothed over most every faux pas, especially in America. Wealth mattered even when propriety did not—and the Websters had more money than almost anyone, save J. P. Morgan and Vanderbilt. They could weather any storm . . . even a broken betrothal to a duke.
“Ready?” she called, reclaiming his attention. The ladies all rose in unison.
Damn. What was happening?
“Weren’t listening, were you?” Kit slid into the empty chair next to Harrison.
“No. What are we doing?”
“Oh, not we.” Kit chuckled. “You.”
“Go!” Maddie said—and every eye swung to Harrison.
He resisted the old urge to fidget. “What am I supposed to do?” he muttered to Kit.
“Sardines. You’re to hide and the ladies will find you.”
Harrison remembered the game from childhood. When each woman found his hiding spot, they would squeeze in with him, all of them cozily waiting until the last person found the group. An idea occurred. “I think Miss Webster should play, as well,” he called out.
Everyone in the tent paused, looking to Maddie. Her brow wrinkled. “Why would I play?”
“You know all the best hiding places on the property. You should hide and I’ll search along with the guests.”
She flicked a glance toward the duke before looking back at Harrison. “You also know the best hiding places.”
“Nonsense.” He waved his hand. “It’s been years since I played hide-and-seek here. I’ve forgotten them all.” Kit covered his mouth with his hand as if he might laugh, but Harrison ignored him.
“I agree,” Mrs. Webster said from the side of the tent. “You always loved this game, Maddie. Enjoy yourself.”
Lockwood stroked his chin, lips pursed in thought, as if he were trying to figure out Harrison’s angle. Yet he offered up no protest, probably assuming Harrison would be occupied with the ladies.
The assumption was reasonable . . . but also untrue.
“Fine.” She put her hands on her hips, still looking unconvinced. “I’ll play, but why must I be the one to hide? It ruins the point of the game.”
Harrison tried to cover his desperation under a bored expression. “The game will be over in two minutes if I hide. I’ll be found behind that bush over there. You are the only one who can make this a challenge.”
One thing he knew about Maddie, she was competitive. It was one of the qualities that made her such a fierce tennis player. And while she could refuse to participate, everything told him she wouldn’t.
“That makes sense, I suppose,” she said.
He pressed his case. “Also, I’m not certain the chaperones would like the idea of me and one of the ladies alone together for a stretch of time, separated from the others.”
Maddie cast a nervous glance at the table full of chaperones. “Oh, right. Good point.” She nodded once. “I’ll be the one to hide, then. Now according to the rules, I may hide either inside the house or somewhere on the grounds. The last person to find the hiding place is the loser and will sit out tomorrow’s sail on the yacht.”
This was not a team game, so the ladies remained quiet, most likely plotting their strategy. The risk of being left out from a sail on the Webster yacht would motivate most anyone.
Except Harrison. He would find Maddie first, and it had nothing to do with tomorrow’s outing.
Gesturing toward the occupants of the tent, he said, “We should put our heads down until Miss Webster is safely on her way to a hiding place.”
“You certainly are taking this seriously.” A deep crease formed between Maddie’s brows as she studied him. “Fine. Everyone sit and close your eyes. Mama, give them the signal to begin when I’ve been gone long enough.”
Harrison nearly rubbed his hands together. He hadn’t forgotten anything about the chateau . . . or their games together. He knew exactly where she would go. He closed his eyes.
Kit kept his voice low. “Couldn’t be more obvious if you tried, my friend. I hope you know what you are doing.”
“Of course I do.”
“How are you certain you’ll find her first?”
“Because I know where she’s planning to hide.”
“Where?”
“The changing room by the indoor pool.”
Kit heaved an exaggerated sigh. “I suppose I’ll need to entertain her fiancé while you’re seducing her in the dark.”
“That would be dashed nice of you.”
“Just do not say I didn’t try to warn you when this all goes sideways.”
Maddie hurried to her hiding place. For some reason Harrison had pushed her to participate in the game, although his reasoning made sense, she supposed. Being trapped with one young lady for a long stretch of time could lead Harrison into a hasty wedding.
Why did that thought unsettle her?
It shouldn’t. You are betrothed.
The best outcome was for Harrison to marry one of her friends and return to Paris, away from Maddie. Then they could both get on with their lives and forget this momentary bit of madness. Surely it was the reminders of their past, the sound of the sea and the salty air, causing them to descend into this strange nostalgia for each other.
This is not nostalgia. You are attracted to him.
She was really coming to hate that internal voice of hers.
How had their relationship changed so dramatically? Before he went to Paris, he’d been a confidant and playmate, nothing more than a friend. Now a slightly older Harrison had returned, and her obsession switched from tennis to him. Never had she been attracted to a man like this, where thoughts of him instantly jumped to licking and biting, exploring and kissing . . .
Stop.
She gave herself a mental shake. This could not go on. Another day of this house party, then Harrison would have his fiancée and Maddie would focus on tennis and the duke.
There was no other choice.
The east side of the house was quiet as she slipped through a side door and into the morning room. Giant fans slowly turned overhead, creating a glorious breeze that countered the June midday heat. Unfortunately, she couldn’t stop here.
The point of the game was to find a small spot into which a group must squeeze itself, just like sardines in a tin. The first two floors of the chateau comprised large, open rooms, impractical for her purposes. There were closets and washrooms, but those were too obvious. The third floor contained staff quarters, and she would not dare to disrupt their private space with houseguests tramping through.
That left the basement, which contained the perfect hiding space: a small changing room tucked away beside the indoor pool. Three or four adults could fit inside comfortably, but seven or eight would be a tight squeeze. She had briefly pointed the room out to her friends during her tour on the first day of the house party. Time would tell if any of them remembered.
If no one found her in an hour, she’d come out and restart the game.
As she went to the stairs, she happened to pass the library. Quickly, she snatched a thick book off the shelf, not bothering to check the title. There was no time for dawdling. Hurrying on, she went downstairs.
The pool room was humid, due in part to the underground heating system used to warm the water. The surface of the pool was like glass, undisturbed and completely still in the silence. Careful not to slip on the tiles, she walked around to the changing room. There was a moment of indecision as to whether to close the door behind her, and she decided to leave it cracked. The space would overheat without any air wafting in, and she could use the light coming in from the pool room by which to read.
Low wooden benches lined the walls of the tiny changing room. She sat and peered at the spine of the book in her hand. Disappointment weighed down her shoulders. Soil Quality of the Western Plains. This was one of her father’s research books for railroad expansion. She tossed it aside. Not even utter boredom could get her interested in that subject matter.
Minutes later, a faint scuffle caught her attention. She held her breath and waited, listening. Impossible. A guest could not have found her this soon.
Another noise, closer this time. Holding perfectly still, she kept her eyes locked on the sliver of light at the door’s opening. Seconds ticked by, and she began to wonder if the noises had been her imagination.
Then a large shadow cast the changing room into darkness and she tried not to gasp.
Harrison.
He slipped into the room, a satisfied smirk on his face. “I knew it.”
“You lied. You said you forgot all the hiding places.”
Not answering, he came in and closed the door. Darkness enveloped them both. Though she couldn’t see him, she heard his clothes rustle as he settled on her left side. There was barely an inch of space between them, his body too close, too imposing. Too tempting.
Her heart kicked hard in her chest, anticipation buzzing in her veins like electricity. “What are you doing?”
“Sitting.”
“Harrison.” She tried to put a healthy amount of extreme displeasure in her tone. “We should not be alone in here.”
“I can’t help it if I let it slip to a few of the ladies how you used to hide in the carriage house as a young girl.”
“Which is a lie. You used to hide in the carriage house. I used to hide in here.”
She couldn’t see his face but she could hear the smile in his voice. “I know. Remember the time we stole a cake from your mother’s garden party? We nearly ate ourselves sick in here.”
Yes, she remembered. She remembered nearly all of their adventures. “We should open the door.”
“Why?”
He was deliberately being obtuse. Could he not feel the heat jumping between them? “You know why.”
“Is this about not trusting yourself with me again?”
Dashed man. Stood to reason he would bring up her words from the gazebo. She ducked her head, shame scalding her from the inside out. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
“I like when you are honest with me.”
“If only you could do the same.”
A rough finger brushed the top of her hand, stroking each of her knuckles, one by one. Sparks shot along her skin, an effervescence skipping along every nerve in her body, making her feel both light and heavy at the same time. Though she couldn’t see him, he was all around her, the scent of him—the outdoors and a faint hint of cigar—surrounding her. The sound of his steady breathing echoed in the small space. By the time he reached her pinky, she had nearly melted on the bench.
He linked their fingers together. “I’ll tell you anything you’d like to know,” he said, his voice like silk.
There was really only one question to ask. “What do you want from me?”
“Everything.”
The single word fell between them like a perfectly placed drop shot over the net. She had no way of catching it, no hope of returning it. Worse, there was no avoiding the consequences. “I cannot break the betrothal.”
“Others have done so and survived. You can, too.”
“This is madness. You ask the impossible.”
His hand held steady, their two fingers intertwined, anchoring her. She wasn’t ready to pull away.
The air grew heavier as her lungs worked, her breath coming fast and shallow. They’d spent so much time alone together over the years, but this was different. Even their interactions on the terrace and in the gazebo hadn’t felt like this, like he was air and water, food and shelter. Absolutely essential, as if they were tethered to each other in some elemental way.
“Tell me what you are thinking,” he said.
Though he couldn’t see her, she shook her head, not ready to share the emotions roiling inside her just yet. “You are supposed to marry one of the ladies here.”
“I don’t want one of those ladies. I want you.”
Her lower body clenched at the declaration, arousal pulsing between her legs in time with her heartbeat. I shouldn’t, but I want him, too.
She dragged in a deep breath and attempted to remain logical. “You had years to declare an intention. Never once have you hinted at more between us until now, when it is too late.”
“If I ask you a question, do you promise to answer it honestly?”
“Of course.”
“Forget your betrothal. Do you want to kiss me right now?”
She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. “Why would you ask me that?”
“Because your answer is all that matters.”
“Hardly. There are other people to consider, as well.”
“No one else is here. It’s just the two of us at the moment. So tell me. Do you want to kiss me?”
“You ask the impossible.”
“That is not an answer, Mads.”
The truth lodged in her throat, the words unable to break free. Saying them would change everything, create a scandal and harm those she cared about. How could she act so selfishly?
He must have sensed her hesitation because she heard him shift a brief instant before a large hand settled on her thigh. The heat of his skin scorched her through the layers of cloth between them. It was far more intimate than any other touch they had shared, and the air turned thick, charged with a portentous energy, like right before a thunderstorm rolled in.
The moment stretched, each second crawling by as every nerve in her body concentrated on his hand. Strong fingers moved ever so slightly, testing, teasing. Caressing. Maddie’s own fingers curled into her palms and she trembled, goose bumps racing all along her arms. She wanted to lean into him and beg for more. The idea was madness, but her rational half had clearly fallen back to allow her emotional side to take charge.
“Shall I remove my hand?”
She should have answered affirmatively. The touch was personal and possessive . . . in a place only a husband should access. And yet . . .
“No,” she whispered.
His fingers tightened as if he’d expected a different answer. Without missing a beat, his other hand found her jaw and cupped her face, the touch confident and calming. She grew light-headed, the floor shifting below her while the world fell away, but he held her tethered, safe in a familiar, yet totally unexpected, way. Her fingers wrapped around his wrist, the tips pressing into his flesh, and she held very still, unwilling to break the moment by breathing or talking.
His forehead met her temple, his humid breath gusting over her cheek as he whispered, “Do you want to kiss me?”
Unable to stop herself, she nodded . . . and he sucked in air, a gasp of surprise that she felt all the way to her toes.
Just then, the door swung open, casting light into the room and blinding her. She instantly jumped apart from Harrison and shielded her eyes.
“Aha! We found her!”