A Scot to the Heart (Desperately Seeking Duke #2) - Caroline Linden Page 0,55
Agnes in the maze, I beg you will protect me from her tripping me or knocking me unconscious with a branch.”
She was still laughing as they reached their spot. The maze was shaped like a five-pointed star, with entrances on the points. Bella had drawn a line in the dirt at each one and allowed the pairs to choose their place of attack. Winnie and Adam Monteith took off at a quick jog for the far left, while Bella and Alex Kincaid darted to the closest one. Agnes and Felix Duncan appeared to be arguing over whether to go left or right, and Drew steered Ilsa around to the back, choosing a point next to the one unoccupied. It was as alone as they could get.
The hedges grew tall around them, a little higher than Drew could reach, and rustled gently in the summer breeze. It might as well have been a secluded bower.
“Ready?” called his mother from the terrace. Distant shouts confirmed everyone was.
“Do you also like to win?” Ilsa asked.
Drew winked. “You mean, do I savor outmaneuvering my sisters and showing up my friends? What do you think?”
She raised her brows, grinning. “And what are you prepared to do for it?”
He clasped her hands in his and rested his forehead against hers. “Anything,” he whispered. Including losing this damn race through the maze, if it meant he could stay here and kiss her. That was worth more than winning a silly race. This was rare, this connection and attraction, and he was loath to let go of it even for a moment.
Ilsa’s eyes gleamed, and she squeezed his hands. “Anything?”
“Aye.” He dipped his head, his lips a breath away from hers.
From the terrace, Mr. Watkins blew a blast on the hunting horn.
“Then we’d better run,” she whispered. For a brief, searing moment, she rose up on her toes and pressed her mouth to his. “I also like to win.”
The world reeled around him. He’d already won, it seemed—but he let her pull him by the hand into the maze.
Ilsa was having the time of her life. Accepting this invitation had been the most brilliant thing she’d ever done.
She had ridden out three times now with him, and relished every moment. Not only was it a joy to be in the saddle again, but the estate was large and beautifully kept. They could ride for an hour or two along the paths and roads or following the river where otters frolicked in the water and beavers tended their kits. And then they’d dismount and walk the horses back, sometimes talking, sometimes in companionable silence, even in a light morning mist. He was the first man she’d met who didn’t need to hear himself talk or require her to support his opinion on everything. After her father and Malcolm, it was a shock and a relief and marvelously appealing.
Today they were running like children, sprinting up and down the twists and turns of the maze. The hedges muffled sound, but occasionally a far-off shriek or laugh was audible. Ilsa couldn’t help wondering how Agnes and Mr. Duncan were getting on. They’d been arguing bitterly before the start, but Ilsa had a strong suspicion that Mr. Duncan had traded names to be paired with Agnes.
Or . . . She stole a glance at the captain. Had he traded to be with her?
“Which way?” he asked as they confronted another junction.
“Left,” she guessed, starting down it, only to catch a glimpse of blue through the leaves. “No, no, no,” she gasped, turning and pushing him back the way they’d come. “Right! Go right!”
“Who was it?” he asked as they jogged along another curving path.
“Agnes and Mr. Duncan, I believe.”
He gave her a glance. “I heard no arguing or cursing. Are you certain?”
Ilsa paused. She was quite sure that bright blue could only have been Agnes’s dress, but the figure had been silent—and motionless, not darting along as they were. “Perhaps they found something better to do.”
Drew stopped so suddenly she cannoned into him. He caught her in his arms and lowered his head. “Something like this?” he whispered, his hands sliding down her back to pull her tightly against him. The swing in momentum almost upended her, and Ilsa gripped his coat to keep her balance—and then kept holding on because she didn’t want to let go of him.
“Perhaps,” she gasped.
“God, lass,” he rumbled in her ear, his lips on her neck. “I can’t think straight around you . . .”