She came up short when she noticed his presence, her breath harsh and quick. Not excitement. Exertion.
Her hand flew to her breast, to the line of her dress—was it lower than before? Frustration tumbled through him at the recognition—at the possible activities that she’d engaged in to look so flushed.
“Caleb,” she said, quick and surprised, and he hated the ease of it on her tongue. The familiarity of it, as though she owned it. As though she owned him, even after a year apart. And then she smiled, as though they were anywhere but here. As though she was happy to see him. “What are you doing here?”
He wasn’t about to answer that. “I could ask you the same.”
“Are you surprised to find me lurking in the gardens?” she quipped, the flirt in the words pure Sesily, but tinged with urgency, as though she had somewhere to be. “Surely you’d be the only one.” She looked over her shoulder, then back at him, and smiled, wide and winning, and offering a dozen things he’d happily accept if he were a different man. If she were a different woman.
If he were a different man, however, Caleb might have missed the flash of emotion that preceded the sultry seduction, the delight, and the wild promise of fun.
He would have missed the fear.
He was on alert, looking past her into the darkness, hoping his casual tone masked his instant anger. “Short tryst.”
She ignored the observation, all hint of nerves missing from the words, even if she moved toward him, making to pass him in the aisle of the maze. “Were you inside?”
“Is there another option?”
“With you, just returned?” She paused. “Surely it’s possible you were so destroyed by our time apart that you bypassed the party altogether and came straight to find me.”
He pressed his lips together, ignoring the way the words thrummed through him. “Lingering in the darkness in the wild hope that you might turn up?”
“I’m very good at turning up for trouble.”
“I don’t think I’m the trouble you turned up for tonight.”
“And thus, my girlish dreams are dashed.” She extracted a watch from the reticule, checked it in the light from the ballroom beyond, and then made to pass him. “Are you for your own tryst?” She tutted her disappointment. “I shall endeavor to keep my heart from breaking.”
He ignored the tease and moved into her path, forcing her to pull up short. “Who were you with?”
“Why Mr. Calhoun,” she said, feigning shock. “A gentleman would never ask such a thing.”
“I never claimed to be a gentleman.”
She made a show of assessing him, her heated gaze sending fire straight through him. “And yet, I have never seen proof otherwise.”
“Sesily …” He growled a warning.
“So sorry, American, but I’m short on time.”
He turned as she passed him and headed for the arched entrance to the maze. “Somewhere to be?”
“Somewhere not to be, as a matter of fact,” she replied, increasing her pace, heading for the gleaming lights of the ballroom beyond.
He followed, easily catching up. “What were you doing in there?”
She did not slow, even as she cast him a full, practiced smile that would have dazzled a lesser human. “A lady must be allowed her secrets.”
He was meant to think that she’d been trysting in the darkness. And others might. But he’d seen the truth in her eyes. She didn’t want anyone knowing what she’d been doing in that labyrinth.
Which meant that Caleb was going to have to find out.
“Fair enough.” He stopped and turned on his heel, aiming for the maze once more.
“No!” She squeaked, looking down at the watch in her hand again.
He looked, too. “What are you worried about missing?”
“On the contrary,” she said, glancing toward the maze. “I’m worried that I won’t miss it.”
“Sesily.”
There was just enough wash of golden light from the ballroom for him to see her, to really see her. He bit back a frustrated curse at the way his chest tightened. No matter what he had hoped, a year away had done nothing to stop his reaction to this woman. And truly, it should not be such a surprise. Because Sesily Talbot had been sculpted by angels. Smooth golden skin, dark hair gleaming like the night sky, and a full, beautiful face that threatened to lay a body low even now, as she pursed her lips and considered her next move.
He nearly turned on his heel and made for Southampton again—back to Boston. At least with an ocean between them he couldn’t be tempted by her.
Lie.
He was saved from having to linger on the thought when he heard the sound behind them. Movement in the labyrinth. It would be impossible not to hear it, as it did not sound graceful or mincing or delicate or clandestine. It sounded like someone had loosed a large animal inside. A bull or an ox—something that lumbered.
And groaned.
He looked to her. “What did you do?”
“What makes you think I have anything to do with it?” Later, he would be impressed by her lack of hesitation. By the way she grabbed his hand, as though it was the most ordinary thing in the world, and yanked him into the darkness beneath the nearest tree.
“Does my sister know you’ve returned?” The question was perfectly ordinary, as though they were inside the ballroom at the refreshment table where her friends no doubt continued to wreak havoc.
“She does. I went to the Sparrow first.” The Singing Sparrow, the Covent Garden tavern jointly owned by Caleb and Sesily’s eldest sister, Seraphina Bevingstoke, Duchess of Haven.
“And me, always the last to know,” she said, quietly, pivoting to push him back to the trunk.
Later, he would take himself to task for not resisting. For not even lasting twenty-four hours in this godforsaken country before he failed to resist.
But how was he supposed to resist Sesily Talbot as she pressed herself to him, her hands sliding up over his chest, her fingers finding purchase in his hair? He was only human, after all.
“I was not aware that I was to apprise you of my comings and goings.” One of his arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her tight to him. Only to make sure they kept their balance.
Not for anything else. Not because he wanted her there.
“Why start now?” she said, the question punctuated by another groan from the maze, and she moved impossibly closer to him, aligning their bodies in a way that made him think violent thoughts about fabric. “I swore I’d never do this,” she said, her fingers clenching in his hair, tugging his face down toward her.
He meant to resist. “Do what?”
“Kiss you,” she said, and for a moment the matter-of-fact words sizzled through him.
He meant to stop her.
Except there was no stopping Sesily Talbot.
She continued in a low whisper, more to herself than to him, it seemed, even as she rose on her toes, the movement sending his hand sliding over the stunning swell of her bottom. “You don’t deserve it.”
Why in hell not?
He absolutely didn’t deserve it. But he still wanted to know why she thought he didn’t. She had no reason to think such a thing.
“Unfortunately … circumstances dictate …”