Bishop pulled a face. “You are no fun.”
“And you are ridiculous.”
“I do try,” Bishop said, lifting his glass in a mock toast.
For the first time since they arrived in London, Blake felt a flicker of something close to ease. He could do this.
He hoped to God.
Rosilee stepped throughthe doors of the drawing room at Crane House, her heart pounding in her breast as though it weretrying to escape. She hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that something about this house was...
Familiar.
Her breath hitched as she took in the sight of the maze, twisting and turning with its high hedges and paths that could seem endless to a child’s mind. Beyond it stood the large tree, towering and old, its roots as deep in the ground as her memories were in her heart.
Her chest tightened.
She knew this place.
But she also didn’t.
Yet there it was—the same maze she had played in all those years ago, and the same towering tree that had provided shade when she needed a moment’s rest from her explorations. She had thought those days lost to time, to the haze of childhood, but here they were, rushing back at her in a blur.
Rosilee’s legs felt weak as memories pushed their way to the surface.
After the duke and Mr. Bishop had left, she had decided to explore the house that seemed too devoid of human warmth, only to find herself staring at the garden through one of the windows, her eyes drawn to the maze and the large tree in the distance with faint impressions of familiarity.
It couldn’t be . . .
And yet she was growing ever more sure. Her father had brought her here a few times, she was certain now. To one of the neighboring houses to be exact. She had been a girl, about six years old if she recalled. He had been calling on one of his friends, and while her father had conducted his business, she had explored outside, her curiosity leading her to the garden and, eventually, this maze beyond it. She had spent hours sneaking into it, exploring the twisting pathways, pretending she was lost in a magical land. It had all been harmless fun.
Except forthatday.Thatday had been different.
That was the day she had methim—the boy.
The current Duke of Crane.
Blake Faithorne.
There was no denying, this was the same maze and the same tree. Was there any other place in England where a large tree of that shape stood at that exact spot behind a maze? He had been the young man of the house then, and now was master of it.
Lord.
How could she not have recognized him sooner? The strange warmth of her trust in him, the unnamable pull she had felt toward him, why he seemed so familiar to her—it all made sense now. He was the boy she had found being chased by his father in a rage, and who had looked so terrified at the time. They had shared something profound all those years ago, something that had bound them together in a way neither of them had likely understood at the time.
They were connected.
In a way.
Her legs seemed to move of their own accord as she descended the terrace stairs and made her way toward the maze, then around it. The closer she got, the more her memories stirred, thoughts flashing through their encounter. A big beast. A small boy. Courage. Running. Two gazes meeting...
Her feet sank into the grass as she padded over to the base of the oak tree, staring up at its thick branches stretching toward the sky. Her fingers brushed the rough bark of the tree, the same tree that had been their refuge that night.
The sound of oncoming footsteps snapped her out of her thoughts, and she turned to see Mrs. Prune, the housekeeper, making her way toward her with a nostalgic smile on her face.
“Ah, Lady Rosilee, I see you’ve found the duke’s tree.”
Rosilee arched a brow. “The duke’s tree?”
