“Drat,” she muttered. There was much she would have liked to ask them, especially after The Kiss.
Perhaps it was wicked and wanton to have so thoroughly enjoyed everything about Alec’s body—the muscled contours, the masculine textures, the taste of his mouth, the fiery surge of desire its touch sent spiraling straight to her very core.
“I would probably surrender my virginity to Strathcona in a heartbeat,” she murmured. “Which no doubt makes me the Devil’s own harlot.”
But as there wasn’t a snowball’s chance in Hell that Alec would ever ask her to, she seemed safe enough from eternal damnation.
The Kiss was… just a kiss.
She had taken him by surprise, that was all. He hadn’t had time to think. He had reacted purely on instinct. How was it that men seemed to know those things by second nature? It was as if they came into the world with a manual on seduction tattooed on their primitive little brains.
So, what about women?
It was all a bit confusing to know what women were and were not supposed to feel. Society’s rules said one thing, and yet the heart seemed to say something quite different. Somehow it didn’t seem fair.
Shouldn’t great artists, be they men or w
omen, be they painters or poets, understand the fine points of human emotion?
Questions, questions.
Which tangled into conundrums.
Quickly folding the poem before she could change her mind, Caro sealed it with a wafer of scarlet wax.
Chapter Nine
“Ugh,” said Isobel over the rim of her glass. “I shall be heartily glad when this regime of drinking the Bath mineral waters is at an end.” Crinkling her nose, she let out a gusty sigh. “The taste is quite vile.”
“The physician does say it is healthful,” replied Caro helpfully. The odor wasn’t very pleasant either, but as her friend’s frail looks and stamina appeared much improved over the last ten days, it was hard to argue with the water’s medicinal qualities.
Heaving another sigh, Isobel forced herself to swallow the remaining liquid. “Arrrgh.”
Caro had offered to accompany her friend to her daily cure, though after her first few sips, she had abandoned the idea of her own daily dose. The onerous task done, they completed their circuit of the Pump House promenade and paused by the main doors to hand the glass back to the elderly attendant who dispensed the daily doses.
“Have you visited the Hedge Maze yet?” asked Caro. She had been perusing the guidebook on Bath over breakfast, seeking some amusement with which to brighten Isobel’s spirits. Her friend’s mood had seemed downcast during the boat ride back from Spring Gardens yesterday, and she couldn’t help wonder whether it had to do with Andover.
Andy was a very charming, good-hearted fellow, but in London the mamas with daughters of a marriageable age despaired of him settling down anytime soon.
Would a discreet word of caution help head off any heartbreak? She hadn’t yet decided whether it was wise to interfere. A walk together, just the two of them, might help her make up her mind.
“No,” answered Isobel, her voice perking up. “But I have heard it is quite a diverting challenge.”
“Shall we try it?” suggested Caro. “It’s still early in the afternoon, so we should have plenty of time to finish before suppertime. I believe there is a spotter stationed on a platform high above the greenery to help those who become impossibly lost.”
“Oh, yes, let us test our skills! I daresay you are too clever to lose your way.”
Caro wished she were half so certain of that. Of late, the needle of her inner compass had been spinning in all directions.
If only I had a lodestone, an inner North Star to help me navigate my way through my emotions.
But she quickly put aside such musings on mental journeys, and turned her attention to enjoying the upcoming stroll.
It was just a short walk to the entrance of the maze, which was located in a stretch of parkland off one of the hilly side streets. Caro paid the fee for both of them and returned with the tickets and a brochure listing some of the basic facts about the design.
“It says here that the layout is copied from the famous maze at Hampton Court, which was built in the late 1600s for William III,” she read. “The original has a half mile of pathways, while this one is considerably longer, as it has nearly three quarters.”
Isobel looked suitably impressed as she eyed the towering hedges. “It sounds a bit daunting.”