Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness by Deb Marlowe

chuckled.  Cheeky chit.  “Yes.”
    “You’ll tell if I do?”
    He nodded again.
    She drew a deep breath.  “Felicity and Peter entered the maze early.  I bribed the footman to guide them speedily to the center so that they could have some quiet time along together.  Jane and I were to slow the others.”
    He laughed harder.  “No need to hurry then.  I suspected they were already in here.  I bribed the other footman to confuse the rest of them and slow their progress.”
    He looked happy.  Carefree in a way that she hadn’t seen.  The smile lingered on his face.  Her insides seized up, gone all tight and still.  She liked the lightening of his hard gaze, wished she could see it again and again.
    If things were different . . .
    “We should go,” she whispered.
    His smile faded.  Time hung suspended while she watched the beat of his pulse start up, gratifyingly quick, beneath his jaw.
    He took a step forward at the same instant that she stepped back.  Their breath danced a similar duet.  Together, yet apart.
    She shook her head.  No.  Not again .  By his own admission he was not for her.  She backed away until her shoulder pressed against the hedge, a branch digging into tender skin—
    And she tumbled backward as something gave way.  Her arms windmilled and she worked to catch herself, struggling in a most ungraceful manner.  She slipped through into a space that shouldn’t be there and before her, a hidden door made of living hedge swung back into place.
    She staggered to a halt as Brodham pushed in, his face lit with curiosity—and an unwise bit of amusement.
    “What is this?” she demanded.
    “One of Lady Ashburn’s little tricks,” he answered.
    “Little being the operative word,” she said, looking around.  It was a tiny room.  The walls were as high as the rest, the space maybe six strides across at one end and perhaps three strides at the other.  It was invisible from the outside.  Someone could stand just outside and never know they were there, unless they made a noise.
    Neither of them made a noise.
    Liberty bit her lip and stared.  This was it.  The moment was alive with promise and potential, the air electric with all the hope and expectation in her heart.  The hairs on her neck and arms rose.  The fog of battle and confusion had lifted.  Now was the time, his chance.
    Staring, trembling, waiting—all exercises in eternity.
    He stood utterly still.  Unreadable.
    Heat flooded her cheeks.  With a sickening, falling sense of despair she realized he was not going to move or speak.
    She couldn’t let the silence go on, couldn’t endure another moment of wasted desire.  She pushed past him, aiming for the door. 
    “Wait.”  He reached for her.
    She spun away, suddenly furious.  “Let me pass,” she hissed.  “It is obvious that this place is neither comfortable for me nor safe for you.”
    “No.”  His arm shot out and blocked her access to the swinging green door.  “You don’t get to throw that at me again.  Not when you’ve stolen them both from me.”
    Good . She wanted to shout it at him.  She didn’t ever want him to feel safe or comfortable or easy or happy again—not without her at his side.
    She couldn’t say it.  She didn’t have to.  Breathing heavily, he pressed her back again until she came up against the hedge.  The prickling sensation was quickly drowned out by the stir of his breath on her temple, then on her nape.
    His grip on her tightened.  Her arms went up.  Slowly, he leaned down.  Too slowly.  She made a strangled sound and his eyebrows shot up even as he lowered his head to press a kiss against her lips.
    Soft and warm.  Slow and lazy.  It was not enough.  She stood on her toes and pushed closer, demanded more.
    She’d flipped a latch.  Just like that everything went from slow burning desire to fervent, unleashed hunger.  His hands slid up and up until they dug furrows into her coiffure.  A good thing, because