Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness by Deb Marlowe Page A

her head went back and the kiss surged deep and only the cradle of his fingers kept her upright.
    This , she realized.  This was the way a woman sometimes had to talk to a man.  All the things she couldn’t say flared clear and hot, messages sent in the burning of lips and tongue and in low, soft moans.
    He shifted her head to the side, sent his mouth gliding along the length of her throat.  Her pulse beat so violently she could feel it.  He followed the call, nuzzling his tongue under her jaw, beneath her ear and in the shivery hollow at the base of her neck.
    She trembled harder now, but she felt so joyous and right and alive as his hands snaked out of her hair and slid down her arms.  She gasped when they shifted again and cupped her breasts.  His mouth moved downward to meet them, leaving hot trails on her skin until he met the barrier of lace at the top of her bodice.
    She let out a low moan of frustration—and suddenly froze as he abruptly straightened and pressed a hand over her mouth.
    She stiffened in outrage—and then heard what he had—her name called somewhere beyond the hedge at her back.
    The call came again.  She recognized the slightly nasal tones of Sir Benjamin. 
    “Miss Baylis?  Come out now.”  Surely he had stopped directly behind her.  “Before it’s too late.”
    “Sir Benjamin!”  Jane’s voice sounded now, from a further distance away.  “I was afraid we’d lost you.  Lord Ashburn is leading us now, so we won’t be so confuddled.  Come along?  He’s also sharing some very interesting tidbits about the construction of the maze.”
    “I know I heard her voice,” Sir Benjamin insisted.  “Miss Baylis is here somewhere.  I saw your face Miss Tillney, you heard it too!”
    “Sound carries strangely in here, sir.  Mr. Gardiner and Miss Carmichael are ahead of us somewhere, I’m sure Miss Baylis is with them as well.”
    “She’s nearby.  Somewhere.  I know it.”
    “Good heavens, but the intensity of your interest surprises me, Sir Benjamin.  I know you are acquainted with my friend, but you’ve shown no such attention to her before now.”
    “I had to convince the family to come around on the idea of an American heiress, don’t you know.  And why go to the effort if she was not going to take?”
    “So you thought you’d see if she would sink or swim?”  Jane’s tone had taken a dark turn with which Liberty felt entirely sympathetic.  “And now you’ll deign to court her?”
    “She’s raised a few eyebrows, it’s true, but none more than you, eh, Miss Tillney?  Vickers says she’s a taking little thing for an American and Brodham certainly seems interested.”
    Liberty’s gaze flew to meet the viscount’s.  She felt sure he could feel the heated flush growing over her cheeks.
    Suddenly a feminine cry rang out.  It sounded faint, but was quickly echoed with other excited, distressed calls. 
    “Jane?”  Louder this time and undoubtedly Lord Worthe.  “You’d better come, my dear.”
    “Blast,” said Sir Benjamin, still right behind Liberty’s back.  “I hope that girl hasn’t blotted her copybook right when I meant to have her.”
    She heard him and Jane move off, and heard the far off ruckus grow louder.  Brodham still had his hand over her mouth and he’d stiffened at the first troubled noises.
    She tugged his hand away.  His eyes were lifted and focused far away, as if he could see what incident had stirred them all up.
    “If Peter and Felicity were merely announcing their betrothal, it would be a happier sound,” she worried.
    He nodded.
    “We should go.”  She slid around him and toward the swinging door.  “Brodham?”  He hadn’t moved.
    “Yes.  I’m coming.”  He wouldn’t look at her.  His voice sounded as distant as his gaze looked.
    Dread, cold and unrelenting, filled her belly.  “I’m going.”  She left, letting the sound of excited conversation guide her.  It felt as if a pit of despair had