she always keeps a spare pair of socks inside.’
While she kicked off her heels and sank her feet into the boots, which were at least a size too big, he pulled a coat off the row of pegs and shoved his feet into his own boots.
Then the back door was open and icy air was chilling their cheeks. Marcus grabbed her hand and pulled her out into the moonlit night.
There was something thrilling about running out of the castle with Marcus on this snowy night, her skirts caught up in her free hand, not knowing where she was going. The paths round the estate were mostly cleared, and they kept to them as much as possible. Faith kept lagging behind, caught up in staring at the formal gardens and the rolling fields beyond, all sparkling in the moonlight as if someone had dusted them with glitter, but the insistent tug of Marcus’s hand in hers kept her travelling.
‘Where are we going?’ she asked, frowning slightly. For some reason she’d thought they might end up at the chapel, but they were jogging in the opposite direction.
He turned to grin wolfishly at her. ‘We’re almost there.’
She looked around. High yew hedges ran alongside the path they were running on. She didn’t think she’d ventured into this part of the estate before—too busy stuck in her studio bent over bits of glass to notice what had been right under her nose.
They kept running until they came upon a gap in the hedge, closed off by an iron gate. Marcus stopped and lifted the latch, making sure he still had her by the hand.
‘There are plenty of paths here,’ he said softly, ‘but only one is the right one. Only one winds upwards towards a shining light.’
As he led her through the gate suddenly it all made sense.
‘You have a maze,’ she mumbled, slightly awestruck.
‘They were the craze in Victorian times. The fourth Duke had it planted, but my great-grandfather added some improvements.’
She looked up to where the hedges ended, about two feet above her head. A couple of inches of snow glistened on top, pale blue in the moonlight, making the whole maze look like a rather elaborately carved Christmas cake.
‘We’re going to try to navigate a maze in the dark, in the snow?’ she asked, realising she sounded disbelieving.
Marcus just laughed. He pulled a flashlight from his pocket and handed it to her. ‘Do you want to race me to the centre or do you want to do it together?’
She narrowed her eyes at him. ‘And you’re giving me the only light source?’
He nodded.
‘I have a feeling you know your way through this maze even in the pitch-dark, which would be cheating, so I’m sticking with you.’
She was rewarded with a broad grin at that comment. ‘Smart lady,’ he murmured, and then tugged her off to the right and started running again—just as her heart decided to lurch along in an uneven rhythm, making it even harder for her to keep up.
After a while Faith gave up trying to memorise their path. She just concentrated on keeping her skirt off the ground and matching Marcus’s pace. When she stumbled slightly he turned, looking concerned.
‘Am I going too fast for you?’
She nodded, panting slightly. ‘These boots are a bit flappy, and I really don’t want to ruin this lovely dress. This skirt wasn’t made for running.’
He looked her up and down, a thoughtful look on his face, taking in the fishtail skirt, how it kept her thighs so close together. Feeling his gaze on her body made said thighs tingle. She told herself if was just the cold.
‘Only one solution to that,’ he said, and stepped towards her.
She gasped as he lifted her into his arms. Instinctively she looped her arms round his neck and held on tight. ‘What are you doing?’ she asked, her voice breathy. ‘You can’t possibly carry me the rest of the way like this!’
‘Would you prefer a fireman’s lift?’ he replied, a ripple of humour in his voice.
She shook her head violently, thinking how the blood would rush to her head if he hoisted her over his shoulder. She was finding it difficult enough to think as it was.
‘Are you flirting with me, Lord Westerham?’ she asked shakily. ‘Because I thought we had an agreement about that sort of thing.’
‘Of course not,’ he said, with a slightly devilish glint in his eye. And as he started to walk he added. ‘Pity, though. That would have been a great view.’
She slapped him on the chest with a gloved hand. ‘Earls are not supposed to talk like that.’
He just smiled a secret smile to himself, staring straight ahead, navigating the maze. ‘I beg to differ. I’ve known quite a few, and I know from experience that a title is not a ticket to a clean mouth. Far from it. You should hear Ashford when he gets going …’
She slapped him again. ‘You’re teasing me.’
He slowed and looked down at her. ‘Maybe I am. But don’t let the title fool you. I might be an earl, but underneath I’m still a man.’
The glitter in his eyes as he looked down at her bore witness to that. Faith found herself strangely breathless. Wrenching her gaze onto the path ahead was difficult, but she managed it.
He picked up speed, staying silent, but his last words thrummed between them still. Yes, he was a man. A beautiful, noble man. And right at this moment, captured in his arms as she was, Faith McKinnon was feeling very much a woman. Even worse, that woman was doing just as he asked, and was forgetting all about his title and why she shouldn’t just drop her gift-wrapped heart at his feet like a tiny Christmas present.
She hung on, closing her eyes.
Sooner than expected he came to a halt and slowly lowered her to the ground. Cold air rushed in between them, where their bodies had been pressed against each other. Faith shivered.
‘See what I mean?’ he whispered, his breath warm in her frozen ear.
She blinked and looked around. This wasn’t what she’d expected. In front of them was a squat tower of stone, sloping inwards slightly as it rose maybe fifteen feet into the air.
‘Come on,’ Marcus said, and reached for her hand.
This time she took it without thinking. It seemed to belong there.
‘We’re near the end of a path that leads to a shining light.’
He led her round the stone mound until they came upon a narrow winding stairway that circled the tower. It didn’t take long to climb up the twenty or so stairs, and soon they were standing on a viewing platform, surrounded by waist-high stone walls. She could not only see the whole of the snowcapped maze, but also the hills beyond, and glittering in the distance the larger of the two lakes.
The moon was in evidence, but no other light was anywhere to be seen. ‘Where—?’
He placed a hand on each of her shoulders and gently turned her to face the other direction. There, in the middle of the tower, was a sundial mounted on a stone pedestal.
She walked towards it and his hands slid off her shoulders. However, they didn’t drop away quickly, but trailed down her back until she was out of reach. Even through the puffy layers of Shirley’s winter coat she could feel warmth, the sure pressure of his hands.
‘How do you know this is what the verse is referring to? The connection seems a bit tenuous.’ As wonderfully romantic as this idea was, she couldn’t help think it might just be a coincidence.
‘It would be but for two reasons,’ he said, coming to the other side of the sundial and standing opposite her. ‘First, the same man who commissioned the window also built this tower in the maze. Second …’ He tapped the brass face of the sundial with a finger, before