The River of No Return

door. Nick opened it and pulled Julia inside, then shut it. They were in profound darkness. Julia felt her heart in her throat. “Where are we?”
    “We are back inside. These are the cellars beneath the kitchens.”
    “Why?”
    “Shh.” He pulled her by the hand, and she followed. “There should be a stair somewhere here. . . .” Julia heard a dull thump. “Blast! Here it is.” Nick turned and took her elbow. “Watch your step. I’ll follow you up, but walk softly. We shouldn’t meet anyone, but if we do we must say that we are . . . exploring.”
    “Exploring?” Julia stifled a laugh. “That sounds convincing.”
    “Well, then, don’t meet anyone.” They began to climb. The stair took a turn, and the darkness eased; after the second turn a skinny window shed dirty light on what was revealed to be a narrow wooden staircase enclosed on both sides, with a door opening onto each floor.
    Julia looked back over her shoulder at Nick, climbing behind her. He caught her glance and grinned. Like an idiot she beamed back at him. She wiped the smile away, turned her face resolutely forward, and kept climbing. These were clearly the stairs that led to the cupola. He was taking her there, having told the butler they were going on a walk. No one would know they were at home, up in that forgotten aerie. Her step faltered.
    Nick came up behind her and put his arm around her waist. Standing below her on the steps, his mouth was just at her ear. “Cold feet?” he whispered. His breath in her hair and on her neck sent shivers down her spine.
    “Perhaps.”
    “Poor feet. Allow me to relieve them.” Without a word of warning, he scooped her into his arms.
    She stifled a shriek. “Set me down!”
    “Hush.” He was laughing silently; she could feel his stomach quivering against her hip. “Put your arm around my neck. Do you want to send us tumbling back down the stairs? Like Jack and Jill?”
    “It would serve you right to break your crown,” Julia said, but she put her arm around his neck as he asked. It sent her breast pressing into his shoulder, and her face was very close to his. This was not at all what she had imagined when she posed her question downstairs. A scramble through secret passageways, ending with a half-hilarious, half-awkward ride in his arms. She felt her cold reserve melting away like one of Gunter’s ices on her tongue. She had asked him to be her lover, and he was going to oblige her.
    Nick began climbing.
    “You are absurd,” Julia said conversationally.
    “You are delicious.” He squeezed her against his chest and buried his nose in her hair. “Mmm. You smell like plum pudding.”
    “Is that a good thing? I thought a girl was supposed to smell of lavender or roses.”
    “Let me see.” He bit her earlobe. “Definitely plum pudding. Stop wriggling.”
    “Then stop biting me.”
    “Never.”
    * * *
    Julia arrived in the cupola with neither dignity nor poise. Her hair was in disarray and she had a laugh on her lips. It wasn’t what she had imagined—she had planned on being aloof and superior. But she didn’t care anymore.
    He set her down and she reached up her arms to draw his smiling face down to hers for a kiss. He was happy to consent, kissing her as he took his hat from his head and sent it flying into a corner, and kissing her again as he untied her bonnet and sent it flying after his hat. He kissed her as he peeled the gloves from her hands, and then from his own, crumpled them together into a ball and threw them over his shoulder. Then he kissed her as he sat down and pulled her into his lap. He looked at her then, his right arm encircling her hips and his left arm around her back, and opened his lips to speak, but she shook her head. “No words.”
    “I must speak, Julia.”
    She pressed her lips to his.
    But he turned his face and pulled away an inch. “Talking, my turtledove. We must exchange some words, you and I. Now.”
    Julia drew her finger down his cheek and found the edge of his cravat. She began to untie it.
    “You little vixen.”
    “I thought I was a turtledove. How do you untie these things?”
    “It is an art.” He unceremoniously tilted his thighs and tumbled her sideways from his lap, onto the cushions. “Julia.” His voice was firm. “You must listen to me. Just now, downstairs—”
    “Yes.” She rearranged herself into a sitting position and smoothed her skirts. “I asked you to take me to bed, Nick.”
    “Why?”
    She