Rolling her eyes, she took out her map, noticed the exciting, pale blue representation of the sea, and headed for the tree line ahead of her. A vague path cut through the oaks, chestnuts, and plane trees which coordinated perfectly with a line on the map. She could not recall the last time she had seen the sea and had a feeling it would be just the thing to improve her mood further.
The girls would relish this.Her heart grew heavier with each step through the woodland, the world quietening as the thick canopy, ancient trunks, and dense underbrush dampened any exterior sound.Goodness, I miss them.
She made a note in her mind to write to them with questions, asking about their honeymoon experiences. After all,theyhad happy marriages. Their perspective would be vastly different to hers, and she was nothing if not thorough in her research.
After what felt like an eternity of walking along the path through the peaceful, soothing silence, though it could not have been more than an hour, the trees finally began to thin out.
Her breath caught in her throat, eliciting a gasp, as she looked ahead to the calm glitter of the sea that stretched to the hazy horizon. An expanse of patchy green lay between her and a cliff that dropped sharply downward, and she had to resist the urge to run to the edge, to feel the warm wind whirl around her and the rush of danger.
Approaching with more caution, she peered over the lip and marveled at the sight of timeworn steps, hewn into the cliffside itself. They curved all the way down to a small, sandy beach, protected by a horseshoe of cliff walls: a cove, perfect and pristine.
A splash snapped her attention toward something moving in the water beyond the cove, perilously far out of the calmer waters therein.
Someone was swimming. Powerful arms cut through the surface like a hot knife through butter while equally powerful legs kicked quickly, hardly making any splash at all. Whoever they were, they were plowing their way back to the cove, navigating the rougher waves with a mesmerizing ease.
Matilda sat down cross-legged on the grass, making herself as small and camouflaged as possible, transfixed by the elegance of the swimmer. It was at times like those that she wished she was gifted at drawing, but she had always been atrocious.
Is this what I can expect?She sighed to herself, a strained chuckle forming in the back of her throat.Will I fill my days gawping at unknown men in the sea, admiring their athletic prowess?
The swimmer reached shallower water and halted, ducking beneath the surface. A moment later, they burst upward, sweeping their hands over their short-cropped, dark hair, smoothing the water out of their eyes.
They walked the rest of the way to the beach, powering through the water on muscular legs, and though Matilda knew she should turn her gaze away, she could not do it. The swimmer was bare from the waist up and wore only a short kind of trousers upon those strong legs that were cut above the knee. The water made the cloth cling tightly, and as the sun beat down into the cove, she could seeeverymuscle straining with each step the swimmer took.
He glistened. He glowed as if sculpted from gold. His bare chest shone like glass, rippling with musculature that made her hands itch for an anatomy book, so she could put a name and function to each one. His abdomen was a ridged marvel, his chest broad and firm, lines of muscle flexing between his ribs and stomach, his arms defined and visibly mighty—the kind of arms that would not struggle to scoop her up.
But that divinely sculpted body was not without flaws. Even from her perch, at a distance, she could make out more scars than she could count. They cut across his skin in silver slices, some large, some small, some tinged with red. And when he turned his back and gazed out at the sea, she saw even more across his broad shoulders and down his spine.
Beautiful. Savagely, utterly beautifulwere her mind’s first thoughts, just as the man turned back around and spotted her. His eyes narrowed.
Up on the cliff, she had nowhere to hide. Could not even pretend that she had not been sitting there, spying on her husband taking a morning swim.
Her heart lurched into her throat as he grabbed his shirt, threw it on his damp skin, and began to make his way toward the steps cut into the rock—toward her.
CHAPTERTEN
“Where is your guide?” Albion asked, reaching the top of the cliff.
All the way up the stone steps, he had thought about what he might—or should—say to Matilda, and that was what his mouth had settled on. It was not at all what he had meant to say, but seeing her there, knowing thatshehad seen him in all his wounded bareness, had somewhat addled his tongue.
“Guide?” she replied, still cross-legged on the grass.
He dripped saltwater onto the ground, the morning sun attempting to dry him. “You don’t know your way. You could’ve gotten lost. There’s a point where the trees meet the cliff, not far from here. If you don’t know it’s there, you can fall right off the edge.”
“I did not realize I needed to be escorted now that I am married. I thought that was the point of marriage—to no longer require a chaperone,” Matilda bristled. “Anyway, I was given a map. I followed the path. I was quite safe—as you can see, I have not tumbled off any cliff to my demise. But why areyouhere? I was informed that you would be absent until tomorrow.”
He faltered. “Who told you that?”
“A maid.” She wagged a finger at him. “Do you not know that it is very improper to undertake business during your honeymoon? It is exceedingly frowned upon.”
“It is?” He could not tell when she was teasing him.
“So I have been told.”
He glanced out at the shimmering sea, wishing he was back within the cool waters. “I… didn’t realize. It shouldn’t be a surprise to you, but I’m not knowledgeable in regards to the rituals of marriage and weddings and honeymoons.” He paused. “I came back early.”
“And went swimming instead of having breakfast with your wife?” Her expression was a confusion to him; her eyebrows had an accusatory arch and her mouth was curved into an amused smile while her eyes showed the faint pinch of hurt. He could not decipher which part was the truth or if all were.
“I hadn’t yet reached the manor,” he explained. “I came here first.”
