Water streamed in rivulets down his face, his mouth a grim line. In his eyes, the truth—he would come if she yelped. He’d dive all the way to the bottom if she called his name. She trusted him. No matter anything else that had passed between them, she trusted him now. When it mattered most.
She grasped the boat, releasing him, and he swam away from her to the back of the boat, hooked an arm beneath it, and began to kick, the bottoms of his boots flashing upward.
His boots. If her skirts were bricks, his boots must be worse. But he kicked anyway, kept her afloat, pulled her toward safety. He could have swum to shore himself, saved his own hide, and let her drown. But he’d not abandoned her to that fate. He’d stayed by her side, refusing to let her slip into watery oblivion.
Holding tight to the side of the boat, she kicked, too, trying her best to guide it toward the shore, and when the capsized craft picked up speed, he looked over his shoulder at her, gave a grim nod.
Together, they maneuvered to the shore, then he was standing waist-deep in water, holding out a hand, and she was letting him pull her onto dry land. Then, together, they collapsed in a heap, side by side in the grass beneath the trees.
Above the branches, the clouds floated fluffy, unaffected. Beside her, a man panted. Inside her chest, her heart twisted and twisted. And from all sides, voices made themselves known.
“Beatrice, are you hurt?” Richard demanded softly, voice ragged.
“No. But I’m a pudding.” She inhaled deeply, coughed.
He rolled onto his side, the width of his body blocking her in, his face peering down, wrinkled and worried. “What happened?”
“I’m a blasted pudding in a crisis, aren’t I?”
“I shouldn’t have kissed you.”
She pushed upright, waving the concern away. Better to forget about the kiss. “I saw Daniel.”
“Daniel? Who are you talking about?”
“Your brother Daniel!”
His face paled. “You didn’t. He’s not even in England. He’s oceans away. He’s?—”
“Here. I saw him. He waved at me.” She looked about. “He’s gone now.”
“That’s not funny, Beatrice.” He jumped to his feet, tugged the tail of his shirt out of the band of his trousers and twisted it, wringing out the excess water.
She jumped to her feet, wringing out her skirts. “I’m not making a joke!”
He stomped off.
Beatrice stomped after him, skirts clinging to her legs. She was too angry to care. All the way to the stables, past them, to a cottage near the woods. He swung the door open and disappeared inside. Beatrice followed, catching the door before he slammed it shut and taking the privilege of that action herself. The door banged, shook the walls, and Beatrice stood firm.
“What are you doing?” he demanded, untying and ripping off his cravat. He dropped it to the dirt floor of what appeared to be a dim and dusty woodworker’s shop. She saw not much more than that, her gaze fixated on the strong length of his neck. He pointed toward the door. “Get out. You cannot be here”—he choked, eyes wide and scouring the length of her body—“like that.” He jerked his head back to stare at the ceiling.
She looked down to see what he avoided. Nipples hard beneath soaked muslin, the exact shape of her hips and legs outlined. Every inch of her revealed. She cursed, wrapping her arms across her breasts. “I am not wrong.” She might be? Because what was Daniel doing here? “Or joking. But… but outside of whatever I saw or didn’t see,youkissed me.Again. You cannot denythat, can you!”
With his head tilted back, she could clearly see the way his swallow worked the muscles of his throat. “You kissed me back. And you followed me here. Where we are alone. And secluded.”
“What are you saying?”
He lowered his face, wearing a wolfy grin. “You liked my kisses, Beatrice Bell. You want more of them.”
“Ha! Clearlyyoulike kissingme. Or you would not have done it.Twice.”
“I will never do it again.” He inched closer.
“I would not welcome a third offense.” She inched closer, too, each step driven by anger and lust and the desire to beat him at this game, at every game.
“Oh, of course not.” He smirked. “You’d end it right away. Likely slap me, too.”
“Certainly. I should love to feel your cheek beneath my palm. Again.” Taut and stubbled, rough and warm. Her heart exploded into a rain patter of racing beats.
