Selina squeezed her eyes shut and then opened them again. “Lady Georgiana Cleeve? Arranged this?”
One side of his mouth lifted in a crooked version of his usual grin. “Sometimes I suspect there’s more to her than meets the eye. Or ear, as it were.”
Selina puffed a breath between her lips and turned her gaze from his shoulders and his infuriating curls to the water puddled in the bottom of the boat, sluicing back and forth as he started to row once more.
Lady Georgiana had fixed things. She had saved Selina from unwanted attention from half theton. Peter thought there was more to her.
That was delightful. This was all delightful. Better than she could have hoped for.
Absolutely bloody stupendous.
Water splashed up into her nose and she coughed and snorted out the most indelicate, un-lady-like, un-Georgianan series of noises that she had ever heard in her life.
“Christ, Selina, are you well?” Peter was peering down at her, and she forced herself to meet his gaze from her spot curled up at his feet.
Like a dog.Shewas the half-drowned dog in this scenario.
“Stupendous,” she mumbled. “Just great.”
“I don’t think anyone saw you,” he offered. “And you… aren’t very recognizable right now anyway.”
Something occurred to her, and she struggled up onto one elbow. “Peter?”
“Hmm?”
“Why didn’t you get a boat and row out to the dog?”
The powerful rhythm of his arms at the oars stuttered for a moment, then restarted as smoothly as before. “Sorry?”
“If you knew the boats were close by. Why didn’t you justrowto the dog?”
“Honestly? I didn’t even think of it.”
She slumped back down onto her arm in the puddle, water saturating her hair. “Neither did I.”
The silence between them was broken only by the splashing of Peter’s oars. And then, very quietly, by the laugh that bubbled up in Selina’s throat and slipped out from between her lips.
She couldn’t help herself. She couldn’t squelch the sudden hilarity. He was ridiculous.Shewas ridiculous, and maybe running Belvoir’s should have been enough outrageous behavior for one lifetime, but she found suddenly that she couldn’t be angry. She’d swum in the Serpentine. She’d rescued a dog, and she’d prevented Peter from ruining his reputation further, and, drat her foolish adventure-loving heart, she’d had fun.
She curled herself even more tightly around his legs and laughed so hard tears came to her eyes. She wiped them away with damp wrinkled fingertips, and when she glanced up at Peter, he was staring down at her, absolutely boggled.
“I’m sorry,” she wheezed. “I’m not really weeping. I just—can’t stop—”
And then he pulled the oars into the boat, leaned over his lap and fairly roared with laughter.
His brown eyes crinkled at the corners—she could see that even through the wash of moisture in her eyes. He caught her cold wet fingers between his hands as he bent at the waist, laughing so hard he couldn’t catch his breath, the sound of his unfettered amusement ringing alongside her muffled giggles.
His hands held hers.
He warmed her. Her fingers. Elsewhere. A hot rush that began in her belly and curled up into her chest. Need stirred in her. Need and the memories of her dream.
Amusement shifted in her to something else, something dark and sweet. She tried to catch her breath, tried to pull herself free from the tangle of his eyes and hands.
“Peter?” It came out a rasp.
He tried to stop laughing before he responded, but little choked sounds kept bursting free. “Yes?”
“Have you thought about how I’m going to get from the boat to your carriage without being seen?”
