“Why do you think?”
“La, you are exasperating in every sense. I shall show you the path when we reach it.” When the cliff faded into a green, sloping hill, she pointed to a footpath winding toward the shore. “But I daresay, you are not well enough for such a formidable trek.”
“I tumbled down the cliffside and survived.” He dismounted and helped her down. “I think I can survive this.” Leaving the phaeton along the road, they eased down the path as slowly as possible, with Miss Gresham clinging to his arm with a grip so tight it inflicted more pain than his side.
“You can let go now.” He pried away her hands when they reached the sand. “So this is your seashore.”
“Yes.” All her admiration, all the joy she’d derived from this place, escaped in that one word. She untied her bonnet. The wind, salty and warm, played at her curls and bonnet ribbons. “Say one thing against it and I shall never speak to you again.”
“I have only good things to say.” Leaning into a rock, William pulled off his left boot then his right.
“What are you doing?”
“Taking off my shoes.”
“I can see that. But why?”
“Take off those half boots and I shall show you.”
She glanced down at her shoes, half sunk into the sand, and hesitated. “But I should ruin my stockings.”
“Take them off too.”
“And go barefoot?”
A laugh filled his stomach. How much she had to learn. How much he could teach her. “Come here.” He jogged toward her, bare feet burning in the sand, and motioned her to sit. Then he helped her off with her shoes and stockings, pulled her back to her feet, and turned her toward the ocean.
At the water’s edge, she squealed when the clear, foamy tide bubbled up around her toes. “It’s cold!”
“Now close your eyes.”
“What?”
“Come on. Close them.” He squeezed her hand, slid his own eyes shut, pulled them back a step. “You’ve spent the entirety of your lifeseeingthe seashore, but seeing is only half of things. Nowfeelit.”
“I daresay, you are mad. I hardly know what you mean.”
“Wiggle your toes. Does the sand burn them?”
“Yes.”
“Breathe with your mouth open. Taste salt?”
A giggle. “I think so.”
“Now step forward. Into the water. That’s it.”
“But my dress—”
“Dash the dress, silly, and feel the water swirling around your ankles—”
“Ah!” A wave smacked their legs and freezing water splashed up around their knees, seeping into her dress and his breeches.
Laughing, he scooped her up and dragged her deeper into the sea.
“Put me down! Oh dear. It’s cold. Freezing. Mr. Kensley, put me …” The pleas dissolved into another fit of merriment, and she rammed her eyes shut with water heavy on her lashes. She gasped with each new wave. “You are impossible.”
“Now you understand?”
