The Perfect Kiss (19 page)

“Only the rear end.”

Frey spluttered with laughter. “Hexton is a rising star in government, you know.”

“See? Told him at school he’d come to a bad end and I was right.” Dominic stretched. “Come up to the house and dine with us this evening. See what my doting papa left me—or not as the case may be. Country hours. Spartan conditions, which will delight your bishop. I gather the bishop in question is your uncle.”

Frey nodded gloomily. “Yes, Uncle Ceddie, rot his purple stockings! He’s always had it in for me, ever since I put glue in his mitre. No sense of humor at all! Little did I know he’d turn even more ghastly with age. Should have put an asp in the mitre instead!”

 
 
GRACE FOLLOWED GRANNY WIGMORE’S DIRECTIONS TO THE FAIRY pool and found the pathway with no trouble. It was narrow and soft with leaf litter. The forest was quiet; probably all the creatures were sleeping through the afternoon heat. Grace trod quietly, not wishing to disturb the peace.

Much as she’d quite enjoyed marshaling the troops in the Battle of Wolfestone, it was wonderful to be away from the endless questions and to be alone with her thoughts.

The beech trees grew more densely here and the sunlight pierced the leaf canopy in golden shafts in which dust motes danced. It looked glorious against the deep green.

Beech trees gave way gradually to alders, and she knew from Granny’s directions that she must be getting close. And then suddenly she was out of the gloom with the pool before her, half its surface dark and in shadow, and the other half rippling and dancing as it caught the last of the afternoon sunlight.

The pool was fed by a small brook that burbled down from the hills, tumbling out through a collection of rocks opposite Grace. The water looked clean and cool and wonderful; a fairy pool indeed. According to Granny Wigmore she should bathe her face in it on the rising of the new moon. It would help rid her of the freckles she said. The pool was a special place: magic.

It was hardly the rising of the new moon, but Grace didn’t care. She was going to bathe more than her face and she devoutly hoped her henna freckles survived the dip. If they didn’t, she’d have to renew them. She sat on the narrow border of soft green grass and pulled off her shoes and stockings. She quickly undressed, stripping off until she was down to her chemise and drawers.

Leaving her clothes in a pile on the grass, she stepped into the pool and shuddered deliciously as water lapped at her ankles. The floor of the pool was soft and her toes squished deliciously in the mud. She waded out another few steps, flinching as the cold water embraced her hot flesh. It seemed freezing, but experience had taught her that once in, it would not feel so cold. Grace’s sisters liked to take forever to get into the water, wading in by inches, jumping as each new inch was wet. Not Grace. She was an all or nothing girl. She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, held her nose and submerged herself.

She bobbed to the surface gasping, her whole body tingling with exhilaration. It felt glorious, but cold. She decided to swim to the rocks on the other side, where the sun still shone. She crossed the pool swiftly, enjoying the ripples that spread out in front of her as she swam, pushing her arms out ahead of her and kicking like a frog. She reached the rocks and climbed out. They were smooth, sculpted in strange flowing shapes from years of being washed by the water and surrounded by ferns and mossy crevasses. She caught the clear, spurting water in her hands and drank deeply of it. It was the best water she’d ever tasted.

She sat on the rocks for a while, dangling her feet in the spring, enjoying the contrast of the hot rocks and the cool water. It wouldn’t do to stay in the sun too long: she didn’t want to develop real freckles, so she slipped back into the deep water.

Halfway across she stopped and floated on her back a moment, enjoying the sensation of weightlessness.

Melly must be so hot in all those clothes. Grace should teach her to swim. Her father wouldn’t allow her to swim in the sea, but here, in the privacy of the forest, they could swim and be private and Sir John wouldn’t be any the wiser.

How deep was this spring? Granny had called it bottomless. She took a deep breath and dived down as far as she could but she didn’t touch the bottom. Bottomless indeed. Maybe it was magic, after all. She returned to her floating.

 
 
IT WAS HOT AND HIS RIDING BOOTS HAD NOT BEEN CONSTRUCTED for walking. Dominic peeled off his coat and swung it over his shoulder. The woods were shady, but not a breath of air stirred the leaves. Beside him, his dog trotted, panting. She came to a faintly marked offshoot of the pathway, ran up it a short way, stopped, and looked back.

“Oho, so that’s your plan, is it?” Dominic said.

Sheba’s tail wagged. Her tongue lolled.

“Yes, it is hot, I agree. Very well then, since you insist.”

Chapter Eleven

Chance is always powerful. Let your hook be always cast; in the pool where you least expect it, there will be a fish.

OVID

 
 
 
 
GRACE WASN’T SURE HOW MUCH TIME HAD PASSED BUT SHE thought she heard a splash. She opened her eyes and looked around but could see nothing, so she closed her eyes again, moving her arms and legs lazily, just enough to keep from floating into full sun. It was simply bliss floating here, cool and calm and free of—

No. It was definitely a splash. She looked again and this time she saw the shape of a dog among the reeds on the shallow end of the lake. She started to relax, then the dog moved clear of the reeds for a moment. A white dog with liver speckles. Lord D’Acre’s dog, Sheba, who was rarely far from her master . . .

She narrowed her eyes against the glare of sun on the water and, shading her face with one hand, scanned the shore more carefully. That was when she spotted him, standing on the edge of the lake, leaning against a tree, arms folded, watching her in a leisurely manner. In his buckskin riding breeches, dark green jacket, and brown riding boots he’d blended perfectly against the forest background.

A couple of feet away from him was the neatly folded mound that was her clothing. Most of her clothing, thank goodness, not all.

“How long have you been there?” she called, treading water.

He stepped forward. “Good afternoon, Greystoke. Perfect day for a swim, I quite agree.” He pulled his cravat free.

Grace glanced around but there was no place she could climb out of the lake. The bank was too steep on this side. “Have you been there long?”

“Long enough.” Without taking his eyes off her he shrugged himself out of his coat and laid it beside him. On top of her pile of clothes.

Long enough for what? she wondered. She was decently enough covered by the water at the moment—only her head was visible—but what about when she’d been floating? She’d worn only her chemise and drawers and she knew from experience that they were almost transparent when wet.

He sat down on the grass and began to pull off his boots.

“What are you doing?”

“Taking off my boots.”

“I can see that, but why?”

He gave her a look, as if to point out the banality of the question. “Because I don’t want to ruin them.”

He couldn’t possibly be going to do what she thought he was going to! She watched as he pulled off first one boot, then the other. He drew his stockings off, tossed them down beside the boots then stood up. He unbuttoned the top buttons of his shirt and pulled it over his head. Again, he was not wearing an undershirt.

“Stop that right now!” she ordered.

“Stop what?” he asked politely, and began to unfasten his breeches.

“Don’t you dare!” she yelled from her watery position, helpless with frustration.

“Don’t I dare what, Greystoke?” She couldn’t see the glint in those wicked eyes of his, but she knew perfectly well it was there.

“Don’t I dare swim, is that what you mean? You needn’t worry on my behalf, I am accounted an excellent swimmer.” He finished unfastening his breeches and pushed them down his legs. Grace covered her eyes with her hands. “What about you, Greystoke? Are you also an excellent swimmer, or have you only mastered floating?”

She kept her hands firmly over her eyes. He couldn’t possibly see from there that she was peeping through the cracks. The devil. He was still wearing his drawers. “If you wish to swim, then turn your back and I will come out.”

“Oh, there’s plenty of room.”

“That’s not the point.” Mixed bathing was scandalous—unless it was husband and wife, and even then, it was very daring.

He shook out his breeches and tossed them over her clothes. They sprawled in lewd parody. “Now don’t fuss, Greystoke. Nobody can see.”

That was a lie for a start. She could see! Hands clamped across her eyes, fingers parted every so slightly, she couldn’t take her eyes off him.

He stretched as if to loosen tight muscles. Her mouth dried as she watched, even though she was surrounded by water. He was magnificent; spare and hard muscled, broad shouldered, deep chested and narrow hipped. His legs were long and powerful, and the contrast of his white drawers against his tanned skin only served to draw her eyes to where the fabric bunched.

He was tanned all over. He probably swam naked most of the time. Even as the thought crossed her mind he hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his drawers.

“Don’t you dare!” she screeched.

He grinned, a white flash of teeth. “Greystoke, you naughty girl, you were watching after all. Tsk, tsk, tsk.”

She felt her face flame and bobbed under the water to cool her heated cheeks. When she surfaced he was still standing on the bank, watching her. His legs were braced apart and the fabric of his drawers seemed to be bunched even more. She promptly turned her back.

“Don’t turn around on my account. I don’t mind you staring. I’m flattered that you want to watch me undress.”

“I don’t!” she gasped, scandalized by his words, even though a tiny part of her knew it was true. “And I wasn’t staring! I just peeked for a second, and the only reason I did is because I don’t trust you!”

“Not trust me?”

“No! Now please turn your back and let me out.”

He instantly stepped back and made a courtly gesture of invitation. “If you want to get out, then don’t mind me. In fact I’ll help you out. The mud of the bank looks quite slippery.” He moved right to the edge and held out his hand to her, as a footman held out his hand to help a lady climb out of a carriage. Only no footman was ever so naked. Nor a lady so inadequately dressed.

“You know very well I won’t get out with you standing there half naked. Go and swim in that section of the lake and when you’re there, I shall get out.” She pointed to the far corner of the lake.

“But why do you want to get out? It’s my lake. I don’t mind sharing.”

“I won’t bandy words with you a moment longer,” she said snippily. “Now, I want to get out, so just go!”

“But you bandy them so delightfully.” He frowned. “Are you cold?”

She seized on the excuse thankfully. “Yes, I’m cold and I want to get out. Now please move!”

“Yes, certainly. If you’re cold, you need to be warmed, instantly,” he said and dived in.

Grace took advantage of the moment and swam as fast as she could toward the lake’s edge—not the section where her clothes were, but a closer shore. She did not want to risk bumping into him as he surfaced from his dive. She would climb out and then use branches to screen her modesty while she skirted the lake back to her clothes.

He did not surface immediately, and she made good progress in closing the gap to the shore, but the closer she got, the more she started to worry. He had been under a long time. Had he hit his head? Was he caught in some underwater snag, some drowned tree roots, or perhaps a thick clump of water weeds?

She slowed and stood up. The water was only waist deep. She scanned the surface, but all she could see were ripples. He had dived in a good distance from her and the glittering surface of the water made it impossible to see beneath it.

How long had it been? One minute? Two? It was hard to tell. She was seriously worried by now. Nobody could possibly hold their breath for such a long time. He was in trouble! She started to flounder her way across to where he’d dived in.

“Missed me?” With a whoosh of water, he surfaced directly in front of her.

“Wha—” She had no time to say another word, for he wrapped his arms around her, holding her hard against him, and hugged her tight. She was so relieved that she actually hugged him back for a moment. He held her hard against him, one arm locked around her waist and the other rubbing gently up and down her back. Floating in the cool water, his skin cold, his body hot, she could feel every breath he took, and every beat of his heart.

And then his hand closed over one buttock and squeezed and she came to her senses.

She was almost naked, dressed in her underwear and he was as close to naked and she could feel every hard muscle of him pressed against her. She tried to push him away.

“No, no,” he said, pulling her tighter. “You said you were cold, so I’m warming you. I can feel you shivering.”

She shoved at him again. “Warming me, my foot! You’re being perfectly shameless!”

He loosened his hold on her, but kept his arms linked around her waist. His eyes danced like sun on the water. White teeth glinted. “You are trembling, you know.” His smile was pure male satisfaction.

She thumped him on the arm and then crossed her arms defensively against his prying eyes. “If I’m trembling, it’s because I thought you might be drowning! Where did you disappear to? You couldn’t possibly have stayed under the water so long.”

“I could. I did.”

“But it was minutes.” Her heart was still thudding from the fright he’d given her.

“I told you, I’m an excellent swimmer.” His fingers crept between the space between chemise and drawers and caressed the tender skin in the small of her back. It sent tingles up and down her spine.

“But my brother-in-law Nicholas is also an excellent swimmer and even he couldn’t stay under that long.” She held on to his shoulder with one hand; she was a little out of her depth. Her body bumped gently against his.