Which meant trouble he wasn't prepared to think about right now.
She led him around the house, grabbing up a pile of old, worn clothing the servants had brought out to use as rags when the old rags had been turned to rubbish. "A shirt and breeches for you, and here's a maid's dress for me." She held them at arm's length, for the rags were still cleaner than both of them, and led him down a well-kept path.
There was no full and swollen moon, thank God. Only a faint glow on the water from the many lanterns that had been hung around the area of destruction.
"If you will wait for me here, I shall step around this bank and bathe quickly. Then I shall stand watch over you."
Again Marcus found his mouth very dry. He managed some sort of assenting grunt, which satisfied her. She left him standing there, very glad of the darkness that hid the tent in his trousers and doubly glad he'd not finished reading the account of her lover by the lake.
The water was very cold but Julia could hardly feel the chill for the fire beneath her skin. Simply knowing that he was nearby watching—for he was watching, she could feel it—and knowing that he felt it too…
Felt what? They were both filthy and exhausted, and they'd hardly exchanged a dozen words all afternoon. She ducked her head to rinse her hair and to wash away such woolly thinking. She was a new widow, he was a gold digger. The only things he was thinking about were the size of her accounts. The only thing she ought to be thinking about was returning Barrowby to order.
A splash nearby brought her attention back with a start. She whirled in the dark water, spreading her hands out. There was nothing to see.
"Mr. Blythe-Goodman? Are you there?" There was only silence from the bank.
Alarmed, she began to work her way back to the water's edge, keeping low. "Mr. Bl—"
He erupted from the lake no more than an arm's length away, his bare wet chest gleaming in the scarce light
8
« ^ »
His form is like a god's, rippling with strength beneath my touch. Cool skin, hot hands, the rush and flow of the water between us…
"Eek!" Julia abruptly sank into the water up to her chin.
He jerked at the sound of her voice and nearly fell back into the water. "
Bloody
—"
He was obviously as surprised as she was. Julia fought the urge to giggle as he scrambled for footing on the gooey bottom. Instead, she put on a scowl.
"Sir, I beg you, explain yourself! This is most improper!"
He whipped the hair back from his face. "I'm improper? What of you, my lady? What sort of woman sneaks up on a man when he's bathing!"
"I didn't!"
"You did."
"You were supposed to wait for me to finish!"
"Well, I couldn't bear myself one moment longer! I'm not accustomed to being covered in sh—muck, you know."
Abruptly, she smiled at him. "Since it is my muck, and you've been such a help to me today, then I must forgive you." She moved to pass around him. "If you'll turn your back, I shall get out and leave you to your swim."
"There's no need for that." His voice was low, rumbling up her spine and causing the hairs to rise on the back of her neck. "The lake has water enough for us both."
She stopped and gazed at him uncertainly. His eyes were in shadow, his jaw tensed. The intensity of his gaze could be felt like fire on her skin. Time stretched as she lost herself in the darkness of his spell.
He swam about her slowly, his circling path growing smaller every course. She kept him before her, turning in the water, matching his speed. She could not tear her gaze from his. "I—I suppose I…"
"You are a most unusual lady."
She didn't want to be—or at least, she knew she shouldn't be. For a swift, endless moment, she wished she were precisely what he thought her—simply the widow of a wealthy man, a lady by birth and raising, free to make choices with her heart and not cold logic.
He was closer now, so close she could read the want in his eyes. He truly wanted her. Not only her position and
She led him around the house, grabbing up a pile of old, worn clothing the servants had brought out to use as rags when the old rags had been turned to rubbish. "A shirt and breeches for you, and here's a maid's dress for me." She held them at arm's length, for the rags were still cleaner than both of them, and led him down a well-kept path.
There was no full and swollen moon, thank God. Only a faint glow on the water from the many lanterns that had been hung around the area of destruction.
"If you will wait for me here, I shall step around this bank and bathe quickly. Then I shall stand watch over you."
Again Marcus found his mouth very dry. He managed some sort of assenting grunt, which satisfied her. She left him standing there, very glad of the darkness that hid the tent in his trousers and doubly glad he'd not finished reading the account of her lover by the lake.
The water was very cold but Julia could hardly feel the chill for the fire beneath her skin. Simply knowing that he was nearby watching—for he was watching, she could feel it—and knowing that he felt it too…
Felt what? They were both filthy and exhausted, and they'd hardly exchanged a dozen words all afternoon. She ducked her head to rinse her hair and to wash away such woolly thinking. She was a new widow, he was a gold digger. The only things he was thinking about were the size of her accounts. The only thing she ought to be thinking about was returning Barrowby to order.
A splash nearby brought her attention back with a start. She whirled in the dark water, spreading her hands out. There was nothing to see.
"Mr. Blythe-Goodman? Are you there?" There was only silence from the bank.
Alarmed, she began to work her way back to the water's edge, keeping low. "Mr. Bl—"
He erupted from the lake no more than an arm's length away, his bare wet chest gleaming in the scarce light
8
« ^ »
His form is like a god's, rippling with strength beneath my touch. Cool skin, hot hands, the rush and flow of the water between us…
"Eek!" Julia abruptly sank into the water up to her chin.
He jerked at the sound of her voice and nearly fell back into the water. "
Bloody
—"
He was obviously as surprised as she was. Julia fought the urge to giggle as he scrambled for footing on the gooey bottom. Instead, she put on a scowl.
"Sir, I beg you, explain yourself! This is most improper!"
He whipped the hair back from his face. "I'm improper? What of you, my lady? What sort of woman sneaks up on a man when he's bathing!"
"I didn't!"
"You did."
"You were supposed to wait for me to finish!"
"Well, I couldn't bear myself one moment longer! I'm not accustomed to being covered in sh—muck, you know."
Abruptly, she smiled at him. "Since it is my muck, and you've been such a help to me today, then I must forgive you." She moved to pass around him. "If you'll turn your back, I shall get out and leave you to your swim."
"There's no need for that." His voice was low, rumbling up her spine and causing the hairs to rise on the back of her neck. "The lake has water enough for us both."
She stopped and gazed at him uncertainly. His eyes were in shadow, his jaw tensed. The intensity of his gaze could be felt like fire on her skin. Time stretched as she lost herself in the darkness of his spell.
He swam about her slowly, his circling path growing smaller every course. She kept him before her, turning in the water, matching his speed. She could not tear her gaze from his. "I—I suppose I…"
"You are a most unusual lady."
She didn't want to be—or at least, she knew she shouldn't be. For a swift, endless moment, she wished she were precisely what he thought her—simply the widow of a wealthy man, a lady by birth and raising, free to make choices with her heart and not cold logic.
He was closer now, so close she could read the want in his eyes. He truly wanted her. Not only her position and
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