The Beautiful One (20 page)

She turned her head away and sat up, gathering her bent knees to her chest and looking down.

“You looked all right, and it seemed rather urgent to make for shore.” She cleared her throat. “As you can see, I have lost my gown. You go back to the house and I will follow.”

“Certainly not,” he said, and she could see him out of the corner of her eye unfastening his clinging coat and struggling to remove it before finally succeeding. He dropped it at her feet. “Put that on,” he said, turning away from her.

She picked it up. It was heavy with water, but warm from his body, and when she put it on a wave of coziness washed over her, as if she would be protected by this coat. By his gesture.

Stupid. It was just a coat.

“Thank you,” she said, standing up. “I would thank you for the boat ride as well, but I'm not sure I need offer thanks for being dunked.”

He turned toward her and crossed his arms tightly, and she couldn't avoid noticing how his drenched shirt clung to the curves and planes of his chest. A muscle ticked in his hardened jaw.

“But you are welcome. I'd tip you in the river any time. You know, you might have called out to let me know you were all right.”

“I saw that you could swim.”

“Yes, I can swim, damn it, but I didn't know that
you
could. You might have some consideration for someone else. It isn't just you in the world.”

“I'm sorry,” she said in a thickening voice as she stood up. His words struck her and made her wonder at the costs of all those hard life lessons that had taught her to look out for herself, but she turned away from him and strode with urgent vigor toward Stillwell.

* * *

Much to Anna's dismay, Judith had taken the newspaper with her as she left the breakfast table. Was there anything inside about the search for her? Though she needed to find out if there had been any developments, she very much didn't want to know. What she wanted was to enjoy the little time she had left at Stillwell, these stolen golden days at a place where she felt, unaccountably, as if she belonged more than she ever had anywhere.

Her aunt's home was going to seem like a convent in comparison, though she supposed that if she could get the drawing school started, it would provide a wonderful distraction.

It's so beautiful here
, she thought as she walked off the terrace in the late morning, past the weeping willow. Behind her the manor stood handsome and solid and large, its cream-colored stone glowing softly in the June sunshine. She was headed for some patches of daisies she'd glimpsed when she was up in the tree with the owlet.

With Lizzie and Tommy boating and Will gone about his business, Anna and Judith had gotten many of the last details set for the ball. They decided that wildflowers might look pretty mingled with the small quantities of pink roses they had, and Anna had volunteered to scout out wildflowers so that the servants could pick them on the day of the ball. She hoped the task would distract her from thinking about a certain gentleman, though she knew that was unlikely.

Passing the formal gardens, she wandered among the small woods and meadows, taking pleasure in strolling. She spotted several large patches of daisies and made note of them, then wandered farther. She was wearing the green muslin dress Will had given her, and though she wouldn't have given him the satisfaction of knowing how much she liked it, wearing it made her feel cheerful.

The sounds of someone approaching pulled her out of her thoughts. It was a footman, come to deliver a note.

Lizzie's governess,

Since you are not engaged with your charge this morning, I require your help at the cottages. You know which one. The trim on the windows needs a final coat of whitewash. I will not be there.

The master of Stillwell

What was he up to? Was he teasing her? Did have some plan to get her alone and press her about marriage again?

And yet, he wrote that he wouldn't be at the cottage, and she trusted him not to lie. Perhaps he was simply insisting she earn her keep, a return to the roles of viscount and governess, servant and master. Her foolish heart sagged at the thought, but she knew he was right.

She made her way to the cottages, which seemed farther away today than she remembered. Perhaps it was just that the day she'd been there with Will now seemed so distant.

All was quiet when she arrived at the little hamlet, save for a pair of geese picking their way among the grass and weeds. A foolish, weak part of her was disappointed he wasn't there.

She went into the cottage where they'd been before. A bucket of whitewash stood by one of the windows, with a few brushes lying next to it, along with a note in that same strong, slashing handwriting:

The brushes should be washed in the pond when you're done. It's in the woods behind the cottages. Follow the path.

Grr
, she thought, irritation spiking at his blunt commands.

She took up the brush and, because this was for his tenants and not just him, carefully covered all the trim work on the two windows in the room. The task complete, she took the brushes and went around to the back of the cottages and found the narrow, overgrown path that led into the woods.

She walked for some minutes in grouchy silence, wishing he hadn't asked her to do this small task that another servant could have completed. It was as if he purposefully wanted to remind her of that day in the cottage and of all they'd shared together.

As the trees thinned, she saw the sparkle of sunlight on water. A splashing sound arrested her footsteps.

No. He wouldn't have…

Anna turned to go back down the path, but then she heard the honk of a goose and, rolling her eyes in exasperation at herself, continued into the clearing.

The pond was beautiful, like a hidden jewel, with only a few small ripples disturbing its crystalline surface. A little beach led into its sun-dappled waters, and a goose was high-stepping in the tall grass growing along the far edge. At the borders of the sunny clearing, the surrounding trees created a ring of soft shadow.

As she approached the pond with the brushes, a dark head broke the still surface perhaps fifteen feet in front of her. She caught her breath as Will's head and torso emerged.

He ran his hands over his face to clear the water streaming from his dark hair and opened his eyes and saw her. His grin flashed white in the sunlight, and he began walking toward her out of the pond, more of his body emerging with each step as he neared the beach where she stood. His white shirt and dark trousers clung to him, water coursing down them.

“Fancy seeing you here, when I was just thinking of you,” he said.

“You weren't supposed to be here. You tricked me,” she accused.

“Actually, I wrote that I would not be
there
, at the cottage. And I wasn't.”

She wanted to stamp her foot. Why was he toying with her, making all this harder? “It's the same thing. You directed me to come out here, where you would be.”

He was moving closer with every step, his soaked white shirt clinging to his chest and outlining the muscular body beneath. She ought to turn around and leave. But she was weak. And fatally curious.

He chuckled. “Guilty.” Now only his knees were still underwater “You look quite charming in this setting, like some fairy-tale character lost in the woods. Red Riding Hood, maybe. Or a bewitched princess.”

His deep voice and teasing words sent little shivers along her spine as he drew nearer.

“You look like a fairy-tale character, too,” she said. “The monster that lives in the well. Or the evil ogre.”

“I'm far too small.”

“Oh, for goodness' sake,” she said, grabbing for her last shreds of sense as he stopped in front of her. His soaked clothes gave her a clear view of angular, sturdy shoulders and strong, capable arms, along with the outlines of hard ribs and flat abdomen and long, muscled thighs. He looked pretty much irresistible.

She swallowed. “I don't care why you lured me out here, but I should like to get back to Stillwell. You can wash the brushes yourself.”

He reached out and took them from her hand and tossed them aside. Then, before she could guess what he was up to, he grabbed her around the waist and pulled her against him.

“Hey! What are you doing?” she cried, struggling. He'd caught her with her hands at her sides, and now she was pinned. His wet chest met her bodice, and water, warm from his body, instantly soaked through to her skin.

“Let me go,” she said, pushing down the glee rising up in her. “You're getting me wet in a way I won't be able to explain.”

He laughed, and she felt it rumble through his chest. He lifted her off the ground.

“How about if you're wet all over?” he said, taking a step backward and lifting her higher, so that his chin was about the height of her breasts. “I can arrange that.”

“No!” she gasped with a combination of horror and delight. His midnight velvet eyes were right below her face, looking up at her and sparkling with mischief.

“No?” He took another large step back, and the tips of her toes touched the water.

“Grandville, this is madness! I can't go back to the manor wet.”

“Grandville?” he repeated. “What's with the formality, Anna? I think you must need something to refresh your memory as to my name.” He stepped back again.

Cool wetness seeped into her stockings above her ankles and trickled into her half boots. “Will!” she said, but that didn't make him behave. “This will ruin my shoes.”

“I'll buy you a new pair.”

“Someone might see us!”

“We're in the middle of nowhere and entirely concealed by the woods. I swim here all the time.”

“Put me down,” she said, trying not to laugh though she dearly wanted to.

His eyes lit with devilry. “Really?” he said eagerly, and his arms started to loosen.

“Not here!” His arms tightened around her again, and it felt so good. Now his wet head was just below her chin.

“Take me back to the beach, Will,” she said, enjoying giving him an order.

“Give me a kiss first.”

“Certainly not.” The hands loosened again and she slid down farther.

“Wait,” she cried, laughing. “All right. One kiss.”

She leaned her head down toward him. It was so different and exciting being above him, and he tipped his head so she could press her lips to his. It was not a quick peck, but then, who was she fooling? Kissing Will was marvelous.

He groaned as their lips met, and tightened his hold on her with one arm so he could explore her breasts with his other hand, which was shiver-warm against her chilly, wet skin.

Oh, heaven help her but she loved him touching her. Sanity was fast slipping away.

She felt herself sliding downward and broke the kiss just as, with a helpless grin, he fell all the way backward, taking her with him into the cool water.

She landed on her knees in the shallow area and stood immediately. Leaving him lying on his back, she began trudging out of the water, knowing she had to put some distance between them or she'd be lost to the wanting. But she was hampered by her soaked skirts, and he easily caught her about the waist from behind.

“Don't go,” he said, burying his face against her neck. The vulnerable note in his voice and the way he was holding her against him made her knees weak.

“You were supposed to put me back on shore, you wretch.”

He chuckled darkly below her ear and moved his whiskery cheek against her. “I have trouble playing fair where you're concerned.”

His hands moved up to cup her breasts and she couldn't help pressing into him, straining toward his touch. At her back she felt the evidence of his arousal, and she knew he wanted her to feel it, to know how much he wanted her.

“Will,” she said, her voice husky, her mind shouting that she was slipping fast and headed for danger, “I can't go back to the house like this.”

“Why not? You look glorious. I think you should always wear wet clothes.”

She made herself move toward the bank a few feet away. He held on to her, matching her steps with each leg right behind her own. “You must be pixie-led today,” she scolded.

“Mmm, I agree.” He came to her side and they stepped out of the pond. “Come,” he said, “we can dry our clothes on the rocks.” He pointed to a group of large rocks near one part of the bank.

“And stand around in my chemise?”

She made herself step out of his arms. She had to break the contact, push down the flames licking at her inside, and get back to the manor, where she could hide safely in her room and make sure she avoided him, because only the frailest threads of sanity were keeping her from running back into his arms. “No.”

“Why not?” he said, as though something as innocuous as tea had been proposed. The responsible Viscount Grandville was nowhere to be seen.

A hot blush spread over her.

“Besides,” he continued, running his fingers through his wet hair, the movements causing the muscles of his arms and chest to flex fascinatingly under his clinging shirt, “what choice do you have? It's a warm day, and we'll wring it out well. Give it an hour or so and it will be presentable.”

What choice did she have? She truly was soaked; the gown was positively heavy with water. Her bodice was wet, and from her thighs downward she might as well have been naked. She couldn't go back like this.

She told herself that she could resist him. She would allow her clothes to dry a bit and then she could go back. The sensible part of her pointed out that just the feel of his eyes on her was making her hot and that she'd never be able to resist him, but she ignored the little voice and unfastened her clinging gown.

He made no effort to look away while she pulled her dress off but crossed his arms with a grin as her corset and chemise were revealed. And then she was standing outside in the sunshine in nothing but her undergarments. With Will, who made her heart pound and her blood rush crazily. What had happened to her?

It struck her that she was exposed before him now almost like she was in the book of drawings. Vulnerable before his eyes. But those blue eyes looked on her with respect and affection, along with desire. She was laying herself bare of her own free will.

He took one end of the wet gown and she took the other and they each twisted in opposite directions until no more water would come out, then laid the gown out on the rocks. And then he reached up and pulled off his shirt, and there was his strong back with its long, lean muscles and those shoulders that made her heart swoop, all displayed before her. He dropped to his haunches to arrange his shirt next to her dress and she told herself sternly not to get giddy.

“I don't think it's worth bothering to let my gown dry,” she said grimly, assessing the dress's wrinkled state and forcing herself to keep her eyes anywhere but on Will's back flexing in the sunshine below her. “It's going to look appalling, wet or not.”

He stood and turned, giving her a view of his chest, the taut muscles shining with water droplets. He cocked his head. “Come sit on the grass for a few minutes at least and give it a chance to warm up. It's not healthy to wear wet clothes, and anyway, I want to show you something.”

“Oh, very well.” She'd already thrown all sense away. What were a few more minutes in the company of this devilish viscount? And if he'd just about stolen her heart, well, that was no one's business but hers.

They sat on the grass in the shadows made by the trees.

“What did you want to show me?” She leaned forward and began taking her hair down so that it too might dry. It was not as wet as his, since he'd fallen all the way in the water. He looked adorably tousled.

“Well,” he said, and smiled crookedly. He reached out and ran a fingertip along the inside of her bare arm, and goose bumps followed where he touched. His head dipped down and he began to kiss the path his finger had just made.

Oh heavens, the feel of his lips on her skin, slowly going up her arm.

She was going to stop him in a moment, but she loved what he was doing, and it was only her arm after all. When he got to her elbow, she'd make him stop.

He reached the crease inside her elbow and paused to lick and kiss the sensitive skin there, making her breath catch.

She needed another minute, just a little longer. She'd let him finish there and then she'd stop him.

He tipped his head up at her and cocked an eyebrow. “Perhaps it's not exactly something to show you. More something I wanted to try.”

“Something to try?” Her voice was little more than a husky whisper.

He lifted a hand and placed it at the neckline of her chemise. “Something slow.”

She knew what he was saying. He wanted something sexual from her. She'd been wildly indulgent in the cottage with him, and she was feeling more than a little out of control now, but she was not irresponsible by nature. “Will, I can't take a chance on getting with child.”

“Yes,” he said, “I know. But that only makes me feel more creative.”

“Oh,” she said.
Oh.
She ignored the inner voice saying this was a terrible idea, that it would only make it harder for her when she left. “Yes, then.”

He grinned, a slow, very sensual grin. “Huzzah,” he said softly.

He moved to kneel behind her, and she felt a methodical tugging on her corset laces. He took his time, as if he knew how tightly it hugged her and how she felt each lace slackening and yearned for each tug that made her body more available to him. When it was all the way loosened and her skin under the chemise felt the whisper of cooler air against it, he pulled the corset over her head.

“You look like a saucy Madonna with your hair tumbling around you,” he whispered, threading his hands in her hair and running them up to her scalp. She closed her eyes and let herself sink back against him.

His warm, sure hands skimmed over the thin cloth at her waist and upward to settle possessively on her breasts, making her quiver with craving. He loosened the tie that held up her chemise, and he pushed the cloth wide and down her shoulders. It pooled at her wrists where they bent at the ground.

He spread his hands over her bare shoulders and moved them slowly downward over her chest, leaving a hot trail. He took his time as his fingers crept onto the skin of her breasts and inched toward her nipples, and she almost begged him to hurry up and touch her there. A hot tingle pulsed between her legs.

He sat back on his heels and rested his slightly scratchy chin on her shoulder and they both watched his hands move downward. His breathing was ragged next to her ear as he neared the tips of her breasts.

“Lessons for the governess, part three,” he said. “Friction.”

Slowly—excruciatingly slowly—he slid his fingers over her nipples and rubbed. She'd never realized the appeal of friction. His palms dragged across her, those hands that were strong and deft enough to build a roof but tender and sure with her, and her toes curled in pleasure. He captured her nipples and pinched them, and she moaned.

He cupped her breasts roughly and buried his face in her neck. “Anna,” he said hoarsely. “What you do to me.”

What
I
do to
him
?
she thought with her weakening mind. He was making her
melt
. She felt dampness in that secret, neglected place.