“Accidentally. Why are you standing so close to my clothes? I only meant to dry off a little.”
“Oh, I should have thought to bring a towel for you.”
“We’ll think of it tomorrow.”
A little pulse beat at the base of her throat. “You are going to swim tomorrow?”
He nodded. “If weather permits. Now, I don’t mind standing here naked while holding a casual conversation with you, but I would like to don my clothes before nightfall.”
She turned to face away from him. Still quite close.
This was a good sign, he supposed. Had he been that drunken goat, Lord Dexter, she would have shot up those stairs faster than a stone hurled from a catapult to avoid him.
She was looking at him again when he bent to retrieve his shirt. Droplets trailed down his neck, chest, and arms, so he lightly rubbed his shirt along his upper torso before slipping it over his head.
“Fiona?”
She gulped. “Forgive me for staring, but Shoreham looked nothing like you.”
“I know.”
“This is why every woman in England wants you,” she said, her voice shaky.
“They want me because I am a duke and rich. The body itself is immaterial. So is my heart. Immaterial, that is.”
“A duke,” she murmured. “I wish you were a stable groom or a footman.”
“You wouldn’t marry me if I were either of those men.”
“Then a barrister or a gentleman squire.”
He nodded. “That would work.”
“But you are not those things,” she said with that hint of pain in her voice that always crushed him.
“No, and I never will be. I am a duke and this will not change while I am alive.”
“I know.”
Tears welled in her eyes.
“Stop that, Fiona,” he said gently, and took her by the hand to lead her to their blanket beside the steps so they could put on their shoes and close the picnic basket.
The sun had reached its zenith and was now beginning its descent. Birds hovered over the water, hunting for fish. They still had hours yet before sunset, but Rob felt his hopes fade along with the beautiful light.
It was only the first day. They had not even spent a night together. But he could see by the way Fiona responded to thisouting, her lips trembling as though she were about to weep, that she had her mind made up already.
She was never going to marry him.
He did not know if he could ever persuade her to alter this decision, not even if they spent the next seven days in mindless carnal bliss in her bed.
But he was going to try his best. This was not merely about weakening her resistance with the use of his prowess. Intimacy was only one aspect of the marital bond he needed to create with Fiona.
Weakening her resistance with true love was his ultimate goal.
He kept hold of her hand as they climbed the steps together, and carried their belongings in the other. They crossed the small expanse of grass and entered the woodsy path that led back to the house. The wind had died down now, as it often did in the late afternoon.
When she slipped her hand from his as they approached the house, he tried to keep his hopes from dying, too.
