And finally, there was Ash.
Ash had done a spectacular job of avoiding her. And thatwaswhat he was doing; she knew it for a fact now. He had reverted back to his silent, reserved self at dinner last night. No matter how hard Felicity had tried, she hadn’t been able to coax him into conversation. And after dinner, he had been unsurprisingly absent.
Strong, tanned arms arced through the channel, stirring up otherwise calm waters. She needed to talk to him. The unknown was gnawing away at her.
When she had inquired about Ash’s whereabouts, his valet had informed her Ash had gone for a swim. And a swim in May? That must be painfully cold. Like torture. So, as Felicity watched the man in the water slow in his swimming and turn back to the shore, she knew with certainty he was out there punishing himself for being with her.
An overwhelming tightness took over her, and she had to force her lungs to work past her closing-in ribcage. He regretted her. Was ashamed. Creating a black mark that now tainted what they had shared two nights ago. And sent all semblance of hope—that just maybe he would want a future with her, too—scattering across the beach in the wind.
But here she was. Trying anyway. Fighting anyway.
She was always fighting for herself, it seemed. She lifted her chin to the channel and dug her fingers into the blanket, the pebbled beach tough and unbreakable beneath her hands. Just as she was. Always.
Ash emerged from the channel, water surging away from him. Her determination dimmed, tension fading into longing, as the irresistible distraction of Ash’s physique presented itself. Rivulets of water cascaded down his hewn form, disappearing into the deep ridges of his muscles.
He was perfectly made, all strong shoulders and defined chest, a chiseled torso whose muscles rippled with each step. And she knew the intimate feel of that physique. What it felt to be held by it, weighed down by it, surrounded by it. A defeated dreamy sigh escaped her. Such glorious muscles that led down to a narrow waist. A narrow waist that led down to—
Felicity’s eyes flew wide, the salty breeze assaulting her and stinging her eyes. But she couldn’t get her lids to go back to normal, to blink. Because apparently Ash swam naked.
Urghh.Focus, Fliss.
Did she listen? No, of course not. She tilted her head and studied him instead, as any respectable lady ought to do. Odd, his cock seemed much larger the other night. Though she knew it grew, maybe it grew quite substantially? And now she’d been staring at his manly bits for quite some time.
Her gaze flew to Ash’s and his was already on hers, lips twitching, apparently not embarrassed in the least to be caught without a stitch of clothing on. He hastily dried himself while she shamelessly ogled his arse. He was bloody edible.
Pull. Your. Self. Together.
He slipped a blanket around his shoulders, and just before he covered himself, she spotted a large black mark just below his right shoulder. He made his way over to her, and she tried to calm her chaotic heart, her chaotic thoughts.
“Hullo, Duke,” she said calmly, gazing up at him from where she sat on her blanket.
“I see you discovered my whereabouts.”
“Mr. Thorne.”
He cursed meddling friendsbeneath his breath and let out a sigh.
“You are avoiding me, then?” Her stare fell to the pebbled beach, and that fact doused all chaos. The tightness, the trapped feeling from earlier, rushed back with a vengeance.
“After yesterday, I needed some time with my thoughts. Some time to…” he drifted off, and when she peeked at him, he was staring out at the ocean.
“To punish yourself,” she murmured.
He looked back at her, his blue eyes sad, his lips pursed. That look was confirmation.
“For being with me.” She couldn’t hide the dejection in her tone.
“No!” The word burst from him, and relief flooded her. “I mean, yes. Perhaps?” And the brief relief was quickly drawn back, much like the waves retreating from the shore. A strangled sound came from him. “May I sit?”
She nodded, and he sat next to her on her left. “I am sorry I have been distant, Lissy,” he whispered.
And the use of his pet name for her had hope simmering—a gentle simmer easily extinguished. She held on to that with a desperately tight grip.
“I have been lost inside my head. It is not a pretty place to be,” he admitted.
He brought his blanket up and rubbed it over his still-dripping hair before shaking his head like a dog, a few cool drops landing on her cheeks. The black mark peeped out again from under his blanket, and her eyes homed in on it. A black animal?
She reached over and placed her fingers on the mark. She sucked in a breath at the chill to his skin, and he froze. Their gazes clashed.
