“That’s not always the case,” she insisted. “A few weeks ago, when we were here in Marrywell together before Lord Oldfield arrived, you and I attended every one of the festivities together. Not a single soul raised their eyebrows at your presence.”
“Marrywell’s annual matchmaking festival is an unusual situation,” he admitted. “But it is not representative of real life. Perhaps you’re right. I could have courted any number of milkmaids and green country misses. But how many dukes and earls do you think would have accepted my request to marry their precious daughters?”
He did not say or marquesses, but she felt the unspoken words hang between them. Mr. Frampton was saying that Marrywell didn’t matter, then or now. It would never be seemly for a man like him to express interest in someone as highborn as Tabitha.
Yet the thought of him courting all those milkmaids and country misses threatened to turn her stomach into acid.
He folded up the now-empty square of brown paper and brushed a few stray crumbs from his leather-clad thighs. “Breakfast is over. We should go.”
“Wait,” she said desperately. “I’m not ready yet.”
He sighed and inclined his head. “I suppose we could take the trail a little farther.”
“No. I have a better idea.” She bent over to untie her half-boots. She’d dreamed of spontaneity. Why not start now?
“What in the devil are you doing?” he asked in alarm.
She grinned up at him and tossed her boots aside. “Come and catch me.”
And with that, she ran into the water.
Chapter 17
Hudson stared after her in disbelief as the woman he most desired ran laughingly past him to splash into the river.
If Lady Tabitha had haunted his dreams before, the memory of her fine clothes plastered to her curves would never leave his every waking thought.
He should have foreseen this. He should have stopped this. He should not be… tossing aside his own boots and stockings and coat in order to chase after her into the water, as though they were a pair of lovers on holiday at the sea shore.
The moment his bare foot broke the surface, the freezing cold water shocked every nerve in his body—but it was too late to change course. Momentum and gravity and (yes, let’s face it) the unquenchable desire to be with Lady Tabitha vaulted him forward, despite the frigid temperatures.
Perhaps his body acclimated quickly, or perhaps his extremities had simply gone numb, because the moment he reached her side, Hudson forgot all about the cold. If anything, heat infused his limbs at his proximity to her wet body and the forbiddenness of their actions.
“Not much of a river,” he growled. “The deepest part barely comes up to my stomach.”
Lady Tabitha fluttered her eyelashes at him. “Oh, dear. Were you hoping to have to save me?”
“That’s not what I—”
She took a comically large breath and launched herself backwards into the water, quickly sinking below the surface.
He knew she was teasing—knew she was baiting him—but he was hooked all the same. Before he had time to form conscious thought, Hudson dove into the spot where she’d disappeared, pulling her into his arms and dragging her to the surface until their heads bobbed free of the water.
But he didn’t let go.
Neither did she.
Their legs tangled together beneath the water. Not that Hudson could see their feet. Lady Tabitha’s skirts floated up to her hips, blocking the view… and filling his brain with images of what he might see if he were to sink below the surface.
Dangerous thoughts. Intoxicating thoughts. He had no idea what he was doing. His shoulders might be above water, but Hudson was in far over his head.
Lady Tabitha’s arms held him loosely, her fingers idly clutching the cotton of his shirt that had billowed out beneath the back of his waistcoat when he’d dived into the water.
Hudson’s hands were about her waist. Whether to hold her steady, or to prevent her swirling skirts from floating up any higher, he couldn’t say. Either way, his only mission was to keep her safe. From the elements. From him.
Lady Tabitha was close enough to kiss. Hudson had never wanted anything more in his life. She was smiling at him, staring up at him, the silk of her bodice molded to her bosom as droplets of water danced tantalizingly over her décolletage. Oh Lord, he should definitely not be staring at her breasts.
Her plump, wet breasts with their erect nipples pointing straight at his pounding heart.
