Still, he watched her, silent and self-possessed.
Annoyance stabbed through her. It was difficult for her to control the impulse to break through someone’s self-possession. As a child, she would pinch the ever-poised Olivia just to ruffle her feathers a bit. That same urge poked at her now.
Fueled by whim, she seized the pile of clothes and hugged them close to her chest. A scent of deep, rich spice and utter male reached her nose, and she inhaled, eyes closed as her lungs filled to capacity with him.
On the exhale, her eyes flew open. The right corner of his mouth tilted up into an almost-smile. His arms began moving in a languorous breaststroke motion, pulling him toward the shore . . . towardher. . . in slow, deliberate increments.
Mariana’s heart became a hammer in her chest, imploring her to run away. Whatever was she thinking? She was out of her depth.
Her capacity to reason through the situation evaporated when his feet found purchase on the pond’s floor, and he began emerging from the pond. Water streamed down rivulets formed by the sinewy muscles of his arms and chest, descending ever lower to his corded belly, following the fine trail of hair that coursed even lower.
Heart racing, she lifted her eyes to meet his already upon her, daring her to again feast her eyes upon him. He may have been as naked as a Greek god, but she felt like the exposed one.
She wanted to look away. No, that wasn’t true. She didn’t want to look away. Sheshouldlook away. Propriety and modesty demanded it. But she was neither proper nor modest, ever drawn toward the wild and unknown. Even so, she was shocked by his unhurried stride toward her . . . naked.
His gaze held hers within its enigmatic grasp, and her knees went to putty. He and she might be the only man and woman on Earth. She’d never been especially attentive to her catechism, but the tale of Adam and Eve came to mind. Except standing before her wasn’t Adam, but a man both serpent and fruit, both tempter and temptation. All she had to do was reach out and . . .
The spell broke when he stopped within a foot of her and removed his clothes from her compliant hands. His fingers brushed hers, sending a tingling sensation through her body. An emotion unfamiliar to her crossed his features, but it was gone before she could consider it.
Later, she would know it as his responding desire. On this day, however, her thoughts moved on when he turned and strode to a sun-soaked patch of grass, softly intoning Horace’s name, and reaching down to ruffle the loose skin beneath the traitorous beagle’s chin.
Trance-like, she watched in fascination and horror as he lay his greatcoat flat on the ground and then himself atop it—on his back, eyes closed as his body, every single inch of its long length, soaked in the dewy sunlight. Not once had he displayed a care for her presence or concern that she might feast her eyes upon him. And what a feast on display. All of him was long and lean except for, well, his male member was certainly long, but lean it wasn’t. In fact, it seemed to be growing . . .thicker. . . by the moment.
A wave of hot, wet embarrassment swept over her, and she swiveled around, her back decisively to him, her cheeks burning. “Lord Nicholas, I must ask that you clothe yourself.”
Her ears picked up the rustle of movement behind her, and she felt both relieved and strangely let down.
“It’s safe to turn around now,” she heard after a minute or so.
She risked a glance over her shoulder before turning fully to face him. He’d donned his trousers and shirt, but the shirt was open to his waist, revealing the fine trail of hair that led directly to his—
“You are,” she began, her voice cooperating only with great difficulty, “returned.”
“Just yesterday.” He stretched his legs out in front of him. “Would you care to join me down here?”
For all his casual and confident display, she detected a note of apprehension in his tone. It was appealing, that apprehension. It made him more human, less god-like, accessible. It drew her in, and before she knew it, she was sitting beside him, her shoulder just brushing his. Her entire universe collapsed to that single point of contact.
“I have something for you that I happened upon during my travels,” he said as his hand reached inside the pocket of his greatcoat and emerged holding a shiny object in his open palm.
She leaned in closer. It was a necklace, given the length of gold chain coiled within his palm. But that wasn’t what drew her interest. Within the nest of gold lay an oval-shaped pendant that appeared to be a cameo of . . . her.
On a gasp, she straightened and met his gaze. “You didn’t justhappenupon this during your travels.”
Opaque, stormy gray held her in its thrall. “I commissioned Pistrucci to engrave it when I was in Rome.”
“Rome,” she whispered, her breath caught in her throat. “But how did he render my likeness so accurately?”
“I provided him a sketch.”
“Done by?”
“Me.”
“From the memory of one night?”
He nodded once.
He was so different from every suitor she’d had to endure over the last year. Lord Nicholas Asquith wasn’t consumed with promoting himself. He was thoughtful, considerate, and beyond handsome. That was the moment she knew: they were destined for each other.
