There were worse things, he supposed, and had he been in another situation, alone, and not quite as anticipating of the near future as he was, he might’ve allowed himself slightly more thought, and even fear. But in consideration of his current circumstances—leading Hypatia slowly, his hands over her eyes, her very enticing self pressed closely to his front—he merely allowed himself a quiethm, and smile of amusement at the turn of events. It was freeing, he realised, the sensation of being smitten; it had been a long time since he’d felt the melted butter of excitement run through his veins, or the easy smiles that popped and rose like champagne bubbles. Of course, he knew one need always exercise some manner of caution, so as not to be swept away by the pleasantness of it, to a land of unwanted infatuation, but so long as one did, there was no harm in revelling slightly inbeing smitten.
Holding fast to those feelings and sensations, at the very least, a welcome respite from the toil, and concern at the prospect of potential failure, he led Hypatia on to the spot he hoped so she would like, and that Henry had directed him to today, whilst Mary and Niamh had been his aides in ensuring it was all he wished it to be.
‘How much further?’ Hypatia asked, an eagerness in her voice that gave him heart.
‘Not much,’ he told her, pausing to do so, and catch her ear gently between his teeth as he did, her rambunctious curls teasing his nose.
So it wasn’t; soon enough they descended the tiny hill that was more like a bump, and arrived at the shores of a tame, but fresh and sprightly creek—more of a pond where they were, widening as it did, before tightening again as patches of trees and woods contained it to either side.
‘We’re here,’ he said, stopping them by the blankets, covering baskets—one with food, the other with washing necessities—and removing his hands from Hypatia’s eyes.
He stepped back, and came to stand beside her, watching as her eyes travelled over the view, hoping she saw the beauty he did, and liked it just as much.
He saw the honey-green eyes—afire like magical flames in the setting sun’s light—travel over the quietly bobbing stream, so clear you could see the rocks below, and the dancing leaves of the trees in slight breeze, and the golden reeds and grasses across the way and around them, like the waves of the sea almost. The pops of movement—bees, dragonflies, and butterflies going about their evenings—and the buzz of life, nearly, but not quite, as vibrant as hers. The scents, of a sun-baked day, of summer, and vibrancy, and wildflowers and the earth herself.
Thorn waited, until finally, she exhaled so deeply he felt his own shoulders relax.
‘It’s…wonderful, Thorn, thank you.’
She turned to him, but something told him he wasn’t quite ready to see all her eyes held, so he grinned, reaching for the blankets, and uncovered the treasures below.
‘I have it on good authority the water is clean, and fresh, but not frigid,’ he told her, opening the basket full of soaps, towels, and even a dressing gown and change of clothes—well, a shirt and loose trousers for both of them. ‘And if you wish to be left alone, I will leave you, and go beyond view until you are done, and then return so we can have our…candlelight dinner,’ he added with a flourish, opening the second basket.
Then, he had no choice but to see all her gaze held, for she dropped on her haunches before him, and there was so much light, and joy, and surprise, he felt like the mightiest man to ever have roamed the earth.
And not to compare, for no love was equal, he had to admit he’d never felt so purposeful with one look from another.
‘You don’t have to leave,’ Hypatia breathed, licking her lips, and glancing at his own, before a wicked smile split her face, and she rose out of reach. ‘Though if you stay, I will need some assistance with these garments.’
Smitten, I say.
‘This is Heaven, I think,’ Hypatia said, half-floating, half-sitting in the deepest part of this stream—which, when standing, was about waist-deep—her naked form torturing him as it remained somewhat concealed beneath the gently lapping water, various limbs and outlines of her features making themselves known in a sensual game of hide-and-seek.
As much as Thorn had been tempted to devour her whole and become acquainted with every inch when he’d assisted with her disrobing, he’d satisfied himself with languorous brushes ofhis fingers against her warm skin, effervescent in the sun’s light, along with whispers of kisses every so often to it. He’d promised her a bath, and wouldn’t distract her, or himself for that matter, for he was admittedly mightily eager for one too.
It felt as if this was the first time in days, weeks, months—Hell, perhaps even years that he’d truly relaxed. Not without a care, but with a more profound sense of perspective; that in this moment, those cares and concerns mattered not, or at least not enough to mar this time.
And for all that her floating and bobbing felt like tortuous teasing, there was a knowledge that Hypatia wasn’t intentionally being sirenic, she was merely comfortable, with herself, and him, and perhaps that was what was most tantalising of all; her continued trust and ease.
‘I’m inclined to agree,’ Thorn smiled, leaning back slightly, to wet and refresh his hair again.
They’d washed themselves—with exceptional relish and dedication, the need to scrub clean greater than that to turn it into a perhaps seductive game of washing each other—some time ago, but neither of them seemed inclined to leave the cool and invigorating water, even for food.
And so as much as there existed a sensual charge between them, humming beneath the ease and simplicity, as much as Thorn was tempted to discover just how Hypatia felt when every inch of her was wet, he was enjoying just being with her.
Whether we be mucking out pigsties, or lounging in streams, it seems to be so.
‘Do you know, I’ve never bathed in a stream before.’
‘No offence, but I might’ve guessed. I cannot imagine either Mr or Mrs Quincy for that matter, condoning such uncouth and common behaviour.’
Hypatia laughed, and he let the melody of it, perfectly tuned with the rest, fill his heart.
‘They’d have to notice to care. I suppose it is I who never went searching for streams to bathe in in London.’
‘There must be some, though I don’t believe that is something London is on the whole known for.’ Taking a breath, he hesitated before continuing. ‘I know…things are complicated between you, but should you wish to visit your family in time, or merely for me to gather news discreetly…’
‘Soon, perhaps, I shall enquire for news. I thought I could just leave, and never look back, and in many ways, I can, but in time, news, an exchange of letters perhaps, even if only for the important markers in life, would be good. I wish them no ill, but I… I don’t think I love them as one should family. I love them, in a sense, and care for them, only I…can’t explain it. Do you find me callous?’
