“Regardless, this house fits your requirements. Did you lie to Mrs. Murray?”
“No,” he grumbled.
“Take a walk. See if the grounds suit Hercule.” Gerhard looked at the dog, sitting obediently in the doorway.“He would be glad to be away from town.”
That was true. There was no place for a dog like Hercule in London, who would be more at home herding sheep in the Berner Alpen foothills. Richard had acquired him from a farmer outside Bern, on his journey west to England.
Hercule looked at him, his tail beginning to wag in appeal.
Richard sighed. “Very well. I will take a short walk.”
“And when you come back, try to think of your sister,” Gerhard added. “She will be most distressed if you leave. She needs you.”
Richard raised his brows. “Then perhaps you should console her, Gerhard. Hercule, come.” He walked out with his dog before his friend could reply—or punch him in the face.
The day was splendidly bright and sunny, very warm. He peeled off his jacket as he left the neglected garden around the house and followed a path down the hill into the trees. The estate agent had pointed out the hedgerow-lined lane that bounded the property, and indicated that the grounds covered three acres west of it.
It was cooler in the trees, but he still tugged at his cravat, wishing he could strip off more clothing. Gerhard’s wordsrumbled around in his mind like boulders in an avalanche. Was he right about Clemency? Did she need him? Richard had always thought not; Clem had always seemed to know what she wanted, and had a plan to get it. Witness Daniel Murray, her late husband. It had taken only two months from the night they were introduced to the day Murray asked for her hand. Murray was dead now, but Clemency, while still grieving, was recovering her spirits.
But her boys... They were almost eight and ten, and would be taller than their mother in a few years. Gabriel especially looked more and more like his father, and Richard acknowledged that might it be striking Clemency in the heart. She had loved Murray.
He exhaled. He’d told her to get them a new father. He’d meant it to tweak Gerhard, but it surely hurt his sister. He didn’t want to do that. She was the only close family he had left, and he loved her.
Would it harm him to spend another year or two in England, helping raise his nephews? No, he admitted. It might even be his duty, as he had no wife or children of his own and Murray’s family kept largely to their estates in Scotland and had shown little interest in the boys. Perhaps Gerhard was correct, ulterior motive notwithstanding.
Hercule ambled on ahead. He was not fast, but he was thorough, sniffing carefully under every bush and tree. Richard watched the big dog explore and did not miss the wagging tail. Hercule was a young dog, and he was happy out here, away from the narrow streets filled with carriages and carts and yapping spaniels.
A splash up ahead caught his attention. Another splash, and then another. A pond, he guessed. Just the thing on a hot day. He imagined taking off his boots and stockings and cooling hisfeet, and his steps sped up as Hercule loped ahead of him. This property grew more appealing with a pond.
By the time Richard came in sight of the water, glittering like a mirror in the clearing, his brain was just putting together the rhythm of the splashing to deduce that the pond was occupied not by ducks or fish, but by a person. Perversely annoyed, he strode forward. Someone was trespassing.
The woods ran up to within a few feet of the water’s edge, enclosing the modest pond in a ring of leafy privacy. It made an ideal swimming spot. Richard paused there, watching. The pale arms of the trespasser languidly emerged from the water to stroke lazily along. The glare off the water’s surface was blinding, but he narrowed his gaze and made out a dark head, and the flash of a foot.
The swimmer turned toward the shore, swam a few more strokes, and stood up.
He should turn away. He should close his eyes, or make a discreet sound of warning. He did neither. If a crocodile had bitten him at that moment, he couldn’t have made a sound.
The woman wore a shift, but it was soaking wet and absolutely transparent. It clung to her lush, generous breasts, rosy nipples visibly taut. As she sloshed toward the edge of the water, the shift shaped itself to a neat waist, full round hips, long legs with a mesmerizing shadow at the top of her thighs. She was running her hands over her head, slicking back her long dark hair, and as he watched, tongue-tied and mesmerized, she turned her face up to the sun, a smile of pure joy on her lips, and recognition hit him like a bolt of lightning to the head.
It was Evangeline. Lady Courtenay.
Chapter 6
He must have made a noise, for her head whipped around toward him.
For a moment neither moved. A drop of water fell from her eyelashes and slid down her cheek, over her jaw, and he watched it as if in a trance. Once, he had put his mouth there, where that droplet slid.
“Oh dear.” She cleared her throat. “How mortifying.”
That was not the word that came to his mind.
“A gentleman would turn his back,” she added in mild reproof.
“I—” He could barely remember how to form words. “I’ve an order to view this house,” he said stupidly, motioning behind him with one arm, even more stupidly.
Pink colored her face, but she smiled. “And here I am, trespassing upon your future property! I do apologize. It shan’t happen again.”
Richard just stared like an imbecile. It was difficult to think, with his mind fogged by lust and a renewed feeling of the frustration and fascination of four years ago, but he was slowly realizing that, while he knew exactly who she was, she did not recognize him.
