Tristan took the oars in hand, then propelled them toward the other vessel.The soaking wet occupants of the boat turned toward him as they drew closer.
“Thank you, Lord Breckenridge,” one of the young ladies said amidst shivers of cold, her eyes widening with the fresh realization of what could have happened if he had not intervened in time.
“Think nothing of it,” Tristan responded, his voice carrying the timbre of unspoken depth—a note that Emmeline found herself drawn to ever more keenly.“But perhaps next time, steer clear of the lilies.They are deceptively entangling.”
A ripple of laughter eased the tension of the moment, and Emmeline could not help but join in, her own amusement mingling with a warmth that bloomed within her chest.It was a sensation unfamiliar yet altogether delightful, and as she beheld Tristan, his clothes clinging to his athletic frame, a sense of intimacy unfurled between them—a connection fostered by shared experience and mutual respect.
“Let us see you safely to shore,” Tristan offered, taking up the oars once again with a genteel insistence that brooked no argument.
As the overturned boat’s occupants found their composure, Emmeline watched Tristan navigate their path back to solid ground, the muscles of his back shifting beneath the fabric of his soaked shirt.The sight stirred within her a longing that transcended propriety—a yearning to know the layers beneath the rogue’s surface, to explore the depths of a man capable of such spontaneous valor.
“Miss Brooks?”Tristan’s voice, tinged with curiosity, drew her from her reverie.
“Forgive me, I was merely...reflecting on the afternoon’s excitement,” Emmeline replied, her cheeks warming at the thought of where her mind had wandered.
“Ah, reflection is a pastime best enjoyed in good company,” he quipped, his gaze locking with hers—a gaze that promised the uncovering of truths yet unspoken and desires yet untamed.
She accepted the hand he was offering and allowed him to help her from the boat.Her fingers were still tingling from the warmth of Tristan’s touch as they made their way up the gentle slope toward the garden party.The laughter and light-hearted strains of a string quartet reached them before they could see the colorful array of gowns and waistcoats that dotted the Breckenridge estate.
“We were interrupted earlier,” Tristan began, his voice taking on an undercurrent of seductiveness.“I had planned to kiss you.”
“Is that so?”she responded, her tone playful yet laced with longing.
“Perhaps I should do so now,” he said, a roguish grin playing upon his lips.
“You are soaking wet,” she said, then sighed in exasperation.“You must change before you catch a cold.Besides, someone might see us.”
He stopped and turned toward her.“We are engaged.Kisses are both permitted and expected.”
“You will ruin my gown,” she said, tugging on his arm.“You may kiss me once you are dry.”
He caught her hand, then met her gaze.“I will not be denied,” he said before pressing his lips to her knuckles.He offered a roguish grin.“Now that was a kiss,” he teased before offering a playful wink.
“Rogue.”She tossed her head back and laughed.“What am I to do with you?”
“Anything you please.Anything at all, my dear.”He grinned as he released her hand, the two of them resuming their stroll toward the house.Soon, they ascended the final rise, the full view of the garden party unfolding before them.
“Ah, there you are,” called Louisa, Lady Stone, emerging from the throng with a mischievous glint in her eyes.“And you are soaking wet.Whatever happened?”
“I nearly drowned,” Tristan replied with mock gravity, offering his sister a brief but affectionate smile.
“You jest.”She swatted at him playfully.“Go change.I will keep Miss Brooks company.”
“Do not listen to a word my sister says,” he turned his sparkling gaze on Emmeline, “unless it is flattering, of course.I will be back before the next set.”
Both women shook their heads, slight smiles tugging at their lips as he dashed off.
“Miss Brooks,” Lady Stone turned her attention to Emmeline, “you must tell me where you have found this exquisite fabric for your gown.It is simply divine.”
“Thank you, Lady Stone,” Emmeline said, grateful for the diversion.“A small shop nestled in the heart of London—quite the hidden gem.”
“I am told there is a hero among us, and perhaps a dash of heroism?”interjected His Grace, Charles De Vere, Duke of Bedford, who had approached unseen.His eyebrow arched inquiringly, a playful challenge in his stance.
“Indeed there is.Tristan was a true hero, though I fear all I did was watch his brave rescue,” Emmeline said, pride filling her voice.“He said anyone would have done the same, but I am not so sure.He acted without hesitation,” Emmeline added softly, unable to mask the admiration that colored her tone.“It was truly amazing.”
“Miss Brooks speaks truly,” Olivia, Duchess of Thorne said, joining the intimate gathering.“Lady Heathrow just finished regaling us with the tale.Tristan was the epitome of gallantry, according to all who were present.”
Tristan reappeared at Emmeline’s side, looking no worse for the wear.“Let us not dwell on the exploits of the afternoon.We have a party to enjoy, do we not?”
“Indeed, we do,” William, Duke of Thorne, agreed, extending his arm to his wife.“And I believe the musicians have struck up a particularly lively set.”
As the group dispersed, blending back into the swirl of gaiety, Emmeline remained acutely aware of Tristan’s proximity, his every movement resonating within her like a plucked string.
“May I have the pleasure of this dance?”Tristan inquired, his hand outstretched toward her.
“I should like that very much,” Emmeline replied, placing her hand in his once more.As they stepped onto the makeshift dance floor, the world around them seemed to fade into insignificance, leaving only the connection that pulsed between them—a connection that promised untold possibilities and whispered of desires yet unspoken.And though the future remained shrouded in uncertainty, one thing was clear: her affection for Tristan was no mere dalliance of the heart.
She was in love.
