‘Quite bracing!’ She turned around, hunching her shoulders, though her eyes were sparkling. ‘A little colder than I expected, but very refreshing.’
‘I’ll take your word for it.’
‘This is officially my new favourite place in the world.’ She spread one arm out, twirling around in the shallows.
He smiled, heat radiating through his chest at the words. It felt strangely good to hear her say them. The idea of her being homesick had bothered him more than he would have expected. ‘I should have thought to bring a picnic.’
‘That would have been lovely, although I think Mrs Hotham has enough to do today preparing for the fair.’ She looked over her shoulder at him. ‘By the way, I told her we’d be happy with a light dinner tonight. I hope that’s all right?’
‘Of course. I should have thought of it myself. Look out!’ He sprang forward, catching her around the waist and lifting her backwards as a particularly large wave hurtled towards her.
‘Oh!’ She clamped a hand to her mouth, laughing. ‘Thank you. That would have soaked my dress.’
‘Here.’ He lowered her back down to the sand, his fingers tangled in the folds of her close-fitting riding-habit, though he found himself extremely reluctant to take them away. Instead he tightened his hold, sliding his hands down to her hips.
‘Leo?’ she whispered, her eyes widening as she looked up at him.
‘Florence.’ He murmured her name back, dropping his gaze as a pink flush swept up over her throat and across her cheeks. She looked—shewas—so unutterably perfect, it occurred to him again that she was exactly the kind of wife he might have chosen had he felt himself free to choose. Whatever anger and resentment he’d once felt towards her had ebbed away completely. Now, with their breaths mingling, all he felt was an irresistible desire to kiss her.
Slowly he tilted his head, giving her time to pull away if she wanted, bringing his lips towards hers and nudging them gently apart.
She didn’t respond at first, as though she needed a few moments to think, before making a soft sound in the back of her throat and lifting her hands, slipping them over his shoulders, and kissing him back.
He didn’t know how long they stood that way. He was dimly aware of the sound of the waves lapping on the beach, of the sharp cries of seagulls circling overhead. He could smell salt on the air and on her skin, could taste it too, along with a sweetness like honey on her tongue. He could feel his skin tingling and his blood throbbing heavily in his veins, filling him with a new sense of exhilaration as time seemed to slow and stretch. Their kiss might have lasted for a few seconds or an hour, but by the time they broke apart, both of them panting, he felt as though the whole world had shifted on its axis.
‘Leo,’ she whispered again, pressing a hand to his chest as she opened her eyes to look at him with a half-confused, half-dazed expression. ‘You kissed me.’
‘Yes.’ His voice sounded husky.
‘But you resent me.’
‘I did. Before. Not any longer.’ He swayed forward, pressing his forehead to hers. ‘I’d rather kiss you again, if you have no objection?’
‘No.’ She slid her tongue between her lips in a way that sent a hot pulse straight to his groin. ‘That is, no, I don’t have any objection.’
He hesitated, trying to make sense of the negatives.
‘I mean, I want you to kiss me again,’ she clarified.
‘Ah.’ He breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Thank goodness.’
He bent his head once more, claiming her lips just as a large wave swept over their feet, soaking them up to their ankles.
‘Oh!’ Florence gave a startled yelp.
‘Damn.’ Leo pulled back to look at her wet skirt. ‘It seems I should have carried you a little further up the beach.’
‘And your poor boots!’ She pointed at them in dismay. ‘If your valet doesn’t like sand, he’s really going to hate salt water.’
‘Come on, we’d better get you back to the house before you catch a chill.’ He bent down, reaching for her sodden hem and wringing it out, before sweeping one arm around her shoulders and the other beneath her knees.
‘Wait! You don’t have to carry me.’ Florence laughed. ‘It’s a wet dress, not a twisted ankle.’
‘Humour me. It was my fault.’
‘How so?’
‘I distracted you.’
