She glanced at him, eager to explain that an optimistic point of view, particularly in defiance of constant poor circumstances, was exactly the thing that had gave her the strength to carry on—but the teasing in his eyes made her forget her words.
The memory of his gentle touch flashed in her mind as she stepped into a shallow dirt hole, tripping. Instantly, the solid, muscular form of Graham caught her arm.
“Careful,” he said. She tried to pull her arm back, but he held her steadily. She peered over her shoulder to see who might be watching them, but he smirked at her worry. “Were you expecting people to gawk? Why would they? It’s the gentlemanly thing to do, isn’t it? Helping a lady walk.”
“I don’t need help walking.”
“Your feet say otherwise.”
“I’m merely unaccustomed to walking on dirt roads.”
“Ah, yes, because London cobblestone is so even.” Hope tried to scowl, but couldn’t help but smile. “Well, you needn’t worry about me accosting you in broad daylight.”
“I wasn’t worried about that. I’m just… not used to being escorted.”
“No?” he said, his brow furring. “Not even by your gentleman friend back in London?”
Hope found it a little forward for him to bring up Jacob, considering the last time they spoke she was crying over being thrown over by him, but surprisingly she didn’t mind it.
“No, actually. Mr. Pennington was very strict about touching. He avoided it as much as possible.”
Hope swallowed as Graham frowned.
“Why?”
“Well, because he was concerned for me, I supposed. He never wanted to overstep, least someone get the wrong idea, sullying my reputation as a result.”
“So, he never escorted you? In a park, or museum?”
Hope opened her mouth and then closed it. It had seemed a perfectly respectable thing for Jacob to always keep his distance back when it was happening, but now, holding onto Graham’s arm, she found she wasn’t scandalized at all. Whyhadshe let Jacob convince her that it was so wrong? Nothing about this felt wrong at all.
“No, he didn’t,” she said. “He told me that he didn’t want to appear as a Casanova.”
The corner of his mouth twitched.
“A Casanova? From holding your hand?” he repeated humorously. The word sounded delightful with his accent. “He’d have to be a true lady-killer if he thought he hand holding would make you swoon. And did he call himself that? A Casanova?”
Hope opened her mouth to explain when the sudden yelps and shouts of young men caught her attention. Graham shifted his head and leaned over the side of the bridge. Hope leaned over the side as well and beheld several young men swimming in their underclothes. Shirtsleeves, plaids, and trousers were strewn across the rocky edge of the stream which pooled into a good-size swimming hole at the base of the bridge. Hope turned around quickly, her blush deepening.
“Tis only a swim,” Graham said, noticing how fast she rotated from the scene below. “Surely, you've gone swimming before?”
“As a child, but not as an adult,” she said over her shoulder.
“You should try it.”
“No, thank you.”
“Och!” he yelled down at the young men. Hope snuck a peek at them. “Put some clothes on! There are ladies present.”
Some lads hooted and hollered while others sank deeper into the water in an attempt to hide their bodies. Graham laughed, and Hope’s attention landed on him. His relaxed grin seemed to melt away slightly as he regarded her. A warm, fuzzy feeling settled in her stomach and she swallowed, nodding back towards the waters below.
“Who are they?”
“My cousins actually,” he said leaning his back against the stone bridge. “You'll meet them at the ball.”
“Oh no,” she said. “But you've embarrassed them.”
“That? No,” he said, shaking his head. “They shan't be embarrassed by that. But if they are, they have only themselves to blame. They shouldn't have been so in a position of being caught near naked.”
