“What could it matter?” she sighed.
“If it didn’t matter, you would say it freely.”
“Fine,” she said, stopping to lean against a craggy outcropping. They were climbing steadily higher. Pillars of rock had formed a stone forest around them.
She caught her breath. “It said, ‘Second star to the right.’ And before you ask, I’ll tell you what it meant. The earl meant, ‘Seek direction in your own imagination. Or in your dreams. Or your heart.’ As I said, useless babbling.”
She shoved off and climbed on. Over her shoulder, she said, “What he meant was, ‘You are not important enough for me to make an effort... you’ll have no one to guide you or to protect you... unfortunately your mother is bollocks at anything approaching guidance... so good luck sorting out life’s challenges, large and small.’ ”
She turned to face him, walking backward. “That’swhat the engraver should have stamped on the compass.”
“Perhaps there wasn’t room?” he joked.
She laughed. His heart tapped against his chest.Hecould protect her.Hewanted to protect her. She turned back to the trail.
They came to a dropping-off place where the groundformed a low cliff over a wide ravine. At the bottom, some ten yards beneath, a shallow river snaked right and left, the water obscured by a rising mist.
“How do we descend?” he asked.
“The rocks form steps just... here.”
She led him around an outcropping of stone and then to a natural ramp.
The canyon was enchanting, an open-air cathedral. Rock statues loomed, jagged and gnarled, veiled by vapor from the stream.
When they reached the water, Isobel removed her heavy cloak and rolled up her sleeves. She bade him unfurl her purchases on a high rock, and she collected the striped fabric, the linen, and the vest from inside his coat. Kneeling beside the water, she lowered the pieces into the river, weighing them down with stones. The water was shallow, no deeper than her hand, and they were easily pinned. Water rushed over and under, soaking the fibers until they fluttered against the riverbed.
Next she located a paddle-shaped rock and scooped up a slug of sediment. Bending over the striped fabric, she scraped the mud here and there, streaking it with black.
Jason sat down on a nearby rock, relishing the view of her bending over the steamy water, skirts hiked over an elbow, deft hands ministering to the clothes. She’d worn lavender today, a departure. He couldn’t remember her in anything but some shade of green. The pale purple fabric seemed to glow in contrast to the landscape. Here and there, small purple flowers dotted the riverbank, their blossoms almost the same color as her dress. The combination of purple against green grass was as beautiful on Isobel as it was on the flower. The mist from the water set her creamy skin glowing; blondhair dropped from her bun in damp tendrils and curled against her neck.
The urge to go to her, to take her by the waist and pull her to him, to kiss her, toreallykiss her, was almost too much to bear. He bit off his gloves and dug his hands into the serrated rock. He forced his brain to return to their conversation. More than he wanted to hold her, he wanted toknowher.
“Would it have been better to have no relationship whatsoever with the earl,” he asked, “than to know him only a little?”
She sat back on her haunches on a smooth flat stone. She extended her palm, hand up, like a footman with a tray. The gesture ofWho knows?
Jason waited, allowing the question to float between them. He unbuttoned the top two buttons of his waistcoat. The air was cool but there was no shade from the sun. He unbuttoned two more.
After a moment, she told him, “You should feel the water.”
He paused, the waistcoat halfway down his arms. He looked to her.
She had begun to remove her boots. “You’ve traveled all this way,” she said. “You might as well experience the heated waters.”
Jason shucked the waistcoat with due speed and pulled at his boots. He hiked his buckskins to his knees, and picked his way to her.
She was sitting with her knees drawn up, her discarded boots and a pile of her stockings beside her. Small feet poked from beneath her skirt. She wiggled her toes.
“Sit here and put your feet in,” she instructed, notlooking at him. “Careful, it’s rather hot. Hotter than you expect.”
She extended her feet and held them over the rushing surface of the clear water. He watched her dip her toes in the stream and stir them in a small circle. He’d stopped breathing or he was panting, he didn’t know. He didn’t care.
“If you move about,” she said, “you’ll hit upon a streak of cold to temper the very hot. The cold is runoff from the mountain snow. The hot is water heated by the volcanoes. You’ll want to find the place where they mingle.” When, finally, she sank her feet in, she let out a little sigh.
Jason swallowed hard and tried to tamp down his body’s response. Every newly revealed part of her—trim ankles and shapely legs, delicate toes and high arches—was beautiful. His heart thudded. His loins tightened.
“Go on,” she said, glancing up. She was smiling, but she must have seen the look of longing on his face, because her smile faded. She blinked slowly, sensually, once, twice.
