She stared up at him, a peculiar breathlessness in her chest she’d never felt before. That shade of blue made her think of the ocean stretched out behind them, the waves curling endlessly onto the beach.
Lucy cleared her throat. “Friends, then?”
Ciaran grinned down at her, a smile warming his eyes. “Friends.”
* * * *
The following day
Five twenty in the morning
Despite his promise of friendship, every morning after he parted from Lucy, Ciaran never consciously planned to return to the beach again the following day.
It just happened.
He and Lucy never discussed it, but somehow an understanding had sprung up between them. He would come to the beach every morning, and every morning she would be there, waiting for him.
This morning, he’d kept her waiting longer than usual.
When he approached, he found her sitting on the beach, her legs curled underneath her, her face and hair hidden by the deep hood of her cloak. “Don’t say I’ve missed this morning’s grand bathing excursion?”
Ciaran gave the back of her hood a playful tug, drawing it down so he could see her face. The soft breeze brushed damp tendrils of hair around her rosy cheeks, and he was aware of a low hum of pleasure in his belly. Lucy was his friend, and he didn’t aspire to make her his lover, but he couldn’t deny she made his skin prickle with awareness.
Even when she looked cross, like she did right now, with one eyebrow arched, and her mouth tight.
“What?” Ciaran held his hands up innocently. “What have I done?”
“Youdidmiss the bathing excursion.” Her voice was tart, and her dark gaze narrowed as she took in his wrinkled coat and the soiled cravat hanging limply around his neck. “Your debauchery has kept you later than usual this morning. Are you onto something new?”
Ciaran made a half-hearted effort to smooth his clothing and tame his mussed hair, but gave it up as a lost cause. He tried a wheedling grin instead. “No, just the usual, dull debauchery. Wagering, drinking, ladies of questionable virtue. That sort of thing.”
He kept his tone light, but aside from the questionable ladies, this account of his evening wasn’t far from the truth. Lucy seemed to recognize it as a confession, because the disapproving pinch of her lips deepened.
“Don’t be angry, Lucy. I beg your pardon for being late,” he offered meekly.
“I’m not angry because you’re late. I’m angry because you behave like a wastrel. It’s just as well I don’t know your last name. I’m certain you’re the worst sort of rake, and I don’t want my conscience pricking at me to give you up.”
He lowered himself onto the sand beside her with a sigh. “That’s what rakesdo, Lucy—they waste their time. I recall you saying once you hoped I was a rakish sort, because they’re the most amusing friends.”
“I don’t mind a rake, but I can’t abide a gentleman who squanders his time in such pointless pursuits. Surely there’s something more useful you could be doing?”
Ciaran opened his mouth to defend himself, then closed it again. He’d spent every night since he arrived in Brighton wagering and getting foxed. Before that, he’d spent months in Buckinghamshire doing the same thing. Hewasa wastrel, and he’d yet to find any point in it. “Like what? What would you have me do?”
“You could attend your poor, sickly grandmother. Isn’t that why you came to Brighton in the first place? You use her very ill, Ciaran. Indeed, I feel quite sorry for her.”
Ciaran snorted. Lady Chase, poor and sickly? The only debilitating condition she suffered from was chronic bad temper. “Don’t waste your pity on Lady Chase, Lucy. She’s as strong as a horse, and bound to outlive us all. In any case, she’s not my grandmother. My two eldest brothers’ wives are her granddaughters. Such a convoluted relationship doesn’t demand constant attendance.”
Lucy made a disgusted noise. “Is that so? Well, I daresay your brothers imagined you would attend her, or they wouldn’t have asked you to accompany her to Brighton at all.”
Ciaran let out a short laugh. “That’s not why they sent me to Brighton.”
Talking of his brothers depressed him. It wasn’t that he didn’t love his family. He did, more than he could say. But his siblings were married, with lives of their own. Somehow, Lachlan and Isla had managed to move on from the wreckage they’d left behind them in Scotland.
Only Ciaran hadn’t. Somehow, he’d fallen behind.
“Why, then?” Lucy asked.
“To get rid of me.” Ciaran winced, aware of how sulky he sounded. Lachlan and Finn hadn’t truly sent him to Brighton to get rid of him, but if they had, could he really blame them? No doubt they were as sick of him as he was of himself.
