If anyone in Brighton found out she’d been out swimming alone in the early morning hours, she might as well pack her things and go home now. He didn’t used to give much of a damn about propriety, but that was before he’d come to England and seen with his own eyes how much damage even the smallest slip could make to a lady’s reputation.
And this wasn’t a small slip. It was a reckless dive straight into scandal.
She tapped a finger against her lips. “Yes, perhaps we’d better keep this morning’s adventure to ourselves.”
Ciaran might have let it go at that, but he felt obligated to give her a stern warning first. He wasn’t much of one for stern warnings—either delivering them, or heeding them—but it wasn’t just her reputation at risk. It was her safety. It was dangerous for even a strong swimmer to go out alone. If she’d been overcome by the current she might really have been swept out to sea by the pounding surf, and no one would ever have known what had happened to her.
His amusement faded at the thought. What was the chit doing out here alone? Who were her people, and why didn’t they keep a better eye on her? What the devil was she about, scampering about Brighton like a wild thing, risking everything for a bit of fun?
He eyed her, then asked in as firm a tone as he could manage, “If I happen to wander this same stretch of beach tomorrow morning, you won’t be here again, will you, lass?”
She didn’t reply, but Ciaran noticed the sudden, stubborn thrust of her chin, the telltale flush on her cheeks. His eyes narrowed. “I asked you a question. This morning’s swim is your last, isn’t it?”
She tossed her damp hair over her shoulder and gave him a bright smile. “Well, as to that, who can tell?”
It wasn’t the answer Ciaran wanted to hear. “Youcan, lass. You can tell me you won’t come out here again, or you can keep this up until someone catches you at it, and they tell all of Brighton.”
“Yes, I suppose they might do that.” She cocked her head to the side, as if considering it. “Ifthey catch me.”
“They will.” They always did. It was a bloody miracle she’d made it through the morning unscathed. She wouldn’t be so lucky a second time. “Why would you take the chance?”
She’d turned away from him to gaze out at the water. Goose bumps rose on her skin, but she didn’t seem to notice. “Because I’ve waited a lifetime for a chance like this,” she murmured, more to herself than to him.
What the devil did that mean? “A chance to go swimming?”
She waved a hand toward the ocean. “A chance to see things. Why should it be shocking to want to see things?”
It shouldn’t be, but Ciaran didn’t say so. It would only encourage her. He dragged a hand through his wet hair, a defeated groan escaping his lips. If she didn’t reassure him this was her last swim, he’d be out here every bloody morning before dawn looking for her.
Damnation.
Sleeping until sunset was the only thing that made Brighton bearable. “If you insist on swimming, can’t you bring someone with you? A brother, or a friend? It won’t do a damn thing to protect your reputation, but at least you won’t drown.”
“I’d like to have a friend to swim with. It would be a great deal pleasanter that way, wouldn’t it?” Her plump lips turned down for a moment, but when she faced him again, her smile was back. “But you needn’t worry about my drowning. I was very young when I learned to swim, and I’ve never forgot. I’m quite a capable swimmer.”
Ciaran huffed out a breath, nettled to the last degree. It was another nonanswer. She was good at those. He’d been good at them at one time, too. His older brother Lachlan had usually been on the receiving end of those half-answers. Whoever would have guessed how annoying they were?
“You know what will happen if someone sees you out on the beach alone in the dark in your bathing costume, don’t you?”Jesus. He sounded like a prig, but damn it, he’d never get another wink of sleep until she reassured him. “It’ll be a—”
“Don’t say scandal!” Her face darkened with a scowl.
Ciaran blinked at her, surprised. “All right. I won’t say it, but that won’t make it any less of one if you get caught.”
She sighed. “It’s just…well, everything seems to cause a scandal, doesn’t it? Everything worth doing, anyway.”
Ciaran opened his mouth to argue, realized he agreed with her, and closed it again.
“It’s utter nonsense. Why should I have to apologize for wanting to do things?” She turned her wide dark eyes on him. “I’d far rather risk the scandal than just meander along, peeking into the edges of my life as if it doesn’t belong to me at all.”
Her words sliced through Ciaran, unexpected and unwelcome, and something painful and bitter swelled inside him in response.
Meander along the edges of my life…
Wasn’t that what he’d been doing in the months since he’d left Scotland? Meandering along the edges of his life? Wasn’t that how his brothers had wheedled him into this Brighton nightmare in the first place? Because Ciaran hadn’t had the energy to protest?
Or was it just that it didn’t matter to him where he was anymore? Wherever he happened to be, he never felt as if he belonged there.
“I make no promises not to swim tomorrow,” she said, startling him from his thoughts. “Despite what you may think, however, I don’t court scandal, sir. I’m fully aware of the precariousness of my position, but as I said, some things are worth the risk—worth the scandal. Don’t you agree?”
