Hugo’s mouth lifted at one corner. “I checked on him while you were settling in. He ate an apple out of my hand and bit my sleeve. He is in excellent spirits.”
“He bit your sleeve?”
“He has opinions about punctuality. I was late.”
She laughed. The sound carried across the empty lawn, and Hugo glanced at her, and the guarded expression he had been wearing since the church softened into something warmer.
“You made a beautiful bride,” he said.
“Thank you.”
“I should have told you at the church. I meant to. But when you walked down the aisle, I forgot how to form sentences.”
Her cheeks warmed. She kept her eyes on the path. “You seemed perfectly composed.”
“I am an excellent performer.”
They reached the lake. The water stretched before them, silver and gold in the lowering sun, and the trees along the far bank cast long shadows across the surface.
Hugo stopped walking. His hands moved to his cravat.
“What are you doing?” Lily asked.
“Going for a swim.” He pulled the cravat free and draped it over a branch. His fingers moved to the buttons of his waistcoat.
“Hugo, it is our wedding day.”
“An excellent day for a swim.” The waistcoat joined the cravat. He pulled his shirt over his head, and Lily’s gaze betrayed her before her discipline could intervene. His chest was broad andsculpted, his stomach flat and ridged, and the late sun gilded his skin gold.
She turned around. Her face burned.
Hugo chuckled behind her. “We are married, Lily. You are permitted to look.”
“I was not looking.”
“You were looking, and then you turned the color of a strawberry. Which, for the record, suits you.”
She pressed her hands to her cheeks. Behind her, she heard the rustle of fabric, the thud of boots on grass, and then the splash of a body hitting water.
“Come in.” Hugo’s voice carried from the lake. “The water is refreshing.”
“I have not brought anything appropriate.”
“Have you never swum without clothes?”
“What? Of course not!”
“Then this is an excellent time to start.”
She turned. Hugo treaded water twenty feet from the bank. His fair hair was dark and slicked back. His shoulders were bare and glistening above the surface. He grinned at her, and the grin was not the practiced, charming weapon he deployed at balls and dinner parties. It was open, boyish, and reckless.
“Turn around,” she said.
“I have seen quite a bit of you already.”
“Turn around, Hugo.”
He raised his hands in surrender and turned his back.
