Wycliff didn’t know what to make of his fortune. Ruth and Christopher were spending the day with him. As much as he loved a plan that ensured things worked in his favor, this was unexpected.
And dangerous.
An active young boy who could run off and a woman who could become unsettled in open spaces were a great deal of work. He’d have to be sharp and lucky.
He gulped deep and hard when he saw Lawden drive off with the carriage.
What could go wrong? His brainbox pictured disaster, like fishing Christopher out of the Thames, frightening the little boy’s panicked mother to death.
With Christopher in one arm, he shrouded Ruth with his other and kept her moving to the pavement leading to the dory boats.
She stopped at the steps. At the water’s current height, Ruth only needed to come down two steps to enter into the dory.
“Wycliff, I’ve never done this before.”
The low voice didn’t sound frightened, but she wasn’t moving, either.
Over her shoulder, he studied the scene. Placid waters. A tiny flat-bottom dory bobbing in the ripples of the breeze. The man he’d hired was at the helm. Another couple, a young man and his sweetheart, were seated on the far bench.
“Ready, Mrs. Wilky? My little cousin is very ready.”
Christopher squirmed and wiggled like he’d jump into the boat.
Ruth seemed composed, staring straight ahead. “Settle down, Chris.”
“He’s just excited. I am, too. This isn’t a frigate or my father’s fishing boat. It’s a first for me.”
That drew a hint of a smile.
It was unexpected to see her happy at such a small truth.
The wonderful lift of her lips made his pulse tick up, becoming expectant.
Goodness.
He shouldn’t be so aware of her—her breathing, the slight turn of her chin, the rub of her sleeve against his chest when she straightened Christopher’s pinafore.
With a shake of his head, he moved around her and hefted Chris then flopped an elbow in front of her. “Mrs. Wilky, you will love sailing or hate it, but I am prepared to sacrifice my arm for you.”
“Even after what I said to you in Papa’s study?”
“Especially after that.” He offered her a wink then moved into the dory and set Christopher on an empty seat. “Don’t move or we’ll never have adventures. Never, ever.”
The squirming boy grabbed the seat, his fingers fisting and clutching the wood.
Wycliff kept switching his gaze from Christopher to Ruth to their surroundings. He reached out to her. “Come on, Mrs. Wilky. Your son needs you.”
She half reached for his hand, but he stretched, caught her fingers, and drew her forward. She only had one step to go.
He made himself dizzy, looking back at the boy, forward to Ruth, and everywhere else in general. “Come a little more. Then I’ll have you.”
She leaned a little, and he seized her about the waist. Drawing her near, he stepped back to Chris’s seat.
The woman was still, but not shaking, then she put an arm about his neck.
Pleasure and pain.
The feel of her was sweet, but his neck was always raw.
