Then her eyes widened. “Oh.”
Seraphine frowned and turned towards her sister. “What is it?” she asked, following the direction of Rosaline's gaze.
Then, she forgot how to breathe. Rosaline lifted a hand and pointed discreetly at the competitors gathering beside the boats.
“The Duke of Wexford has stepped forward,” she said softly.
Damien emerged from the crowd and walked towards the dock with calm confidence. The cheering noticeably increased. Several ladies near Seraphine immediately straightened where they stood. One even sighed. Seraphine disliked that sigh more than she should have.
Damien removed his coat and handed it to a servant. Then he rolled his sleeves to his elbows before loosening his cravat and pulling it free. The movement was entirely practical.
It should not be so distracting.
Unfortunately, it was. Very distracting. Far more distracting than any gentleman had a right to be. Seraphine's gaze lingered far longer than was proper. She felt heat rise to her cheeks. Her breathing quickened. Then she sighed.
Rosaline made a suspicious noise beside her. “I heard that,” she muttered.
“I said nothing,” Seraphine said annoyed. She wished she had not admitted her thoughts about the Duke to her sister because now she felt very bare and vulnerable.
The race began. The five men climbed into separate boats and pushed away from the dock. Cheers erupted from the side of the pond as the competitors began rowing furiously towards the opposite bank. Water splashed. Oars cut through the surface. Gentlemen who usually carried themselves with dignity suddenly looked remarkably determined.
Seraphine tried watching all five competitors. She truly did. Yet her eyes kept finding Damien. The powerful movement of his shoulders. The steady rhythm of his rowing. The fierce concentration upon his face. Every pull of the oars sent the boat surging forward. He looked entirely in command. Entirelyunstoppable. His back muscular and strong. The realization sent a strange warmth through her.
She felt the fabric of her dress grow taut against her skin and became aware of her corset brushing against the rosy peaks of her breasts.
Oh my, what is happening to me?
Lord Everend rowed admirably. Lord Whickham looked as though he was battling the pond itself. Lord Nathanson appeared exhausted halfway through. Yet Damien steadily pulled ahead until it became obvious that he would win.
The crowd began chanting his name. Seraphine found herself smiling despite her efforts not to. Of course, Damien would probably defeat the sea itself if challenged. With one final powerful stroke, his boat reached the finish first. The crowd erupted in cheers. Laughter and applause echoed across the water.
As Damien stood on the boat to bow graciously in triumph, he did something that shocked Seraphine. He dove straight into the water.
The crowd gasped, then immediately burst into laughter. Seconds later he stood up, water streaming from his dark hair and soaked shirt. The thin white fabric clung shamelessly to him, outlining every hard line of his broad shoulders and the powerful shape of his chest beneath. Water traced slow pathsdown his neck and disappeared beneath the soaked fabric, which suddenly revealed far more than it concealed.
A collective hush seemed to ripple through the ladies gathered along the dock before it dissolved into breathless whispers and poorly disguised staring. One woman actually fanned herself. Another looked moments away from requesting smelling salts. Seraphine's stomach performed an alarming little flutter as Damien pushed wet hair back from his forehead with complete indifference, apparently unaware of the devastation he was causing. Good heavens. The collective swooning could likely be heard all the way to London.
“Oh my,” a woman whispered nearby.
“Heavens above,” breathed another.
A third lady looked ready to faint entirely. To Seraphine's horror, jealousy flared unexpectedly inside her. She did not like hearing other women admire him. She especially did not like how obvious their admiration was.
Which is absurd. I have no claim whatsoever.
Rosaline slowly leaned closer. A wicked smile curved her lips. “Well, well…still find the Duke intriguing?” she whispered.
Seraphine stared stubbornly at the pond. Unfortunately, that required looking directly at Damien, which only made matters worse.
“Oh, do be quiet,” Seraphine said bluntly.
Rosaline's laughter followed her all the way back towards the picnic blankets.
Chapter Seventeen
Seraphine stood before the looking glass that evening, trying unsuccessfully to focus on fastening the delicate pearl earrings at her ears. Every time she thought she had gathered her composure, her mind betrayed her and drifted back to the afternoon. More specifically, to Damien standing waist-deep in the pond with his shirt plastered against his body.
The memory alone made her breath catch. It was absurd. Utterly absurd.
