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She shook her head, blinking distractedly.

“But ye came out for a swim that ye aren’t goin’ to take now?”

“Yes,” she murmured, glancing out to the sea then back at him.

“I s’pose that be one explanation for ye bein’ out ’ere.”

Her eyes snapped to his. “That be the truth.”

He believed her. He also believed that the reason she wasn’t swimming now was because she’d been rattled by his appearance and wouldn’t chance having him see her swimming now. Still, it was far more fun to play otherwise.

“If ye say so.” He walked past her, her eyes following him every step he took. “But I rather think ye were out ’ere to spy on I while I swam.”

Her mouth dropped open, her smooth brow furrowed. “I beg your pardon.”

He raised a shoulder, her eyes tracking the movement. “Ye’ve spied on I ’fore. What’s to say ye aren’t doin’ it again?”

Her cheeks pinked, and he fought his desire to admire her own features then.

She raised her portmanteau ceremoniously. “Would I be carryin’ this down here”—she waved it back and forth—“if I was just intent on spyin’?”

The wind slid over his wet body, and chills spread across his skin. Despite the deceptive sun, the air was distinctly autumnal.

He turned his back to her, reaching across the rock to pull his clothing from the crevice. When he faced her again, her eyes pulled up from his torso. “So ye were plannin’ on swimmin’ with I then, rather than just spyin’?” he wickedly suggested. “I s’pose that would allow ye a better view.”

Her eyes widened with indignation, and he fought the urge to laugh with delight at her reaction. It was far too easy to rile this woman.

Instead of rising to the occasion as he’d expected her to, Miss Hollow raised her chin. “Ye would be so lucky to swim with me.”

His heart missed a beat at the image her words had conjured, but he swiftly blinked the vision away. Perhaps he’d taken his teasing a step too far.

He pulled his shirt out of his pile of clothing, bunching it together and swiping it down his wet arms and front before placing the damp garment over his head, acutely aware of Morvoren’s watchful eyes as he moved.

“If ye wish to swim, ye still can,” he offered, shaking out his sleeves. “I’ll not spy on ye in return.” He cast her a knowing glance, softening it with a smile.

She paused, narrowing her eyes a fraction before her lips pulled together as if to fight a grin of her own. “I wasn’t spyin’ on ye, but…” She returned her attention to the sea, then squinted up at the sun. “I s’pose I ought to be gettin’ back already.”

“Ye ’ave a pressin’ engagement?” he teased, replacing his waistcoat next and leaving it unbuttoned.

Her eyes dropped to where his shirt dipped past his chest. “As a matter of fact, I do. I’ll be makin’ dinner for your family tonight.”

His brows raised in surprise. “Ye can cook?”

“Does that surprise ye?”

“I thought ye’d ’ave a cook to do all that for ye. After all, ye were a fine lady ’fore comin’ ’ere.”

She sniffed a laugh. “Try to convince me uncle o’ that fact,” she muttered under her breath, raising her voice as she continued. “I cooked with me mother growin’ up.”

He nodded, still unable to picture a fine woman like Miss Hollow at home in a kitchen, flour swiped adorably across her brow, blonde tendrils loose from her chignon.

He shook the image away, leaning against the rock and using his stocking to dust off the sand from his feet. “Well, I be lookin’ forward to seein’ what ye can do, then.”

He’d meant his comment in earnest, but she narrowed her eyes. “I can cook.”

“I believe ye.”

She still didn’t look as if to believe him, though. “I’ve been doin’ me best to convince ye that ye’ve done the right thing by bringin’ me back to Tristwick, ye know.”