A Summer to Remember (24 page)

“Not me,” Lauren said hastily.

He stood where he was, still smiling. “You continually surprise me,” he said. “I did not know you were so wonderful with children.”

“Oh, I am not,” she assured him. “I have never had anything to do with them.”

“Allow me to contradict you,” he said. “You have been playing here for almost an hour with five toddlers—no easy task on such a hot afternoon. I observed no sign of any quarrel despite the fact that there is only one swing and there are
always
quarrels over it.”

“Has it been that long?” she asked. “And how do you know there were no quarrels? You have been playing cricket.”

“Oh, I know,” he assured her, causing that strange somersaulting in her stomach again. He came closer and offered his hand to help her to her feet. “Where did the story come from? A book?”

“No, of course not,” she said with a laugh. “I made it up as I went along. It is not difficult to create a magic land in which anything can happen and usually does.”

“I do believe,” he said, “you have been enjoying yourself and I cannot claim any credit for it.”

“Yes, you can,” she said earnestly. “I would still be in London, Kit, if you had not brought me here. I would still be fending off all the worthy gentlemen the Earl of Sutton and Wilma consider eligible for me. And hating every moment.”

“They are a pair of prize idiots,” he said. “They thoroughly deserve each other.”

She laughed again.

“There are enough supervisors and to spare for the children at the lake,” he said. “Let’s play truant for an hour or two, Lauren.”

“Is . . . Are . . . Is
everyone
swimming?” she asked. “The visitors too?”

“I daresay.” He grinned. “A little matter of propriety will not deter Freyja, you may be sure. The other girls will doubtless follow her lead and give their mothers heart palpitations. But it is a hot day and we all used up a great deal of energy playing cricket.”

“Are you sure you would not rather be there with h—with everyone else?” Lauren asked.

He tipped his head to one side as she brushed grass and twigs from her skirt. “I think we should go somewhere quiet together,” he said. “It is what everyone will expect of us, you know. No.” He held up one hand as she looked up at him. “Don’t stop smiling. We
are
betrothed. And despite the firmness of your answer last night, we
are
going to be married, I believe. But we need not discuss that again yet. Play truant with me?”

Yearning hit her hard, low in the abdomen. Caution knocked on the door of her mind at the same moment. She had gone too far last night. She did not regret it in the obvious way—she had been unable in all the hours since to be morally shocked by what she had done. But she regretted it in another way. Her femininity had been dragged out of hiding last night. She had given in to needs she had kept carefully locked inside herself before her wedding day and since, needs she had ruthlessly denied, needs she had always believed only Neville could satisfy.

The need to be fully and openly a woman.

She could very easily come to need Kit. She could very easily fall in love with him. It was a new and alarming possibility. She had never doubted until last night that she was a one-man woman, that she could never love any man but Neville.

She could fall in love with Kit.

But she must not allow herself to do so. For she was not at all the right woman for him. She was as different from Lady Freyja Bedwyn as it was possible to be. Yet Lady Freyja was so patently right for him. It was with her he had laughed and come vibrantly alive this afternoon. She must not fall in love. She must not risk having to cope again with the sort of heartbreak she had hardly expected to survive last year.

Besides, she had promised him that she would release him from their engagement at the end of the summer. She could not break a promise even though last night had changed things sufficiently that his honor would make him try to insist. She had not intended to trap him into marriage. She would not do it.

What she
had
come here for was to have one small adventure, one brief fling of pleasure before settling down to her chosen future. And what she had found here so far
was
an adventure. She
was
enjoying herself. She wanted more. She wanted to drink this cup to the dregs, to the last wonderful moment before she must leave.

“Just for an hour then,” she said, reaching out her hand for him to clasp in his own—and then wondering why she had done something so uncharacteristic of her. There was instant connection, both physical and emotional. Walking hand in hand with a man was far more intimate, she discovered, than walking arm in arm.

And more youthful.

More joyous.

17

H
e knew exactly where he would take her. It involved walking beside the lake on the house side and passing all the children and youngsters and a few adults splashing and shrieking in the water while others stood or sat on the bank watching. As he had fully expected, Freyja was in the water, swimming with strong strokes farther out than anyone else. Ralf was leaning indolently against a tree trunk, talking with Lady Muir. Both turned and lifted a hand in greeting.

Kit was surprised to discover that he had no wish to jump in and frolic with everyone else, that he felt no urge to race Freyja to some predetermined point. He had wondered—yes, indeed he had, even after two visits to Lindsey Hall. Even after the horse race. He had wondered if seeing her again would rekindle his passion for her. He had wondered it even this afternoon when she had ridden up with Ralf and Alleyne and had thrown all her considerable energy into playing cricket. He had wondered even as he had known that now he
must
marry Lauren.

But a strange thing had happened during the course of the match. He had thoroughly enjoyed the competition with Freyja, the bantering challenges and exchange of insults. He had felt almost as if time had regressed and he was a boy again, she a girl. He had felt for her all the exuberant camaraderie of old with none of the madness that had gripped him during those dreadful weeks three years ago. He had enjoyed the cricket match, yet all the time as he concentrated on making the game fun for the children and challenging for his older cousins, he was aware of Lauren. He was aware of her sitting cool and ladylike on the blanket, pretty in her light muslin dress and straw bonnet, watching the game. He was aware of her the moment she got to her feet and was tugged off in the direction of the swing by Sarah. He was aware of her playing there with the child and attracting other little ones into her orbit.

He had been amazed by the tenderness of his feelings for her. He was not accustomed to feeling tenderness for women. He did not quite understand the feeling. Yet he liked it. Perhaps, he thought, this was what women meant when they spoke of romance—something warm and gentle and enticing. Perhaps he was involved in a romance with Lauren Edgeworth. His first. Though of course there was more to it than just that—there had been last night.

“Are you sure you do not wish to swim with everyone else?” she asked him. “I do not mind if you do. You must not feel honor-bound to remain with me. I am dull company for someone like you, I know.”

For someone so beautiful and with such impeccable manners and breeding she had a remarkably low image of herself.

“Allow me to be the judge of that,” he said, adjusting their clasped hands so that their fingers were laced. “Lauren, did Baron Galton make no attempt to learn of the fate of your mother? Did the late Earl of Kilbourne make none to discover what happened to his brother?”

She shook her head. “How would it have been possible to discover anything?” she asked. “The world is a large place to search.”

But two members of the British aristocracy would not go unnoticed wherever they went.

“So there was no finality for any of you,” he said.

“It does not matter. I do not think of it.” A lie if ever he had heard one. She was looking down at the grass over which they walked, her face hidden behind the wide brim of her straw bonnet.

“I have connections, you know,” he said. “Men whose business it is to uncover what is hidden, to learn what is seemingly impossible to know. I could call in a few favors. I could set an inquiry afoot. Shall I do it?”

She turned her head sharply then. Her eyes were wide and very deeply violet. “You would do that,” she asked, “for me? Even though if there
is
anything to discover, it could not be done until long after we part?”

She had been quite adamant last night that she would not marry him even though she had lain with him. Foolishly adamant—she might be with child.

“You have done a great deal for me,” he said. “Allow me to do something in return.”

“Have I?” She had stopped walking. Her eyes were brimming with tears. “But I wish there did not have to be so much deception involved, Kit. I like your family so very much—your mother, your grandmother. Everyone.”

“There is no need for any deception at all,” he said gently. “We could announce our wedding date at Grandmama’s birthday. Not an imaginary occasion. The real thing.”

She shook her head.

“Are you so irrevocably attached to him, then?” he asked. He was beginning to be irritated no end by the Earl of Kilbourne, though he had never met the man.

She shook her head again. “It was our bargain,” she said. “A way out of a tangle for you, freedom for me. Don’t spoil everything, Kit. All I wanted of the summer was a little adventure.”

It was rather lowering to know that she would not marry him simply because she did not wish to do so. But she had never pretended otherwise. He was the fool if he was allowing himself to be beguiled by a summer romance.

He smiled at her and began walking again. “You cannot blame a gentleman for having a conscience,” he said. “We will devote ourselves to the adventure, then. You see that piece of land jutting into the lake up ahead?” He pointed toward it. “It is an island actually. Man-made, of course, as is the lake. We will go there. There is a boat.”

“Thank you,” she said.

He did not know for what he was being thanked. But he was content to stroll onward in companionable silence and to look forward to relaxing on the island with her. The boat was still in its accustomed place, he discovered when they arrived at the little boathouse, and it was in good repair. The pile of towels that had always been kept on a shelf was still there too, and they looked fresh and clean. He took two of them. He rowed the short distance across the water while Lauren sat, relaxed and elegant on the narrow bench opposite him, one hand on the side of the boat for balance. He helped her out on the other side and dragged the boat clear of the water.

On the side of the island farthest from the house there was a wide bank, almost like a small meadow, sloping gently to the water’s edge. It was grass-covered and carpeted with daisies and buttercups and clover. They waded ankle-deep through the wildflowers, and Lauren sat down in the midst of them, clasped her arms about her knees, and gazed about her.

“I was never really fond of the outdoors,” she said with a contented sigh.

“But now you are?”

“Yes.” Her eyes squinted at the bright water.

Kit did not sit down. It was a hot afternoon. He had engaged in an energetic game of cricket, they had walked some distance, and he had just rowed the boat across the lake. He peeled his shirt off over his head, dragged off his boots, and pulled off his pantaloons. He hesitated only a moment before removing his drawers too. Lauren watched him lazily. Just a few days ago, he thought, she would have been bristling with embarrassment and outrage.

“You are very beautiful,” she surprised him by saying.

He chuckled. “Despite all the scars?”

“Yes,” she said.

He splashed into the water and immersed himself. It felt deliciously cool against his hot, naked flesh. He swam several strokes underwater and then surfaced and shook the drops from his eyes. She was still sitting among the flowers, as pretty as any picture, looking cool and unruffled, her face shaded by the wide brim of her bonnet. But she untied the ribbons beneath her chin even as he watched, and let the hat fall backward to the grass while she shook out her dark curls.

He had swum out beyond his depth. He trod water, his arms spread to the sides, watching her take off her shoes and stockings and then get to her feet to unbutton and remove her dress. Her shift clung to her slender curves. He gazed appreciatively at her, marveling that today there was none of the maidenly modesty that had had her undressing inside the folly and then huddling under a blanket to the very water’s edge on the two mornings they had bathed.

And then his lips pursed in sudden shock as she crossed her arms and drew the shift off over her head before dropping it onto the small pile of her other clothing. Naked, she was perfection itself—youthfully taut flesh and muscles; firm, uptilted breasts; long, slender legs, dark hair at their apex. She came down the bank and waded into the water, her eyes on it rather than on him, though she made no attempt to cover herself. Her flesh was pure alabaster in the bright sunlight. He felt his mouth turn dry and moistened his lips before diving under again and surfacing beside her.

He did not touch her. She did not touch him. They smiled at each other and she closed her eyes and lay back on the water. She floated easily and kicked her feet lazily to propel herself backward. He swam a slow crawl at her side.

Did she realize, he wondered, how much she had changed during the short time she had spent at Alvesley? How far she had stepped out from behind her ice maiden mask? Lauren Edgeworth bathing naked in broad daylight with a naked man? Her friends and his would not believe it possible. Could it really be true that she wanted this for only a brief summer out of her life, that she would freely choose to return to her old self as soon as it was over?

“If I try to put my feet down,” she asked, turning her head to look at him after a few minutes, “will I be able to?”

He gauged their distance from the bank. “Probably not,” he said. “But don’t be afraid. You will not sink unless you choose to do so. And I will rescue you even if you do.”

“I am not afraid,” she said. “Kit, teach me to swim like that. Let me try again.”

He turned her over onto her front, his hands skimming sleek, cool flesh. It was as if she moved in that charmed, magic world she had been spinning for the children. This afternoon she could put her face in the water without panicking and breathe without gulping in water instead of air. And today she could kick her feet close to the surface so that her efforts to move forward were not in vain. She learned the arm motions for a crawl in a trice. Within ten minutes she was actually swimming—in water that was at least eight feet deep.

“At this speed,” he said, swimming beside her, “you could probably make it across to the main bank in twenty-four hours. Twenty-three if you did not stop for a rest halfway.”

“Mock on,” she said breathlessly. She probably had more to say, but she needed all her breath and concentration for the task at hand.

He turned her onto her back again after a while, and they floated side by side, her hand in his. He could not remember feeling so relaxed, so contented, so filled with a sense of well-being since . . . Well, perhaps he had never felt this way.

He closed his eyes and soaked up the warmth of the sun on his face and its brightness on his eyelids.

“Some moments,” he said, “should be made to last forever.”

“Mmmm,” she agreed.

But the moments and the truant hour would pass all too quickly, of course. Although their status as a newly betrothed couple gave them much license to spend time alone together, there were limits. Soon enough they must return to the house and all the busy merriment of the house party.

The air felt cool against wet flesh when they came out of the water and climbed the bank. Cool but not cold. The heat of the sun would dry them in no time at all. He spread their towels on the grass and lay down on one. He expected that now she no longer had the water for cover Lauren would wrap the towel about herself and perhaps sit a little apart from him, prim and self-conscious again. He half expected that she would dress as quickly as possible and want to return to the boat.

But she lay down naked on the towel beside him, covered her eyes with one arm, and raised one leg to set her foot flat on the ground, an inviting pose that was undoubtedly unconscious. He turned his head and then raised himself on one elbow for a better look. All the mistresses he had ever had and all the casual amours had been voluptuously built—it was one criterion by which he had chosen them. Generous curves and full, heavy breasts aroused him sexually—and of course mistresses were for sex.

Lauren Edgeworth was slender and long-limbed. When she lay on her back her breasts appeared even smaller than usual, though they were nicely shaped and rose-tipped. Her abdomen was flat. Her legs were slim and shapely. He felt a pleasurable tightening in his groin and realized with rueful humor that if she removed her arm from her eyes she would surely understand her danger in a moment.

She was without a doubt one of the loveliest women he had ever set eyes upon. But he had known that even as far back as Lady Mannering’s ball—no, farther back. In Hyde Park, despite the fact that he had had only one functioning eye, he had noticed and appreciated her extraordinary beauty.

But she was more than beautiful. She was . . . sexy. Was there such a word? If there was not, there should be. Without any of the obvious allure of a courtesan, her body nevertheless invited a man to sex. Yet there was nothing erotic about either her body itself or her character. What
was
it?

Was he the privileged witness to long-repressed womanhood blossoming forth into glorious femininity? Was he the instrument through which it was happening? Did he have that
honor
? He knew for a certainty that she had never done anything remotely resembling this ever before. Even if he had been in any doubt of that fact—though he had not—he had encountered the proof of it last night. She had been a virgin.