Dair Devil (39 page)

Rory had one of the towels and was using it, not to put around her shoulders or to cover her bare legs, but to dry her face and squeeze the moisture out of the thickness of her hair. She froze momentarily, shot a glance at her right hand, then breathed easy. The pale lavender sapphire was still on her finger. Finally she laid the damp towel across her lap, as if she had just remembered her modesty. But she did nothing to cover her breasts, which, for all intents and purposes, might as well have been bare, such was the clinging wetness of her chemise. If she was aware, she gave no indication.

“What a wondrously sunny day for our adventure!” she enthused. With a sigh of contentment, she closed her eyes and tilted her face up to the warmth of the sun, and settled in. “Alisdair, I think we should make a start, don’t you?”

He did. With his gaze locked to her wet and clinging chemise, he began to row. He rowed, not in the frenzied way he was used to doing, but in long, even and powerful strokes that had the skiff gliding through the water like a hot knife through butter. He rowed effortlessly, and as he continued to row in such an easy manner he began to relax, and enough to wonder about their destination, the mysterious Swan Island.

T
WENTY-FOUR

S 
WAN
I
SLAND
was the largest island within the lake system on the ducal estate, and had been off-limits since Dair could remember. It was said to be inhabited by a mad old hermit, or was it a pack of wild dogs? Whatever was living on the island it was nasty and dangerous. It certainly wasn’t swans! Swans, water fowl and ducks glided past, but he had never heard of, or noticed, flocks of birdlife gathering on or near the island’s foreshores. He was told as a boy, and it was often repeated, watercraft were to stay well clear. As for setting foot on the island, that was strictly forbidden. By ducal decree, no one but a handful of servants went there. Who knew what they did, but a gamekeeper went with them. This seemed to suggest there was something worth shooting. None of the servants who went there ever spoke of it; all were sworn to secrecy. As far as Dair was aware, this arrangement had been in place since the fifth Duke had ascended to the title over fifty years ago, and his son, the sixth and present Duke had yet to rescind his father’s decree.

Not that Dair had taken much interest in trespassing. After all, it was an island, surrounded by lake water. He hadn’t wanted to go near it for love nor money. The only occasions he remotely got close was when participating in the regatta, which required he row past the island as part of the course. That is, until today…

As they neared the island, Rory directed Dair to row towards what appeared to be an impenetrable wall of forest that went down to the water’s edge. It was, in fact, a dark narrow channel, hidden under an arch of tangled elms. Within a dozen row strokes it magically opened out into daylight and a small secluded cove. Here was a pebbled beach, and beyond the strip of beach, a wall of dense forest. The water was deep enough to anchor the skiff close to the beach, so that with only a few swimming strokes, Rory and Dair would be in water shallow enough to wade ashore. With his height, Rory expected Dair could walk the entire distance from skiff to shore. And the water here was invitingly clear.

Dair only became aware he had rowed into a clear water cove when Rory quietly told him it was time to put up oars and weigh anchor. He realized then that while he had kept his gaze on her as he rowed, her gaze was similarly locked to him. And by the small secret smile hovering about her mouth and the twinkle in her eye, she had not been admiring his rowing technique as much as his rowing physique. Well, he would give her more of him to admire.

His shirt was damp with sweat, so he pulled it up over his head and dropped it on the thwart beside him. He then stretched his arms to loosen his muscles and expanded his wide hairy chest with a deep breath of fresh air, not the least tired or spent. He did as she asked, and with the sandbag secured to the mooring rope, he dropped it over the side, surprised and delighted to see the water so clear. He turned about, ready to take next orders and winked down at Rory. When her gaze immediately shot to the boards beneath his booted feet, he chuckled.

“Don’t be shy, Delight. It pleases me more than I can tell you to find you desire me as much as I do you.”

“Forgive me. That was foolish,” she said with a sigh of annoyance. “I looked away out of habit, not because I wanted to. Well-bred young ladies, maidens in particular, are forever counseled by their governesses and married female relatives that to openly admire a beautiful male body is the height of wickedness. Which is utterly absurd, when we can admire paintings and statues of men as art without a word of reproof.” She dimpled. “I did not look away when you were an American savage. Though, thinking back on it, I was in such free and easy company that night I did not feel constrained to do what was expected of me, rather I did what I wanted to do, even if it felt utterly wicked at the time.”

“Oh, I have high hopes of us being utterly wicked together… When the time is right.”

She hunched her shoulders and smiled as if she was keeping something from him. When he put up an eyebrow she giggled and said cryptically,

“Then we are in the right place!”

He had no idea what she meant, and wasn’t given the opportunity to ask. Just as she had done on the jetty, she surprised him. She scrambled over the side of the boat and disappeared under the water. This time he did not panic nor did he hesitate to look overboard. The water was clear, and as the ripples disappeared, he was rewarded for his calmness when Rory’s lovely round derriere came into focus just below the surface, her chemise tangled up around her waist. She kicked her legs out as a frog does to propel forward, and made wide circles with her arms to help pull herself through the water. He marveled how she moved so effortlessly under water, and definitely agreed that a bathing gown would have hampered such fluid movements.

He was just wondering how far she could swim before needing to surface to take a breath when she appeared close to shore and stood up, the water now just above her knees. She turned to face him, hands running up her face to clear her eyes, then over her hair and down her long plait, the water pouring off her, single droplets caught in the sun twinkling in the light. He had never seen anything so utterly bewitching. If mermaids did exist they looked like her.

He suddenly had an urgent need to tug off his jockey boots, strip out of his uncomfortably tight breeches and throw himself overboard; he hoped the water was as cold as ice.

“H
OW
OLD
DID
YOU
say you were when you discovered this cove?”

“Fourteen.”

“And you’ve been coming here every year since then?”

“Yes.”

“And it never troubled you the Duke has made this island off limits to all?”

“No. And it doesn’t bother you either, or you wouldn’t have rowed me over here.”

“I rowed you over here regardless of my cousin’s decree. That doesn’t mean I am not bothered.”

She stopped on the narrow path that lead through the dense forest to the clearing and turned to look at him; Dair following up behind, laden with the supplies from the skiff.

“Why?” she asked, curiously.

“I can look after myself. Tackle a wild dog, a bloodthirsty ogre, or a mad old hermit brandishing a rusty knife, if it came to it. But you, you are made of much finer porcelain, and should never come here alone—again.”

“But I’ve been coming here for seven years now and never once felt in any danger.”

“I wasn’t only thinking of danger… But what if an accident befell you. What if you twisted your good ankle? What then? How would you summon aid? Who would know you were here?”

A mutinous light came into Rory’s eyes. “I won’t be put on a mantelshelf!”

He blinked. “Shelf?” Where had that sprung from? “What shelf? I just want to look after you—”

“I won’t be treated like one of those fragile females who are forever languishing on fainting couches and requiring burnt feathers thrust under their noses. They never exert themselves, and yet expect their husbands or their brothers to run after them for every little thing just because they are female!”

“Of course not. I wasn’t suggesting—”

“I’ve seen it happen often enough and it’s shameful. Silla uses it to great effect on Grasby—”

“I don’t doubt it,” he muttered.

“—and it’s not right!”

“No, it isn’t.”

His quiet agreement made her pause. She glanced up at him and was suddenly annoyed with herself, and pouted.

“Forgive me. You were only being protective in a nice way, and I was being overly sensitive.”

“Yes.”

“I never thought about getting into real difficulty and not being able to call for help. I’ve always been self-sufficient. Grand says that was the best way to learn to live with my-my shortcomings.”

“It is. But you must also be practical. So you will promise me not to come here, or any place, alone…”

He stared down at her as if his promise was non-negotiable.

She sighed, as if in defeat, and said with feigned annoyance, “I suppose when we marry, as my husband, you can order me to do as you please, so I might as well promise.”

“That is not the sort of promise I want,” he stated, rising to her bait. “And if that is the type of husband you think I’ll be then you had best give me back that ring!”

Rory whipped her hand behind her back, as if he truly meant to take it from her, but then stuck out her tongue like a spoiled brat. He gawped, then laughed heartily.

“You-you—actress!”

“Brute!”

They both laughed and she leaned in to him, a hand to his bare chest, and lifted her chin to receive a kiss. He did his best to oblige her, though he had to squat to do so because his right hand was balancing the heavier of the two baskets on his shoulder, while under his left arm was tucked the
nécessaire
, and his left hand held the second basket.

“Thank you for wanting to protect me,” she said quietly. She kissed him again. “I’ve never had a champion before.”

“You’ll not need another.”

She caressed his bearded cheek. “I have never wanted another, ever. Just you…”

He rose up to his full height and they continued on their way, he saying conversationally,

“So no wild dogs, beasts, or threats of any kind for me to vanquish while I’m here?”

“None. It is a peaceful place full of birdsong and the occasional duck.”

“Not even a mad old hermit?”

She laughed at his disappointment. She was confident he would have enjoyed taking on any threat that came his way.

“Sadly, not even the old hermit. But I can show you his cottage, and where he is buried.”

“Ah! So there
was
a mad old hermit!”

“Geoffrey was not mad, he just preferred a solitary life. Here we are!” she announced with excitement. “So what do you make of my secret paradise?”

The forest had opened out into a broad, flat clearing, tall trees on all sides, and looming large in the background the steep slope of a bluff. But what dominated the immediate landscape was man-made, a circular Greek temple, a
tholos
. It sat proudly in the center of the clearing, elevated on a series of graduated plinths, giving it eight shallow steps. Its fluted colonnades soared twenty feet into the air, each Ionic column made from sectioned marble. There was no roof and it was open to the elements, but hanging off one end of the
tholos
was a smaller and more intimate rectangular temple, with an internal room surrounded by columns. It had a domed roof that allowed light to penetrate through a glass oculus, and was accessible through the main round temple.

Rory was sure that when Dair was given the time to fully appreciate this smaller temple he would see, too, what she only came to realize a couple of years ago: That it was a scaled replica of the Roxton family mausoleum atop Treat Hill. But the temple here on the island did not honor past illustrious family members, nor was it a place to mourn. It was something else entirely. It was this temple and what it symbolized she wished to share with Dair.

For now though, she was content to join in his excitement at seeing the clearing and its temples for the first time. He looked as awestruck as she imagined she must have been when she made the discovery on her island wanderings, and Geoffrey the hermit caught her trespassing.

The clearing might only be a five-minute walk through forest from the cove, but Dair’s immediate thought was they had somehow stumbled back in time to the age of mythology. It had a daydream, castles-in-the-sky feel about it, and he wondered if they had walked onto the canvas of a grand mural displaying Mount Olympus, the home of the Gods. He was so excited and intrigued, he dumped his cargo at the base of the steps in the shade of a spreading elm and ran up them and inside the circular temple.

Rory did not follow but stayed in the shade, to take the pressure off her foot. For although she had managed to walk the distance without her special shoes, and completely ruined a pair of white stockings, there was pain in her ankle and in her toes. But it was of little consequence. She was just so happy to join in Dair’s wonderment of a new-found place of discovery. And when he called out that there were statues inside the temple, as if she would not know this, she did not deflate his enthusiasm but called back asking if all eight were present and correct. There was a delay of seconds and then he shouted the affirmative, which made her stifle a laugh, lest he think she was mocking him.

When nothing further was forthcoming from him, she set to shaking out one of the cloths and opened up the
nécessaire
. She took out one of the etched glass tumblers to fill with water. She was parched. But that was not surprising, and she only had herself to blame, traveling in a skiff without her parasol, and in only her chemise and stockings. She would quite possibly wake tomorrow to find her white skin the color of ripe strawberries.