Her stomach performed a complete somersault—or felt as if it did—and left her feeling slightly breathless. She recognized that it was desire she felt. She knew too in that moment that it was more than just desire. It was knowledge. She knew that lithe, handsome body. More, she knew the man inside. She knew him as a complex person, who hid so much of himself away behind the surface gaiety. And yet the gaiety was real too. It was not just a mask.
“Everyone has rushed off to the lake for a swim,” he said. “Is anyone here interested?” He grinned about at all the children, who were on their feet and dashing off in the direction of the water almost before he had finished speaking.
“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.
Chapter 17
He 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.