“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.”