She awoke the next morning lying on her stomach, her body pressed into the mattress with Nathaniel's length measured along her back.
"Is it morning?" she murmured, stretching her arms over her head, her toes reaching to the foot of the bed in a bone-cracking stretch beneath his weight.
"Mmmm."
"What are you doing?" She wriggled beneath him, tightening her thighs in playful resistance.
"Guess." He nipped her earlobe, inserting a knee firmly between her closed thighs.
"Supposing I hadn't woken up."
"I'd have been mortally offended."
Gabrielle chuckled lazily, yielding to the insistent pressure of his probing flesh.
Winter sun filled the room half an hour later when Nathaniel reluctantly pushed aside the sheet and stood up, stretching and yawning. He smiled down at Gabrielle's prone figure, her nose still buried in the pillow. Leaning over, he scribbled a fingernail along her spine and smoothed a flat palm over the peach roundness of her bottom.
"It looks like a beautiful day. If it's not too cold and the wind and tide are right, would you like to go for a sail on the river?"
"I should love to," she said sincerely. "Will you teach me how to sail?"
"If you like." Something remarkably like a grin curved the comers of his mouth. "Are you a patient pupil?"
"That depends on the instructor, sir." She rolled onto her back and squinted up at him with a quizzical smile. "I'd guess patience is not your long suit… so, perhaps it would be a bad idea."
"Oh, I might surprise you," he said blandly. "I'm not totally predictable."
"Then surprise me."
"With pleasure, ma'am." Bending over her, he ran a fingertip over her nipples until they rose beneath the caress, then, with a smug nod of satisfaction he left her, smiling in languid satiation.
For the remainder of that day Gabrielle saw a different side to Nathaniel. He was a humorous, relaxed companion concerned with her welfare and her pleasure, exhibiting an extraordinary amount of patience as he taught her how to rig the sails, how to catch the wind, how to gauge the exact moment to tack across the broad river.
They kept to the river and the tidal cuts in the marshes, not venturing into the choppy winter Solent. It was cold and exhilarating, and for these few hours the dark inner worlds ruled by suspicion, calculation, betrayal, and vengeance were held at bay.
At noon they tied the twelve-foot dinghy to an isolated jetty and tramped across the marshy grass to a thatched inn. Nathaniel was greeted with an easy warmth by the fishermen in the taproom. There was an equality to the conversation that fascinated Gabrielle, given that Lord Praed was the lord of the manor and these his tenants. She herself was virtually ignored, and she assumed that women didn't frequent the village tavern.
She sat contentedly by the fire, drank porter, and ate a succulent meat pie and a large wedge of cheddar with pickled onions. Nathaniel meanwhile sat up at the bar in his shirt-sleeves, one leg propped on the rung of a stool, his hand curled around a tankard of ale as he talked tides and winds and fishing with his fellow drinkers.
Gabrielle suddenly wondered what Jake would think if he could see his father like this. It was Jake Nathaniel should be teaching to sail and fish. He should be introducing his son to the locals with whom he was on such easy terms.
She stretched her toes to the fire and closed her eyes.
"Come on, sleepy. The tide will turn in half an hour and we're on a lee shore." Nathaniel stood between her and the fire, blocking the warmth as he put on his coat again.
"What's a lee shore?" Gabrielle said, yawning.
"One that's windbound," he responded, holding down a hand to pull her to her feet. "Not easy to sail off, and if the tide's running out, we could find ourselves hauling the boat down the channel by hand, up to our knees in mud."
"That does not sound like an appealing prospect." Gabrielle followed him out in the chilly afternoon and back to the dinghy.
"That was a lovely day," Gabrielle said truthfully as they walked back from the boathouse to the house at the end of the afternoon. She gave him her crooked smile, linking her arm through his.
Nathaniel leaned over and kissed the tip of her nose. "You've been the most amazingly docile companion for once."
"Docile? Me?"
"Yes, you," he said. "And you shall have your reward when- Who the hell is here?"
He stopped on the path leading to the side of the house and the gun room door that Nathaniel always used when entering the house from the grounds. From there they could see the gravel sweep before the front door. A chaise stood at the bottom of the steps, the team snorting, their breath steaming in the late afternoon air. Servants were unloading baggage from the roof of the carriage under the direction of Bartram, and Mrs. Bailey could be seen on the front step, ushering someone within doors.
Gabrielle strained her eyes in the gathering dusk, trying to make out the emblazoned panels of the coach, then she said with a joyous laugh, "Oh, it's Georgie. She must have brought my things herself. And she must have come with Simon-she couldn't possibly pay an overnight visit to a bachelor's establishment without him."
"You did," Nathaniel pointed out glumly.
"Oh, but I'm different," Gabrielle declared with perfect truth. Gathenng up her skirts, she ran toward the front of the house.
Rather more slowly and with a distinct downturn to his mouth, Nathaniel entered the house through the gun room door. He was not yet ready to greet his guests with Gabrielle's enthusiasm.
Chapter 11
"Georgie, how wonderful to see you!" Gabrielle flew up the steps and into the hall, arms flung wide to embrace her cousin. "What a wonderful surprise."
"I couldn't resist it," Georgie murmured into her ear as she hugged her. "Simon and Miles are as cross as two sticks."
Gabrielle gave her a conspiratorial squeeze, then drew back to greet the two men standing behind Georgie, her crooked smile faintly mocking as she saw their clear discomfort. "Simon… and Miles too. How kind of you to escort my luggage."
"We were just passing," Simon said, kissing her cheek.
"Yes, just passing," Miles agreed, taking her proffered hand and raising it to his lips. "You're looking very… um… very well," he finished somewhat lamely.
"Positively windblown," Georgie declared, removing her velvet bonnet and shaking loose her golden ringlets. "What have you been doing?"
"Sailing on the river," Gabby replied. "Nathaniel was teaching me… where is Nathaniel?" She looked around, puzzled, having assumed he would have followed her up the steps. "He must have come in through the gun room. But why would he do that when he knew he had visitors?"
Miles and Simon exchanged a dourly comprehending look just as Nathaniel entered the hall from the side corridor.
"Well, well," he drawled. "This is an unexpected pleasure. To what do I owe it? Or shouldn't I ask?"
"We were just passing," Simon repeated as awkwardly as before. "Just passing and we thought we'd drop in on our way and leave Gabby's luggage." He cast a fierce glance for support toward Miles, who was trying to be invisible.
"Yes… yes, just passing," Miles reiterated, clearing his throat.
"Passing from whence to where?" demanded Nathaniel. "As far as I know, Burley Manor isn't en route to anywhere that would entice Lord and Lady Vanbrugh or Mr. Miles Bennet in the middle of the Season. Far too countrified."
A dull flush appeared on Miles's cheekbones at this caustic statement, and he shot an I-told-you-so glare toward Simon, who pursed his lips but said nothing. Even Georgie appeared to lose some of the assurance that had so far swept all opposition aside.