“It's freezing,” he protested. “But, then, it's probably not as cold as the Guadiana in March.”
“Precisely.” She swung off him with an agility that belied her earlier dissolution. “Are you coming?”
“Maybe… in a minute.”
Tamsyn ran off and Julian remained on his back, one arm over his forehead shielding his eyes from the sun, facing facts. He'd succumbed again. And for as long as this brigand sprite was in his vicinity, he was going to continue to succumb-particularly if she continued this habit of stripping naked in. the most unlikely places and without so much as a word of warning. Maybe he should simply accept the pleasures of her body as just and well deserved recompense. She was using him, so he might as well exact a price. It was one she was more than willing to pay.
He stood up, watching as Tamsyn ran into the gently lapping surf on the small sandy beach. She didn't pause, simply plunged headlong into the waves that he knew must be frigid, coming up for air, then striking out with a strong overarm stroke across the cove, presumably testing the strength of the undercurrent.
She seemed as at home in the water as she was on horseback, but that was hardly surprising, given her rugged upbringing. He strode down to the cove and walked into the water, shivering as the cold water crept up his thighs. A wave curled toward him and he dived into it, the icy cold a cleansing knife along his sweat slick skin. When he broke the surface, he saw Tamsyn's sleek head to his right. She raised a hand and waved, then rolled onto her back, floating on the waves as they swelled beneath her.
The sun warmed the surface of her body, and the gentle rocking motion insinuated itself into her bodily currents, reminding her of the earlier moments of ecstasy. She barely noticed the cold water now; her eyes were closed and the sun was hot and growing hotter by the minute, creating a warm red glow behind her eyelids.
Julian swam strongly toward her, then trod water beside her. “Come in now, Tamsyn, it's colder than you think.”
She murmured assent but didn't immediately move.
He turned and swam in, running up the beach, shaking water off his skin, clapping his arms around his chest as he jumped on the sand, watching her. She had rolled over now and was stroking inward, using the waves to carry her to shore.
Yes, love play was certainly some compensation for the months of inaction lying ahead, Julian reflected, finding his britches and stepping into them. Not that inaction was precisely the right word for the task that lay ahead of him. He couldn't begin to imagine how local society was going to react to this extraordinary newcomer. She was bound to have to make some social forays before he'd managed to smooth her rough edges, and the prospect of Tamsyn drinking tea at the vicarage under the eagle eye of Mrs. Thornton made him shudder. Unfortunately, it also made him laugh. Of course, the sooner they could discover her Cornish antecedents, the clearer his path would be, but the fact remained that she couldn't be presented to her long-lost family until she was presentable.
He sighed. He had his work cut out for him, and his charge was going to have to cooperate. He didn't think she understood quite what a large mouthful she'd bitten off, but she was going to have to swallow it.
Tamsyn ran up the beach toward him, shivering but laughing. “Wonderful. I love swimming in salt water.” She grabbed up her shirt and used it to dry herself, rubbing herself vigorously, her teeth chattering, her lips blue, but her eyes shining.
Julian watched her, hands resting lightly on his hips.
His voice was deliberately cool and clipped, disguising the pleasure he was taking in the sight of her body and her uninhibited movements as she dried between her legs. “One thing you need to understand. If you wish to continue with this charade, this is the last time you'll behave in this fashion while you're under my roof. Do I make myself clear?”
“I'm not sure,” Tamsyn said thoughtfully, pulling on her britches. “What behavior are you talking about, exactly, milord colonel?” She shrugged into her now soaked shirt, shivering as the material clung to her skin.
“Wearing these clothes; swimming; or what we've just been doing amid the flowers?”
She buttoned the shirt, regarding him with her head to one side, a slightly sardonic gleam in her eye as she posed the question that would force him to admit that he wanted their love play to continue.
“Public indiscretion, buttercup,” he said deliberately.
“That's what I'm talking about.” He turned and walked back up the slope toward the garden, whistling carelessly, hands thrust into his pockets.
Tamsyn grinned appreciatively. He'd managed to wriggle out of that one without admitting anything, while leaving private indiscretion wide-open for further interpretation. She scrambled up the valley after him.
Julian paused as he reached the wall, waiting for her to catch up with him. The small, firm swell of her breasts was clearly outlined beneath the wet shirt, the nipples dark points.
“You'd better stay here while I fetch you a cloak,” he said. “You can't enter the house looking like that, it'll be all over the countryside within the hour. But be warned, this is the last time I shall cover up your… your…” His eyes rested in leisurely fashion on her breasts; then he put a hand on the top of her head and turned her like a spinning top. His free hand moved in a pointed caress over the indentation of her waist and the curve of her backside. “You understand me, I'm sure.”
“It would be hard to misunderstand you, sir.” There had been something faintly insulting about the strokes, something a little vengeful. Tamsyn twitched away from him, crossed her arms over her chest, and sat on the wall. “I will await you here.”
She sat facing the sea, kicking her feet against the stone. She may have overcome his resistance to lovemaking this morning, but she hadn't won over his attitude.
She shrugged, trying to convince herself that his attitude didn't matter so long as she had his cooperation. But she didn't want to be at odds with him. They were too alike; they had shared so many experiences, the brutality and the triumphs of war; they enjoyed each other too much, and not just in love play. Tamsyn had the sense of a whole country of pleasure, of talk and laughter and shared opinions, just around the corner, but the border was patrolled by his resentment and her own purpose.
She glanced idly up at the cliff top toward Fowey and frowned, squinting against the sun. Two figures on horseback were outlined against the cloudless blue sky. They were too far away to see anything clearly, except that they were men, their horses had the elegant lines of good pedigree, and she thought she could see shotguns across their saddles. Tamsyn wondered without much concern how long they'd been there and how much they could have seen of the goings-on in the cove. They wouldn't have witnessed that lusty tumble in the foxgloves-the flowers had formed a perfect privacy screen -but two naked figures running into and out of the sea would have been hard to miss.
As she watched, they turned their horses and galloped out of sight over the cliff, and when Julian returned with her cloak, she didn't mention their possible audience, reasoning that it would only add fuel to his annoyance.
“Wrap this around you and don't talk to anyone as you go to your room,” Julian directed crisply. He was wearing shirt and boots now and looked perfectly respectable. “The household is barely awake, so with luck you won't meet anyone anyway. After breakfast come to the library, and we'll get started. Wear one of the morning gowns you bought in London-I want to work on your posture.”
“My posture?” Tamsyn demanded with more than a touch of indignation, but he'd already started back to the house, striding swiftly, making it clear he didn't wish for her company.
Posture? What on earth could he mean? Tamsyn scrambled after him, following him through the side door into the house, but he turned aside into the breakfast parlor, leaving her to make her own way upstairs in disgruntled puzzlement.