Rhys had crossed his arms and was staring at her intently. He looked thoughtful but the muscle ticking in his jaw indicated frustration.
“No,” he finally said. “We’re at the seaside. We’re going to the beach.”
“Rhys, we didn’t come here for a jaunt. Meg—”
“Is enjoying a visit with the Duchess of Tremayne and will be perfectly fine until we return.”
He shrugged out of his overcoat, then his suit jacket. Eyes fixed on hers, he rolled up his shirtsleeves, then untied his cravat.
Bella couldn’t hold his gaze, mostly because she wanted to look at the rest of him. The way his waistcoat hugged his body, the way his trousers fit tight enough to outline his thighs. Even the dark gold hair on his forearms seemed worthy of study.
“The best sort of fun is the kind that isn’t planned.” He reached out and waited for her to take his hand. “Spontaneity, Bella. We were quite good at it once.”
His fingers were deliciously warm against hers and his palm even warmer. “You have always been good at spontaneity.”
He chuckled. “One of my few merits. Let me show you.”
Rhys kept hold of her hand all the way to the beach and even once they’d reached the sand, he didn’t want to let go.
“We should remove our boots,” he told her with mock seriousness.
“Should we?”
“It’s the only way to feel the water on your toes.”
“We’ll be cold,” she said, rallying practical arguments. The sun had been out all day, but the breeze was brisk.
Rhys stared out at the horizon and imagined returning to the cozy cottage with her and getting warm. “There’s a fireplace in the cottage. We can use Radley’s letters as kindling.”
Laughter burst from her lips, genuine and terribly unladylike.
Rhys smiled proudly. Letting go of her rules and control didn’t come easily, but he liked it whenever she tried.
“Who goes first?”
“You’re the expert in frivolity,” she quipped.
“Very well.” He strode toward a rocky outcropping near the beach’s edge and sat on one of the sandy rocks. After toeing off his boots, he bent to roll off his socks and patted the stretch of stone beside him, beckoning her to join him.
Bella let out a little gasp when she sat down. The stones had been warmed by the sun but they were still cold against one’s backside. She bent to unlace her boots at the same moment Rhys leaned forward to roll up his pant legs.
Their arms brushed, then their gazes met. Or rather she looked over at him. He found himself focused entirely on her legs. She’d lifted her dress to get at her boots and the sight of her ankles and calves wrapped in delicate white stockings made his throat dry.
“May I help you?” God how he wanted to.
“I’ve been removing my boots on my own for years,” Bella told him as she tugged at her laces.
He forced himself to stop staring, but out of the corner of his eye he caught her examining him as she had at the cottage. Her gaze flickering to his arms, his thighs, his bare feet.
“I suppose you could help.” She sat up, kept her skirt raised, and waited for him.
Rhys knelt in front of her and tugged at her laces. She bit her lip when he slipped his fingers inside to slide each boot off. The flowers embroidered at the edge of her ankle marched in a line along the outside of her leg, and he traced them with his fingertips up and up until Bella stopped him by placing her hands on his.
Rather than push him away as he expected, she lifted the bunched fabric of her skirt and let him slide his fingers higher. He licked his lips and wished he was tasting all the soft warm skin he was exploring with his hands but couldn’t see. At the top edge of her stocking, he stilled, stroking her thigh, savoring her heat and softness.
“Take them off,” she whispered.
Rhys’s body responded as if she’d just asked him to remove the last stitch of clothing on her body. He wanted to, and he wanted her to ask him exactly the way she was now. Her mouth slightly open in anticipation and wonder, her breath coming quick.
He rolled one stocking down, taking his time, dragging his fingertips gently along her leg. Then he did the same with the other. By the time her feet were bare, both of them were drawing in sharp breaths and he was hard and aching and wished they were back at the cottage.
“Will it be very cold?” She stood up from the rock and looked out at the waves lapping at the beach.
“Let’s find out.” He strode toward the shore and she followed at his side.
Before they could reach the water’s edge, a low wave built and rushed up to meet them.
“It’s freezing,” Bella said on a gasp that turned into a giggle.
“Arctic.” Rhys jolted at the icy cold rush of seawater against his ankles. Whose bloody idea had this been?
Bella let out a yelp and he turned a worried look her way, only to discover it was a shout of joy.
A few feet away from him she splashed along the water’s edge, kicking the seawater high enough to dampen the skirt of her dress, though she held the fabric bunched up above her knees.
This part of the beach was protected by a natural embankment and so they had this little slice of the English seashore all to themselves.
Rhys braced himself and waded a bit deeper into the water, as Bella had. He felt the current tugging at his ankles. “Take care with the waves.”
She squealed and burst into laughter when a low wave built higher. “It’s invigorating.”
“Yes.” Of course he wasn’t talking about the icy seawater but about Bella. Her joy and delight were infectious.
Bending at the waist, she scooped an object from the sand, and held it up in triumph. As he approached, it glinted in the sun.
“Sea glass,” she told him, holding the shard of bottle green glass up to catch the light. Its edges had been rubbed smooth. “Do you think it’s from a shipwreck?”
“Possibly.” Rhys thought it more likely from refuse someone had dumped in the sea, but he rather liked Bella being more fanciful than he was.
“Look!” She ran toward a spot on the beach where he could see something sticking out of the sand. She bent again and came up with a beautiful shell, spiraled and striped with a reddish color.
“If I’d known you were this lucky, I would have brought you with me to a gambling den long ago,” he teased when she placed the delicate shell in his palm.
“Do you take ladies to gambling dens often?” Her fingers were cold when she retrieved the shell and her lips trembled as she waited for his answer.
“No.” It was true depending on how one defined the word often. “You’re shivering. Should we go back and get warm?”
She scanned the beach and looked out on the sea as if reluctant to depart but then offered him a decisive nod. “I’d like that.”
Rhys’s joke about burning the letters Radley had left behind to throw them off his trail proved truer than he’d expected. They’d found a pile of wood stacked inside the cottage, but the paper was all they had in the way of kindling.
When he turned back to collect the bundles, he was struck by the sight of Bella removing her soaked petticoats. She let the fabric pool at her feet.
“Do you need help?” she asked when she noticed him watching her.
“No, I think I can manage.” He wasn’t used to building his own fires, but he suspected he could manage it far better than he could temper his raging libido.
He turned back to the fireplace and tried not to think about what the sounds of shifting fabric behind him meant. The grate was full of ash and he used the small shovel near the fireplace to collect a pile.
“Wait.” Bella stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “What is that?”
He looked closer at the debris he’d collected. “Bits of paper. More letters, perhaps.”
Bella leaned across his shoulder and began collecting the larger pieces. Once she’d pushed aside some of the ash with her fingers, unbu
rnt pieces emerged. They were layered as if they’d been thrown in together, perhaps torn from a journal. Or a ledger.
After a few moments, Bella had collected about twenty pieces that were still intact enough to detect writing. She carried them to a table near the window and began laying them out one by one.
“We don’t know what’s been burned. All the essential pieces might be missing.”
“I’d still like to try.”
“I’ll collect the rest and get the fire going.”
Once he had a good blaze, Rhys turned to offer Bella a spot closer to the warmth and found her hunched over the pieces in that entirely absorbed way of hers that made him wonder if she realized he was still in the room.
“I’ve found something.” Her tone was shocked, her gaze wide as he approached.
“Just another ruse, do you think?”
“No, I believe this was from a journal.” She pointed to three jagged pieces that seemed to only connect along a row of two lines, most of which were missing. “This doesn’t sound like a letter. It’s part of a list.” She drew in a sharp breath. “I think it’s an address.”
Rhys placed a hand on the back of her chair and leaned closer. “I recognize a B. Two of them. Can you make out the rest?”
“Brine or Byrne, perhaps. A street name. And then this is unmistakable.” She ran her fingers over a word that was missing a few letters where a hole had been burned in the paper. “It’s Bishopsgate. I’m certain of it.”
“You’ve very clever.” Her dress was wet with seawater, her hair windblown and coming out of nearly every pin, and her fingers were dirty with soot. She was also the most desirable woman he’d ever seen.
Her cheeks reddened and he watched her swallow hard, as if struggling to accept his words. She’d always been terrible with compliments.
“Thank you,” she finally said quietly. “I’m sorry but it appears we’ve come to the seaside just days after he headed to London.”
“But we wouldn’t know that unless we’d come to the seaside.”
A little smile played at the edges of her mouth that warmed his insides far more effectively than the fire blazing in the corner of the small cottage.
“Come closer to the fire. You’re still trembling,” he told her. “And your skirt is still soaked.”
“I should clean up.” She held out her blackened fingers.
“Let me.” Rhys retrieved a towel he’d found in the cottage’s kitchen and knelt next to the chair by the fire where Bella had finally seated herself. He knelt in front of her very much as he had at the seaside. He took her fingers one at a time and scrubbed at them with the towel.
Her gaze on him was focused and intense.
He took care with her final finger, lingering because in truth he had no desire to stop touching her. When he finally finished, he lifted her hands up and kissed the back of each softly in turn.
Bella shocked him by turning her hand so that she could stroke his face, running her finger along the edge of his jaw, his chin, and then tracing the curve of his lower lip.
“Will you—”
“Yes,” he told her because whatever she asked of him he’d do. Eagerly.
She let out a trill of throaty laughter. “You don’t know what I’m going to ask.”
“I am yours to command.”
“Kiss me again.”
He stood in front of her and her gaze took him in from head to toe, lingering on his waist, his neck, his mouth. He let her look her fill before reaching for her hand and pulling her to her feet.
Cupping her face, he stroked the petal soft skin of her cheeks and looked into her eyes. Everything he saw reflected his own feelings. Desire. Attraction. Hunger. And something more he dared not name.
As he lowered his mouth to hers, her eyes fluttered closed. He told himself to go slow, but it didn’t work. He kissed her softly but then slid his tongue against her lips. He felt her jolt in response. When she opened to him, he tasted her again and again.
Her hands came up, clutching at his shoulders. He wrapped an arm around her waist and brought her body flush against his. Though he could feel her warmth beneath the fabric of her clothing, he wanted every stitch of it gone.
As if she read his mind, she whispered against his mouth, “Maybe we should get out of these wet clothes.”
Chapter Seventeen
Bella couldn’t pinpoint the moment she’d decided.
Perhaps it had been when he’d knelt before her and rolled down her stockings with a kind of tender reverence. Or when he’d said he thought her clever and she could hear in his voice and see in his gaze that he meant it. Maybe it was when he’d gently cleaned the soot from her fingers and then kissed the back of her hand more sweetly than any man ever had.
All she knew for certain was that she wanted him. She had for so long. But not like this. At eighteen, she’d been smitten. Blind to his faults, enamored with his masculine beauty, and charmed by the vulnerability he showed only to her.
Now her desire was something else. The intensity was new but so was the way she admired him. Not because she believed him to be perfect but because she knew he wished to be better.
“Have I shocked you?” she asked quietly. A tiny inner voice of doubt told her she’d misread everything.
He stroked a hand down her back. “Not at all. I only have one fear.”
“What is it?”
Lowering his head, he brushed his lips against her cheek before whispering in her ear. “That you’ll change your mind.”
He loosened his hold then, taking a step back, keeping just one hand at her waist. His gaze held warmth, desire, but she knew he was leaving this choice to her.
Rather than answer with words, Bella reached back and freed the buttons at the nape of her gown. She pulled at her bodice until it slid off of her shoulders.
For a while Rhys simply watched her hungrily, and Bella found she didn’t mind having his gaze on her. She was watching him too, gauging his reaction.
“May I help?” he asked softly.
Though she’d gotten most of the buttons on her own, she wanted his hands on her.
“Would you?” Turning her back to him, she reached up to expose her nape, then glanced at him over her shoulder. “There should only be a couple more buttons.”
“You’ve no idea how much I wish there were more buttons.”
Bella let out a shocked chuckle. “You could unbutton these few slowly.”
She wanted him with an eagerness that made her body tremble, but she wanted to go slow too. To savor every moment.
He didn’t attack the buttons. First, he simply laid his hands on her back. Then his mouth came down in a searing single kiss at the base of her neck. Just as she suspected he intended, a chill chased down her spine.
“You smell like flowers and taste like salty sea air.”
Bella laughed. “Like a violet-scented sailor?”
“You would make for a fearsome lady pirate,” he whispered against her skin.
“Perhaps we should go into the bedroom?”
“We should.”
Yet he didn’t make any move toward the small room off of the cottage’s main living area.
“It’s that way,” Bella said, glancing toward the open door.
“Oh, I know where it is. I want you to lead the way. I can’t bear for you to have any regrets.”
She didn’t. She wouldn’t. Even if this day, this moment, were the only one they’d have free of rules and what was expected of them, she would not regret her choice.
Slipping her hand into his, she led him through the low doorway.
“You’ll show me?”
“Anything you like.”
“I have some idea but I don’t know—”
He stopped her with a kiss, and then he slid a hand around her nape, drawing her closer and stroking her hair as she moaned against his lips.
“You just feel, Bella,” he whispered before taking her mouth again. “No rules. No propriety.
No duty. Just pleasure.” He stroked his hand across her shoulder and down the length of her back, a delicious trail of sensation and warmth that made her body pulse with need.
Why had she wished to take this slow?
She worked the buttons of his waistcoat free as she kissed him. He reached around and slipped the hooks on her skirt. Together, they made quick work of each layer of clothing. Only when there was nothing but his trousers and her chemise and drawers between them did she place a hand on his chest to catch her breath.
“We can stop—” The words emerged from his lips breathless and ragged.
“No.” Bella realized he misunderstood.
As difficult as she found it to speak of what she felt, in this moment she needed to. There could be no uncertainty between them, at least for today.
“I want this. I want you.”
“And I want you,” he said huskily, and then let out a hiss when she reached to unbutton his trousers.
She marveled at the way he reacted to her. Reveled in it. He might like her eagerness, but he waited patiently while she tugged at the fastenings and ran her fingers over the muscled ridges of his stomach. Then she dipped her hand lower. He was burning hot and hard and felt extraordinary under her fingers.
Though she’d never seen a living man unclothed, she’d seen pictures in books, sculptures in museums. Rhys’s body was made with a different mold. His chest was broad and muscular, his thighs too.
“You may explore to your heart’s content, but let me get out of these first.” He slid his trousers off and reached for the hem of her chemise.
He paused, as if waiting for permission. Bella nodded and he drew the fabric up, skimming his fingers against the bare skin of her hip and stomach and breast. When she was free of the garment, he retraced the path. But more attentively.
He stroked her nipple and her tautened skin was so sensitive she let out a little moan. As if to soothe her, he lowered his head and took the peak into his mouth.
Bella gasped and clutched at his shoulders. “That’s quite . . .”
“Mm?” He glanced up, brow creased in concern.
Nothing Compares to the Duke Page 18