And there was a channel fifteen or twenty feet wide of deep water between shore and the sand-bar. That was where he’d been swimming.
Maybe she’d trust him to tow her through the deep water to where the sand-bar created a ledge, he thought. If she let him do that, then they could both see.
To have him carry her through deep water when she couldn’t swim she’d have to trust him absolutely.
And suddenly there was no reason why not. And every reason why.
‘Rose,’ he shouted, and started over to where she lay. ‘Come and see. It’s magic.’
And it was magic. As was her trust. She lay limply in his hold, totally reliant on his strength as he carried her out to sea. And he knew how reliant she must be. The channel of deep water was maybe only fifteen feet wide, but for a non-swimmer to trust that much was no mean feat.
‘Kick your legs,’ he said, and felt her do just that.
Her courage was immutable. She was some lady!
But touching her, towing her strongly alongside him in the deep water with his arm holding her close…
This was an indescribable sensation!
Finally he felt the sand-bar rise underneath him, and he guided her feet so she could stand.
But then, somehow, he didn’t-couldn’t-quite let her go. After all, he had to guide her so she was looking toward the dolphins. And they were still near deep water, so if she fell he’d have to support her.
And she felt so good by his side. So right!
But she seemed almost unaware of the man by her side. She was totally focussed on the dolphins.
And why not? For someone who’d never been to the beach, the creatures were entrancing. They surfed and tumbled and dived, swimming for the sheer exuberance of being alive. Time after time, they darted into the waves, streaming through the sapphire waters, their bodies like glinting silver arrows, and the joy they felt was almost a tangible thing.
‘They’re just…they’re just magic,’ Rose whispered, and Alastair could only agree. It was magic.
The whole morning was magic. This place. The island. The dolphins, the sun on his face…
This woman!
And then, as suddenly as they’d appeared, the dolphins departed, backing out of the waves and leaping and cresting along the shoreline, around the headland and off to thrill the three younger ones on their catamarans.
‘Do you think they’re paid by the island management?’ Penny-Rose whispered, her voice still awed, and Alastair managed a smile. It was a wonder he could manage anything. His body was doing very, very strange things.
His head was also doing strange things!
But he had to force his voice to sound normal. ‘With the price we’re paying, they’ve probably been trained in Miami,’ he told her, and then he laughed at the expression on her face. ‘Nope. They were the real thing, lady. Totally wild and totally free, giving us the performance of their lives just for their pleasure. And ours.’
She closed her eyes, and he felt her take it all in. The sheer loveliness of it. The wonder.
And then she opened her eyes again and he saw that the real world had intruded. She shifted away from him-imperceptibly, but it was a shift for all that.
‘Take me back to shore,’ she said simply. ‘Thank you for bringing me out, but it’s time my feet hit the ground.’
‘You should be able to swim,’ he growled, and she nodded.
‘Yes.’ She couldn’t quite keep the note of wistfulness from her voice. ‘But I can’t. So I need a tow. And then you can get back to your swimming.’
And all at once Alastair couldn’t bear it. She asked for nothing, he thought savagely. She gave and gave and gave. If he hadn’t had a damned good reason-like saving the tenants’ livelihoods-for this marriage, she’d never have made it.
She wouldn’t marry for profit. She wouldn’t do anything for profit, he thought. Not for herself.
‘Would you like to learn to swim?’ he asked, and it was as if someone else were doing the asking. He hadn’t meant to. Had he?
‘Would I like…?’
‘I can teach you.’ He smiled. ‘I taught Lissa.’
The name came up naturally, with no strain at all. Lissa… He’d hardly talked about Lissa since her death. He’d tried not to think of her. But now the memories came flooding back, of Alastair as a ten-year-old, holding his six-year-old cousin under the tummy and yelling, ‘Kick, kick…’
And Lissa kicking so hard he’d been bruised for weeks!
He grinned suddenly, and it was as if a weight had been lifted that he hadn’t known was there. The grieving had shifted imperceptibly, and the memories that remained were full of sunlight and laughter and love.
But not passion…
The passion he was learning about hadn’t come into the equation, he thought as Penny-Rose watched his face. He and Lissa had been such good friends that they hadn’t wanted more-or simply hadn’t known that more existed. And she’d been killed before they’d found out.
And now…
Now he knew more existed. Because what he was feeling for the woman by his side was very, very different.
Hell!
But Penny-Rose was lifting her eyes to his, and the expression on her face said she understood.
She couldn’t understand. How could she? It was his imagination.
‘If you could teach Lissa, then you can teach me,’ she said softly. ‘Oh, Alastair, I’d love it.’
Thus began one of the funniest, most precious days of Alastair’s life. All the rest of the morning they worked at it. Her trust was absolute, and her faith paid dividends.
‘You’ll do dead-man’s float first,’ he told her, and made her lie face down in the water. ‘Lie as flat as a board and don’t let yourself put your head up until I touch your shoulders.’
And she didn’t. He put his hand under the flatness of her stomach and held her-supporting her totally-and the feeling it gave him was spine-tingling. She lay still and trusting, until he touched her shoulder. Then she gasped and spluttered and knelt up on the sand to laugh in sheer delight.
They did it again and again, until she was almost floating by herself. ‘It feels wonderful. It feels weird.’
‘It’ll feel weirder. This time I’m going to lower my hand and you’ll feel the water supporting you instead of me. You’ll float.’
And she did! She floated as if she’d done it since childhood, and he gazed down at her beautiful body-and almost forgot to touch her shoulder! When he did, she spluttered a whole lot more as she struggled to her feet. He expected indignation but what he received instead was blazing joy.
‘I floated. I floated! All by myself, I floated!’
‘If I don’t touch your shoulder you can decide to put your head up yourself,’ he managed, laughing with her joy but trying desperately to ignore the strange feelings coursing through his body.
Penny-Rose didn’t understand. ‘Why would I? You’ll touch me when it’s time to surface. I trust you.’
He knew it. The thought was incredible. ‘But…if I’m eaten by a shark…’
She grinned, delirious with sun and surf and happiness. ‘Then I’ll drown of a broken heart, dead-man’s-floating to my doom. What a princess! people would say. Romeo and Juliet would have nothing on a scenario like that.’
He chuckled. ‘Hey, there’s no need to go to extremes. Dying of devotion…’
All of a sudden the lightness faded. They were standing in the shallows, looking at each other, and her words hung between them.
‘I’ll drown of a broken heart…’
And his.
‘Dying of devotion…’
The words had been said in jest, but suddenly things weren’t light at all. Things were moving fast here, changing every minute. The magnetism between them was a tangible power. It was gaining strength every second, and to resist the pull…
How was he to sleep next to her tonight? he asked himself desperately. On the other side of the mound of pillows…
Concentrate on practicalities.
‘Speaking of lunch,’ he said, and her look of uncertainty faded. She was starving, and passion could maybe take a back seat. It was a shame, but where he led, she’d follow. Don’t push the pace…
‘Now you’re talking. I wonder if flake’s on the menu?’
‘You mean we get to eat shark before it eats us? How very wise.’ He managed a grin and glanced at his watch. ‘It’ll be on the table right now. Race you up to the dining room, Rose O’Shea.’
‘It’s Penny-Rose de Castaliae to you, sir,’ she said meekly, and while he took that on board she gained so much of a head start that she beat him to lunch, hands down.
And by nightfall she could swim. Not very far, but she could manage half a dozen strokes before she had to surface, and she was so proud of herself she was threatening to burst.
‘I can swim, I can swim,’ she crowed at dinner, and her sisters and brother looked on with wonder.
‘You sound like a ten-year-old.’
‘I feel like a ten-year-old.’
‘Except,’ Heather said slowly, watching her sister with delight, ‘that when you were ten you sounded thirty.’ She turned to Alastair and her eyes shone with pleasure. ‘We can’t tell you how much it means to us-that our Penny-Rose met you.’
Alastair smiled, but inside he didn’t smile at all. Their pleasure in this marriage made him feel like a traitor. Why? He’d paid for this, he thought grimly. He’d paid money for a bride. So why was he feeling like a rat?
Because they were assuming he was doing this because he loved her, he thought, and he did no such thing. In twelve months he’d walk away.
Back to Belle.
Belle would never come to dinner with sand on her nose, bare toes and a make-up-free face that glowed with happiness, he thought suddenly, watching Rose’s lovely, laughing face.
It was just as well. Belle would be a sensible, practical wife.
‘Have some lobster,’ Penny-Rose said, and handed him a claw. She seemed totally oblivious of his confusion. ‘This guy’s defending his territory even in death. I can’t get the meat out.’
That made him grin. She was in lobster up to her elbows, and her enjoyment was obvious to all. He thought back to the night she’d eaten her first snail, and he knew without asking that this was her first lobster.
‘Allow me.’ He cracked the shell with practised ease. The long, smooth sliver of meat slid free, and then, because he couldn’t resist it, he leaned forward and popped it between her lips. She gazed up at him as the meat disappeared and…
And it was suddenly an incredibly sexy moment, and behind them he heard Heather snigger.
‘Um…excuse me, are we in the way?’
‘No,’ said Penny-Rose, and blushed to the roots of her hair. ‘I… Thank you.’
‘That’s quite all right.’ Alastair tried for an unflustered voice but it didn’t quite come off. ‘Cracking lobsters is one of my splinter skills. Along with swimming lessons.’
And he badly wanted to do it again. Pop a little more lobster between those lips… In fact, he wanted to desperately. But Rose was pushing her plate away decisively.
‘Swimming’s worse than stone-walling,’ she said, and her voice sounded even more flustered than he was feeling. ‘I’m going to bed.’
‘But there’s meringue for dessert.’ Mike couldn’t believe that she could leave, and Penny-Rose turned her attention gratefully to her younger brother.
‘I’m sure you won’t have any trouble eating my share. Or Alastair will help.’ And then she caught the way Alastair was looking at her. ‘G-goodnight.’
And she fled.
Which left Alastair sitting with her sisters and brother. Who were all looking at him with an air of bright expectancy.
And he couldn’t disappoint them. Could he?
‘I guess I’ll turn in, too,’ he said, and they beamed their approval. After all, this was how honeymoons were supposed to proceed.
Help!
But he left anyway. How could he not?
Because Rose was waiting.
This bedroom arrangement was impossible.
When he got back to their cottage, Rose was already in the bathroom. She was running a bath, so there was nothing for Alastair to do but to lie on the bed and listen to her wallowing in the vast white tub.
He could imagine her so vividly she might as well have left the door open. He knew how it would be…
The bathroom was a tiny walled patio with three sheltered walls and the fourth side open to the sea. The bathtub was sunk into the decking. It had two soft headrests, and it was designed so lovers could lie side by side. They could soak in the warm water and watch the moon over the sea.
Only…one side would be empty, Alastair thought. His side. The other side would have Rose.
Rose…
He let his imagination wander. Lovely, naked Rose, slippery with soap suds, lying back, letting the salt and sand wash away from her gorgeous body. Penny-Rose lying alone in a bath built for two…
Rose! Not Penny-Rose.
Stop thinking like this! You’ll go stark, staring crazy-if you’re not already, he said desperately to himself, and took himself out for a walk.
Where could he go? If he walked around the cottage and down to their secluded cove, he’d be able to look up and see…
No. Damn, he was turning into a peeping Tom!
He strode deliberately back up to the management lodge where the kids were setting up a game of cards. From the darkness he could see them out on the verandah, laughing as they played some silly game of snap.
He couldn’t go there. What would he say?
‘Can I play, too? Your sister’s taking a bath and it’s driving me nuts!’
They’d think he was nuts. They were such nice kids. And they thought he was in love with their sister.
Which was nonsense. He wasn’t in love with anyone.
But he was definitely in lust with her.
That was it. He’d found the answer. Only lust. He just wanted her body. He was as aroused as he’d ever been in his life, and the fact that she was a virgin bride…
She was his virgin bride.
She wasn’t his anything. And she had to stay a virgin, he told himself desperately. Hell, wasn’t that why he’d married her? Because he didn’t want commitment? So it had to stay that way. The last thing he wanted was to make it hard for her to walk away.
But was he sure about what he wanted?
He knew what he didn’t want. He didn’t want commitment.
In fact, he didn’t want marriage. He’d agreed to marry Belle because his mother had wanted grandchildren, he’d quite liked the idea of kids, he’d needed a hostess and the whole thing had been sensible. That was a decent basis for a marriage. Sense.
Not lust.
So he should walk right back to his cottage, settle down on the far side of the pile of cushions and go straight to sleep.
But…he just might take a cold shower first.
A cold shower didn’t help.
Alastair returned to the cottage to find Rose glowing from the warmth of the bath. She was wearing one of those damned lingerie-type nightdresses she’d bought in Paris and she was curled into her half of the bed with the sheet drawn up to her waist.
The sheet wasn’t drawn up far enough. The nightgown was cut low over her lovely curving breasts, her curls were sprayed out over the pillow-and it was as much as he could do not to groan.
So he stood under the cold shower for a very long time. When he emerged she was lying in the half-dark. Only his bedside light was on. She was still awake, smiling up at him in the dim light as he walked around to his side of the bed.
And heaven only knew how heavy his feet felt. It was so darned hard to make himself walk around her.
This was crazy!
‘Feeling better?’ she whispered, and he managed a nod.
‘Yes. Thanks.’ But he’d lied.
‘It’s bee
n the most gorgeous day,’ she said sleepily as he slid down under the sheet-still on his side. ‘Thank you, Alastair.’
‘Think nothing of it.’ That sounded curt. He forced himself to smile, and then flicked off the light so he wouldn’t need to hide his expression. But he could still see the curves of her in the moonlight. She was too damned close! ‘I enjoyed myself, too.’
‘You’d never seen yourself as a swimming master extraordinaire?’
‘There’s a whole lot of things I’d never seen myself as,’ he said bitterly. ‘A prince. A swimming master-’
‘A husband?’
‘The kids think it’s real,’ he burst out, and there was surely the nub of the matter. If no one thought it was real, he wouldn’t have to pretend. It was the pretence that was driving him crazy-wasn’t it?
‘They do,’ she said softly. ‘Do you mind?’
‘I… No. Only if you do,’ he managed. ‘It’ll make it harder at the end of the year.’
‘Alastair, let’s worry about the end of the year at the end of the year. For now…this is the honeymoon of my dreams. The holiday of my dreams. I’ve learned to swim five strokes. I’m here with my sisters and brother-and with you. I couldn’t be any happier if I tried.’
He could be. He could be a whole lot happier. All he had to do was shift these damned cushions!
He had to stay formal. Somehow. ‘I’m glad you’re having a good time.’
‘I’m having a wonderful time.’ And then, before he knew what she was about, she slipped her hand under the pillows and found his hand. Her fingers were warm and sure as she pulled his hand toward her, and then she raised his hand to her lips and gently kissed his fingertips.
It was a gesture of thanks. Nothing more. Wasn’t it?
‘This is magic,’ she said softly. ‘A magic day. A magic prince.’
‘It’ll end.’ He somehow managed to haul his hand away, and it nearly tore him apart to do it. His voice came out as a sort of strangled croak. ‘After all, Cinderella had her midnight to contend with. Your midnight is just taking a while longer to come.’
‘I won’t forget.’ Her voice was suddenly serious, but she was still whispering into the dark. The sensation was unutterably intimate. ‘Alastair, why are you so afraid of commitment?’
A Royal Proposition Page 15