As Ash once had.
“No!” Juliet shook her head angrily. She would not think of him. Ash lived in London these days, and although there had been some recent talk of him returning to take over the Crevitch estate from his elderly uncle, it was yet to happen. She thought it unlikely it ever would. Ash was probably enjoying his life in the capital far too much to put himself out, just as he had never bothered to come and see her after he left the army.
“Madam?” Yvette was standing in the shadows by the door. “Do you require me to help you change your clothing?”
“Thank you, Yvette, but I am going to swim in the lake,” Juliet replied, ignoring the moue of displeasure on the woman’s face. “I should be back in time for supper.”
Yvette had been trained in the art of being a lady’s maid in the home of a Parisian duchess and she took her job very seriously. The duchess had been caught up in Napoleon’s Republic and had lost everything. She’d had to let her maid go. Baron Flett had found Yvette on a trip to London, sheltering in the house of one of his exiled French aristocrat friends, and thought she would do well for his wife.
Yvette turned out to be an exceptional lady’s maid, and very clever at dressing Juliet’s long dark hair into some wonderful styles. Though these days, when she went nowhere apart from the hospital, there was little call for dressing up. Juliet was well aware that Yvette considered her position here to be vastly inferior to the one she had held with her duchess. She asked herself why the girl stayed on, especially when she obviously thought herself far too good for provincial Somerset. Juliet wouldn’t be at all surprised if one day she woke up to find her maid had flown to greener pastures.
She was looking forward to her swim in the lake.
The evening was balmy, the air seeming to caress her skin. She went through her garden gate, which led out onto a path that took her through the woods and down to the lake.
The small stretch of water bordered her land and that belonging to Crevitch Castle. As long as anyone could remember the castle had been owned by the Linholm family, descendants of Lord Radulf, who had been one of King William’s most trusted men. Legends about him abounded and as a child Juliet had enjoyed listening to them, especially the stories of Lady Lily, the beautiful Saxon bride who had won the Norman Radulf’s heart.
In what she now considered her more foolish moments, she had imagined herself standing in Lily’s shoes by Ash’s side at Crevitch Castle. She had never told him that however; she had been waiting for Ash to mention the possibility first. In short, to ask her to marry him. He never had, and it was her opinion—eight years on—that he had never intended to.
Juliet reached the lake and stood a moment, gazing over it with a smile. The water was quite shallow—about chest height at its deepest—and therefore warmed by the sun at this time of year. It wasn’t a natural part of the landscape but had been made over a hundred years ago by one of the Linholms. The fact that it had overstepped his property boundary hadn’t seemed to bother him, and as Juliet Montgomery’s ancestors hadn’t minded either, the lake had been used by both families.
These days, with the castle so empty and so quiet, it was only Juliet who came here, and she had begun to think of it as her very own sanctuary.
She had always loved to swim. At an early age she had been taught by a nanny who believed girls were more than capable of doing most of the things boys could do. She was soon dispatched by Juliet’s father as being a bad influence on his daughter, but by then it was too late, and her Nanny’s lessons had taken root, and even her father’s disapproval had not been able to dislodge them. Juliet could swim, and she could think for herself, and now that she was home again, she had returned to her habit of swimming here most evenings, when the weather permitted.
And this evening was perfect.
Reeds grew near the stone edging that bordered the path, and there were shrubs in clumps, nicely placed so that she could disrobe in private. She preferred to swim naked. It might be shocking to some, but as there was no one to see her—none of the resident Linholms ever came down to the lake—it didn’t matter. Her evening swims were a simple pleasure she was not about to forgo. Why should she when everyone in the village already thought her a scandalous hoyden?
Quickly she undressed, setting her loose gown and slippers aside, before stepping into the water. It was chillier than she had expected but the air was so mild she knew that with exercise she would soon become accustomed. She set out with a gentle breast stroke, moving efficiently toward the other side of the lake. The Crevitch side.
Chapter Five
Summer, 1816, Crevitch Castle, Somerset
Ash had arrived at Crevitch the night before. His mother, Felicity, the Dowager Lady Linholm, greeted him with mild pleasure, just as she always did. He’d known for many years now that he was not her favourite. Simon had that dubious honour, although his brother was often rather embarrassed by it, and Ash certainly held no resentment. Being the favourite was a burden and he told himself he was more interested in being the one to inherit the estate rather than winning his mother’s love.
Uncle George was ill in bed, but arose when Ash called upon him, the old man insisting on examining the estate records with him and pointing out what needed to be done. George would have thrown off his bedgown and ridden out with his nephew to inspect his lands, but Ash insisted he stay indoors.
The fact that his uncle tamely obeyed his orders was worrying. Ash had not realised how much his uncle’s health had deteriorated. Why had the old man not written to tell him? Why hadn’t his mother? But there was no use pouring blame on other people when Ash knew in his heart that it was he himself who was at fault. He’d been selfish, his London life taking precedence, and he needed to remedy the situation.
For the remainder of the day, Ash busied himself about the estate. He rode out over his lands and visited his tenants. As he sat upon his favourite horse and gazed across the golden fields, he couldn’t help but imagine he felt a shimmer in the mists of time—so had Radulf sat here and gazed with satisfaction over this same land. A Norman knight who had come with the Conqueror, Radulf had married the Saxon Lily, and although it had been a marriage forced upon them by the dangerous times, it had turned into a love story that resonated down the ages. Their dynasty continued to this day, and Ash knew he could not be the final Linholm. He would not allow it!
Suddenly Christina Beale popped into his head—she was the reason he was here, after all—but he seemed to have lost interest in her. To his dismay he was struggling to remember what she looked like. Ash told himself that this was Monkstead’s fault. Since the earl had brought memories of Juliet back from the past he had been unable to think of other women.
Disturbingly he was having no difficulty at all in remembering what she looked like.
Ash’s manservant Truscott had dressed him for dinner as if he was attending a suave London do rather than a meal en famille. Truscott was very aware of Ash’s consequence, far more than Ash himself, and sometimes he wearied of the man’s snobbery. He only put up with him because he was so very good at what he did. Ash doubted he’d walk out of his door at Number Five looking quite so prime if it were not for the ministrations of Truscott.
However it seemed his splendour was all for nought, because when he arrived downstairs for dinner he was told his mother had retired early with a headache.
He suspected it was an excuse so that she could curl up with one of her romance novels. He knew his parents’ marriage hadn’t been a happy one, so he couldn’t blame her for seeking solace elsewhere. At least the Dowager kept her dalliances between the pages of books—other women might have found a compliant neighbour and caused a scandal. Look at Juliet’s mother and her Italian count!
The Dowager Lady Linholm had lost interest in entertaining when her two sons left home, but he hoped he could help her to regain some of that pleasure. What of the Midsummer celebrations that used to be held around this time of year? He had fond memories of the musicia
ns in the gallery overlooking the Great Hall, and guests from near and far enjoying the hospitality of Crevitch Castle. Perhaps they could resurrect that festivity at least?
Ashley sat down to the meal, but he wasn’t hungry despite his busy day, and picked at the food before pushing it away. Afterwards he retired to the library for brandy, but again he was too restless to settle.
From the French windows here, he could see across the lawns and down to the lake. The view was very familiar, although he noticed the trees had grown taller, interfering with his enjoyment. He’d have to get the groundsman to do something about that—it seemed the tasks that had been neglected were never ending. And yet he didn’t mind, this was his land and his responsibility, and it was time he assumed control.
A bird flew up by the lake, crying out as if it had been startled by something. Perhaps a fox on the prowl. There were swans down there, but he thought they could look after themselves. The evening sky was far clearer than it was in London, the stars just beginning to show themselves, and the whole prospect was suddenly very inviting for a man who wanted an excuse to work off his disquiet.
He didn’t even pause to change out of his evening wear—the thought of Truscott was too much to bear just now—but slipped out through the French windows and set off across the park.
The air was like warm milk, and as he strode across the lawn toward the perennial border and the overgrown trees, he felt as if he were walking into the past. His past. The path that ran around the lake was somewhere here, or at least it used to be. Now it was more like a wilderness, and he had to force his way through shrubs and vegetation. A thorny climbing rose caught his jacket and, when he pulled away, tore the cloth. He tried not to think what Truscott would say about that.
Ah, here at last was the path he remembered!
He stopped to admire the view. There, across on the other side of the lake, was the wild and unkempt woodland where he had spent more time than in his own home. In those days the grounds at the castle had been as neat as a pin, his uncle had seen to that, but the Montgomeries had never shared George’s need for perfection. Their property had always been rather untamed, and Ash wondered if, for him, that had been part of its appeal.
Once he had entered those woods with Juliet it had been as if they were in their own world with their own rules, and nothing and no one else mattered. He remembered there was a track through the woods, which led directly to an old wooden gate, and once through the gate, one could safely make one’s way via the shelter of the trees to the summerhouse . . .
Helpless to stop it, he felt himself being catapulted back into the past. Juliet’s dark eyes smiling into his, her fingers warm and entangled with his, her lips so soft and welcoming under his . . . Impatiently, Ash shook his head to clear the memories. He’d been nineteen for God’s sake! He’d had many intimate experiences of the flesh since then, and yet he realised he could barely remember any of them. Surely, he told himself, slightly desperate now, Juliet had changed? He knew he had. They were no longer the young couple they had been, wild for each other, spending every moment they could together.
In love, a voice whispered in his head, but he ignored it.
Perhaps it would be best if he turned around and went back to London? There was obviously something wrong with him and he needed to calm his thoughts, before he sank in this mire of his own making . . .
A splash came from up ahead, followed by another.
For a moment he thought he must have imagined it. Surely she didn’t still swim naked? His heart began to pound, and before he could stop himself or think of the consequences, he was moving in the direction of the sounds.
There was definitely something out there, he thought, as he stood shielded by some of the undergrowth that grew at the lakeside. Moving further along the path, Ash could now see quite well in the starlit dusk.
Someone was swimming and there had only been one person he could remember who swam in this lake. He opened his mouth to call out and then stopped himself. Would she welcome his intrusion? But then again this might be his one and only chance to discover what she really felt about their shared past. He had no illusions about the effect his questions would have on her. She would tell him to go away, but right here and now she was as exposed as it was possible to be, and he could . . .
All rational thought left him as the swimmer crossed in front of him.
Ivory skin was clearly visible beneath the surface as she glided through the lake. She reached the end and then turned in the water like a fish. Ash saw a sleek thigh and the curve of her hip, and the dark strands of her hair clinging to her shoulders. The sheer beauty of the moment, of her, took his breath, and sent heat spiralling deep inside him.
He edged closer. She was moving more swiftly, as if she had come to the end of her evening exercise, kicking up swathes of water and heading back to her own side of the lake.
Ash didn’t think. Hastily he made his way around to her escape route, and found her clothing, hidden in the bushes, just as he’d known they would be. He could have changed his mind, walked away, but he knew it was too late for that. But neither was he going to lurk out of sight, like some sort of village pervert. If she wanted to abuse him then so be it.
Ash stepped out into the starlight.
At first she didn't see him. She had reached the edge, only a few feet from him, and paused to catch her breath. Her face was a pale oval, with her dark hair clinging to her skin and making an effective cloak, and even her lashes were speckled with droplets of water. He opened his mouth to warn her, but before he could utter a word she had risen to her feet, the water lapping at her waist.
And then he couldn’t speak.
She was naked, and he saw the soft swell of her belly, her breasts smooth and rounded, dusky pink nipples hardened by the chill. As he stared, she gathered up her hair and began to wring the water from it, bending forward slightly, the bare skin of her back and arms reflecting the silver light from the stars.
A siren, alluring and seductive. Irresistible.
He couldn’t stand here any longer without speaking because, Ash reminded himself, he was a gentleman. And gentlemen did not spy on naked women, no matter how intimate they had once been.
“Juliet.”
Her head came up. Her dark eyes widened. In a flash he saw the recognition in her gaze, quickly followed by the realisation that she was standing before him wearing nothing but the lake. Juliet gave a gasping scream and ducked down beneath the water.
He waited, expecting her to surface immediately. And waited. And still he waited.
The ripples that she had caused had fanned out and vanished, and now the lake was still. And silent. Anxiously he asked himself how long she had been under.
Too long!
There was nothing for it. Ash leapt into the lake in his fashionable Jermyn Street clothing, not even waiting to remove his shoes.
The water wasn’t deep, and he began to wade forward with his hands stretched out beneath the surface, trying to find her. “Juliet!” he called, desperate now. “Juliet!”
And that was when she shot out of the water, gasping for air, straight into his arms.
Chapter Six
Summer, 1816, Crevitch Castle, Somerset
Juliet was trying to breathe. Strong arms were wrapped tight about her, and her face was pressed into a fashionable jacket with metal buttons. Ashley Linholm had jumped fully clothed into the lake to save her and she wasn’t quite sure whether to laugh or cry. So instead she clutched onto him, while she struggled to regain her feet.
And her equilibrium.
"Let me go!" she demanded in a muffled voice.
He hugged her even tighter. Perhaps, she thought, he couldn’t hear her. So she tried again, shouting the words, and this time he released her abruptly, stumbling back and almost falling.
She ducked down into the water.
Juliet looked up at him, and the first thing she noticed was that he was very wet. The second that it was definit
ely Ash, she hadn’t been mistaken, but he was older. The frown he was wearing now brought creases around his eyes and mouth, and incongruously she knew he would look like that when he was his uncle’s age. Wrinkled, but still golden and handsome.
"Are you well?" he demanded, reaching out a hand toward her, in case she sank beneath the surface and he had to drag her up again.
Because she was only just keeping her chin above the dark water. In a way it seemed ridiculous to act so when this man had seen her naked before. They had been lovers. But that had been eight years ago and now they were strangers.
"Perfectly," she retorted, glaring up at him. He was already tugging off his jacket—with difficulty because he was soaking—and a moment later he had wrapped it about her. “Ash, it’s wet,” she reminded him, but as she stood up with the jacket about her, she realised that it was warmer than the air. Warm from his body.
She shivered. If she had known he was in residence she would never have come here tonight. She would certainly never come here again! That made her sad because she loved this place. She felt safe here; it was a part of her life, and now he had spoiled it.
At the same time Juliet noticed how broad he was across the shoulders. He had filled out. He was a man, grown. Once upon a time she had dreamed about him, trying to imagine how he would look in his army uniform, scouring the newspapers for information because no one else would tell her anything. Not that she would ask. She was too proud for that.
"Come out of the water," he ordered. "You're frozen."
"I'm n-n-not!" she said, with her teeth chattering.
His expression was a struggle between compassion and laughter. Laughter won. He doubled over. Juliet stood for a moment, watching him, and not sure what to do. And then her own laughter came bubbling up inside her, and although at first she tried to hold it in because . . . well this was not amusing, it escaped. Soon she was giggling and spluttering, in between her shivers.
Unforgettable (Mockingbird Square Book 1) Page 3