by Erin Rye
Then Lord Stafford’s face barged through his thoughts. Blast the man—or, more aptly, himself.
Why couldn’t he remember the lass was forbidden fruit?
* * *
The remaining hours passed in silence. By early evening, they arrived at Brighton and turned east, then continued past the windmills and along the beach with its chalk cliffs that rose above a blue-green sea dotted with bobbing fishing boats. Finally, the carriage turned down the drive of a four-story manor perched a short distance from the sea, surrounded by manicured hedges, and with a cluster of outbuildings tucked behind it. French windows opened onto a wide veranda, that offered a splendid view of the sea.
The butler, housekeeper, and their small staff met them at the door as they arrived.
Again, he handed the ladies down from the carriage, and once again, he felt the pull of attraction as Rosalyn stepped down at his side.
“It’s beautiful,” she breathed, quite unaware he still held her hand. “If I owned such a place, I fear I would never leave it.”
He smiled as the sea wind caught her bonnet and tipped it back, sending the perfume of her hair wafting around him. He gave her fingers a little squeeze.
She glanced up, startled, and quickly withdrew her hand, but not before a faint pink crept over her cheeks.
“My lord,” the butler said. “There’s an urgent matter concerning the balloon. Issues, with the seams.”
Ethan frowned. It wasn’t news he wanted to hear. He bowed at the ladies. “I’m sure you are both tired from the journey. The housekeeper will show you to your rooms. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll leave you to your rest.”
They both rushed to thank him. He tipped his hat, then directed his long legs toward the small stone outbuilding on the outer edge of the gardens.
The news proved disastrous, indeed. The varnish had peeled far worse than he’d thought. He wouldn’t be flying over the channel anytime soon. For a time, he dabbled with various compounds, and tried them out on snippets of silk until finally, he realized he’d worked through supper and long into the night.
With a sigh, he rubbed his tired shoulders, quit the place and headed back to the house. The moon hung bright overhead and only a short distance away, the sea glistened over the horizon. A gust of wind carried the smell of the sea to his nostrils and the sound of the waves beating the shore beckoned to him like a siren’s song.
Aye, he could use a swim.
The thought no sooner took hold than he strode to the beach, making short work of his clothes along the way. He dove into the bracingly cold water. He swam hard and fast, until at last, the pleasant tingle of exhaustion crept over him. It was time to go.
Invigorated, he returned to the beach and struggled into his breeches. He didn’t bother with the rest, but merely tossed his cravat about his neck and the rest over his shoulder and headed up the narrow path to the house. The path led to the opening in the garden hedge and as he stepped through, a light twinkling on the second floor caught his eye. He glanced over and froze.
Rosalyn.
She stood on the balcony outside her room and stared at the sea. The light behind her illuminated the outline of her sensual curves and shapely legs through her thin shift. As he watched, she closed her eyes and let her shawl slide from her shoulders to the crook of her elbows, half dragging one of the straps of her shift along the way.
His cock pulsed.
By God, she was a vision of seduction. He couldn’t have turned away even if he’d wanted to. Her shift stretched so enticingly across her breasts. Desire surged. If only he could slip her shift from her shoulders entirely and reveal the rest of that wickedly delicious body, one slow inch at a time.
He shifted weight as his bollocks tightened.
The slight movement caused her to turn.
Their eyes met.
He stayed as he was, enjoying her effect on his body, but she whirled and escaped to her room. A moment later, the lights went out and darkness fell.
Ethan exhaled a deep breath.
It was just as well. He was damn uncomfortable. He glanced down at his swollen shaft with a rueful grin. The damn thing had nearly leeched every drop of blood from the rest of his body.
Perhaps he’d be better off with another cold, bracing swim. Something told him that with Rosalyn around, nightly swims would fast become a habit.
Chapter Four
Of a Man’s Interests
The salty tang of the sea air and the music of the waves had tempted Rosalyn beyond bearing and she’d stepped out onto the balcony to enjoy the evening’s cool breeze. She’d eyed the waves, struggling with the desire to slip out of her shift altogether and frolic in the waves as she had as a child. After all, everyone else had surely long since fallen asleep. She’d always loved the water. As a child, her uncle had taught her to swim like a fish.
The sea breeze had fluttered around her and she’d let her shawl fall back to enjoy the breeze on her skin. She’d stayed that way, lulled by the soft song of the ocean waves until a movement near the garden’s edge caught her eye.
Ethan had stood there, apparently fresh from a swim himself, barefoot, carrying his boots, with his cravat loose around his neck. He’d looked so virile, so masculine.
She’d been unable look away. The sight of his tanned, hard-muscled chest and rippling abdomen had caught her up in an unexpected whirlpool of emotions and had unleashed desires she’d long thought extinct. God, he had such a sinful mouth. What would it feel like to have him suckle her breasts?
Only then had she realized the state of her undress. She’d raced back to her room and snuffed the candles, plunging her bedroom into darkness.
Rosalyn drew a long, shuddering breath.
Her passionate side had gotten her into trouble once before. She couldn’t let it emerge again.
“You’re here to observe and write a report, young lady,” she chastised herself in a whisper.
She certainly wasn’t supposed to imagine his wickedly sinful lips drawing her nipple deep into his mouth to…
“Merciful heavens!” She fanned her warm cheeks and jumped to her feet.
She’d start her report now as a measure of discipline. She grabbed her journal, lit the candle on the writing desk, and sat down to business.
Social Competency:
The man possesses a social charm that will no doubt pique the interest of his future bride upon their first meeting.
She paused and nibbled the end of the feather quill, wondering if she should scratch out ‘social charm’ and replace it with ‘sensual charm.’ After all, he’d provoked a particularly strong reaction from herself, hadn’t he? She twisted her lip and decided against it, lest the candidate bride misunderstand, and for the very first time, she wondered just who the young lady might actually be.
* * *
Rosalyn twirled on the beach in the early morning sun and peered up into the sky. The day promised to be an exceptionally beautiful one. Puffs of white clouds scurried across the blue expanse overhead. A colony of black-legged kittiwakes complained noisily from the nearby chalk cliffs. Gulls rode the wind. In the distance, children squealed as they collected shells and seaweed in the tidal pools.
She smiled and slipped out of her shoes. There wasn’t a speck of sand in sight, only multi-colored pebbles stretching out in all directions. She’d always thought a beach should have sand, but the pebbles proved interesting enough beneath her feet. She closed her eyes, breathed deeply of the fresh morning air, and let the waves wash over her bare skin as she squished her toes.
The pounding of hooves from behind made her glance over her shoulder.
She’d recognize those broad shoulders anywhere. It was Lord Ethan Brodie. He rode low over the neck of his horse as the animal’s great hooves scattered the pebbles like sand. It was hard to look away. The man was all roguish good looks and moved in a way that caught the eye.
Rosalyn realized he was headed straight for her.
She winced. It was too
late to pretend she hadn’t seen him. He’d caught her in her shift last night. She couldn’t let him catch her now with her ankles well exposed. With a frown, she hurried for her slippers, but with wet feet, they were impossible to wrestle on.
“No need to stop on my account,” Ethan’s deep baritone announced as he arrived.
The man and horse made a striking picture, and her eyes latched onto the sensuous play of his muscular arms as he jumped down from the saddle and grabbed his horse’s bridle. She’d thought him handsome the day before, but this morning, he exuded an overwhelming magnetic allure in his gray morning coat, white shirt, and buckskin trousers, and even though he’d been riding, she could find nary a wrinkle in sight.
Suddenly aware she’d been staring, Rosalyn bobbed a quick curtsey. “Good morning, my lord.”
Ethan dipped his head in reply and with an easy smile, led his horse forward to join her. “And a good morning to you, Lady Rosalyn. I trust Lady Sarah has recovered from the journey?” His teeth flashed, brilliantly white.
“My aunt intends to spend the day in the parlor with a good book.” His smile was infectious. She found hers curving up in response.
Ethan’s blue-gray gaze dropped to her bare toes. “You seem to enjoy what the sea offers. Do you swim?”
Her blasted bare feet. A flush of heat rose in her cheeks, and she quickly returned to the business of wriggling her feet into her shoes. Must she always be in some state of undress before the man?
“I confess that I love to swim,” she admitted, flustered. “I fear my uncle taught me to swim like a fish.”
“Fear?” he queried lightly. “Why is that a bad thing?”
Finally, the slipper slid over her heel and she straightened to find him eyeing her with obvious interest. Her heart skipped a beat. “As a child, I was rather a tomboy, if you must know. I drove my poor aunt to the brink of exhaustion whenever I visited. My uncle sought to tire me with swimming, riding, and the like.”
“Skills to be admired, assuredly,” he rumbled in his Scottish brogue.
There was an undeniable heat in his gaze. Her pulse began to race.
“You should try the bathing machines while you’re here.” He patted his horse on the withers. “I’ve heard they’re quite remarkable. I’d try them myself, but I fear I shan’t find the time before I leave.”
Rosalyn blinked. “Leave?”
“I intend to sail the balloon across the channel soon,” he explained in an easy manner, then offered her his arm. “Shall I escort you to the house?”
“Not too soon, I hope?” She needed at least several weeks, if not more. How soon was soon?
Ethan’s smile took on a playful gleam. “Why, Lady Rosalyn, are you saying you’ll miss me?”
It was quite unlike her to blush, but heat creep up her neck. Oh, dear. This wasn’t at all good. If she didn’t manage to control herself, she’d be thinking scandalous thoughts of him next. She bit her lip and dropped her gaze, only to find her eyes drawn to his groin like a magnet.
Flustered, she quickly slipped her arm through his. “I did not mean to pry, my lord.” This line of questioning had to end. Now. She jerked her gaze back to his face.
His sinfully attractive mouth had widened into a teasing grin. “I admit, I’m disappointed. I would much rather you pry,” he said as they began their walk up the path
Her stomach fluttered. “I would not be so bold, my lord.”
“Oh? I rather like a bold lass.” To her surprise, he stopped, and his blue-gray eyes bored directly into hers.
It was almost as if some unseen force pulled her in. Suddenly, he seemed so large, so masculine, and every sensual inch of him stood out in remarkable detail. The manner in which the corners of his lips curled. The way his shoulders rose and fell with each breath. He smelled fresh, of horse and the sea mixed with a tinge of citrus, and was that lavender? She could only admire the sharp line of his jaw jutting out against the whiteness of his shirt and the elegant twist with which he’d tied his cravat.
His muscles flexed under her hand, so warm and hard, and desire ripped through her body. The tremor of heat shattered the timeless moment and left her shocked at her heated response.
Quickly, Rosalyn slid her arm from his. “I thank you, my lord, but I can find my way from here.”
He reached for her and called her name, but she ignored him and ran back to the house.
The man was attractive—dangerously so. Until she regained control of the powerful emotions she’d unwittingly unleashed, it would be a mistake of the highest order to spend time in his company.
Chapter Five
The Cold Waves of the Sea
Rosalyn was damn attractive. Aye, a wee bit too attractive. Ethan didn’t know what he’d done to spook the lass, but he certainly enjoyed watching her run. The way her hips moved aroused him. He slid his gaze over her figure, undressing her in his mind as she dashed up the path and vanished through the opening in the garden hedge.
By God, her body tortured a man.
His bollocks tightened, and his cock pushed against his breeches in a firm reminder to cut the line of thought. Och, as much as it would please him mightily, he couldn’t seduce Lord Stafford’s niece. He expelled a harsh breath and headed back toward the house, taking his time. He’d send for the opera singer, instead. With the state of his bollocks, he’d have her stay at least a week.
A footman met him at the edge of the drive.
“My lord, it’s the varnish,” the man greeted him with a frown that said it all.
Ethan set his mouth in a hard line, tossed the man the reins of his horse, and wordlessly set off in the direction of the stone building housing his balloon.
So, his trip across the channel had been delayed yet again. Strangely, he didn’t mind as much as he should. He didn’t pause to think on exactly why, but rolled up his sleeves and got to work.
The day passed quickly and the evening as well, and the sun had set before Ethan finally returned to the house. He’d spent the day dabbling in varnish, but more than once found himself distracted with the temptation of a bonny pair of honeysweet eyes.
After changing into fresh clothes, he quickly penned his letter to the opera singer. He’d post it on the morrow. No doubt, a week in her company would clear his mind of Lord Stafford’s niece. He yawned and slid the missive into his desk drawer, then headed to the dining room.
“Good evening, child,” Lady Sarah greeted him as he arrived. “I fear you’ll have only my company this night.”
“Rosalyn? Is she well?”
“Oh, it’s only a headache,” her aunt assured as he saw her seated. “I’m sure she’ll be quite restored in the morning.”
“Aye, then.” He took his seat. He’d very much prefer an evening of light flirtation with a lass who stirred his blood, but perhaps his bollocks suffered enough. He suppressed a snort of amusement at the thought and turned his attention to his guest.
The evening passed quickly, with Lady Sarah sharing tales of Rosalyn’s escapades as they retired to the drawing room to play whist. He found himself drawn in, and before he knew it, the clock struck ten.
“I bid you good night, my lady.” Ethan bowed over Lady Sarah’s hand. “Sleep well.”
“You, too, Ethan,” she replied with a smile.
Not bloody likely, he wanted to say, but of course, he did not. He hadn’t seen a hair of Lady Rosalyn’s lovely head the entire evening, but he’d heard of her aplenty—and he only wanted to hear more. It was strange, really, how remarkably stimulating he’d found hearing so much of her, enough that he left Lady Sarah’s company to head for the sea.
The cold water cooled his blood, but the moment he stepped foot on the beach, it was as if he hadn’t swum at all.
The night would be a long one, indeed.
* * *
Ethan welcomed the dawn with another brisk swim in the sea, then retreated to the stone outbuilding to dabble with varnish. The varnish had bubbled and peeled away from the
snippets of silk he’d set to dry overnight. The development frustrated him, but he couldn’t deny it a far better discovery now than in flight halfway across the channel.
With a shrug, he again rolled up his sleeves and sat down at the workbench to try again.
At noon, he noticed her. Rosalyn.
For the briefest of moments, her shadow fell across the floor. Instinct and years of training gave him the advantage. He smothered a grin and tilted the mirror on the workbench at just the right angle. He always kept a mirror at close hand, a holdover from his years as a spy. It was pure folly to place his unguarded back to the door.
Moments later, Rosalyn again craned her head around the corner, and he indulged in a slow perusal of her charms from under hooded eyes. She was so beautiful. So seductive. The summer breeze caught her soft curls and blew her light blue muslin gown against her winsome curves as she peeked around the edge of the door.
He set the varnish down.
Rosalyn jerked back.
He grinned. The minx. Was she spying on him? He’d see what the lass was up to, at least. Without hesitation, he sprinted to the back door, then out and around the corner.
There she stood, a leather journal held behind her back as she inched toward the door to spy on him once again.
His gaze dropped to her backside, so lusciously round and firm, and—God help him—the perfect handfuls to hold, Lord Stafford or no.
As she leaned forward, he crept up behind her and waited. She leaned forward to peek around the corner. He grinned. How long it would take her to discover he’d left?
She abruptly stepped back.
By God, he hadn’t anticipated her buttocks slamming straight back into his cock. His shaft sprang to life with a vengeance even as she whirled, shocked.