Adams crowded closer, clutching his kite. “I was hoping you would want to fly this kite with me, Miss Caroline,” he objected.
Caroline looked between the three young men. The itching of her soles turned into a full-fledged burn. And was it any wonder? The genial group walk Penelope had proposed as a solution to the problem of too many suitors had come to a flaming end. Dousing it in water seemed just the thing.
“I suppose I should choose the sea bath over the pier or the kite,” she muttered. That, at least, promised a measure of privacy.
Anything to get away from the lot of them.
Duffington raised an eager, beefy hand and snapped his fingers in the direction of the bathing machine attendants. Branson and Adams began to bicker over which part of Brighton’s beach was better for sea bathing.
“The eastern beach is too close to the outflow for the sewer line,” Mr. Branson argued. “It muddies the water, especially after a hard rain.”
“ ’Tis still better than the western beach, where the day-trippers down from London tend to congregate,” retorted Mr. Adams. “The eastern edge is closer to the Steine and therefore preferable among the fashionable crowd.”
“But she’ll be swimming in shite,” Branson protested, seeming to forget their mixed company.
Penelope looked up from where she was scribbling something down in her journal. She placed her pencil in the seam and closed the leather-bound edges with a decisive snap. “Do take note of whether you see any of that,” she said. “I might like t-t-to write about it.”
That severed the last of Caroline’s thin thread of control. She grabbed her sister by the arm and dragged her several feet away. “How?” she whispered to Pen, anger heating the very word. “How did you know that I swim?”
Pen offered Caroline a smile that lacked any hint of apology. “I am more observant than you give me credit for. You c-come home quite damp most afternoons. So there is no point pretending you do not swim.”
Caroline took a step backward, stunned to temporary silence. She felt as if her cloistered world was being ripped apart, board by board. “Do not say anything more,” she begged. “We need these men to like me if I am to have any hope of an offer by the end of the summer.”
Pen’s mouth pulled down. “Why must it be this year? Or one of these men?” She leveled an assessing stare toward Duffington, who was counting out money to a white-frocked bathing attendant. “You cannot tell me you love any of them.”
“I do not need to love a prospective bridegroom. Such a fantasy has no place in real life.” Caroline swallowed, refusing to acknowledge that she believed there was the potential for it with David Cameron, if only he was free to love in return. “I just need to find the man tolerable.”
“Tolerable. Like boiled p-pudding, you mean, when you could have a nice strawberry tart.” Penelope crossed her arms, her journal clutched in one hand. “How romantic.”
“I don’t have time for romantic,” Caroline snapped as Duffington arrived with the attendant in tow. “I have a sea bath to take.”
The bathing attendant escorted Caroline toward her designated box, all the while explaining the pertinent details of sea bathing. The machine would be pulled out into deeper water by a team of horses. Caroline would have a half hour to bathe in privacy, and then the machine would be brought back in.
“Some women are quite frightened by the ferocity of the waves, miss,” the attendant explained as he opened the door to the yellow box. Up close, the bathing machine appeared even less hopeful than it had from a distance. The paint was peeling off in large swaths, revealing tedious, weather-beaten wood beneath.
Even the horses hitched to the front appeared bored.
The man motioned to a red flag that lay against the outside of the house. “If you become overwrought, you needn’t stay out your entire allotted time. Just pull on the rope inside to signal the flag, and we’ll send the driver out, straight away.”
Oh dear heavens. The man was quite serious. Caroline chanced a fidgety look back at the group along the parade. Was there any chance of backing out of this now, before she became “overwrought” by a few meager waves? Branson appeared to be pacing the shoreline in a positive snit, and Mr. Adams was working to get the kite aloft. Penelope was conversing with the red-haired photographer, Mr. Hamilton, who had materialized from somewhere along the Marine Parade. She noted with a frisson of gladness that the man seemed quite interested in what her sister was saying. Perhaps there was something positive brewing there.
But Duffington, the man who was sponsoring this ill-considered excursion, the man who Caroline ought to place high on a list of potential bridegrooms, was leaning over the iron railing that divided the Marine Parade from the beach, watching her. When she caught his eye, he nodded, as if in encouragement.
Caroline sighed in resignation, handed her reticule and parasol to the attendant, and then clambered up the steps of her assigned bathing machine. The back door swung shut, and her eyes began a slow adjustment to darkness.
So this was how ladies were required to enjoy the ocean. It almost made her glad not to be a lady.
The only light came through a small, unglazed window, but it was enough to see the squalor. There was no hint of the hopeful yellow paint on the inside of the box. The contraption smelled of mildew and rot, and condensation shone against the peaked ceiling. The planks of the wooden floor were spaced several inches apart, and it appeared the water would flood the lower space of the machine as it was pulled out into the surf.
Apparently a concession for people who were too afraid to venture out into the real ocean.
“Brilliant,” she muttered, just as the machine gave a jerk and she was tossed against one slick wall. She righted herself to the sound of splashing and the firm chirrup from a driver, and then the box began to move.
With some difficulty, given that her dress buttoned up the back, Caroline slipped out of her dress, shift, and stockings and placed them on a high shelf as water began to seep up through the floor. On that same shelf, she found a gray flannel robe, as damp and musty as the house itself. She examined it a full half second before pushing it back on the shelf in disgust.
It wasn’t as if anyone was going to see her. She wasn’t going to set foot outside this thing, for heaven’s sake, not with Duffington straining for a glimpse of her from shore.
The machine’s forward momentum stopped, and the sounds of the horses being unhitched reached her ears. Cold water lapped around her bare waist, sending chill bumps along her arms. She could see why the attendant had mentioned difficulties. Every so often a large wave smashed against the wooden frame, setting her pulse pounding and the house rocking.
How did Duffington’s mother consider this pastime pleasurable? She tried to imagine a countess enjoying her time in such a depressing, fetid space. What, pray tell, was so fashionable about sitting in the dark, waiting for a rogue wave to smash one’s shelter to bits?
There had to be a more enjoyable way to go about attracting a suitor. And yet, wasn’t she trying her best? Duffington was the son of an earl, for heaven’s sake. Rebuffing him was not an option.
Caroline stared at the door in front of her as another wave rocked the machine. This wasn’t where she wanted to be, and neither Duffington nor any of the other gentlemen waiting on the beach were whom she wanted to be with.
At that moment, the front door of the bathing machine gave a mighty rattle. She blinked, wondering if a wave had damaged the bolt somehow. But then the sound of creaking hinges assaulted her ears, and she realized with horror that the door was swinging open.
Caroline’s eyes jerked against the bright spear of sunlight that breached the small, wet interior. A dark shape, backlit by the sun, stood in the open doorway. The danger of her situation sent her arms flying up to cover her bare chest. Surely Duffington hadn’t been serious about swimming with her—she might not have paid proper attention to the attendant, but she was quite sure this was not part of the intended exper
ience.
The shadow shifted sideways to fit through the narrow opening, and Caroline filled her lungs in a desperate whoosh, preparing to let loose a scream. She had a sudden sense of wet linen sleeves and muscular arms. Straw-colored hair that threw off droplets of water as the man loomed ever closer.
And then her breath was cut off as David Cameron’s hand covered her mouth.
Chapter 19
DAVID HAD IMAGINED Caroline would be sitting in the bathing machine, gritting her teeth against the uselessness of the endeavor. Even from his distant vantage point along the Marine Parade, there had been no mistaking the tense line of her shoulders as she had climbed up inside.
But no matter how he had imagined her mood, he had thought she would be clothed.
He was now being punished for his naïveté.
David spun her around, keeping his right hand over Caroline’s mouth even as her curved backside made excruciating contact with the front of his saltwater-soaked trousers. In this manner, at least, he could no longer see the bare skin that had greeted his eyes like the stiff drink he hadn’t known he needed.
But unfortunately, he could still feel her ocean-slicked body, and he had a fearsome imagination to fill in the visual gaps. He was quite sure something approximating a breast writhed dangerously close to his left hand.
His cock, which had protested the cold shock of water only moments before, stirred to vigorous life.
A strong wave rocked the entire structure, knocking them both off balance. As she was tossed against him, he was stung by the precariousness of their situation as much as her lack of clothing. He had risked both their reputations to come here, but the sudden appearance of all those suitors had quite smashed all resolve to behave with honor.
Then again, was there anything of honor in him?
David drew in a deep draught of air that had the misfortune of being laced with her unique scent: salt and vanilla, scented bath soap and humid ocean air. As if in response, Caroline pushed a muffled stream of words between his fingers.
“Shh.” He leaned in close to her ear, inhaling her heady scent and trying in vain to keep her from rocking that part of her anatomy against that part of his. “Are you trying to get yourself ruined?”
In answer, her teeth closed around his fingers. That, finally, made David jerk his hands away.
She lunged forward, giving him a lung-piercing view of her backside as she reached high to snatch something down from a shelf. He had two seconds’ time to register that her freckles extended across the whole of her body, and then she pulled on a shapeless gray garment that swiftly and regrettably covered her like a blanket.
As she whirled to face him, he blinked, trying to chase the last fantastical image of her bare arse with a good dose of hard-edged reality.
Damn, but that robe was hideous.
“Are you deranged?” Her voice ricocheted off the peaked rafters, two shades below panicked.
David raised his still-smarting finger to his lips, pantomiming the need for silence. “If you rouse the hue and cry and force our discovery, you’ll have no one to blame but yourself.”
She fell silent and pulled the robe closer around her. “Could anyone have seen you?” she finally whispered.
He shook his head, sending sprays of water pelting the walls. “I entered the ocean from the men’s beach east of the pier, and swam under water the last bit.” He grinned at her. “My best swimming stroke, as it turns out. Perhaps I ought to use that on Monday.”
She seemed to shove that around in her head a moment before giving voice to the question that haunted them both. “What are you doing here, David?”
“I . . .” He paused, searching his brain.
What was he doing here? He still wasn’t sure what had prompted him do this. To understand if she still intended to teach him her swimming stroke? To demand if she was seriously entertaining ideas of a romantic nature about one of the swaggering bucks who had trailed her all morning? Her sudden and startling popularity had made it deucedly hard to find the private moment either of those conversations demanded.
Her eyes smoldered across the heated space. “You went to a good deal of trouble to just stand there mute.”
He tried to think of something—anything—that would make sense. “I . . . I signed up for the race this morning, and I still need your help to win.”
A sharp burst of laughter escaped her lips. “You expect me to continue to instruct you, after . . . after last night?”
“Yes. I mean, no. I do not expect it. I would hope you would want to continue.”
Her pointed chin came up in synchronized harmony with her brows. “You risked my reputation for that? Honestly, David, you could have just sent a note. Last night, you pointed out why you were not a suitable match for me, and in fact, encouraged me to dance with other gentlemen. And yet you have shown up here, uninvited, threatening to destroy the interest of others who might make an offer.”
David was chastened. He was also enthralled by the way that flannel robe rose and fell with her every breath, as if it wanted to slide off her.
As if it wanted him to slide it off her.
But damned if she wasn’t right. Last night he had reacted poorly to her shiny, polished view of him and the avalanche of self-loathing her words had triggered. He had focused on his own feelings instead of Caroline’s. That was not fair.
He would make it right now.
“Then let me apologize again. Do not let last night’s discussion change the nature of our friendship. I still intend to compete in Monday’s race, and I would very much like to continue our planned instruction.”
“Do you think it is wise to spend so much time alone together, after all that has passed between us?” she asked, catching her lower lip between her teeth in an innocent gesture that, regrettably, made his cock stiffen with renewed interest.
“Probably not,” he admitted.
She tensed beneath that heavy robe, and he could not blame her. He had, after all, given her good reason to fear for her virtue, bursting into the little bathing machine without even first stopping to check that she was clothed.
“But if you will do this for me, if you will see our lessons through, I promise to behave honorably,” he added. “To keep our interactions strictly impersonal. You have nothing to fear by continuing your instruction. I give you my word.”
DAMN DAVID CAMERON and his gilded tongue and devilish grin.
One word, one rakish smile, and the sliver of hope that Caroline had forced herself to bury last night had already begun to work its way back toward the surface.
No matter his monkish stance, no matter his patent denials from last night, he was not immune to her. The hard, defined length of his arousal had just been pressed against her bare back, for heaven’s sake. He could deny his interest all he wanted, but he could not hide it.
Last night, on the dance floor, David had instructed her on what to look for in a dance partner, claiming his unsolicited tutoring was fair turnabout in exchange for her swimming instructions. That memory breathed new life into what was probably a foolish idea. Caroline lifted her eyes to meet the intense blue gaze that hovered a mere two feet away.
She might not be able to capture David Cameron’s heart, but mayhap she had set her sights too high.
“I might be willing to continue your swimming instruction,” she told him, her stomach churning. “Given the right incentive.”
He did not even hesitate. “I would gladly give you the entire purse, if you wanted.”
She shook her head, although the generous offer surprised her, given his admitted need of the prize money. “You misunderstand me. Splitting the purse, should you win it, is more than fair. But there is no guarantee you will win, and that might leave me without recompense.”
His jaw tensed. “What do you suggest as payment?”
The suspicion in his voice near dragged her under, but Caroline shrugged it off, determined to see this through. She might not have a future with
this man, but if she had to marry someone else to keep the promise she had made to her father, didn’t she at least deserve a taste of what she was giving up?
“You showed me how much possibility could be found in a kiss, David. I want to learn more, before I marry. And I want to learn it from you.”
He jerked backward as if she had struck him. “If I win this race for us, you’ll have enough money you won’t need to marry.”
“I appreciate the gesture, but such a boon would only delay the inevitable. I’ve my sister to support, and my mother as well. I am still bound for marriage, David. And the longer I wait, the poorer my chances.”
His face flushed scarlet. “I cannot offer for you, so do not ask me.”
His words stung, for all that she was now prepared to deal with them. Caroline crossed her arms across her flannel-clad chest and tried to hide her shaking fingers. “As you pointed out last night, we would not suit. I am not seeking an offer of marriage from you.”
And she wasn’t. He had made it quite clear his heart was otherwise engaged. But given that the love of his life had been dead for some eleven years, he could not argue that other pertinent parts of his anatomy were not available.
And though her motives tended toward selfish, she might be able to help him as well. It struck her as a terrible waste that a man capable of such strong feelings had spent eleven years loving someone who could no longer love him back. He seemed unwilling to even consider an alternative to that cycle of mourning, but perhaps he had not found someone who could help him see that his life might be more. Even if he could not see a future with her, Caroline was willing to prove he should at least consider a future with someone.
Oblivious to the machinations of her mind, David raked a hand through hair that already stood in a damp, golden tangle. “If not marriage, then what, in the name of all that is holy, are you asking me for?”
Caroline took a deep breath for courage, and flexed her fingers against the suffocating cocoon of her flannel robe. This next bit would require some finesse. “I require only your expertise in matters of a physical nature.”
Summer Is for Lovers Page 17