Her face was flaming, as was the rest of her body, but it wasn’t from the run. No, it had been from the sight of him. She placed her icy hands, the only cold part of her, on her hot cheeks to cool them down.
When she first spied him standing underneath that waterfall, her mind had frozen and it had taken her a few moments to recognize him. She had thought of Poseidon, and she fancied he was controlling the waterfall and surrounding waters by sheer divine power.
Nonsense and foolishness, of course. He was no god, but merely a man. Oh, but what a man. Her breath faltered as she remembered his wide shoulders, powerful arms, the deep chest. He usually wore loose jackets, making him appear... bulky for lack of a better word. But the ill-fitting garments concealed the trim beauty of the body beneath. He wasn’t bulky. He was made of sculpted muscle and sinew.
And his... rod. She took a deep breath and exhaled in a strangled moan. Long, thick, and proud, emerging from a nest of tawny curls and extending almost halfway down the length of his thigh. His hard, muscled thighs. She snapped her eyes shut as her core melted anew at the memory.
Oh... my... god. She was wicked, and there was nothing to be done for her. She was burning from within like the worst sort of tart, just as her late husband had called her. The sight of that brutal masculine body should have frightened her, repelled her. Instead, it had aroused her.
No, no, no. She shook her head sharply as she continued across the countryside at a quick clip, her skirt flicking about her legs. She couldn’t be feeling this. She was a proper widow. Arespectablewidow. The companion to his stepmother. She had to chaperone his half sister in the upcoming season, and for that she had to be level headed, above reproach. She could not be lusting after the lord of the manor.
A horrible thought struck her, making her gasp aloud. What if he had seen her ogling him? Oh no, she could not stand it. She would surely perish from mortification. She would run away and never return. If he didn’t sack her first for being a shameless hussy.
But no. She reasoned, bargaining with herself. He had not shown by word or deed that he had noticed anyone by the stream. Surely, if he suspected there was someone lurking around, he would call out the intruder? All the time she watched him, he had been calm, unconcerned.
She took a deep breath. All would be well. She just had to forget having seen Lord Hartfield emerging from that stream in the nude like some Greek god of the sea. Easier said than done. She feared the image would forever be branded into her brain.
She entered the house by a side door and mercifully was able to reach her room without being seen by anyone. She looked at the clock on the mantel. Twenty minutes to eight. Dinner would be served at eight. Would he be there? Could she face him, feeling as she did with all her emotions in turmoil?
Yes, she had to. The sooner the better. She had to go down to the dining room and act as if nothing untoward had happened. Pretend she had not left the house all afternoon. She poured some cold water on the basin from the pitcher and splashed her pink cheeks. Then she disrobed and washed herself efficiently. Going to her wardrobe, she selected the most demure dress she possessed. A gray wool, high-necked thing that made her look older and severe.
Next came her hair, which she twisted into a severe knot at her nape, completing the effect. She examined herself in the mirror, satisfied with the result. She looked as chaste as a nun. No one would suspect this gray and circumspect creature of having any untoward passions. Certainly not of ogling naked men while they swam.
Taking a deep breath, she went to the countess’s room to accompany her down to dinner. The lady’s maid opened the door at once when she knocked.
“Good evening, Greaves.” Abigail said, addressing the maid. “Is her ladyship ready to come down to dinner?”
“Oh, you were not told?” The little maid replied. “The countess is tired, and she has requested to be excused from dinner tonight. She will take a tray in her room.”
“Oh! I see. I’ll convey her excuses to the Earl.”
Turning, she walked down the hall. Drat! Today, of all days, she would have preferred to have the countess as a buffer between the earl and herself. The thought of having an intimate meal, just the two of them... she shivered and almost skipped dinner as well. But it would be rude to excuse herself at the last moment and leave him to dine alone. And she didn’t even have a good excuse.
Girding herself to deal with the situation, she descended the staircase and entered the parlor, where they usually met for pre-dinner drinks before proceeding to the dining room. He was already there, a hand propped on the fireplace mantel, looking pensively into the embers. His blonde locks were still damp from his swim and she noticed they curled slightly at the ends. The detail made her smile.
He was holding a glass of cognac in his hand and the sight of those long, strong fingers curving delicately around the glass sent a thrill down her body. Stop it! She had better get a hold of her unruly thoughts before he noticed her.
“Good evening, my lord.” She was so proud of the way her voice came out. Serene. No hint of the inner turmoil she was feeling.
His head snapped up, and he turned with a surprised expression. Did she imagine the fleeting heated emotion that crossed his eyes for an instant? She must have. He smiled the next moment.
“Abigail, I’m glad you’re able to join me for dinner. I was sure that you were going to cry off and take a tray in your room.”
“Did you? And why would I do that, my lord?” She said, advancing into the room and taking a seat in the armchair by the fire. He lifted the bottle of cognac.
At her nod, he poured a glass and brought it over. Their fingers brushed as she took it and goosebumps ran up her arm. Did he feel it too? Oh, my goodness. This was ridiculous. She would never survive an entire dinner with him if she was so affected by a simple unintentional brush of their fingers.
“I don’t know.” He said, answering her earlier question while studying her. “They informed me the countess excused herself from dinner, claiming fatigue. Maybe you, too, were tired from the day’s rigors.”
Had he imbued that last word with a double meaning? Did he know, or at least suspected, that she had been by the stream?
“Ah, but the countess is frail. I, on the other hand, have a very robust constitution. Besides, I had a very sedate day today. Since the countess took to her bed after tea, I retired to my room to read and take a nap after I left your study.” There, that should allay his suspicions, if he had any.
“Is that so? What were you reading? Anything inspiring?” He said smoothly. Too smoothly. Was he toying with her? Dear god, had he seen her out by the stream? But if that was the case, why didn’t he say so?
“Not at all, my lord.” She replied primly. “In fact, the book was quite boring. It put me to sleep out of sheer boredom.”
She thought she detected a slight pull of his lips, as if he were trying to hide a smile. Luckily, the butler saved her from having to continue this torturous conversation by entering the room at that moment and announcing that dinner was served.
