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The duchess had been deaf to Willow’s firm stance that she was three and twenty and it was perfectly safe to picnic with a childhood friend. Her mother had spluttered at the impropriety of walking with Alasdair without a chaperone. Willow was grateful her father and brothers were in London, for she would not have been able to defeat their strong objections, to being with him by herself. She was no longer the girl of sixteen who had been allowed too much freedom with Alasdair.
It was Grandmother who had gently encouraged Willow’s mother to let her be. But her mother had only relented after Willow agreed to take Olivia as a chaperone. And yet her mother was still not satisfied.
Willow loved her mother, but her overprotectiveness was tiring.
“Willow—”
“Please, Mother.” She smiled to remove the sting of her words. “Allow me this without an argument. The weather is perfect, and I have not been to the lake for almost a year. Father stifles me, and though Quinton and Grayson try to be different, they are rather much the same.”
“You will ensure Oliva is with you at all times,” her mother said.
Willow smiled noncommittally. She had no intention of taking Olivia with her, not when the promise of passion had been so evident in Alasdair’s tone. Willow would allow ample opportunities for him to steal a kiss again if he so desired.
A heavy sigh slipped from her mother, then there was a rustle of sound, and the smell of peaches and lemons wafted closer. Her mother’s fragrance had always been comforting, unique. Willow turned toward her mother, reaching out her hands.
The lightest of kisses brushed her cheek, and she could smell the faint tang of sherry on her mother’s breath. “You have been drinking.”
“Do not concern yourself, it was only one glass. Go and have a pleasant time. Though I may need another glass to fortify my nerves when your father discovers I allowed this. I am sure he would have wanted to speak with Lord Westcliffe before he allowed any courtship.”
Willow did not point out it was barely noon, much too early for her mother to be imbibing, and she certainty did not mention this was not a courtship. “Thank you, Mother.” She returned her mother’s embrace.
Willow walked from the drawing room without assistance to her chambers up the winding stairs. With the aid of her lady’s maid, Anne, Willow dressed in a simple walking gown. It had not taken much to convince Olivia to grant Willow privacy with the marquess. Her friend and companion understood the raging need she possessed to be unchained from her mother’s stifling overprotectiveness and fear. Though Olivia had asked her to be careful, for her companion was fully aware of Willow’s history with Alasdair.
“I am leaving my hair down in a plait.”
“Yes, my lady,” Anne murmured.
A few minutes later Willow descended the stairs fully composed, hoping none of the tearing emotions she’d felt were evident. She ran her hand along the railing, counting her steps. Halfway down, she paused. Alasdair was near. The scent of him flooded her senses. “Have you come to escort me down the stairs?”
“Impressive indeed,” he said, and then a breath later he was beside her.
“Mayhap not as impressive as your scent is distinct, my lord. I will admit you move with the grace of a predator. I did not feel you come closer.”
There was a subtle intake of breath. “Shall we?” he asked.
She reached out, and he guided her hand to his arm.
“We shall,” she said with a light laugh. “I urge our departure before Mother comes to her senses and makes a ruckus of me leaving with you.”
“Your curricle awaits, my lady.”
It seemed as if he dipped his head closer because warmth coasted near her cheeks. Scotch, chocolate, and if she was not mistaken, bilberries, an interesting combination. A slow ache curled through her. If she did not guard her emotions, she might once again receive a cruel blow from the fickle hands of fate.
Thirty minutes later, Willow listened to the lapping of the lake, the smooth rush of the water, and leaned forward from where she sat on the grass, gliding her fingertips over the lake’s surface. It felt divine. They had been at the lake for almost ten minutes, and she had yet to submerge herself fully into the water. She missed swimming, she missed so many things. It would indeed be glorious to feel the water caressing her skin again, if only she were brave enough to ask Alasdair for assistance.
The smell of rain and something all too elusive wrapped itself around her. Her skin tingled with awareness, and her body came alive at Alasdair’s nearness.
“How may I aid in your enjoyment of the day?” he asked softly.
She stiffened. From the ripples in the water, the soft splash, she could feel him wading closer.
“I am content to sit here and soak my feet.”
She fancied she felt his puzzlement, but how could she explain she did not want to be burdensome?
“Are you? You were a quick study when I taught you to swim. I remember us meeting here almost every day for weeks. I cannot credit you would not wish to take advantage of the marvelous weather. Is it that you have been to the lake so often?”
The sun was bright, and even in her realm of almost darkness, she could see the splice of light edging the void. She berated herself for her hesitancy. “No, I walked by a few times with Quinton, but I have not swum since my accident.”
