Enough was enough.
Unfolding his legs, he mutely rose to thread his way through the recumbent guests, worried that memories of that night would cause her anguish, that visions would assail her, and the thought lent speed to his heels. She could be crying or–
“Where are you going, young Winterbourne?”
Bloody chaperones.
The all-seeing great-aunt reclined on a plump cushion, both eyes closed.
“Thought I’d walk off the muggety pie, Mrs Pencally.”
She puckered her lips. One quelling eye opened. “Well, put your jacket back on and try the opposite direction to my niece.” The eye closed.
“My intention, of course, Mrs Pencally, but all these rocks do so confuse one’s compass.” And he turned on his heel to head up the beach, not deterred in the least. For if he climbed back to the headland and followed the coastal path a little further, he’d find that steep overgrown trail which led directly to the far end of the cove.
Humid sea breeze met Jack’s skin as the trail broadened onto the isolated inlet, boulders strewn as though a giant had ploughed his fist into the lunging cliffs and let nature fall asunder.
Never should he have left her alone for so long. What if she’d slipped on a rock or was sobbing in the cave? What if–
A tinkle of laughter and…
White slender toes flicked glinting droplets of water into the air as Tamsyn paddled in the shallows, and the punishing tension in his chest, which he’d not even realised he’d been sentenced to, eased.
Tamsyn Penrose wasn’t scared or anxious but glorious and fearless.
Maybe there was something to be said for water after all, as her gown was hitched to the knee.
Delicious, and he wondered what she would do if he tumbled her into the deep blue, kissed her with salty lips, yanked her skirts higher and explored with sleek hands, gown soaked wet and revealing every intoxicating inch.
Craving clawed at his resolve and the shale crunched as he strolled toward her, the rip of gentle tide dousing his approach.
“Are you my mermaid, Tamsyn?” he called, shedding his jacket. “Ready to lure some poor fellow out to Jones’s locker?”
She startled and looked up. “Not I,” she replied. “He must come of his own free will or not at all.”
Well, so much for come-hither sea maidens.
“But,” she continued, “I am being encircled by a significant number of small fishes nibbling my toes.” And Tamsyn proceeded to stagger from the shallows, tide lapping her legs like a lover’s tongue.
Innocent, he silently repeated. Rule number two.
“I believe we are making our way home soon.”
“Oh.”
Oh indeed, as they both glanced to her feet now caked in sand and bits of broken shell.
Capturing her fingers, he led her to a hollow rock formed like a ready-made armchair. “Allow me to dry you off.”
“But you haven’t–” Her words stalled as he began unravelling his cravat. Miggens would likely get the hump, but to hell with it.
Lowering to both knees before her, he pushed the skirt hem to her knee.
Tamsyn did not protest.
Her legs were slender with thin feet and pretty toes – well, compared to his hairy creations – and the sight hitched his breath.
A plethora of coquettish ladies had been served up at the picnic banquet and yet…
