Jack shifted. “For propriety, you’d best make your way back alone. I need…” He needed to get his unruly body under control, his arousal so fierce. “…to retie my cravat.”
They both stared at the sandy, mangled lump of cloth at his feet and she raised a brow.
Yes, it would take a miracle but nevertheless Tamsyn nodded and bent to gather her shoes. “Don’t be long. The tide has long turned.”
He watched as she scrambled back over the rocks with nimble feet and little hesitation, fingers grasping boulders as though a paramour’s torso.
Such notions did little to douse his stormy desire, but he refused to allow his gaze to wander till her skirts had disappeared over the outcrop.
Exhaling heavily, Jack picked his way along the sea-smoothed granite, avoiding scurrying crabs and watching the water gurgle and ripple in the many secretive pools.
A jutting group of boulders stretched into the deeper briny expanse, and he clambered up to seek the cool breeze, shaking off his waistcoat and flapping his shirt.
Where the devil was his self-control?
She’d agreed to tell him all and didn’t require further wooing.
But then, that wasn’t why he’d kissed her.
The mission,La Chauve-Souris, even his own reputation and rules had all been forgotten for a taste of Tamsyn Penrose.
At last, a cooler breeze assailed his skin and as a wave crashed against the rocks below, he forced his thoughts to sombreness, anything to quench the arousal still surging in his veins.
Thrusting a hand through his hair, he looked to the cliffs and thought of the night she’d been trapped in that cave, alone with a dead boy. Why hadLa Chauve-Sourisleft her alive?
He turned back to the sea, but sudden pain seared his nape and clouds of grey rolled in. He caught a glimpse of cudgel before his legs crumpled beneath him.
Heaving an arm aloft, he sought grip but seaweed tore in his scrabbling fingers and a bitter wave broke, lifting him from the rock and dragging him below. Water smothered his breath and the sea claimed its prey.
Chapter Fourteen
Lost and found.
Where the deuce was he?
Tables had been smartly cleared, parasols folded and hampers repacked, servants having then conveyed all to the headland with weary arms. Guests now drifted back to their carriages, bleary-eyed and overstuffed, Lowarn Cove returning to its previous pristine and peaceful state.
Only the somewhat bedraggled Penrose party – and an ever-hopeful Mrs Tripconey – still lounged on the beach, wafting fans and awaiting the marquess.
“If Mrs Pencally saw him heading up the path, I’d say he’s gone on to the manor,” proffered the professor, swaying on a boulder like a one-legged seagull, now clearly stewed to the gills. “Let’s go home.”
“Mr Miggens says his horse is still tied.” Lowdy glared like a spitting kitten. “Why would he walk?”
Tamsyn bit her lip, unable to reveal the last known whereabouts of the marquess. Captain Lynch and Mr Miggens were searching the beach, Benjamin and Samuel the headland.
Nerves tore at her. Could he have fallen? She would have to suggest they search beyond the outcrop.
“Oh,” Mrs Tripconey suddenly gasped, standing and pointing out to sea. “Is that…Poseidon?”
They all gawked.
Lowdy scrubbed her eyes and Mrs Tripconey’s mouth dropped open.
“No,” Tamsyn replied faintly. “That’s Lord Winterbourne.”
Goodness.
He waded toward them, cerulean sea up to his waist, white shirt clinging to an array of muscles. She knew he was substantial in the chest area, but things…rippled with every stride in the heavy water.
