“Liberation,” she said.
“Yes. If only the effect were more than temporary.” He paused. “When you said, earlier, that I was right but also wrong, about us knowing each other—what did you mean?” He felt ready to know.
“You were right that we do know each other, intimately. But at the same time, we don’t know each othercompletely. We cannot. What you said about your childhood having no bearing on who you are today—that isn’t true, is it? It cannot be. For any of us.”
“No,” he said quietly, a sadness colder than the sea seeping into his bones, “It cannot be.” Why else would all these nightmare memories be surfacing if childhood had no bearing on the present?
To his shock, she reached up and rested a palm on his cheek. “I am sorry.”
“Whatever for?” He’d meant his tone to be light, but there was a catch in his throat.
“For whatever has hurt you.” She paused. “Or whoever.”
Tears sprang to the corners of his eyes. He supposed he ought to be grateful that they were disguised by the fact that his face was already wet.
“My father hurt me,” he said carefully. “And my mother, too, but by inaction rather than by malice.”
“Ah.”
“I will tell you about it,” he said, surprising himself by wanting to. “But I think we ought to get out of the water. It’s becoming properly morning.” The land that abutted the water was owned by Lord Haffert, and this section of beach had been deserted every time the boys had visited, but Effie and Jules, in their wet, half-dressed state, were pushing their luck post-dawn.
He carried her in a way, until he judged the water level would be below her waist, and set her on her feet.
She threw her arms around him. He’d have been less shocked if she’d planted a facer on him, though he wasn’t sure why. They hadkissedyesterday.
He returned her embrace, glad the cold water had led to some . . . shrinkage. Her body was long and lean, but her bosom was soft. She hugged him tighter, and he had to revise that thought. Her bosom was soft, but he could feel her nipples against his skin, through the wet muslin of her shift.
Anddrat, the shrinkage was . . . reversing.
She didn’t seem to notice, just kept hanging on as she said, solemnly, “Thank you for teaching me to swim.”
“I didn’t teach you, in the end. I think proper swimming lessons are better conducted in more private waters, when one may immerse oneself for a long time, and under the high sun of the afternoon.” If only he could invite her to stay at Highworth.
“Thank you for holding me up, then.”
He took a step back, gently disentangling them. It was difficult. “Oh, you are most welcome for that, Jules. I would do that all day if I could.”
“I should have brought some toweling,” she said when they were back on the beach. She picked up her dress and shook it. “’T’will be unpleasant to put a dry dress over a wet shift.”
Effie had been trying not to look at the wet shift too closely. “Come back to the house.” He spoke with his back turned, nominally because he was buttoning up his shirt. “You can dry off there.”
She started to demur, but her speech was interrupted by an almost comically large yawn. She smiled when it concluded. “I can’t imagine why I feel so exhausted.”
“You walked here.”
“It isn’t a great distance, and I walk quite a lot, generally speaking. I suppose it’s that I stayed up most of the night, not wanting to oversleep our meeting.”
“I did the same.” As if on cue, he yawned. “It seems your fatigue is infectious.”
“Your friends”—another yawn—“won’t mind if I pay a visit? Or the household staff?”
“They won’t know,” he said, though he had no idea how he was going to sneak her in.
The same way he had sneaked out, he decided. His bedchamber window was going to be harder to enter from the outside—jumping down had been one thing—but he could give Julianna a leg up. He’d helped his sister onto enough horses.
To his surprise, there was an actual mounting block sitting at the base of the window.
Oh, Archie.
