Page 44 of A Siren for the Duke

“I…” she swallowed thickly. Truly, she did not need much convincing. She had already had a secret affair with him that had practically ruined her and her family, had stolen away on a boat, and made it all the way to the Caribbean. She’d shared everything with him, and there was not much about her he did not know or could not see.

“Speechless?” he teased.

Clearly, he’d done some of his own grooming, as well. He’d shaved again, and he smelled better—not quite like the hibiscus oil, but like something fresh and natural that no doubt grew on the island. He’d traded in his Navy coat and white uniform for a new white linen shirt and a light blue and white pinstripe waistcoat and blue breeches. It was a fetching look on him, and he looked very at home in Jamaica.

“Lionel, you cannot be caught here,” she urged, her voice a little gentler now.

“Why not?”

She might have had a perfectly reasonable retort, but Lionel began planting gentle kisses on her neck and the top of her back. That, combined with the warm, clean water, made her a little lightheaded, unable to focus or listen to reason. After a few moments, she turned her head and let him kiss her. It was not a soft kiss, nor was it a hot and passionate one. No, this was romantic, full of regret from the past and hope for the future.

And then his tongue tickled her bottom lip, begging for entry. When she granted it, the kiss deepened. One of his hands held the back of her head, fingers tangling in her wet hair, while the other dipped into the water and found purchase on one of her breasts. She should have been alarmed; she should have been horrified, but this felt too good for her to ask him to stop. When he pulled back, she could see that his pupils were dark and blown with lust.

“There is no good answer I can give,” she said in a low voice.

“Then I’ll stay with you as long as you like,” he whispered and kissed her again, lips mapping the contours of her upper body above the waterline. The one hand continued to fondle her breast gently under the water, and she might have let it travel further south until a knock sounded at the door again.

As if they’d been electrocuted, they broke apart, chests heaving and faces red.

“Go!” she urged.

Lionel stumbled and fell on the rug, which caused Jemima to erupt into a fit of giggles.

“I thought you were insistent upon me leaving!” he hissed.

“I am, but its funny! Just go!”

“Are you going to answer the door?”

“Yes! Now get out of here!”

“One more kiss?” he pleaded.

Jemima stood up in her naked glory, relishing the sight of Lionel’s wide, adoring eyes, and leaned in for a kiss. But instead of planting her lips on his, she slapped him playfully on the cheek.

“Get out!” she urged.

He saluted her and darted for the balcony, where he gave a wink before he shut the balcony doors and jumped—to where she could not see—but as no cry of pain erupted, she assumed he must have been alright.

Composing herself as best she could, she settled back into the luscious scented bath.

“Enter,” she said in her most innocent voice.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Remarkably, Lionel landed on his own two feet. It was not that high of a balcony to begin with, but he was happy he had not broken or sprained his ankles. Rather pleased with himself, he brushed some of the plant residue from his hands on his waistcoat and was about to find another way into the house when someone coughed behind him. Lionel froze for an instant, then turned around slowly to see Harold Sherwood, the English ambassador, standing behind him, smirking.

“I promise I have a good explanation,” he began, but Mr. Sherwood only laughed.

Lionel's eyes widened, and he stumbled back, nearly losing his footing. Mr. Sherwood, however, greeted him with a wry smile, a twinkle in his eyes.

"Well, well, young man," Mr. Sherwood said, his voice carrying a hint of amusement. "Seems I've caught you in a rather compromising position. Sneaking out of the lady's bedchamber, I presume?"

Lionel stammered, searching for words that might lessen the gravity of the situation.

"Sir, I assure you, it's not what you think. It was merely a... a misunderstanding."

Mr. Sherwood chuckled, a deep and hearty sound that seemed to echo through the garden.