Page 73 of The Cornish Bride

What was this? Was he saying he’d come with her and they could go somewhere together again, only tomorrow? She fiddled with the hem of her gansey, a garment she suspected had at some point been worn by Jem. “Won’t you be busy in your office?”

He shook his head, stepping over the line of seaweed. “No. Not tomorrow. In fact, I’d rather spend some time with you, Ysella, than lock myself in my office all day.”

She hopped over the seaweed as well, peering up at him, her heart doing a little involuntary leap. How nice it would be to walk down the track to Nanpean with him, perhaps holding his hand, his skin warm against her own, the birds singing, a soft sea wind blowing. She had the entire picture conjured in her head inside a short few seconds.

However, her inner defense mode, that had been active ever since the Oliver affair, kicked in with a vengeance, protecting her from committing to anything. “Race you to the water,” she cried, instead, and set off across the wet sand.

She arrived at the water’s edge first, but whether that was because she could run fast in her breeches or because he’d let her win, she couldn’t be sure. Panting, she halted, the water cold on her bare toes.

Sam pulled up next to her, also panting. “Good heavens. I didn’t notice the other night how cold the sea is.” He did a little dance, hopping from one foot to the other.

Ysella giggled. “You do look funny. Once you’ve been in it for a while it starts to feel warmer.”

Sam grinned. “How anyone could swim in this voluntarily, I don’t know. I swear it’s colder than the lake at Ormonde.”

She dimpled, swiping that stray curl out of her eyes again. “Well, you did.”

He waded out to ankle deep, the tail ends of the gentle waves rippling in towards them at an angle. “That was different.”

“Was it? You didn’t have to do it.”

“Oh, but I did. No one else there could swim. There was only me could take the rope out to the ship.”

Ysella, who’d waded out a little deeper, squealed as a bigger wave splashed in and soaked the knees of her breeches. “Come out a bit further. It’s really not that cold anymore. I wonder if it would be safe to swim in it on a calm day like today?”

He joined her, and she fixed him with her most solemn stare. “Sam. I have a question to ask you.”

“Go on.”

At least he sounded open to it. “Would you teach me to swim?” She held his gaze, waiting for the answer, awareness of everything this request implied. Of him having to hold her wet body, of what she might wear to learn. Of how it might feel to have him touching her like that.

She saw him swallow. “I-I’m not sure Kit would approve of his sister learning to swim.”

She took a step closer, the waves lapping around her calves, and lowered her voice. “It has nothing to do with Kit anymore. He’s my brother, and always will be, but you’re my husband. And besides, if I were ever in a shipwreck, wouldn’t it be better if I could swim and save myself? I don’t want to be like a sailor and drown the quicker because I can’t swim. That’s so silly if you’re near the shore and could swim to safety.” She peeped at him through her lashes, well aware of her own charms.

She was very close to him now. Oh, how she wanted him to take her in his arms and kiss her. Never had she wanted something so much. This was different to how she’d felt with Oliver. That had been the foolish infatuation of a girl. This was surely something a woman might feel. Perhaps she needed to take the initiative. He was her husband, after all, and she was a woman now.

Another half step had her so close he must have been able to hear her pounding heart. He was so tall, she had to put her head back to keep looking up at him, holding his eyes as he gazed back down at her. Now or never. She’d done it before on the night of the storm, so why not now? But that had been on the spur of the moment, not planned like this was. No. She had to be brave and bold, and just a tad shameless. Perhaps the knowledge of what she’d done with Oliver, which was quite definitely shameless, encouraged her to take the next step.

Standing on tiptoes, she caught hold of Sam’s waistcoat and pulled him towards her. She found his mouth, closing her eyes as her lips touched and tasted his, slightly open in surprise. She kissed him as she’d done on the night of the storm when she’d thought she might never see him again—quick and urgent. Then she pulled away from him, lowering herself back down onto her bare heels in the wet, draggy sand, and released her hold on his waistcoat. There, she’d done it. Her cheeks flushed with heat.

He was looking at her with a question in his eyes. She resisted the inclination to step back away from him and stood her ground. Someone needed to.

“Did you mean that kiss?” Sam asked. Not the question she’d been anticipating.

She heaved in a tremulous breath. “I did.”

He stared down into her eyes as though he were fighting some kind of inner battle. What about, she didn’t understand. She only knew that it must now be his turn to kiss her.

He heaved a sigh much like hers, as though he’d been holding his breath. Perhaps he had. “Would you like me to kiss you?”

So polite, not like Oliver who’d stolen her kisses. She nodded. “I would.” Idiot, of course she would.

He bent his head and their mouths met again, tentative and searching. His was still a little chill from the wind, the tang of salt on his lips. How gentle he was. A small part of Ysella wanted him not to be gentle but to be demanding, but the rest of her tingled at the delicacy of the contact.

After a moment, she let herself kiss him back, her mouth opening under his, and felt his arms go around her, holding her against his body. How strong he felt, how solid, how safe. She lifted her own arms and locked them around his neck as shivers of electricity ran down her body and her legs trembled beneath her. If he were to release his hold, she might collapse into the water at their feet.

His tongue came questing, oh so gently, invading her mouth, and for a moment she froze. No. This was not Oliver. This was her lawfully wedded husband, a gentleman who would stop if she wanted him to, who would never force her into anything. He’d proved that already in their marriage. She let her tongue meet his. How exciting this felt, how gloriously wanton. Her fingers ran through his hair, so soft and silken, and down to cup his rough, stubbly cheeks, holding his face to hers. His hands, tight around her waist, pressed her body to his.

She felt his arousal hard against her belly and jumped back, the kiss abandoned.

He must know why she’d jumped. “I’m sorry,” he floundered. “I can’t help it. I didn’t mean to frighten you. You’re so beautiful, and that kiss was so…” He gulped. “No man could be unmoved by such a kiss.”

Why must all men, although this was making an assumption as she didn’t know any in this way apart from Oliver, be slaves to that thing in their trousers? That thing she’d not enjoyed at all. And now Sam was the same, Sam whom she’d hoped would be different.

“I-I’m sorry,” she muttered, gazing at the water swirling about her feet. “Can’t you stop it from doing that?”

His voice shook a little but she didn’t raise her head to see his face. “I’m afraid men have little control over their reactions in this way. Can you blame me if holding you in my arms and kissing you like that has had this effect on me?” He rubbed a hand across his eyes. “Being like this.” He gestured downwards but she refused to let herself look. “Being like this doesn’t mean I have to act on it. I know what happened to you, Ysella. I understand you might be afraid. I won’t touch you again unless you want it. I promise.”

She blinked up at him out of eyes that had suddenly filled with tears. “You promise?”

He nodded. “Come, let’s walk further along the beach, and have no more kissing.” He held out his hand.

After a moment’s pause, she took it, and they started along the water’s edge, walking in the shallows and kicking up a spray like two errant schoolboys.