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She loved to swim, though opportunities to do so were infrequent.

Not many girls at the academy had enjoyed swimming lessons. Faith had and was an accomplished swimmer. Nevertheless, Mrs. Shepherd had been adamant that learning to swim be a part of their education.

“You never know what skills you may need, my dears. The better prepared you are, the greater your chance of success.”

Which was why all of the students at the academy had learned to load and shoot a pistol, had fencing lessons, were instructed in herbal remedies, and were taught rudimentary nursing skills along with traditional lessons in cooking, preserving, sewing, and overseeing a household.

“Indeed.” Constantine nodded while gazing about. “My brothers and I did so quite often as youths. Do you swim?”

“I do, although it’s been some time since I had the privilege. I imagine your family partakes whenever they have the opportunity.”

For certain, Faith would if this were her home.

“I honestly don’t know if anyone does anymore, but Le Gardyner ensures our family garden remains in pristine shape.”

Faith laughed. “Your gardener’s name is Le Gardyner? Really?”

“Aye.” Constantine grinned. “He’s from a long line of gardeners, hence the appropriate surname. His first name is Oakley.” Hands on his slender hips, he shook his head. “I used to swim every time I came home. I’d forgotten how much I enjoy it.”

“Me too.” Faith ventured closer. The water was clear, cool, and oh so tempting. “I should like to visit during the daytime.” She spun around and marched toward one of the wrought iron benches. “I’m going to dip my feet in the water.”

“Hold on there.” He laughed, reaching out and drawing her near. “You have pollen on your nose.”

Even after she’d been so careful?

After removing his handkerchief from his pocket and dipping the corner in the refreshing water, Constantine proceeded to gently wipe the pollen off.

Faith stood utterly still, studying his features mere inches from hers—aware of him in a manner she’d never been before. Conscious of his masculinity and her femininity.

His cologne teased her nostrils, but she also detected his musky, clean personal essence.

“There. No one will mistake you for a pixie or a fairy now.”

His gaze meshed with hers, and his smile faded. The look in his eyes became hungry and hot.

He dipped his head nearer, and Faith couldn’t tear her attention from his mouth. From lips perfectly formed by a master sculptor.

“Tell me to stop.” His voice emerged in a gravelly, low purr. “You’ve only to say the word.”

Stop? Was he insane?

No. No. Go on. Kiss me. Please kiss me.

“I don’t want you to stop.”

Faith wasn’t thinking at the moment—didn’t want to think. To be logical and sensible and practical and cautious.

What Faith wanted was for Constantine to kiss her. Thoroughly.

She’d never been kissed.

What could one kiss from her pretend fiancé hurt?

Her eyelids fluttered closed of their own volition as he drew her into his marble-like embrace. The first touch was no more than a butterfly’s wing.

A whisper. A featherlike touch.

As if realizing her willingness, perhaps even eagerness, Constantine brought his mouth down fully on hers. Such an onslaught of sensation engulfed Faith that she became lightheaded, her heart flipped over, and her dashed knees turned to butter.