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"Let me go!" she demanded in a muffled voice.
He hugged her even tighter. Perhaps, she thought, he couldn’t hear her. So she tried again, shouting the words, and this time he released her abruptly, stumbling back and almost falling.
She ducked down into the water.
Juliet looked up at him, and the first thing she noticed was that he was very wet. The second that it was definit
ely Ash, she hadn’t been mistaken, but he was older. The frown he was wearing now brought creases around his eyes and mouth, and incongruously she knew he would look like that when he was his uncle’s age. Wrinkled, but still golden and handsome.
"Are you well?" he demanded, reaching out a hand toward her, in case she sank beneath the surface and he had to drag her up again.
Because she was only just keeping her chin above the dark water. In a way it seemed ridiculous to act so when this man had seen her naked before. They had been lovers. But that had been eight years ago and now they were strangers.
"Perfectly," she retorted, glaring up at him. He was already tugging off his jacket—with difficulty because he was soaking—and a moment later he had wrapped it about her. “Ash, it’s wet,” she reminded him, but as she stood up with the jacket about her, she realised that it was warmer than the air. Warm from his body.
She shivered. If she had known he was in residence she would never have come here tonight. She would certainly never come here again! That made her sad because she loved this place. She felt safe here; it was a part of her life, and now he had spoiled it.
At the same time Juliet noticed how broad he was across the shoulders. He had filled out. He was a man, grown. Once upon a time she had dreamed about him, trying to imagine how he would look in his army uniform, scouring the newspapers for information because no one else would tell her anything. Not that she would ask. She was too proud for that.
"Come out of the water," he ordered. "You're frozen."
"I'm n-n-not!" she said, with her teeth chattering.
His expression was a struggle between compassion and laughter. Laughter won. He doubled over. Juliet stood for a moment, watching him, and not sure what to do. And then her own laughter came bubbling up inside her, and although at first she tried to hold it in because . . . well this was not amusing, it escaped. Soon she was giggling and spluttering, in between her shivers.
Eventually they both stopped, almost at the same time. Now she felt awkward, and there were other emotions too, skulking beneath the surface, and she needed to be alone to examine them more closely. Juliet knew that meant escaping as quickly as possible.
He was watching her, waiting to see what she would say. She wondered what his thoughts were—did he think she had changed too?—and then decided she didn’t want to know. It was Ashley who had abandoned her without a backward glance, and he did not deserve to have any opinions on the matter whatsoever.
“Can you hand me my gown?” she asked him, nodding at the pile of clothing behind him. When he climbed out to find it, as she’d known he would—Ash was nothing if not a gentleman—she quickly exited the lake after him. Her swift departure seemed to amuse him, one eyebrow lifted at the sight of her with the jacket swallowing her up, wriggling her bare toes to stay warm, and from sheer nerves.
She took the wrap and clutched it against herself, aware of the drip, drip of her sodden hair, and feeling terribly exposed.
“If you would turn your back,” she said politely, pretending there was nothing odd about the situation. It would do no good to acknowledge that this was one of the stranger moments in her life.
He did so, bending down to take off his shoes and tip out the water, before replacing them. At the same time, he said, “I guessed it was you.” His voice was deep and measured, familiar and yet different. “Only you would do something so outrageous, Juliet.”
Unfair!
“You could be rather outrageous yourself, if I remember,” she said calmly when she was feeling anything but. It was as if their moment of laughter had never been. She began to dress, quickly, very aware of his broad back beneath his sodden white shirt and the tight fit of his breeches over his buttocks and thighs. Everything was clinging to him very nicely but she refused to let her eyes linger. Dwelling on him, and their shared past, would do her no good. She felt off kilter, and as if to make matters worse, being with him, looking at him, was heating her blood and causing her body to ache in places she had forgotten existed.
Although that wasn’t entirely true. She remembered very well, too well, it was just that she was trying to put such awkward memories out of her mind.
Just as he had put her out of his mind, all those years ago.
The spurt of anger sobered her. He had left her, abandoned her, without even a note of regret or explanation. Without even a vague promise to give her hope. All his declarations of love had turned to ashes and despite all their years apart she had not forgotten nor forgiven. And yet, to be fair, hadn’t he been a victim of her father and his uncle, just as she had? Well, perhaps, she thought grudgingly, but no one had forced him into a marriage that at the time had felt like the end of her life.
There! She was as dressed as she could be in the circumstances. With trembling hands, she twisted her long hair and wrung it out so that the water dripped away from her feet. Any other repairs would have to wait, she thought, as she slid on her slippers.
“You can look now,” she said quietly.
He turned swiftly, which might have made her smile, but then their eyes met and she no longer felt like smiling. The warm sensation inside her was growing, as if someone had lit a fire and she was standing too close. It seemed ridiculous to be so aroused by a man she had not seen in so long. As if her body had missed him and was reminding her of how many nights she had lain alone in her bed.
She wondered what he felt. Confusion? Similar emotions to hers? She thought she had seen something bright and painful in his face, before he closed his emotions down. Ash had finally learned to hide his feelings, something he had struggled to do eight years ago.
She handed him back his jacket, preparing to take her leave.
“I will walk with you,” he said, firmly, as if he thought she would refuse him.
