Page 52 of Contracted as His Countess

He shook his head. ‘Nothing.’ He was not ready to tell his wife that he thought he was falling in love with her. He was not even sure himself that was what this feeling was: desire, excitement and, under it, a deep, calm warmth. It was novel and precious and he was not risking losing it by speaking too soon.

‘Unhook my gown, please.’

The cut of the gown with its support under the breasts did away with the need for stays and Madelyn wore only a long under-shift. ‘You are very easy to undress,’ Jack remarked, taking the gown from her as she stepped out of it and laying it across a bush.

‘I suspect you have had practice,’ she said over her shoulder, teasing.

‘Enough,’ he admitted. ‘Are you going to practise some more with my clothes?’

‘Of course.’ She walked towards him through the soft grass, the summer flowers, and he thought of the flowery meadow she was embroidering behind the heraldic beasts.

‘Do I have a unicorn among all those creatures you are copying for the chair seats?’ he asked as she pushed back his coat and caught it before it fell to the ground.

‘No, neither of us has a unicorn. It is a pity. Perhaps I can lure one out of hiding for you. This is a magical place, so wild and peaceful.’ She tossed his neckcloth onto the handy bush and began to unfasten his cuffs.

‘I’m afraid not,’ Jack said, feigning regret. ‘They will only come to virgins, don’t you remember? You no longer qualify.’

She pulled the shirt over his head. ‘Oh. Well, never mind, I would rather have you than a unicorn.’

Jack sat down and took off shoes and stockings as an excuse to hide his face. There had been something in Madelyn’s voice, a tenderness, a possessiveness, that touched something inside him and took his breath. Was he hearing what he wanted to hear or did she have feelings for him that she was not yet ready to put into words, just as he had for her?

He stood up, took off his breeches and advanced on the lake. ‘Come on, off with that shift.’

‘Shouldn’t I keep it on?’ Madelyn stood hesitating on the bank. ‘I’ve seen pictures of ladies using bathing machines at the seaside and they are wearing shifts.’

‘It will cling and feel uncomfortable and there is only me here to see.’ He waded in knee-deep. ‘It is surprisingly warm.’

‘But it is broad daylight.’ Her fingers were tugging at the shift, though.

‘Off with it!’

Madelyn dragged it over her head, blushed and ran down the bank, splashing past him until she tripped and fell into the water.

Jack hauled her up, coughing and spluttering. ‘You see? Lovely and warm. We need to go deeper, though.’ This was going to be fun.

* * *

She wouldn’t exactly describe the water as warm, but it was lovely, slipping over her skin. And Jack was patient and funny, tickling her ribs when she wouldn’t relax lying across his arms, so she flailed and flapped and suddenly his arms had gone and she was floating. It only lasted a few seconds until she sank and stood up, rubbing the water out of her eyes, but when she tried it again she managed to float for longer and then watched as Jack swam up and down, showing her how to move her

arms and legs.

‘It feels so gorgeous and it is such fun. I can’t remember enjoying myself so much doing something physical, except for riding. And making love, of course,’ she said, laughing and splashing him when he threatened her with water weed. ‘How long will it be before I can swim properly?’

‘Not long. But no more today or you will get chilled. Come and sit on the grass and let the sun dry you.’

They had brought towels and a flask of lemonade and a napkin with buttered rolls stuffed with ham and Jack spread one towel in lieu of a rug. They sat, side by side, wet and bare and covered in goose bumps, and demolished the food.

‘This is so wicked,’ Madelyn said with a happy sigh.

‘And you are covered in crumbs,’ Jack said, brushing at a trail of them down over her breasts.

‘Behave!’ Madelyn snatched up a towel and wrapped herself in it. ‘Tell me why you left here as a child.’

‘Do you want to spoil the mood?’ Jack said.

‘I want to understand.’

‘My grandmother insisted. It took her a little while, I think, to realise and accept just what a wastrel her son had become or I think she would have sent for me earlier. My grandfather was the same—Father was the only child, they kept telling themselves at first he would grow out of it, or that it was simply high spirits and that marriage would steady him.

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