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You took off in a huff, he told himself severely. You made a mistake and, just because she wasn’t sitting there meekly waiting for you to come along and graciously apologise, you are just as cross with her as you are with yourself.
That was undoubtedly true, and not very helpful. Am I in love with her, or infatuated with her? How do I tell? Part of a responsible, well-regulated, life back in England was not getting involved in incautious flirtations or entanglements with eligible young ladies, and maintaining one’s mistresses with proper discretion and with no illusions on either side. Eventually one would find a suitable young lady to marry, and that would be that, although naturally, one hoped for a loving and affectionate relationship.
‘Prig!’ Chance muttered. He was finding this self-examination uncomfortable. He had an uneasy suspicion that he had been smug, and patronising in his approach to women in the past. Worse, that Alessa undoubtedly thought so, and could now add hypocrite or oaf to that unflattering description.
He also realised, as the boat skimmed closer to the cliffs, that love her or not, he most certainly was still violently attracted to her.
There was a headland; he tossed up mentally and steered towards the open sea, only to see a tantalising little sandy cove open up before him, the sun directly on it. It was quite deserted, cupped in the jagged cliffs, and on an impulse he ran the boat ashore, juddering to a halt on the sloping sand.
He was barefoot already. The sea was coolly refreshing as he splashed ashore and found a rock to tether the boat to, and his body was seriously overheated. Chance dragged off his jacket, shirt and loose trousers and, naked, took a running header into the wavelets. The shock brought him to his feet on the gritty sand, the water lapping around his loins. ‘Brrr!’ It was colder than he had thought, but the clarity was wonderful. As he looked down he could see tiny fish nibbling around his toes, and already the sun was hot on his shoulders.
Chance plunged back in again and swam strongly towards the headland. The waves had undercut it; here and there little caves appeared, the water inside them a deep turquoise. Where the rock dipped below the water there was a continuous rim of deep pinkish-purple, like a coarse, thick lace. Chance trod water, picking at it. It was like underwater lichen; perhaps the Lord High Commissioner had books in his library that would identify it.
He let himself hang on the surface, face down for as long as he could hold his breath, gazing at the sea floor, crystal clear below him. He began to kick gently, turning his face up for air before drifting on, entranced.
How deep was it? Twenty feet? More? Shoals of fish darted beneath him, rock outcrops were crowned with weed and studded with spiny urchins. He took another breath and saw that the cliff walls were turning inwards, into a deeper cave. Chance let himself drift in, no longer chilled, the heat of the sun sultry on his bare back.
A boat had sunk just inside the entrance, its ribs jutting up bare and stark. Crabs scuttled in and out of its shelter and the sudden flash of a great, sinister snake-like head betrayed the presence of a big eel.
The water’s colours, in the shade and out of it, were a delight of lapis and aqua. For the first time in his life Chance wished he could paint, trap this jewel box for ever.
He stirred his feet lazily, hanging motionless above his shadow, almost forgetting to breathe.
The flash of movement at the corner of his vision made him open his mouth and choke. It was large—as large as a seal. But there were no seals. A shark?
Chance spat water and shook the hair from his eyes, scanning the surface for signs of a fin. Nothing. He dipped his face below the surface again and there it was, swimming beneath him. No shark, but a mermaid.
Long, bare, strong limbs propelled her through the water with the grace of a fish. Her hair streamed around her head like a mass of dark weed. She swooped to pick up something from the sea bed, turned and changed direction.
He knew the moment she saw his shadow. Instantly she turned on her back, eyes searching above her, then she had somersaulted, twisting away, back the way she had come.
Surely she had to come up to breathe soon? Chance dragged air into his lungs and set off in pursuit, cutting through the surface, watching ahead for the sight of the dark hair breaking the surface.
She surfaced almost in front of him, so close he had to stop in a flurry of arm strokes and spray. ‘You!’
‘Alessa?’ Chance trod water, stunned. He could rather have believed in a mermaid. ‘How did you…?’
‘…know I was here?’ They spoke across each other.
‘I had no idea.’ Her hair capped her head sleekly until it reached the water where it separated into fascinating, seaweed fronds. Her shoulders, where he could glimpse them through it, were white, her breasts, moving gently as she trod water, were whiter. ‘Alessa, I am sorry—’
How did it happen? She was in his embrace, their wet, naked bodies bumping and slipping together until their arms locked and she fitted perfectly against him. The feeling of his bare flesh was warm, cold, strange against hers, but his mouth was so hot as he took her lips.
She stopped breathing, almost unaware that they were sinking straight down. She opened her eyes and found his open, watching her, so close she could see the deeper flecks, the rim of gold, the dark pupils.
Her own hair was streaming upwards like black flames, his was washed back from his face, but the kiss was too intense, too possessive for her to pull back and scan his features. Her feet touched on sand, her lungs were burning.
Alessa managed to pull back, gesture upwards and, taking Chance’s hand, kicked for the surface. They reached it, both gasping, and clung together in the shadow of the cliff.
Chance captured her other wrist and turned on to his back, dragging her with him so she overlay his body. Somehow they stayed afloat, their bodies touching and floating apart. ‘God, I want you.’ He pulled her closer, wrapped his arms around her, took her mouth again.
And it seemed he did indeed want her; despite the cool of the water, his desire was quite unmistakable. They were sinking again. Alessa, panting from lack of air, desire and a strange, almost wild happiness, freed herself and they rose, gasping to the surface.
‘Wrap your legs around my waist.’ His eyes were alight with a joyful wickedness.
‘Chance, we cannot, we will drown!’
‘Possibly—I am willing to risk it.’He lunged for her like a dolphin, smiling, and Alessa broke away and swam hard for the shore, not knowing whether she wanted to be caught or not.
