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For some reason her comment brought an embarrassed flush to his cheeks and he took a rapid gulp of wine but Emma was too delighted at his agreement to ponder why.
“The society’s next meeting is three days away. There’s plenty of time for you to practice what you have to say before we go back up to London.”
Chapter 9
Emma made her way through the quiet house with a deep sense of wistfulness. She would miss her early-morning dips when she returned to London tomorrow. She’d become very fond of everything at Ashford court.
Including its owner.
She and Kit had spent several hours going over the speech he would give to the Botanical Society. Despite his misgivings she was confident that he would acquit himself admirably.
Yesterday afternoon he’d taken her on a tour of the grounds, showing her the places he’d toured with Andrew when her brother had visited. The two of them had shared countless bittersweet reminiscences along with a laugh or two over some of the more humorous memories.
Since the lake had frozen over, they’d even gone ice-skating. Emma had thrilled every time Kit had taken her hand, or grabbed her waist to steady her. She’d secretly hoped he’d kiss her again, and although an undeniable tension rippled between them, he maintained a gentlemanly distance.
He probably thought of their mistletoe kiss as a mistake, but Emma knew that she would cherish it as one of her fondest memories.
When she reached the conservatory she slipped through the glass door. Anticipation coursed through her veins as she imagined the wonderful sensation of hot water against her skin. The room was so steamy it was impossible to see from one end to the other, and an unexpected splash of water sent her scurrying behind the nearest shrub.
Someone had beaten her to it!
Her heart began to pound. Was itKit?
Tiptoeing forward for a better view, she peered through the leafy green fronds. Her breath caught in her throat as Kit emerged from the rippling water, and her eyes grew wide as his head, shoulders, and back slowly appeared.
Dear God, he was magnificent. Like Triton or Poseidon.
The muscles of his upper arms flexed as he pushed his wet hair back from his face, and Emma bit her lip at the breadth of his shoulders and the way his ribs tapered down to a trim waist. The water, most unhelpfully, ended there; she got a tantalizing peek at the indents at the base of his spine and the merest glimpse of taut, round buttocks when he moved.
She let out a slow, measured breath.
Then he turned.
Oh, Lord.Heat flashed over her skin.
Water sluiced over his collarbones and down the perfectly sculpted planes of his chest. His abdomen was ridged in a way that made her fingers itch to trace each perfect undulation. An intriguing line of dark hair arrowed southwards from his navel and disappeared below the waterline, teasing her with what she couldn’t see.
Emma’s mouth went dry. Although she’d seen countless shirtless sailors and dock hands on her travels, she’d never seen a fully naked man before. Based on what shehadseen, none of them compared to Kit.
Heloise had said Kit had been close to starvation when Raven had rescued him from Spain, but there was no sign of such deprivation now. He was a man in his prime, glorious to behold.
She wanted to see more.
He sank back into the water and swam lazily over to the opposite end of the pool. When he ducked back under the water, Emma saw her chance. The pile of his discarded clothing—shirt, breeches, and a linen bath sheet—lay just within reach, on one of the low walls. Before he could resurface, she darted forward, grabbed them, and dived back behind her palm.
She had to bite her lip to stifle her cackle of delight. She’d played this same trick on Andrew countless times when they’d been children, swimming in the lake. Kit needed a little teasing in his life. He was far too serious.
Five minutes later, and her patience was rewarded. Kit rose from the pool and slowly ascended the steps. Streams of water sluiced off him, lovingly caressing his skin. Even thought she could only see him from behind, her laughter died. The whole of his body was revealed, from rounded buttocks, strong thighs and slim, muscled calves.
He caught up the bath sheet and dried himself, unhurried, and Emma almost groaned in dismay when he wrapped the linen around his waist and secured it at the front, hiding his glorious backside from view.
She saw the exact moment he realized his clothes were gone. He peered this way and that, then bent over and searched along the floor, as if expecting them to have fallen down.
A snort of laughter, completely unbidden, escaped her mouth. She clapped her hand over her lips, but it was too late. Kit froze, but instead of whirling round to confront her, he placed his hands slowly on his hips.
“I do believe a naughty little garden sprite has been in here and stolen my clothes,” he growled.
His tone was a thrilling combination of threat and amusement and Emma barely suppressed another laugh.
