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Ivy couldn’t move until he’d left. She put a finger to where he’d kissed her, her skin still feeling as though it had been touched by something hot. She should be relieved. Pleased even. Her husband was a true gentleman it seemed. Yet the sinking feeling in her stomach warned her that instead, she was oddly disappointed at his rejection.
***
Morning broke, splashing the coastline in a radiant pink and orange. Cillian let his lips curve as he watched the sunrise. Not Ivy’s favorite color but he’d wager she’d appreciate the beauty of the morning.
He flung a pebble toward the high-tide and watched it vanish into the frothy seas then pushed up to standing. That was about all he knew of his wife. That, and that she liked the smell of roses, and she came from a family well-practiced in doing whatever they pleased—society be damned. He appreciated that. He’d long ago given up trying to please anyone but himself, although it was hard to tell if his shy wife was cut from the same cloth as them.
Of course, if he’d really have wanted to please himself, he’d have taken her up on her invitation last night.
The bloody woman had no idea what she was really offering.
He watched the sun stretch into the sky and the pink faded, revealing a bright day speckled with clouds. He’d been awake all night and on the beach a good hour before dawn but who knew how long he’d been standing here as the day broke. At some point, he’d have to return, but that would mean returning to Ivy.
And temptation.
And that figure.
He pressed a breath through his teeth. He could go his whole life and never forget the sight of her on all fours, her rear curving against the flimsy fabric of a chemise that deserved to be ripped from her body as she offered herself to him.
But Cillian was no fool. A first time for any woman was a terrifying thing.
A first time with him was even worse.
They would consummate the marriage eventually but hopefully he’d know more about her than what her favorite color was or how many gossip pages her family occupied.
Whether she would learn much about him was another thing. There was only so much he could give.
Inhaling a deep breath of salty air, Cillian turned and trudged his way across the pebble-dashed beach. He couldn’t see the house from here, though he could easily imagine Ivy all tucked up in bed, warm and lovely. If he had to have a wife did he have to have one so blasted sweet and pretty? He was used to feeling like a coarse, battle-worn sort of a man. She made him feel like he’d been dashed against these rocks a hundred times, though.
Well, he could only be gone so long before he offended Ivy. At least he assumed so. Perhaps she would be glad to have her morning meal alone. At least there would be no uncomfortable silences. But they couldn’t go their whole marriage avoiding one another. He’d have to face her eventually. Better to get it over and done with.
Cillian made his way around the towering rock face of the cliffs, switching his attention between the pitch-dark caves carved into the rocks and huge boulders that had toppled from the cliffs maybe decades ago or maybe even yesterday.
If he had the option, he’d stay here forever rather than Bath. The rugged scenery made him feel far more at home than carefully manicured lawns and words such asparterreandbosquetbeing uttered to him by the gardener. As far as he knew, his cousin rarely opened the Devon house and even Charington Hall had been neglected with Albert preferring the townhouse in London.
On his way up the sloping path carved into the grass, he passed by a group of children. He stepped aside and waited for the moment they spied his eye patch or eyed him as though he were some terrifying beast. They barely noticed him, their shouts of delight echoing about the headland even as they reached the beach, threw off their outer garments and dove into the sea. He watched for a few moments and tried to imagine having a child of his own. He shook his head. It might be his duty, but it was not something he’d ever, ever considered before.
The house was visible from his position atop the cliffs, and he eyed the huge building, a pale splash against green fields. Much smaller than Charington Hall, the damned thing still dominated. It was hard to believe this along with the hall, a castle in the north somewhere, and several businesses all belonged to him.
Before he could return to the house, a scream reached his ears. Cillian smiled at first and watched the children. It took him a moment to realize it was no playful scream and one of the children was further out than the others.
“Shit.”
Cillian raced down the path, pausing as the sea touched the tips of his boots to tear them off his feet and toss them behind him.
“Stay out of the water,” he ordered the children, aware the tallest was attempting to reach the girl whose head bobbed under the water and thankfully reappeared as her arms flailed. He waded swiftly in and dove beneath the surf to reach her. She struggled to keep her head above the next wave, but Cillian latched an arm around her and dragged her, coughing to the surface.
The scrawny girl caused no resistance as he hauled her out of the water and set her down on the beach, an arm wrapped about her head to prevent her from harming herself on the stones.
She coughed and spluttered and closed her eyes but when he put a hand in front of her mouth, her breaths were steady against his palm.
“Where does she live?” he asked of the oldest boy. “She needs to get warm.”
“Just up there.” He pointed in the direction of the village that couldn’t be seen from where they were, but he recalled passing through the small cluster of buildings on their way here. “At the vicarage.”
Pressing his arm under the girl’s legs, he scooped her into his hold. Breakfast with his wife would have to wait. He only hoped she understood.
By the time he returned home, the morning meal had long gone, and the house was dark with the exception of the entrance way and the front parlor room being lit. As he handed his gloves over to the butler his steward hired from a local house, he did not miss the befuddled look the man gave him. His creased and slightly salt-crusted shirt did not offer up the best impression, but the father of the girl had been unable to offer him a shirt his size, so he was forced to sit in damp clothes until he was assured the girl was safe and unnailing. The family had been kind and kept him fed with warm food and drink at least.
