‘Be sure to bring plenty of sun cream,’ he pointed out as she hurried up the stairs. ‘And perhaps a hat.’
‘I will,’ she promised. ‘You be sure and bring that picnic hamper.’
How typically Hugh, Holly reflected, smiling as she turned away – always thinking of the practicalities.
***
‘Ah, Miss Bennet, you’re here. You look lovely.’
Charli looked up to see Ciaran standing before her on the dock, and any response she might have made froze in her throat.
From the top of his dark, windblown hair to the tip of his deck shoes, Ciaran Duncan was so gorgeous as to make her all but incapable of speech. He wore white jeans with a blue polo shirt, open at the neck and displaying his lightly tanned throat and defined abs to advantage. In his hand was a leather weekend bag.
Hermès, she couldn’t help but notice.
‘What’s that?’ she asked, eyeing the bag with a frown. ‘I can’t – erm, that is, I… have school tomorrow.’ Which was a total lie, but there was no way she could actually spend the night with Ciaran Duncan – no matter how much she might want just such an outcome.
Besides, her father would kill her.
He glanced down at the bag. ‘This? Filming resumes at Cleremont tomorrow. I have a change of clothing in here. I plan to stash it on that…’ – he indicated a yacht moored at the pier behind them, all gleaming brass and furled sails and polished teak decks – ‘until Saturday, when I’m taking part in the local Challenge Cup regatta. I intend to place… and win.’
‘Oh.’ Charli flushed with embarrassment at her unintended faux pas. ‘The regatta races, of course! I thought… that is, I saw your bag, and I just assumed…’
‘You thought I intended to behave like the cad you’ve no doubt heard I am,’ he finished, ‘and wine and dine you, and tempt you to stay the night with me, so I could have my wicked way with you.’ He regarded her without expression. ‘Am I right?’
Her blush deepened. ‘Y-yes,’ she confessed, thrilled and alarmed in equal measure by his words. ‘I suppose that’s exactly what I thought.’
‘Well, we will be boarding my yacht,’ he told her, and took her by the elbow to guide her around the cleats and uneven boards of the dock, ‘but I promise I’ll be on my very best behaviour. I merely thought to take you for an afternoon sail.’ He paused. ‘But if you have the slightest of doubts or hesitations…’
‘Oh, no, none at all,’ she assured him, hastily. ‘I’m really looking forward to it. Although I don’t know the first thing about sailing.’
‘Nor do I.’ He tucked her arm through his as they proceeded towards the gangplank that led to his yacht. ‘That’s why I’ve hired a very able-bodied and capable crew to handle the Meryton for me.’
‘How clever. Then all you have to do is sit back and enjoy yourself.’
‘Precisely,’ he said, and paused once again to bring her hand up to his lips, his eyes never leaving hers. ‘And I plan to enjoy myself very much this afternoon.’
As she allowed him to assist her up onto the gangplank, Charli smiled, and felt a thrill of excitement at his words.
What a pity that she couldn’t actually spend the night…
With its palm trees and harbour bristling with boats of every description, and its warm, gentle breezes, Longbourne offered a tranquil and picturesque beauty that Holly found impossible to resist.
‘We might be anywhere along the Mediterranean,’ she mused as she strolled with Hugh along the pier. ‘It’s amazing.’ She stopped and let go of his hand and went to lean against the white iron railing to study the marina. ‘Just look at all of those expensive yachts,’ she added. ‘Where’s yours, by the way? I don’t see it.’
He shaded his eyes and looked out over the marina with an intent expression. ‘Sorry, you can’t see it from here.’ He pointed to the left. ‘The Pemberley’s over there, just out of view.’
She turned to him impulsively. ‘Do you think we might ride along with your father and Harry in the races on Saturday?’
Darcy shook his head. ‘They’ve already crewed the boat. They’ll want to run her as light and fast as possible, so passengers won’t be allowed, I’m afraid.’
‘Oh. How disappointing.’ Holly sighed. ‘I would’ve liked to go.’
‘Sorry, darling.’ He came to stand beside her and slid his arm around her shoulders. ‘We’ll go for a cruise soon, I promise. Just the two of us.’
‘I’ll hold you to that.’ She rested her head against his shoulder, enjoying the sun warming her face, breathing in the sea air and listening to the gentle slap of waves against the pier and the crying of gulls over the bay.
‘I love all of these gorgeous palm trees,’ she exclaimed. ‘I’d swear we were on the Riviera.’
Hugh nodded, his attention focused on one of the yachts moored nearby. ‘They’re cabbage trees, brought over from New Zealand in the 1820s, I believe…’ He broke off in mid sentence and frowned.
‘What?’ Holly asked, and lifted her head. ‘What is it?’
‘Isn’t that Charlotte down on the dock?’ Hugh said, and pointed.
‘Charlotte Bennet, do you mean?’
‘Yes, down there, the girl in the yellow dress. I’m certain it’s her.’
She followed his finger and saw a pretty blonde girl in a sundress and floppy hat, eyes obscured by sunglasses, talking earnestly to someone on the dock. ‘She’s probably spending the afternoon with her sisters,’ Holly ventured, ‘larking around after church. You know how girls are…’
‘No.’ The word was firm, and terse. ‘She’s not with her sisters, or her father. She’s with Ciaran Duncan.’
‘What? You must be mistaken,’ Holly said. But just then the man she’d been talking to turned, and she saw that it was, indeed, Ciaran.
‘But… she’s barely eighteen! What could he possibly want with Charlotte?’ she wondered.
‘That,’ Hugh said grimly as he reached for his mobile, ‘is a very good question.’
***
It was late afternoon when the Meryton, its sails once again furled and its lines secured, cruised back into the harbour to dock.
‘Oh, Ciaran,’ Charli breathed as she raised her arms languidly above her head and leaned back, sated. ‘That was beyond amazing. Truly.’
‘I’m glad you enjoyed it.’ He eyed the linen-draped table on the shaded upper aft deck where they sat, its surface laden with the remnants of a substantial afternoon tea. ‘Sorry we had to stick to tea and orange squash, but if I offered you anything stronger and you returned home inebriated, I daresay your father would not have approved.’
‘Oh, he likes a sherry now and again, and we’re each allowed a glass or two of wine at Christmas, but that’s all,’ she agreed, and sighed. ‘It’s tiresome, really.’
‘What is?’ He canted his brow upwards. ‘Not being able to drink yourself silly every day?’
‘No, of course not.’ She giggled. ‘I meant it’s tiresome being the former vicar’s daughter sometimes. After