She was barefoot. He could see tantalising glimpses of her toes as she walked. The deep flounce of her gown was already wet with dew. She paused, lifting her face to the pale sun, closing her eyes. Had she slept? What was she thinking? She was so very lovely, and she looked so very fragile.
She made for the path which would lead her to the lake. Jack watched as she reached the gate, hesitated, then turned away. Giving way to a sudden impulse, he headed out of his bedchamber, descending the stairs three at a time, and ran out into the garden.
* * *
‘Celeste!’
‘Jack.’ His bare feet left a line of footprints in the damp grass behind him. He was dressed in only his leather breeches and his shirt. His hair was in disarray and he hadn’t shaved.
‘I’m going for my swim.’
‘Then that is the signal for me to make myself scarce.’
He smiled, pushing his hair back from his face. ‘Actually, I wondered if you would care to join me?’
He looked tired. He looked devastatingly dishevelled. He looked as if he had just risen from bed. He made her think of rumpled sheets and tangled limbs. Their tangled limbs. ‘Join you?’ Celeste repeated, dragging her eyes away from the tantalising glimpse of chest she could see at the opening of his shirt.
‘At the lake. To swim. Assuming you can swim, that is?’
‘I was brought up on the coast. Of course I can swim,’ Celeste said, and then the significance of his offer struck home. The lake at this time of the morning was Jack’s private domain, his sanctuary. For him to offer to share it with her was hugely significant. ‘No, I would be intruding. After the last time...’
‘This is different. I am inviting you as my guest.’
He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear. His smile made her insides flutter. She was weary of questioning and analysing her thoughts and motives. The urge to just be, to surrender to a whim was irresistible. ‘Then I accept your kind invitation,’ Celeste said. ‘I am extremely flattered, since I know how important your privacy is to you. I would very much like to join you for a swim. I should warn you though, I am rather good.’
Jack laughed. ‘I am not so very shabby myself,’ he said, opening the gate for her. ‘I’ve come on a bit since you last saw me in action.’
‘I remember thinking that you swam like a fish that had drunk too much wine.’
‘Not so much now. Perhaps one small glass of Madeira.’
The path to the lake was narrow and dark. The earth was cool against her bare feet. She had not swum for so long. She loved the water. She had not allowed herself to miss it. Now, seeing the glint of the lake in the early morning sunshine, Celeste felt her spirits rise in anticipation. The water was a strange colour, nothing like the sea. Golden and greenish, with a hint of brown. She stretched her arms high above her head, lifting her face to the warm English sun, and laughed with delight.
Jack pulled his shirt over his head. His muscles rippled. She caught her breath. He really was magnificent to look at. ‘I think I’d best retain these,’ he said, indicating his breeches.
Celeste had been so intent upon the swim, she hadn’t considered the delicate matter of attire. In Cassis, she had always swum naked. She loved the feel of the ocean on her skin. But in Cassis, she had always swum alone. She had never swum in the company of a man, and this man— She dragged her eyes away again.
‘Changed your mind?’
Celeste shook her head. ‘Go in. I will follow you but don’t look.’
Jack laughed. ‘I never make promises I can’t keep,’ he said, turning his back and beginning to wade into the water.
She watched him dive, and then swim strongly towards the far side. He barely laboured at all. His strength had all but returned. Celeste went behind the very hawthorn bush where she’d hidden that first day, and began to undress, quickly removing her gown, her corset and her petticoats. She was left wearing only her pantaloons and camisole. It was not an ideal outfit for bathing but she could not countenance the alternative.
She picked her way across the pebbles into the shallows of the lake. Jack was at the far side again, swimming steadily. The water felt warm on her toes, the mud oozed around her feet in a not unpleasant manner. She waded in and gasped as the cool water soaked through her thin camisole and met her skin. Jack turned and began to head back towards her. Hurriedly, Celeste waded out, until the water was waist high, and then she dived into the cool water with relish and began to swim. It was not at all like the waters of Cassis, this English lake, but there was still that marvellous feeling of freedom. She struck out more strongly, heading for the opposite bank, kicking her legs behind her, and just before it became too shallow, she turned and began to swim back, passing Jack on the way.
She swam until her muscles protested, and then she turned over and floated, her eyes closed, careless of the mud and twigs and leaves tangling in her hair. For the first time since Maman had died, she felt relaxed, weightless, free. It was all still there, but it could wait. It could all wait. Rolling over to make her way back to shore, she saw Jack standing waist deep in the water, watching her.
She waded towards him. ‘I think I have most of your brother’s lake in my hair.’
‘Did you enjoy that?’
‘Oh—so, so much.’ Celeste beamed at him. ‘I had forgotten how swimming— It makes you forget everything.’ Her smile faded. ‘Is that why you...?’
‘Yes. And for this.’ Jack indicated his arm.
Celeste touched the puckered skin gently. ‘Does it still hurt?’
‘Not really.’
Sunlight danced on the water and in her eyes. Droplets of lake water clung to the rough smattering of hair on Jack’s chest. Her camisole was plastered to her body like a second skin, making it completely transparent. Her nipples were hard and puckered with the cold, and clearly visible. Jack’s eyes were riveted on them. She did not feel embarrassed. In fact she felt emboldened. Desire twisted inside her. Jack’s eyes met hers. She stepped towards him. His arms went around her waist. His chest was surprisingly warm. It was not like before. No flare of anger to propel them towards each other. This time it was slow, a different kind of heat. She tilted her head. Sunlight dazzled her eyes until Jack’s head blocked it, and his lips met hers.
Different. He tasted of lake. Cool. Tentative. Like a first kiss. A gentle tasting, the sweetest of touches. Slow. A kiss with no purpose but to kiss. And to kiss. And then to kiss again. She wrapped her arms around his neck. He pulled her closer. Kissing. Only kissing. Her arousal was languid, melting, none of the fierce flames of before. She could kiss him for ever. This was the kind of kiss that would never end. Lips and tongues in a slow dance. Hands smoothing, stroking. Skin clinging, damp, heating.
Jack traced the line of her throat with butterfly kisses. He kissed the damp valley between her breasts. His mouth sought hers again, and their lips clung, still slowly, but deeper now. She kissed the pucker of his musket wound. She flattened her palms over the swell of his chest. His hands covered her breasts, making her nipples ache. The sweetest of aches, the gentlest but most insistent tugging of desire, making her sigh, and then making her moan.
She’d thought it was too much before. But this was too different. The dazed look in his eyes, his lack of resistance when she disentangled herself, told her he felt it too.
‘Thank