Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
C hristopher tossed and turned in his bed, the soft linen of his bedshirt clinging uncomfortably to his damp skin. Heavy with the day’s accumulated heat, the room pressed in on him, the air stagnant and suffocating. In frustration, he threw off the bedding and climbed out of bed, the wooden floor cool under his bare feet as he crossed to the window. Lifting the sash, he sighed in relief as a soft, whispering breeze brushed over him, kissing his overheated skin.
The room itself offered no solace. Though luxurious, the heavy damask bed curtains trapped the heat, and even the faint glow of moonlight filtering through the gauzy inner drapes couldn’t dispel the oppressive weight of the night. The faint creak of floorboards beneath his weight was the only sound, save for the distant chirp of crickets beyond the walls.
Leaning against the window frame, he gazed out at the estate bathed in silver moonlight. His eyes settled on the pond nestled within the gardens, its surface gleaming like molten glass under the celestial glow. The thought of cool water, beckoning and serene, was too tempting to ignore.
They needed a good storm to wash away the oppressive weather they’d been suffering through for days now. His mind wandered to Scotland, and when he would return there. At least in the Highlands, he didn’t have to suffer such insufferable heat.
Decision made, he threw on his breeches, a shirt and boots, and slipped out of the room. The quiet corridors of the house, dark and empty, seemed almost conspiratorial as he made his way toward the terrace.
As he stepped outside, the night air was a balm to his heated skin. The gardens stretched before him, their shapes softened and dreamlike in the moonlight. Memories of childhood swam unbidden to his mind—of carefree days spent splashing in the pond with Charlotte, her laughter ringing out as their mother guided them on how to swim. Those days of innocence seemed a lifetime ago, overshadowed now by the burdens of adulthood and duty.
Reaching the pond, he strode onto the small pier, the wood damp under his boots. Kicking them off, he stripped away his breeches, leaving only his shirt, and dove into the water. The shock of the cool embrace sent a shiver through him, and his overheated body instantly soothed. Floating on his back, he let his arms drift outward, the gentle ripple of water lapping at his skin. Above him, the stars stretched endlessly, their twinkle a stark contrast to the restless thoughts still churning in his mind.
"Lord Charteris, is that you?"
The voice startled him, breaking the stillness. He flailed momentarily, righting himself in the water as his eyes searched for the source. Near the pier, a figure stood waist-high in the pond—a woman, her wet hair clinging to her shoulders, the moonlight casting her in a soft, ethereal glow.
"Lady Matilda?" he sputtered, his heart pounding as much from surprise as from the sight before him. "What on earth are you doing here at this hour? Do you not know how dangerous it is to swim alone?"
Her wide eyes narrowed before she rolled them, the defiant gesture igniting a spark of irritation within him. "I could ask the same of you, my lord." She crossed her arms, clearly irritated.
Her boldness caught him off guard, and he found himself at a loss for words. She moved quickly into the water, her shift plastered to her form, revealing curves that no gentleman ought to notice in polite company. Yet here, under the moonlight, she was no longer simply Lady Matilda, the dutiful Duke Lane-Fox's daughter—she was a vision, a wet, gleaming goddess who appeared utterly unaffected by propriety or his growing unease.
And other appendages that seemed to be growing beneath the water's surface…
"I’m a man," he said finally, the feeble response leaving his lips before he could stop it.
"Well, I’m a woman," she replied, grinning with amusement, "and I can swim just as well as you." With that, she pushed off, rolling onto her back, her face upturned to the heavens. The water lapped at her, teasing the edges of her damp hair and caressing her bare shoulders.
Christopher swam closer, though he wasn’t sure why. The sight of her, so uninhibited, sent a wave of something hot coursing through him. Her shift clung to her, the wet fabric translucent in places, and he struggled to keep his gaze on her face.
"What if you got into trouble and no one was here to save you?" His tone was strained, even to his own ears.
"Then I suppose I would have died," she answered matter-of-fact.
He stared at her, horrified. "That is a rather macabre thing to say, Lady Matilda."
She shrugged, and the movement caused the strap of her shift to slip down her arm, exposing the smooth curve of her collarbone. Without thinking, he reached out, his fingers brushing her skin as he pulled the fabric back into place. The contact was fleeting, yet it left him reeling.
Her eyes met his, wide and unguarded, and for a moment, the world seemed still. The soft sound of the water, the distant rustle of leaves, the very air around them—all of it faded, leaving only the connection they had shared.
"You must be pleased to be home," she said softly. "We didn’t get to speak much today. Did you enjoy the wedding breakfast?"
Christopher welcomed the change of subject. "I'm very pleased to be home and visiting with my family. I reside mostly in Scotland, but could not miss my sister's wedding." He paused. "Although the warmness here is…unfamiliar. I'm not certain I can withstand staying too long if one never gets relief from this heat, not even at night."
"Your family seemed very pleased you're home," she agreed. "As for the weather, I do not recall such stifling days in recent years, but it does make for lovely swims at night with friends."
He chuckled, supposing that was true. "So we're friends now, are we?"
She grinned but ignored his question. "You’re ten years older than Charlotte, are you not?"
"I am." He treaded water as he watched her. She floated effortlessly, her expression serene. "And you’re not married?" she asked, the question as bold as her presence was here this evening.
The unexpectedness of it made him laugh. "No, I’m not. Are you?"
"Would I be in a pond at this hour, with you, my lord, dressed like this if I were?" she retorted, a teasing smile curving her lips. Lips that made him forget himself or whatever the hell they were talking about.
He couldn’t help but smile, though his amusement was tinged with disbelief. "I certainly hope you would not." Who was this woman? She was nothing like the perfect, polished debutante he had expected. And she was certainly different to the child he'd once known before he came of age. Instead, she was wild and untamed and, God help him, an utterly fascinating minx he did not want to cease speaking to. "Maybe you would," he countered, his cadence dry though his heartbeat quickened. "If you were up to no good."
"No good?" Her laugh, soft and melodic, danced over the water. "You mean if I were meeting a lover in the middle of the night, unbeknownst to my husband, who lies asleep indoors?" Her words were scandalous, her delivery maddeningly composed.
"You should not say such things when you do not know what they mean," he snapped, intending to chastise her. But her laughter deepened, a rich, velvety sound that seemed to wrap around him and settle low in his stomach.
Blast it all to hell. He needed to get a grip on himself.
"Oh, but I do know what happens between a man and a woman, my lord. I’m three and twenty, and I have read extensively," she challenged, her eyes sparkling with defiance and amusement. "There is little you could say or do that would shock me. I’m not as innocent as people believe."
"Truly?" His arms crossed over his chest, his posture feigned indifference, though he felt anything but. "Tell me more of your scandalous adventures. I’m all ears." His words were laced with sarcasm.
Her teasing smile faltered for the first time that evening, and already he missed it. She narrowed her eyes, her playful demeanor shifting into something sharper. "Well, now that my friends are married, I suppose I can admit to sneaking out of balls and parties and attending events in town that were not for the faint of heart. Have you heard of Lady Fraser’s events? Her masques are very enlightening, indeed."
Christopher stiffened. Lady Fraser’s events? He had heard of them, and they were anything but proper. They were risqué and for the demimonde, not haute ton . His throat tightened. What the devil had she been doing there?
"I have also been to Lady Dames’s gambling hell a time or two," she added, her tone casual, though her eyes gleamed with challenge. "And as I said, I’ve read extensively. I know what you hint at, my lord, and while you may be trying to shock and ridicule me, shaming me for swimming and cooling off at night just as you are, all you’re doing is making me more determined to do as I please." She met his eyes, and his heart, he was certain, ceased to beat.
How beautiful she was…
"I'm a curious person, and I like to stay informed. There is nothing wrong with that."
"More curious and informed about what?" he asked unable to swim away from her, even though for propriety sake he should.
Her laughter came again, soft and teasing. "I’ve seen how you look at me, my lord. You, like so many others, think I am some innocent lady who needs tutelage and guidance. I need none of those things. I am a woman with womanly wants and needs—just as you are a man with the same emotions. Do not heckle me, or you may be disparaged in return."
Her words struck him like a physical blow, their raw honesty stripping away the polished layers of propriety he clung to. He stared at her, his mouth dry, the cool water no longer enough to temper the heat coursing through him.
"This conversation is inappropriate." He cleared his throat. "I think you ought to return to the house, Lady Matilda before another word is spoken."
"Or you could leave." She stood in the water, raising an imperious brow, her smirk returning in full force. "I was here first, after all."
"You are also a guest, and this is my house," he retorted, his frustration bubbling to the surface. Why were they arguing like children? And why did he feel so utterly intrigued by her every word, every glance?
She tilted her head, the water cascading off her hair and shoulders like molten silver. "And are you going to make me?"
Dear Lord in heaven, was he?