Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

H oratio emerged from the ice-cold water, gasping for breath. He climbed atop a rock that jutted from the mere a few yards from the island in its center. He had swum underwater from the point at which he had dived in, exhausting his lungful of air.

The water had been dim, shot through by rippling bars of sunlight. The weeds that grew up from the bottom tickled at his stomach, hands, and kicking feet as he swam above them. Occasional dark shapes of hunting pike flitted in and out of his vision. As he sat upon the broad, sloping face of the rock, he turned to face the way he had come… and saw Juliet standing on the promontory from which he had dived. He swept wet hair back from his face, eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“Did you follow me here?” he shouted.

“I… most certainly did not, Your Grace. I wished to wander the woods for a time. It was preferable to my Aunt’s company,” Juliet yelled out from her side of the mere.

Horatio considered the answer. It had the ring of truth, and he had come to the woods for the same reason. That, however, did not mean that it was not part of the same scheme of the Godwins that had ensnared him.

“Do you wish me to leave?” Juliet asked, turning away.

Horatio realized that he sat upon the rock in a state of near-nakedness. He raised a hand, as though to cover his bare chest. Then he let it fall again to the warm stone beneath him. He would not cover himself when it was she that was the intruder. Why should he blush and run for cover? He opened his mouth to tell her to leave, that he might be returned to his privacy, when something stopped him.

“No. You do not need to leave,” he said instead.

“But you are… naked,” Juliet called out.

“Hardly. I have seen laborers toiling in the fields sans shirts and no one regards it as a scandal. Am I to swim in my shirt and waistcoat then?”

“Not for my sake,” Juliet replied. “Though I have seen farm workers at their jobs in the height of summer. They often remove their shirts.”

“And do you blush and turn away? Or do you admire their physique?”

Horatio was teasing her now, noting that she still had not looked back at him. He was wondering how long she had stood there for. Had she watched him undress? In which case, her modesty was entirely feigned. That thought was alluring. It made her seem wanton, which cast an entirely different light onto her virginal beauty.

“I did not. Nor did I turn away, I must say. They were not trying to titillate, merely to be comfortable. It would have been immature of me to make a fuss.”

“Then do not make a fuss now. Turn and face me,” Horatio shouted out to her.

After a moment, Juliet did turn, which surprised him. Her cheeks were bright crimson but she met his gaze steadily. He could almost feel her eyes on his body. It was as a physical caress. He deliberately kept his arms by his sides, hands on the stone, allowing the greatest view of his bare chest and ridged abdomen. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth at the game he played.

They both played.

For now, Juliet was meeting the challenge he had set, facing him, and refusing to look away. She also refused to let her eyes stray from his, making it clear that she was not looking at his body. Only his face.

“How do you like the Ravenscourt Mere?” he asked.

“Unexpected,” she replied, “I did not think to find a lake at the heart of the woods.”

“It is manmade. A channel runs from the moat below ground to empty into this basin, and thus create the lake. Once, it was the cornerstone of the grounds. There is a boating house on the island over there.” He pointed west, toward the island, yet her eyes never wavered from his. “Long consumed by the trees. I spent many happy hours here as a child.”

He stopped abruptly. The confession had escaped him involuntarily. It had not been his intention to reveal a personal fact about himself. He did not know if he could trust this woman. At least, that is what his head told him. His heart was a different matter.

Noting his sudden silence, she spoke up instead, “It reminds me of a place I had when I was a little girl. At my home.”

“Your Uncle Gilbert’s house?” Horatio asked, curious, despite himself.

“No. That was never home. Torminster . My father’s house. It is not there any longer. There was a fire…”

She trailed off, looking down at the water somberly. Horatio felt the searing pain along his back as he always did when reminded of the terrible fire that had made those scars. The fire that had deprived him of lodging, and Hall of livelihood. Until the death of Horatio’s father, that is.

“There was a river that flowed by Torminster. Slow and shallow. Perfect for swimming. On a hot day, it was simply heaven,” Juliet continued.

“I was barred from swimming here after I arrived at luncheon dripping wet, having misjudged the time,” Horatio chuckled lightly, “I received a thrashing for that, but it did not deter me.”

“Nor I,” Juliet smiled.

Horatio looked across the mirrored water at her, squinting against the glare of the sun that was suddenly brightly reflected.

“You were beaten? A girl?”

“My Aunt Margaret did not believe that sex should be any bar to corporal punishment.”

“Hmph. It does not sit right with me. A boy is a wild creature, in need of discipline. A girl is different,” Horatio said, firmly.

He found the notion of anyone raising their hand to Juliet abhorrent. As an adult, she seemed fragile and delicate. It was simply criminal to strike at such vulnerable femininity. He remembered her swooning on the balcony of the Great Hall. Remembered her paleness, beyond the usual milky whiteness that was the characteristic of gentlewomen. Was she suffering from an ailment? If so, that meant the application of corporal punishment was even more monstrous. The very notion that she had been struck swarmed in him an urge to toss that old Godwin out of his house, bodily if need be.

“I should dearly love to try the water. It looks idyllic,” Juliet said thoughtfully.

“Then do so,” Horatio waved at the lake. “You are wearing undergarments, yes?”

Juliet glanced up at him beneath long lashes, face scarlet, and he laughed. It was sudden and unplanned but heartfelt.

“I meant no disrespect. Of course you are. I did not appreciate how that question sounded until the words were out of my mouth,” he chuckled.

Juliet smiled demurely in return. Her eyes shone amid her scarlet cheeks. Horatio was struck by her innocent beauty. There was a purity to her that he had never encountered before. Even from Jane.

“Will you turn your back while I undress?” she asked.

Horatio was momentarily taken aback by her candor.

He had playfully suggested that she swim, but had not really expected her to do so. There was courage in her, a daring even. It was an attractive quality. Horatio had to remind himself that the Godwins were undoubtedly his enemies. Juliet may not be a Godwin but she had been raised in their house. That should make her an enemy too.

But, he could not embrace that thought when it came to her.

He realized that he did not want to follow the rational edicts of his head. To keep her at a distance was prudent. His heart wanted to know more about her. Felt a kinship with her. Perhaps born out of their mutually traumatic histories. Perhaps born out of her very tangible influence on the outcome of his youth.

He rose on the rock, turning his back, and then leaping from its highest point into the cool water. Within seconds, he was powerfully swimming for the island, reaching it in a dozen strokes and dragging his feet up the shingle shoreline. He did not turn around but stood, facing the trees, and waiting.

Presently, he heard a splash.

Turning, he saw the spreading circle of ripples. On the promontory, he could see something white, a discarded dress. He waited for her to resurface. She did not. He scanned the lake from the ripples to the rock on which he had stood. The surface of the water stilled. With the sun glossing over it, he could not see beneath the expanse.

“Juliet?” he called. Nothing . “Juliet!” he shouted louder this time, realizing now it was an exercise in futility.

Immediately, he sprinted and waded back into the water, trying to see beneath the glare, looking for any sign of Juliet. The lake was as still as a mill pond.

Finally, he dove into the water. Eyes wide, he surged forward, searching among the dark weeds for any sign of the woman. Perhaps the shock of the cold water had overwhelmed her. Or maybe she had dived too deep and become entangled. His lungs began to burn as he kicked forward and down, looking all around for her. Fear gripped him. She would not have entered the water had it not been for him.

When lights began to flash before his eyes and he could bear the pain in his chest no longer, Horatio kicked vigorously for the surface. He broke it with an explosion of water, sucking in lungfuls of air. Just then, he heard soft, feminine laughter.

Whirling around in the water and tossing his hair from his face, he saw Juliet sitting on the bank. She was barefoot, clad in a white cotton shift that clung to her body. She had drawn up her knees and folded her arms across them to hide her almost nakedness. Horatio gaped. She had come ashore a few yards from where he had, clearly having swum the entire distance underwater.

“You tricked me!” he spluttered, sucking in a mouthful of water as he tried to breathe and speak at the same time.

His subsequent choking made Juliet grin. “I thought you needed to be brought down a peg or two, as my papa was fond of saying,” she giggled.

“I thought you had drowned!” Horatio accused.

“I am a strong swimmer, though that was the absolute limit of my breath,” Juliet admitted, “I lay just beneath the surface until you went under. I thought you never would!”

Horatio smiled, feeling foolish.

He had thought himself so clever, challenging her to swim. He had half expected her to scream and gasp, thrash about noisily. In other words, to prove herself to be the typical gentlewoman that he was accustomed to.

Instead, she had met his challenge with one of her own. She had proven herself his match as a swimmer and as a practical joker. Horatio found himself regretting her family. This woman might have possibly been a perfect partner for him.

With that thought, he began to swim for the shore, hiding his face in the water. He had not been ready for a wife before he met Juliet and was still not. Particularly one who might well be allied with his enemies. This relationship was purely transactional and served only to eliminate the scandal.

He reached the shore and stood, dragging a hand through sopping hair. Juliet rose with her back to him and gathered her shift at the front, squeezing and wringing it to dispel as much water as possible. As she did, Horatio was offered a view of her legs and pert buttocks, revealed by the clinging wet material. He looked away when she turned to glance back over her shoulder.

“I will start a fire for you to dry yourself. There is an old row boat further around the shore, so you won’t have to swim back,” he said, setting off into the trees.

The flint and tinder were tied into an oiled leather pouch, in an iron-strong box, which Horatio had partially buried with twigs and leaves. Soon, to his word, he had a crackling fire underway.

Using a knife from the same strong box, he stripped a few willow branches and tied them together with twine, creating a modesty screen to separate him from Juliet when she reached the fire. She poked her head from amid a large cluster of ferns as he did so. He averted his gaze as she approached and positioned the screen between them, with Juliet on the side of the fire.

“Thank you, Your Grace,” she breathed in reprieve, crouching before the flames.

Horatio shuddered. “If there is to be any relationship between us worth a damn, please desist from using honorifics around me. It is difficult enough to accept from the servants. I will not have it from you. My given name is Horatio. If you do not wish to use it, then at least call me Ravenscourt.”

“You are rather… unorthodox… Horatio ,” Juliet said.

“I am. As are you.”

“I… I must apologize for the subterfuge earlier. For pretending to be someone else. I feared you would remember the name Juliet Semphill ,” she said in a rush, as though summoning the courage to speak.

“I did. I do ,” Horatio replied somewhat awkwardly.

The sound of ruffling cloth reached him, and he could not help but glance across the makeshift fence between them. Juliet was in the process of removing her shift, drawing it up over her head. Her bronze hair cascaded back down as she removed it. He saw her back and glimpsed the swelling of her hips, the beginning of her buttocks before whirling around. The brief glimpse of her naked body was enough to inflame his senses, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and his desire surge within him.

She was more perfect than any dream. More pristine. That skin would be so soft to the touch. Like silk. But finer than silk. So smooth against his lips. Against his tongue. He closed his eyes, but his imagination would not let him rest. It conjured fuller images of her naked body. Of holding her in his arms, pressing himself against her.

“I will not shirk away from responsibility for what happened,” Juliet murmured. “I allowed myself to be coerced into saying what I said. I am sorry. More sorry than you can ever know. I was frightened and alone and… I am just sorry.”

“I know,” Horatio sighed. “You were little more than a child. I… I cannot blame you.”

To his surprise, he meant it. He did not blame the young Juliet for what she had been coaxed to say. Lady Meredith had set out to destroy him. She had used Juliet as a vessel. Horatio would not hold that against her.

“Perhaps we could pretend that we have never met. That there is no history between us. Begin again—as strangers ,” Juliet suggested haltingly.

Horatio shook his head, decisively. “No, there is nothing to be gained in denying the past. It happened. I was challenged to a duel as a result and took the life of a good man. That was my fault, and I deserved my exile for it. I will not pretend it did not happen.”

Juliet sighed. Horatio looked over. She was sitting before the fire naked. He could not see beyond the elegant curve of her bare shoulders because of the makeshift screen. She had spread her shift out on two sticks which she had leaned together next to the hungry flames.

She looked over her shoulder at him. Their eyes locked. She knew that he would see her naked body if he just lifted his head a little. He knew it too. She leaned back, her hair cascading in a shimmering veil down her spine, her hands braced against the ground.

If he raised his head just slightly, he would glimpse the curves she made no effort to hide—the shadow of a breast, the smooth line of her back. She did not try to hide from him. Horatio experienced an almost overwhelming urge to tear down the flimsy barrier between them, press her against the earth, and claim her in the firelight. He turned away, sitting on the ground with a thud, breathing ragged.

“Do you tempt me?” he whispered.

“I was thinking the very same thought,” she whispered back.

Horatio heard the wet shift being pulled from its drying place and wriggled back on.

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