Chapter 7
Moonlit water always felt so different on the skin. Or so Stephen felt.
Holding his breath, he ducked beneath the surface and swam along the bottom of the lake. Slimy trails of waterweed tickled his bare skin as he pulled himself powerfully through the clouds of silt.
Now and then, his outstretched fingers brushed the bottom of the lake, touching the smooth, rounded curves of stone or raking through silky sand. When his lungs began to seize, he effortlessly pushed upward. He broke the surface face-first, drawing in a cool lungful of air.
The sky above, black and studded with stars, stared down at him. The round, yellowy moon bathed the ever-rippling surface of the lake in a blue-white light, casting everything into sharp shadow.
Rolling onto his back and closing his eyes, Stephen let the current take him. He wouldn’t travel far. The lake wasn’t particularly large and never got too deep.
He was lucky to have learned to swim before he was forced to go to sea.
Sensible sailors didn’t bother learning how to swim.
If the ship went down, it was best to get the drowning part over and done with as soon as possible.
A man who could swim might survive a day, or even two or three, in the open sea, floating hopelessly, unable to let himself sink, but with no hope of ever being saved. Why prolong the pain?
It was a shame, having to look at the sea as an enemy. No matter how beautiful the water seemed, teeming with life and newness, he could never see its beauty. He only looked at the sea and thought, In the blink of an eye, this thing could swallow me whole, and I would never be found.
No, it was best to stick to ponds, lakes, and rivers, where the ground was never far away and solid land was always visible.
I’ll never go to sea again.
On impulse, Stephen rolled onto his belly and started a sharp front crawl toward shore. The water rippled over his skin, the cold tightening the long-healed scar on his back. Cold water always made his old wounds ache, but sometimes the ache was worth it. Sometimes the ache made him feel alive.
That was something that should never be taken for granted. Being alive and feeling alive did not necessarily go hand in hand.
He was preparing to dive again when he heard it. The crisp crack of a twig, a person putting their weight in the wrong place. In the still night air, the noise rang out like a gunshot. He thought he heard a sharp intake of breath.
Stephen paused, putting his feet down. The water was only waist-high here, but he didn’t stand up, preferring instead to crouch and keep the surface of the water tickling under his skin.
“Did you not hear what I said, Miss Holt?” he called out, voice ringing easily across the still surface of the water. “You were told to stay inside. Must I lock you in your chambers?”
A stream of unladylike curses rushed through Amelia’s mind. Mama was most particular about proper language for ladies, of course, but it was impossible not to hear some of the dockers’ language at their new residence. Amelia had picked up quite a few new words.
She backed away from the lake’s edge, still trying desperately to shield her lantern with her borrowed cloak. The lantern, of course, would have to be returned, along with the cloak, but now was not the time to think about this. Now, she had to think about escaping.
Sneaking out of the house had been easier than she’d expected.
One of the back doors was unlocked, and from there it was easy to find her way out of the courtyard and into this little patch of wilderness bordering the lake.
Once she found her way out of the grounds and back onto the London streets, Amelia was entirely confident that she could find her way home.
She had not expected to find Stephen—Orion—of all people, swimming in the lake. The first indication that she was not alone was a pile of neatly folded clothes by the water’s edge, placed carefully on a flat rock. Then she saw him.
He can’t see me, she reassured herself. Not here in the undergrowth. It’s too dark. He only heard the crack of that twig. He can’t possibly know it’s me. If I am quiet, he’ll lose interest.
She held her breath, longing to drop into a crouch to shelter herself more but not quite daring to do so. She prayed that the lantern was properly hidden.
The moon beat down on the lake, glittering silver. The water was smooth and unbroken, except where Stephen’s head and broad, bare shoulders loomed up from beneath.
With the odd shadows and the silvery light, he reminded Amelia of something strange and otherworldly.
She was sure she’d seen pictures like that once, drawings and paintings of unsettling creatures slipping through the veil between worlds, blinking as they left their shadowy world and stepped into the light.
Without warning, Stephen rose to his feet. Amelia nearly dropped her lantern.
The water, in fact, only reached his waist. It dropped around to pool around his hips, revealing that he was even more naked than she’d imagined.
His skin glittered silver, smooth and rippling.
His shoulders somehow seemed even broader, his chest curving out to form those tight, locked muscles that Amelia had only seen on Grecian statues, the sort of artwork that proper ladies weren’t supposed to look at.
Fortunately, not being one of the ton, she could look at what she wanted in the art galleries. Provided she could enter, of course.
His waist nipped in more sharply than she would have thought possible for a man with such a broad chest. His upper arms were as thick as her thighs, or perhaps that was her imagination?
A wet fuzz of dark hair littered his chest, forming a thicker line down the center of his stomach and crawling all the way down beneath the waterline, where the muscled V of his hips disappeared.
Her mouth went dry. She swallowed hard, trying to push down the baffling knot of emotions and sensations twisting in her gut.
Something hooked there, tugging powerfully.
Another shiver ran through her, this time darting down to burn between her legs.
She reflexively pressed her thighs together, hoping to quell the sensation.
It did not help.
He shifted in the water, turning his back to her, and her breath caught in her throat again. Not just because of the muscled, sinewy curve of his back, but because of the scars.
She couldn’t count all the scars. They crisscrossed his upper back and shoulders mostly, but a few lashed across the lower curve of his spine. The scars were raised, pinkish-silver, some with ragged edges, others with clean lines. There hardly seemed an inch of unblemished skin left.
It was a strange thing to notice, perhaps, but Amelia found herself focusing on two divots at the very bottom of his back, just above the curve of his buttocks. They seemed like natural divots, and she imagined, very vividly, herself tracing a fingertip over those divots.
Good Lord, woman! Time to go.
Keeping the lantern well hidden, Amelia stepped back, trying to move as carefully as she could. Retreating into the undergrowth, she put her back to the lake and set off at as brisk a pace as she dared.
Just a little farther should take her to the hedge around the grounds. Surely there was a gap she could squeeze through, and then she’d be free. Maybe he’d come after her, but this time she was ready. And then she could—
She did not even hear footsteps following her. The first warning was a curl of fingers around her wrist, cool and lake-damp, hauling her back and whirling her around to face him.
Of course, it was him.
Amelia yelped in panic, the lantern falling from her hand. He grabbed it, quick as a flash, and the stuttering light evened out, casting a halo over the scene.
Stephen faced her, his eyes unreadable in the gloom. He wore a pair of breeches, hastily thrown on and damp, clinging to his skin. His linen shirt was translucent, so wet it almost dripped. The collar, in particular, was soaked from the water dripping from his hair.
“Well, well, well,” he murmured, his voice raw and thoughtful. “Tell me, do you enjoy having me chase you? Perhaps this is a game to you. Is it as thrilling as you imagined?”
Amelia gulped audibly. “I did not want you to chase me. I was trying to escape.”
“I guessed as much.”
He leaned forward, and she flinched backward, knocking into the wide, unforgiving trunk of a tree. He did not stop, continuing to move forward until his nose nearly brushed hers.
In the dark, strange shadows moved across his face, but his eyes were still so bright, so vivid and unblinking. She fancied that she could almost see the ridges of his scars through his damp shirt.
“I’d thank you to keep your distance from me,” Amelia stuttered.
She’d intended to speak plainly and confidently, but the words got tangled up between her brain and her lips, coming out as a nervous squeak.
Stephen gave a wide smile, his teeth glinting in the moonlight. He set the lantern aside on a relatively flat tree stump. Wobbly yellow light slid over him.
A water droplet dripped from his hair, sliding down his temple all the way to the edge of his jaw, where it dripped off. It glittered gold in the light, and he swiped absently at his cheek with the back of his hand, as if it tickled. The droplet disappeared.
He smelled fresh and earthy, and she wondered briefly if that was how the water smelled. It looked fresh and clean.
Amelia found herself remembering how the moonlight glinted over the surface of the water and Stephen’s wet skin. What might the water feel like against her body? Silky and cool, or breathtakingly cold?
What would his skin feel like on hers in the water? Would it be a bloom of warmth in the cold lake, or would he feel indistinguishable from the rest of the water?
No, no, no, heavens!