Chapter 10
I t did not matter how late the revels went into the night. Leander always awoke early. He could not help himself. It was something in his soul, something in his mind, which awoke when the birds did.
Nature called to him, and off he went.
Every day, he got up when the first hints of light touched the horizon. In winter, he awoke in the dark, his body sensing that it was simply time to prepare for the day.
He bounded out of bed, for the world and all its wonder awaited. He splashed his face with cold water and put on his clothes. The soft, subtle hours between full night and the first hints of the arrival of day were his favorite.
It was a time in which the world seemed to burst alive, and he loved that reminder. Every day, he woke up and was grateful that he had awoken too. It seemed to him a great pity that so many people awoke forgetting that each day was a gift, that there was no guarantee of life or living. He had learned that mistake, that message, quite young.
Peter’s death, his dear friend… It had been such a horrible accident.
Leander grimaced. Even now, if he thought too long on his friend’s broken body…still small, for neither of them had yet begun the journey from boyhood to manhood.
How they had loved to race across the countryside!
The look of terror on Peter’s face as his horse reared, frightened by an animal in the bushes, flashed through Leander’s mind. He could still see the horse’s eyes roll and his hooves paw the earth.
Peter had tried to cling to the animal, but his steed had twisted and reared again. Peter had fallen, only for the horse to turn and crush Peter’s chest with one of his massive hooves.
Leander sucked in a sharp breath, determined to drive the memory away. The memory of a day that had begun with joy and ended with tragedy.
But that day had taught him that one could not go a single moment without being desperately grateful to be alive. It did not matter how many problems, how many difficulties, what forces one faced, one should be grateful for all of that, because without all those challenges? Well, one might as well climb in the ground, pull the dirt on top of them, and give in and give way.
Leander refused to do that.
Even if, much to his severe dismay, darkness would swoop out of the shadows and claim him every now and then, pulling him to a place he could not describe and do nothing to alleviate until it passed.
It made him feel half mad. And no one but his family knew of this thing which had afflicted him after Peter died. His father’s death had awakened it more. And now… That darkness would seize him at the strangest times and cause him to act in ways that sometimes frightened his family.
It always passed. He was determined that it always would.
No, he had to remember how gloriously lucky he was to be breathing the air and looking at the sky and smelling the virgin earth. Rain had come after the ball, leaving droplets of glistening water along the plant life.
He went for a walk every morning, or a ride, or sometimes he went out upon the Thames in small boat, and it seemed to him that this was a good life. His mornings were a good way to set himself up for success in a world that seemed to rattle on in at ever-increasing pace.
“Have you seen my sister?” Tobias’s strong American voice called.
Leander whipped around. “I beg your pardon.”
Tobias was charging down the stairs, barefoot, a linen sheet wrapped around his middle. “I think I saw her through the window. She’s gone out to row upon the Thames.”
“The Thames,” he said again, this time shocked. “Your sister has gone to row?”
Tobias nodded, his eyes wide. “It’s something she’s done for years. It gives her peace of mind. She started taking to the Hudson quiet young, but then when the war came, rowing helped her. Especially when our parents abandoned us for our beliefs and loyalty to the United States.”
“Rowing gives your sister peace of mind?” he echoed.
“Rowing does indeed help her when she needs to think.”
Leander drew in a breath. “Well, if she must do it, then she must be good at it.”
“You should go after her,” Tobias said quickly. “She does not know this river. And I spotted her from the window. She seems about to lose an oar.”
He blinked at her brother. “You trust me to take care of her?”
“Of course,” Tobias said swiftly, gesturing for Leander to hurry. “Go. I must go up and get dressed. As you see, I am in no state to go out, and you are. I shall be with you in a moment. Please.”
And without waiting for further urging, Leander charged down the stairs, racing outside, his heart beating with surprising force. He was rather surprised that Tobias would trust him with his sister’s well-being, but it was a good sign, wasn’t it? That Tobias was becoming such a part of the family and trusting him so well?
He headed down the granite stairs, then he raced down the green that led out to the river, looking for any signs of her through the morning fog.
He loved rowing with his brothers. It was something they often did, but when he spotted her, he was shocked.
And he was half determined to go up and belt Tobias in the face because Tobias’s sister was not floundering. She was rowing with speed and grace along the river.
She looked…beautiful, vital, alive!
Her dark hair tumbled over her shoulders, and her shoulders worked as she worked the oars as if it was the easiest thing in the world.
An idea struck him then.
Leander raised his hand up as he stood on the dock and called out to her. “A ride for a poor soul?”
She spotted him through the mist, and her lips parted in a winning smile. “I suppose I can be your transport this morning, Your Grace. Do you have business in Town?”
He laughed. “I only have business with you.”
With that, she rowed the small boat up to the dock and made mooring. She lifted the oar out and tilted it up. She beckoned him in. “Come then, if you are so eager for a bit of a trip.”
He stepped into the rocking boat. “I had no idea that you could row so well.”
He stood for a moment in the boat, finding his balance and quickly realizing there was nowhere to sit.
Her lips twitched with amusement at his dilemma. “You may sit beside me. Do you like rowing as well?”
“I do,” he said. “Your brother says you row along the Hudson River?”
“I do,” she said, lowering the oar she’d tilted up into the water again. She cocked her head to the side, which caused the morning light to fall across her features. “I began to do it when I was rather young. Mama and Papa did everything they could to stop me, but I would slip out in boy’s clothes.”
My God, she was meant to be a Briarwood.
He took her in fully then, and a slow smile parted his lips as his pulse began to pound and his body… Well, his body very much liked what he saw.
“Much as you have done now,” he said, realizing that she was dressed in fawn-colored breeches, a plain linen shirt, a boy’s coat, and simple brown boots.
She smirked. “You try rowing in a gown. It’s absolutely foolish. If I were to fall in, I’d drown, and I have no desire for a watery death. No Ophelia, I.”
He let out a laugh. “You make a good point,” he said, but then his gut clenched as a shocking wave of concern crashed over him. “Are you a good swimmer?”
“An excellent one,” she said brightly. “I can swim the length of the Hudson. I could swim the length of the Thames too.”
“I don’t recommend it. It’s not the cleanest river in the world,” he pointed out quite seriously.
She frowned, her nose wrinkling in a most delightful manner. “Yes. It does look a bit dreadful towards the city, but I wanted to get out,” she said. “I needed to clear my head.”
“I like to clear my head in the morning too,” he said.
“Something we have in common then,” she replied, gazing up at him. “There’s something about being out on the river with the mist, the birds, the quiet, to get out of the city. I’m quite fast, you know?”
“Show me then,” he said.
“You’re still standing,” she teased.
“So I am,” he replied, chagrined. She did something to him. She made him feel…
Bloody hell. He didn’t even have a word for it, but he never wanted it to end.
He sat beside her carefully, and then she adjusted the oars before her, gripping them with care, given that she was no longer sitting dead center on the seat.
She gave him a wink and said, “All right then. We shall take turns, and you shall see how I do. Then I want to see how you pace it, if you are so good at everything.”
His jaw dropped. “I never said I was good at rowing. I said my brothers and I do it.”
She laughed. “Whether you realize it or not, you always infer, Your Grace, that whatever you do, you do it well.”
And with that, she struck off.
He watched rapt as she worked the oars, skimming them across the water, sweeping in, scooping down and then up without even the barest splash. They hummed along the river’s top. As the boat skimmed the surface, racing quickly along the Thames, he found himself wondering what it would’ve been like to be one of the great lords long ago. Back when his ancestors would not have ridden horses into town or taken a coach, but they would have taken this great waterway into the wild city that was the center of the world.
The river had been, and still was, the heartbeat of commerce. Those great lords in Tudor times and before had gone through the arches of the bridges into the city and been deposited at the most important buildings in the country—the Tower of London and Parliament.
He did not think they would go so far today, but he could not ignore the way his heart leapt as he watched her strike out and move in such perfect precision.
“You’re quite good at this,” he observed.
“I should hope so after doing it for so long,” she said dryly. “There’s something about it. The way I have to move, the hypnotic beat, the rhythm of it. It makes me feel alive.”
“It’s very hard work,” he said, “and your hands…”
He noticed she was wearing gloves. He felt a touch of surprise.
She seemed to take note of that. “I do enjoy hard work, but rowing would put calluses on my hands. And polite society does not find that quite acceptable. And I don’t entirely wish to show myself off as a workhorse.”
“Do you not?” he said.
She scowled. “Society seems to frown upon it.”
“I didn’t think you cared much about society.”
“Actually, I do to a degree,” she said. “I don’t willfully make trouble. So now it’s your turn,” she said, and she let them skim along the river before she scooted over a little, careful not to upset the balance of the boat.
As he adjusted his position, their limbs skimmed each other’s and his thigh rested against her breeches-covered one.
“Right,” he said. “You want me to go back up current?”
She laughed, a delightful sound that seemed to bounce off the river. “You are going to say that I made it harder for you, but let’s be fair. You are twice my size. You probably weigh almost twice what I weigh too.”
“Touché, madam,” he said. “Then let us go.”
And with that, he struck off, beating the oars with more force than she had done but just as silently.
Her eyes lit at that.
“You were not in jest, Your Grace. You are quite good at this.” Her eyes seemed to travel over his form as he moved seamlessly at one with the river.
“I agree with you. Rowing makes me feel alive, too,” he said, even as his heart began to beat increasingly hard. Not with exertion but with desire. Though it was no easy thing rowing, especially against the current, it gave him a feeling of being utterly and truly alive because it required so much power, so much strength, to do it swiftly.
But he also found that it wasn’t just the rowing that was making him feel so alive.
“And you need to feel alive?” she asked.
“Oh yes, I need to feel alive and present at every moment. If I don’t, my mind will do the most terrible things,” he informed.
“I don’t understand,” she said. “What do you mean it will do the most terrible things?”
“Well,” he explained, “if I don’t exhaust myself every day before I lie down, my mind will just go on apace with all the possibilities of the day, and all the things that could have gone wrong, and all the things that I should have done. Do you have that at all?” he asked.
She shook her head. “No, I confess I don’t. I do what needs to be done, and I’m quite content with that.”
He groaned with admiration. “Oh, how wonderful that must be.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “You seem to take the world on as if it was some great challenge and that you could carry it like some god of Olympus.”
He grinned. “My father would be most pleased. One of my names is Atlas.”
“I was aware that Atlas was one of your names,” she returned. “But that was what your father wished? To name you after the god who carried the world on his shoulders?”
“Indeed. The very one,” he affirmed as his heart warmed with nostalgia for the man who had died years ago. “My father loved Greek mythology and Shakespeare, just as mother does. That was how all my siblings’ names came about.”
“How fascinating.”
He cleared his throat. “You think me a god of Olympus, eh?”
She did not hesitate. “Well, you certainly look like one,” she said.
A wave of satisfaction traveled through him, and he laughed at her reply. It was a deep rolling sound that filled the air around them and a heron flew up from the reeds and grass.
She gasped with delight as she watched the beautiful bird take wing. “Is that why it’s called Heron House?” she asked.
He nodded, “Yes.”
“Well then,” she said. “You are in your element here.”
“Would you like to row with me?” he suddenly asked.
“Do you think we could manage it?” She pursed her lips as she turned and assessed him. “We’re very different sizes.”
“I think that we should give it a go,” he said. He leaned towards her, tilting his head down as he drawled, “I’m exhausted, after all.”
At that, she threw her head back and laughed in turn. But this one was raucous, as if the very idea of his exhaustion was beyond absurdity. “You exhausted, Your Grace? I cannot imagine that this”—she gestured to the oars and the river—“has even caused you to break a bit of a sweat upon your person.”
He arched a brow. “Well, I do keep myself in very good condition. Should the need arise, I like to believe that I could outrun anyone, outwork anyone—”
“And out-charm them too?” she asked.
He gazed down at her pert, beautiful face. “Why? Do you find me charming?”
She rolled her eyes. “I think everyone finds you charming, Your Grace. A bit mad perhaps, but absolutely charming.”
“Come then and let us row the river together,” he said softly. “We could both find a bit of peace this morning.”
“Do you think I need peace at present?” she whispered, her face growing more serious.
“Last night was quite something.” He paused. “Do you still feel the same?”
“Yes,” she said. “I’m not going to marry you. Not yet,” she said. “But I will admit you are quite convincing.”
“Good,” he said softly, letting his gaze travel over her face and linger upon her lips.
It was exactly what he wanted. Her to find him tempting. Even if it was more slowly than he was accustomed to, he was getting what he wanted, just like he always did. And like he always would.
As he gazed down upon her mouth, the boat began to drift. Leander artfully took the oars and guided them towards the bank and the sweeping bows of a willow, which would hide them from prying eyes. They were still along his lands.
Once through the curtain of greenery, with the boat rocking against the bank, he captured her chin between his thumb and forefinger.
“You do the most remarkable things to me, Mercy,” he growled.
Her cheeks flushed, and her breasts rose up and down as her breath grew short with desire. “I confess that you do so to me too.”
He did not need more urging. Leander took her mouth with his. He wanted her to find him irresistible. And he wanted her to be well-pleasured. She’d known so little joy.
He tasted her lips, running his tongue along the line where those lips met. He slipped into that wet heat. A moan slipped from her as she melted into him.
Leaning her back against the rocking boat, he traced his hands over her body. When she was kissing him hungrily back, he slowly took his palm and pressed it along her ribs, her waist, her hip, and then he let his hand wander between her thighs.
She jolted for a moment, but then she gave way to curiosity. He stroked her through the fabric, and she gasped for air.
At last, he could no longer wait to feel her. He slid his hand inside her clothes. He teased his fingers through the soft curls at her sex, and then he delved his fingers into her slick folds.
A moan past her lips, and he swallowed it with his kiss.
Then he began to bring her to her summit. He traced his fingertips over her delicate folds, ensuring they were wet with desire. He groaned at just how ready her body was for him. But no. Not here. Not in a rocking boat.
Here he simply wanted to show her just what he promised. A taste of what would come later if she chose him.
He lifted his mouth from hers and watched her face. How he loved her cheeks, bright pink, and the way her mouth opened and her eyes fluttered. Her body arched towards him as he brought her closer and closer.
He did not relent but circled his fingers over her perfect spot and then? Mercy tensed against him, her eyes wide with astonishment, and he savored the triumph of her peak.
She gazed at him with wonder as ripple after ripple traveled through her. He smiled. For this was just the beginning, and now she knew that.