Chapter 22
Darcy sat upon the small wooden boat, laughter escaping her as it drifted lazily along the gentle curve of the lake.
The sun shimmered upon the water, casting a thousand glints of light that danced with every ripple, and beyond, the rolling grounds of Sebastian’s Derbyshire estate stretched in quiet splendor.
It is, she thought, impossibly beautiful.
And so very far removed from the life they had known.
Her gaze settled upon Sebastian, who stood waist-deep in the lake, his coat and waistcoat abandoned upon the bank, his shirtsleeves rolled to his elbows and the damp linen clinging to the broad planes of his chest. Water darkened his hair and gleamed along the strong line of his forearms as he guided Emelia, modestly clothed in a bathing gown, through the careful motions of swimming.
“You must trust the water,” he said, his tone patient and steady. “If you fight it, you will exhaust yourself. Breathe, Emelia. Let it hold you.”
“I shall sink,” she declared.
“You shall not,” he returned calmly. “Not while I am here.”
Emelia laughed, half in delight and half in nervousness, her movements uncertain at first before gaining a measure of confidence beneath his guidance.
Darcy smiled, tenderness pressing against her chest. He had spoken only of the water, yet some foolish, yearning part of her heard a promise in the words, and wanted to believe he might always be there to keep her sisters from sinking.
Her sisters adored him. There was no mistaking it now.
And he, in turn, showed them a kindness and attentiveness that had long since moved beyond obligation.
It revealed itself in the smallest gestures—in the way he listened when Sarah spoke at length of her imaginings, in the care he took when correcting Jane’s posture in the saddle as he taught her to ride astride, in the quiet praise he offered Emelia when she accomplished something she had once thought beyond her.
In the days since their arrival, the estate had come alive with laughter.
They had played games upon the lawns—blindman’s bluff beneath the shade of ancient oaks, played battledore and shuttlecock until Sarah declared herself quite the champion, and spent long afternoons walking the gardens, inventing stories about those who might once have wandered such paths.
There had been picnics set out upon the grass, with baskets of fresh bread, cheese, roasted quail, and fruit, and once, to Darcy’s quiet amusement, Sebastian had joined them in a game of hide-and-seek, only to be discovered far sooner than he had anticipated by Sarah, who claimed victory with great enthusiasm.
Jane, in particular, had flourished.
She had always longed to ride, and Sebastian had taken it upon himself to instruct her each morning.
More than once, Darcy had watched from the terrace as Jane sat tall in the saddle, her earlier uncertainty replaced by growing confidence, her laughter carrying across the sweeping lawns while Sebastian rode beside her.
This kind of attention and acceptance was everything Darcy had once wished for them. Everything she had feared they would never have.
And yet the thought did not bring her peace. It awakened something far more fragile, because such happiness could not remain untouched while he kept them secret from the world and might do so forever.
Still, she ought to be grateful for all he had given them, even if gratitude could not silence her fear.
Darcy leaned back slightly, trailing her fingers through the cool surface of the water as she watched Sebastian lift Emelia and steady her until she found her footing.
His attention remained wholly fixed upon her sister, but Darcy’s own gaze betrayed her.
Water streamed over his forearms, and the wet linen of his shirt clung shamelessly to the breadth of his shoulders and chest. Her artist’s eye marked every line of him before propriety could intervene, and her body answered with a slow, disquieting desire.
He seemed different here, less armored by pride and indifference.
The patience he showed to her sisters softened Darcy, while the sight of him standing half-dressed in the sunlit water awakened something far less tender.
This life, with its ease, warmth, and quiet sense of belonging, tempted her more than she cared to admit.
It wrapped itself around her senses and whispered of possibilities she had long ago dismissed as beyond her reach.
But she knew better. This was not her world and never could be.
A man like the earl seemed as distant as the stars, brilliant enough to command wonder and far beyond the reach of an ordinary woman.
Still, as she watched him laugh at something Emelia said, the sound carrying across the water with an unrestrained ease she had rarely heard from him, that same treacherous pull tightened around Darcy’s heart.
Dear God, how was she to leave this place unaltered?
How could she protect herself from sinking too deeply into him?
As Red, she knew his hunger, his wickedness, and the tenderness he revealed only in moments of unguarded intimacy.
As Darcy, she witnessed his patience, his sense of duty, and the quiet affection taking root for her sisters.
She possessed the dangerous privilege of seeing nearly the whole man, and the whole of him reached her body, her heart, and the longings she had buried when her mother fell into melancholy after the old earl’s death.
She had known it was ill-advised to remain unchaperoned with him at his country estate. Yet his reasoning had been sound: removing them from society’s notice would allow the rumors to fade. And she had wanted her sisters to spend more time with him.
Sebastian glanced up, and their gazes collided.
Darcy swallowed at the banked heat in those dark blue eyes.
The look moved over her with the intimacy of a touch.
Her nipples tightened beneath her bodice, and a low pulse awakened between her thighs.
It was intolerable that he could summon Red’s hunger while looking only at Darcy.
Jane shouted something from the bank, and Emelia, drawing upon her newfound confidence, swam toward her.
Darcy watched them leave from the corner of her eye, painfully aware that she was now alone upon the lake with him.
Sebastian’s gaze lingered upon her for another charged beat before he turned without warning and disappeared beneath the water.
Darcy released the breath she had been holding, only to frown when several seconds passed without him resurfacing. Her heart began to thump. She sat upright in the boat and searched the water for the smallest ripple. Several more beats passed.
“Sebastian?” she called, though she knew he could not hear her beneath the water.
He was an excellent swimmer. There was no reason to fear.
Reason deserted her. Darcy swung one leg over the side and dropped into the lake, gasping as the cold water closed about her throat.
She had scarcely gathered the courage to submerge herself when Sebastian surfaced several feet away, drawing a deep breath.
“I thought something had happened to you!” she cried.
He gave her a long, indecipherable look, then glanced at the water closing about her throat. “You came after me.”
“You vanished.”
“And you cannot swim.”
“I can stand.”
“Barely.” His gaze returned to hers, darker now. “You leaped into a lake for me, Darcy.”
Darcy lifted her chin, though chagrin heated her face. Emelia was already a better swimmer than she.
“I acted before I thought,” she said tartly, vexed that he had frightened her into revealing how instinctively she would go after him.
“Then I find myself deeply obliged to your lack of thought,” he murmured.
He moved toward her, each measured stride sending the water rippling around his waist, his gaze never leaving hers.
The wet linen molded itself to his body, revealing the hard breadth of his chest and the narrowing line of his waist with a frankness that made Darcy’s breath catch.
Every instinct urged her to retreat, yet her body remained treacherously still as heat fluttered low in her abdomen.
Not even as Red had she felt so exposed beneath a mere look, for Red possessed a mask behind which to hide.
Darcy had none.
“I shall teach you to swim as well,” he said, a small smile touching the corner of his mouth.
“I think not.”
“Do you doubt my skill?”
“I doubt my own good sense in allowing you so near me.”
His smile deepened. “Your good sense has always seemed formidable.”
“It becomes considerably less so whenever you look at me in that manner.”
“What manner is that, Darcy?” he asked softly.
Self-preservation made her turn away before she answered far too honestly and wade toward the bank. His low, knowing laugh followed her, making her scowl, but Darcy felt absurdly proud of reaching the bank without once looking back.
She caught at the grass and attempted to haul herself up, but her soaked gown dragged against her legs, and she slid back into the water. On her second attempt, strong hands closed around her hips and steadied her.
“I’ve got you.”
His breath moved warmly over the nape of her neck, and she stifled a gasp.
Oh God.
His palms spanned her hips through the sodden fabric, while the hard warmth of his chest hovered a fraction from her back.
Heat pooled in her veins and throbbed low in her body.
How could so simple a touch feel so provocative and indecently intimate?
This must be why society insisted upon distance between unmarried men and women.
Without those precious inches of safety, temptation became almost unbearable.
“I…”
“Do you want me to help you up?”
The wretch. Why did he sound so darkly amused?
“Yes,” she managed, her breath trembling over her lips.
“Then cease trying to escape me.”
“I was attempting to escape the lake.”