Chapter 28 #2
“Oh,” he said, finally comprehending. He bent down quickly to pull off his boots.
It was easier said than done and caused his shoulder to twinge uncomfortably, but he managed it all the same.
Once relieved of both his boots and stockings, he strode the few steps to Mrs. Seymour, setting them down by her shoes.
“Perfect,” she said, smiling at him. That smile was worth all the effort to pull off his blasted footwear.
She took several more steps toward the water before she stopped. He halted at her side, standing with her as a wave broke, sending water skimming over their toes. He felt as if he were sinking into the ground as the ocean pulled back to itself.
A gleeful laugh escaped her—just what he’d been waiting to hear for weeks. It was glorious. He was not even upset that the joy had not come as a result of something he’d said.
She covered her mouth with her hand. “I apologize.”
He gently pulled her hand back, surprised. “Do not do that. You should never apologize for laughing. Most especially when your laugh is so incredible as that.”
Her eyes narrowed at the compliment.
“Did I say something wrong?” he asked.
“Are you teasing me?”
His brows rose. “Of course not.”
Her lips pulled to the side in thought.
He wanted to hook a finger below her chin, keeping her from looking away as he made his request. Wanted to, but didn’t. “Might I ask what you are thinking?”
Her eyes were still narrowed, as if she did not know how to take his words. “Commander Seymour . . . he did not particularly like my laugh.”
Henry blinked at her. “Impossible.”
She gave a little shrug. “I was not always the most circumspect in my laughter. When comfortable, I gave freely, and, often, loudly. My mother despaired of it too. I never blamed George. It is just curious that you do not feel the same.”
Henry was trying to understand how someone could dislike another’s laugh of all things. It was happiness given sound. He shook his head. “Well, I quite adore your laugh. It would be a shame if you ever were to dampen it.”
She made a sound of contemplation. “Thank you for that. I do not think I realized the extent of embarrassment I held over such a small thing.”
As if that settled that, Mrs. Seymour looked back out to the water.
But Henry was still stuck on the fact that someone in this woman’s life had bemoaned her laughter. How could you tell someone you loved that you did not like how they expressed their joy? And that did not seem to be the worst of his offenses.
Henry couldn’t quite pinpoint how he was feeling in that moment, but he was certain that he did not hold a great deal of fondness for Mrs. Seymour’s late husband. In fact, if the man were before him now, Henry would be tempted to throttle him.
“You know, I have not been here in ages. Months at least,” Alice said.
Henry shook off the remainder of his frustration—for now—to focus on their conversation. “Really? And you live so close.”
She nodded. “I realize it is a shame, but I have just been so busy.”
“Then I am even more glad we’ve pulled you away from your work.”
“Me too.” The waves came up to lap their toes, and a smile lifted Mrs. Seymour’s entire expression. “Sometimes I cannot believe that I did not grow up on a beach. It feels as if I ought to have with how at home I feel here.”
“What was life like growing up for you?” Henry asked.
She pursed her lips in thought. “My papa passed when I was seventeen. But until then, my childhood was near to idyllic. Mother was always rather strict but Papa balanced her to perfection with his games and little gifts. We lived on a small but profitable estate. My father’s father had made his fortune in trade so we were still fighting that prejudice with some people in town, but I didn’t really realize it. ”
Henry nodded. “My father had the baronetcy conferred upon him when I was a boy, so I can understand how difficult that transition can be.”
“What did he do to earn such a recommendation from the crown?”
Henry swallowed. He’d mentioned his father without thought, the usual pain not blanketing mention of him, but now it was settling in.
“He was a decorated army officer.” He could not bring himself to say his exact position in espionage.
“He did much in defense of England during the fight with the colonies, and years later, when he’d become a sheep farmer and, to me, just a father, he received the commendation.
It was a surprise but a welcome one.” He’d taken back up his role when England declared war on France.
“You miss him,” Mrs. Seymour said. It was not a question, but an observation.
“I do.” His throat felt tight. But it was not all-encompassing. It did not flood his thoughts with red.
“How long ago did he pass?”
Henry swallowed. “Six years.” Yet some days it felt as if it were just last week.
“And . . . your mother?”
“Died when I was a child. Julia hardly remembers her.”
“How awful.” She reached out, laying a hand on his wrist. He focused on the connection.
For the time, he didn’t want to dwell on past pain, so he turned the subject. “We did not have a beach, but we did have a pond. I remember dunking Julia in from a small row boat more than a dozen times.”
Mrs. Seymour laughed a little. She did that often—stifled laughs or only smiled. Was that because of her husband’s comments? “I wish I’d had a sibling. But I do not think I would want a brother whose entertainment was tossing me in a pond.”
Henry lifted his hands defensively. “I apologize, I forgot an important part of that recollection. Julia knocked me into the pond just as often. Or more.”
“Oh good, I would hate to hear that you’d been a bully growing up.”
“Me? Never. I was an angel.”
“Pond tossings aside, yes?”
“Purely defensive maneuvers.”
She narrowed her eyes teasingly. He adored that saucy expression the moment it appeared on her face. “I think I will have to confirm this information with your sister.”
Henry chuckled. “I can see having you be friends with Julia is going to cause me some grief in the future.”
“It will simply keep you honest.” She tossed him a smile as another wave came in, and Mrs. Seymour stepped deeper, lifting her skirts to save the hem from water. Without a thought he stepped after her.
Which of course immediately soaked his trousers through.
If he was already wet . . .
He bent at the waist, cupping his hands in the water.
Mrs. Seymour saw what he was doing and turned round eyes on him. She stepped back. “Don’t you dare.”
“What?” he asked innocently, letting the water trickle through his fingers as he straightened.
Her shoulders relaxed. “I thought for a moment . . . Never mind.”
Just as she turned back to the view, he reached down and sent a stream of water her way.
It only skimmed her skirts, but still she jumped back, sending water splashing at him in return.
Henry bent again, but before he could toss more water her way, she had used both hands to throw her own splash directly into his face.
He sputtered, laughing, and returned fire. This time it hit her shoulder as she stooped to throw a second stream. Hers missed him entirely, but his next one landed squarely in her face. Eyes pressed closed, she half-yelled, half-laughed, “Henry!”
His name flew from her lips in a mixture of exasperation and delight. She froze, water dripping from her jaw and tendrils of wet hair stuck to her forehead. Her hand covered her mouth for the second time that morning. “I do apologize, I should not have—”
He reached out, unsure what exactly he intended, but ending up grasping her wrist, tugging her a step closer. “Please don’t. Please call me Henry.”
Her eyes bore into his, seeming to weigh his sincerity. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly. It wouldn’t be proper.”
“I disagree. It is entirely proper if I am requesting it of you.”
She bit her lip. “If you are certain?”
He nodded, taking another step closer. He was unable to stop himself from closing the distance. The draw to her had grown too strong.
“Then . . . then I suppose you ought to call me Alice.”
“Only if you wish it.” He had never wanted anything more, though. Calling her by her name seemed to cross a bridge that he knew was unsteady but would lead to an incredible sight. It was worth the potential of falling.
But also, he was growing weary of calling her by another man’s name. He’d tried to ignore it, but his jealousy flared nearly white-hot.
She gave a little nod, more water droplets jumping out at the action. “Yes. Please.”
“Then I would be happy to, Alice.” He looked down at her, having crossed almost every inch of space that remained between them, the water swirling about their knees. His breath came heavily, as if he’d just run to her, and her chin lifted to maintain eye contact.
They stood like that for a long moment. No matter how much he wished it, he knew he couldn’t be the one to close the distance.
But he wasn’t against a little enticement.
Gently, he raised both of his hands, brushing the backs of his fingertips along her jaw.
The touch caused his heart to speed up. How he’d wished to do just this for days now.
He turned his hands at the spot between her neck and ears, bringing his palm flush to her skin and settling his hands there to cup her head.
A droplet of water fell from his fingers, dancing its way down the side of her neck.
It was agonizing to wait.
But worth it.
Her eyes lowered as her hands found first his lapels then the front of his wet waistcoat. And then she looked up. He had half a second to take in her beautiful eyes before she closed the space between them.
Her lips were feather soft. And touching them with his own shocked him to his core.
His hands tightened at the back of her neck as their mouths explored one another’s.
Softly. Quietly almost. It was fitting of this woman.
Of Alice. She was sweet and kind, always wanting to blend into the background and do what was best for everyone else.
But she left one blasted impression on a man.
He forced his hands to remain at her neck though he wanted nothing more than to pull her closer. Slow. He needed to take this slow.
She drew back, ending their kiss.
Henry couldn’t help himself. He leaned in to press one more to her mouth. When he’d pulled away, she was smiling in an almost embarrassed way.
“I am—” she began, but Henry cut her off.
“If you are about to apologize, please don’t.”
She pressed her lips together, but not before a small laugh escaped. “I am not sorry, then.”
Henry nodded. “Good.”
“Good.” She still held his coat and he still had her neck. He didn’t want to relinquish it.
She looked down, letting go.
Blast. After a bolstering breath, he released her as well.
They stood there for a minute, neither seeming to know what to do. Henry had kissed women before. Only a handful, here and there. But he’d never felt as if the kiss reached past his very bones. How did one go back to their day as if nothing had happened after a kiss like that?
How soon could he kiss her again?
“I, well—” Alice looked around. “I suppose we should dry off?” Without waiting for his response, she turned and made her way back to the shore, eyes averted.
He followed at a slower pace. She seemed to need a few minutes to herself, and he wanted to give her space.
He especially did not want to ruin his chances at kissing her again.
She perched on a rock at the edge of the beach. He found another nearby.
“I see now why you like the beach so much.”
She glanced over, and he grinned, unable to help himself. She raised her eyes to the sky as her cheeks gained color. “Stop that, Sir Henry.”
“Henry. I think you’ve even more reason to call me by my Christian name now.”
She pressed her hands to her cheeks, not entirely hiding the blush that reddened even further.
“I am sorry, I will stop my teasing.”
“Thank you.” She began to lower her hands.
“Well, just one more thing.”
Her hands went right back to her cheeks. “Oh dear.”
He laughed. “I was only going to say that I very much enjoyed our kiss, Alice.”
Her hands shifted to cover her eyes. Then, so quickly and quietly he almost didn’t hear it, she said, “As did I.”
He tucked away his smile, not wanting to embarrass her any further but unable to erase it entirely. Honestly, he felt a bit like punching the air.