Chapter Thirteen
It wasn’t creepy that he was going to seek out Amelia at the pond. Not at all.
Her sister had mentioned that he could find her there, and she wouldn’t have mentioned that if it would be awkward for him to stumble upon her.
And yes, she casually inserted the information that Amelia would probably be swimming. But again, why would she have disclosed those kinds of details knowing that he was planning to go visit her?
And the sly look Arabella had given him was nothing like a bride-to-be would offer her potentially future betrothed. It was much more akin to the kind of look a younger sister would offer to an older brother knowing that he was heading into trouble.
Trouble, being the operative word here.
So, no. It wasn’t creepy.
But yes, it was certainly trouble.
But trouble was his main objective right now, wasn’t it?
He was tired of playing by society’s rules. It had gotten him nowhere. Alas, if only that were true. It was much more accurate to say that playing by society’s rules had devastated him. Though only a few knew it.
He wanted to keep it that way, but he wasn’t sure how long he could keep the gossip at bay. Even at the Lyon’s Den he had run into too many familiar, betraying faces.
His feet were moving him at a clipped pace across the lawn. Toward a splashing sound that echoed into the air.
The afternoon air was warm, so it only made sense that he was going for a swim. The fact that Amelia would be there was pure coincidence.
The fact that he stumbled upon her from underneath the shade of a tree branch was purely fortuitous.
And the subsequent fact of him staring at her float on her back, breasts raised, eyes closed…well…that was heaven.
Something had changed earlier this afternoon during the water coloring. They had shared a laugh.
But it was a laugh that was so much more than a laugh. It was a release. As though he had been holding onto a chain around his neck that prohibited him from laughter.
Seeing her muddy puddle and her reaction to the man with the cane had broken something loose in him.
He couldn’t hold onto the chain around his throat and laugh along with her at the same time. And to laugh with her was the strongest argument he had encountered yet to just let go.
So much resentment had built up within him, like a garden overgrown with weeds. And every moment he spent near Amelia was like picking out another patch of weeds. It was almost to the point that he could see a semblance of the garden that once existed.
A loud splash, followed by several water droplets yanked him out of his musings.
“Did you just come to stare at me, Benedict? Isn’t that a bit inappropriate?”
“I came to swim.”
“Isn’t that a bit inappropriate?” But even as she said the words, he saw something related to curiosity flash across her eyes. Perhaps it was just the reflection of the sun on the water, but he wasn’t really willing to accept that.
“Isn’t this whole ordeal inappropriate?” He retorted while peeling off his jacket and undoing his cravat.
“Benedict? What are you doing?”
“I told you, I came to swim.”
Holding her arms across her chest, he could see she was treading water with just her legs.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Oh, of course, she always had to be so proper.
“You only accept an act of societal defiance when it’s on your terms, is that how it is?”
The roll of her eyes and the backstrokes she took toward the far edge were practically an invitation into the water.
While her eyes were averted, he threw off the rest of his clothes until he was down to his smallclothes.
“I’m coming in,” he announced as he jumped into the refreshingly cold water, also known as trouble.
It was a terrible idea. Wildly inappropriate. He was supposed to be here for her sister, but that ship had sailed. Arabella wasn’t any more interested in him than he was in her.
But Amelia…now she had unwittingly captivated his attention from the start.
“You stay on your side, and I’ll stay on mine,” Amelia instructed loudly. “Don’t come past that boulder—”
“You mean like this?” he asked, swimming right on past it until he was within arm’s length of her.
Grumbling, she chastised him. “Really, Benedict. Where is the upstanding duke I was promised for marriage?”
Her blush spoke volumes.
“Marriage for my sister, of course.”
“He recently decided to cast away expectations and live his life how he wants to.”
“Well aren’t you of the privileged elite to choose that then.”
She turned on her belly to swim away, but he grabbed the fabric of her chemise.
Spluttering, she turned back to him. “What are you doing?”
But he couldn’t answer because he didn’t really know what he was doing. He just knew that he wanted to be near her. To talk to her. To understand her more. Because he was quickly coming to the conclusion that his first impression of her was all wrong.
She acted tough. Strong. Resilient. Like she didn’t need a husband. But time and time again he wanted her to need him. He kept stepping in to rescue her, whether she required it or not.
Her eyes held his gaze. Locked in. Piercing a way into his depths. That is, until the gaze dipped to his mouth, and she licked her bottom lip.
His heart stuttered. He could feel the desire from here. Could feel that she was a woman of passion. The knowledge startled him as much as it seemed to shock her.
“Race you to the other side,” she whispered.
And he had a choice. Follow through on what her eyes were telling him, or follow through on what her words were telling him.
But as a gentleman, he had only one choice.