Regency High Society Vol 4. Julia Justiss

      “You are very hard on your gowns, chère,” he called. “I pity your husband.”

      She opened her eyes and grinned wickedly. “What, because you think I’ll be hard on him, too?”

      “I hadn’t intended it that way, ma petite Rusa, but now that you say it, I shall consider the possibilities.”

      He liked seeing her laugh as she did now, and with regret he realized how rarely she’d smiled or laughed since he had come into her life. And yet, in reverse, how often she had brought joy to him, a man who’d always before found little in the world to amuse him!

      “You may consider them, but that is all,” she said with mock solemnity. “The possibilities themselves shall remain private between my husband and myself.”

      “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of intruding. Unless, of course, you’d wed Carberry.”

      “You’ve no right to say that!” she scolded, trying to look as indignant as she could while soaking wet. “Tom and I simply didn’t suit one another, that was all.”

      “All, and everything, ma mie.” Watching her in the water reminded him not only of the Seabrook inn but of how gritty and hot he felt himself, covered with sand and sticky with salt from the sea. He glanced from her to the water and back again, his lazy smile of suggestion widening. What was he waiting for, anyway?

      “Whatever are you doing, Michel?” asked Jerusa as he pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it onto the rock beside him. He unbuckled his breeches at the knees and then stood to unbutton the fall at his waist. “Michel!”

      His smile was his only answer, and swiftly she turned her back to him, staring into the wet black stone of the waterfall rather than see him naked. She heard the splash as he dived into the water, and next his shouted exclamation as he discovered how cool the water was. It was easy to imagine him behind her in the pond, and easier still to picture him without his clothing, no matter how much her conscience ordered her to do otherwise.

      “Come join me, chérie!” he called. “You will, I promise, feel much refreshed!”

      “I would feel most indecent, thank you,” she answered, sounding impossibly prim even to her own ears. But his words had done their work. Despite the waterfall, she still could feel the sand that had been washed under her clothes by the waves, bits of grit trapped between her shift and her skin. The water would be so deliciously cool, and it would be wonderful to feel clean again.

      “Jerusa, Jerusa,” he chided mockingly. “Why deprive yourself? It would be, after all, nothing I haven’t seen already. If you’ll but recall that afternoon in Seabrook—”

      “I remember!” she snapped, and with a deep breath she spun around. Though he was in the water and his clothes remained on the rock, he was not exactly indecent; the ripples in the water around him hid all but his shoulders and arms. He flung his wet hair back from his face and slowly smiled, as blatant an invitation as any she’d ever had.

      What was she waiting for, anyway?

      Before she could change her mind she unhooked her bodice and tossed it onto the next rock. Her skirts, petticoats and stays followed, until all that was left was her shift. She looked down and saw the rapt look of anticipation on Michel’s face, and before he could ogle her any longer, she whipped the shift over her head and leapt into the water.

      She gasped with surprise as her head broke the water’s surface, and Michel laughed.

      “It’s not so bad after a minute or two,” he said. “Truly.”

      “Not so bad if you’re accustomed to swimming in December!” she said, still gasping.

      But as he’d predicted, the longer she was in the water, the less chilly it seemed to be. The pond was deeper than she’d realized, too, well beyond her depth, and automatically she began to tread water to keep afloat. Like loading and firing guns, her father had insisted she learn how to swim alongside her brothers, too, and as she paddled in the cool water now she was thankful he had.

      “Are you all right?” he asked with amusement. “Would you rather stand, chère? The water’s not as deep here, by me.”

      “I don’t need to stand, near you or otherwise.” To prove it, she swam away from him, enjoying the feel of the cool water against her skin and how her body warmed from the swimming.

      Or maybe it wasn’t the swimming alone. She turned and glided back toward Michel, taking care to keep from getting too near.

       Too near for what, Jerusa? What could possibly happen in a pond?

      He sank deeper into the water until the surface was just level with his eyes, eyes that seemed very blue against all the shining black stone and green leaves. Silently he began to swim toward her, his strokes barely ruffling the water’s surface as his long blond hair streamed out behind him. Even though she knew it was no more than another of his endless games, she felt her heart quicken. There was something about the way he was watching her that was decidedly predatory, and she was his prey.

      She narrowed her eyes and slammed her palm down on the water with a great splash, a ploy she’d learned from her brothers, but still Michel came closer. She twisted about in the water and plunged beneath the surface to get away from him, and instantly regretted it. Or at least her conscience did; the rest of her didn’t mind at all. There, before her in the water, was everything his breeches ordinarily hid, the last important detail her imagination hadn’t been able to supply, and Lord, he was a beautiful man.

      He grabbed her ankle and jerked her up to the surface, sputtering. “Let me go, Michel!” she cried, blushing furiously as she tried to thrash free.

      “Why should I, Rusa?” he teased. “All you’ve done is try to swim away from me.”

      “Please, Michel!” It was nearly impossible to keep her body decently underwater while he insisted on dragging her foot into the air. He was going to upend her completely if he wasn’t careful.

      “I’ll release your ankle if you give me your hand,” he bargained, and with little choice she reluctantly agreed, offering her hand as he let her foot glide back down through the water. “Now trust me, ma mie. Relax, and let yourself float.”

      “Michel, I—”

      “Shh, Rusa. You must trust me,” he ordered softly. “Remember that I love you, and trust me.”

      Her gaze locked with his, gradually she did what he asked, letting her legs and body float upward behind her. Instinctively she extended her other arm to keep her head above the water, and Michel took that hand, too. Inch by inch she relaxed, the roar of the falling water filling her ears until she felt as if she were floating, weightless, not just in water but above it. Slowly he glided her closer to him, drawing her arms against him until their faces were only inches apart.

       “Ma belle Jerusa,” he murmured, “ma bien-aimée.”

      It seemed right for her to cross that last distance until their lips met. He kissed her gently at first, teasing her, their lips grazing together and then separating as he let her drift away, breathless with desire for more.

      “Who’s running away now?” she whispered, her voice husky with frustration.

      His smile was knowing, his eyes hooded. “Not I, ma mie.”

      At last he pulled her close, releasing her hands so she could circle them around his neck as his mouth slanted over hers. Hungrily she parted her lips for him, needing to taste him, and she felt the first shimmer of pleasure ripple through her. She brought her body through the water to nestle close to his, her arms tightening around his shoulders to steady herself. His hands eased along her body, from the narrowing curve of her waist upward until, with a shudder, she felt him cup her breasts in his palms, his thumbs stroking the tips into hard, tight peaks of response that made her cry out.

      She slid her hands