“A monopteron,” Thaddeus observed.
She raised an eyebrow.
“A circular temple supported by pillars, without a cella, or an enclosed portion.”
“My father says the island was grassy and perfectly tended when he was a boy, but since he doesn’t care for pleasure gardens, the children took it over years ago, before I was born.”
“By ‘took it over,’ you mean that they banished gardeners?” Thaddeus inquired. The environs of the lake were overgrown, with huge willows trailing in the water all around the shore, where wild cherry trees stood cheek by jowl with beeches. Reeds grew in profusion, and the lake itself was covered with a carpet of water lilies.
“Exactly,” Joan said, heading down the low mound that led to the lake. “Apparently, the second duchess—my mother—wanted to clear the nettles and cut the weeds, but my older brothers kicked up a fuss. My father overruled her. The boys were always searching for lost treasure back then, and he thought the pond was safer than the bog.”
“In lieu of silver, there might be good fishing in the pond,” Thaddeus said, staring down at the water. They were close enough that he could just see a small frog sitting on a lily pad, using its white flower as a parasol.
“Carp,” Joan said. “Alaric complained last time he was here that the water was choked, and they weren’t growing very large. I’m going to presume that since you do everything well, you row as well,” she said, giving Thaddeus an impudent look.
He’d captained his rowing crew at Cambridge. “I can row.”
“Excellent,” she said happily, toeing off her shoes. “Be sure to leave your wig here. And your shoes. One of my sisters-in-law, Diana, still complains about losing one of her shoes in the lake. Now we all drop them here, on the grass.”
Thaddeus lifted off his wig and placed it on the slope, running his fingers thankfully through his hair.
“And your stockings!” Joan added. “Just think about how long it will take to get grass stains out of white silk. Your valet will have hysterics.”
Thaddeus paid his valet well over the normal wage expressly so that the man would never speak of uninteresting topics, such as stain removal. But he obediently removed his stockings.
Joan’s stockings were clocked up the side and elegant enough for a prince. Her legs were slender and touched with gold hair that glinted in the sunlight. Her toes curled in the grass, and she looked up at him with a smile that swept him into its joy. “I am having a wonderful day. Even though—”
She broke off.
“Even though you’re stuck with me,” he supplied, turning to put his folded stockings on top of his shoes.
“You have to admit that we haven’t been friends,” she said defensively. “That is, we aren’t friends now either. You are doing a favor to the family, and I realize that.”
“Why would you say that we’re not friends?”
“We’re far too different.”
He glanced down at himself. He had always been tall, but he’d never felt more of a hulking beast in his life. His legs were hairy and bulged with muscle.
Her eyes followed his. “No, I don’t mean the fact that your legs could provide the supports for a bridge. Nor even that you are a man, and I am only pretending to be one.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“Just what do you mean by that?” she asked. “I feel as if we communicated without words over dinner the other night. It’s a new language for me, so I can’t be expected to interpret your every expression.”
While he tried to think how to answer her, Joan wriggled out of her tight coat. “Luckily, you won’t be shocked by the sight of my rear end,” she said blithely.
She was wrong. Before he could avert his eyes, she bent over to put her coat down beside her shoes and her wig. Her bottom was surprisingly plump and round for such a slender woman; like her breasts, it seemed to be designed to bring a man to his knees.
The shock that jolted his body definitely wasn’t horror. It was a tide of lust over which he had absolutely no control. His cock fought the restriction of his breeches, which meant he could not remove his coat.
With another young lady, perhaps.
An innocent maiden who wouldn’t have any idea what was straining his breeches, or wouldn’t dream of glancing below his waist. But Joan? With her jests about foreplay and penetration? She might guess that his desire for her was nearly out of control. The very idea was horrific.
Luckily, Joan didn’t even glance at him. She quickly unwrapped her neck cloth, dropped it, and pulled off her waistcoat.
He had joined the hordes of men who couldn’t control themselves around her. Who proved their idiocy by succumbing to her smile or the way she touched their arms.
One would think that depressing realization would make his cockstand go down, but no.
Joan scrambled down the bank. “We’re lucky because sometimes the boat drifts under the willow,” she said, bending over to untie the rope from the gunwale of the rowboat. “It’s hard to pull through the reeds.”
Thaddeus remained where he was, willing himself under control and failing utterly.
“Aren’t you coming?” she asked, straightening and turning back to him. Her cheeks were flushed with exertion.
He caught back a groan by the slimmest of margins.
She cast him a narrow glance but apparently saw nothing, as her dimpled smile appeared again—not the seductress one, but the smile she gave family—and she pointed at the basket. “I’m ravenous, and there should be a few scraps of food left that we didn’t give to Fitzy or Gully. Come on, let’s get over to the island. Aren’t you going to take off your coat? You’ll be as hot as a black pudding by the time we get to the island.”
Thaddeus gave a firm shake of his head. Another woman might have argued with him, but he was coming to know Joan: Perhaps because of her unusual background, she was remarkably accepting. She offered advice; he refused; that was the end of it.
“I’m nominating you to row,” she announced.
Thaddeus untied and unwound his starched white neck cloth and added it to his belongings.
“Don’t forget to remove your rapier before you get into the boat,” he said, picking up the basket.
“Why?” She began obediently fumbling with the buckle.
“Always put it to the side in a carriage—or a boat.”
“All right.” She nodded, and he recognized with a bolt of something very like shame that he felt happy whenever she listened to him, when he was able to protect her from some danger.
His deep-seated happiness was entirely inappropriate. Unfounded.
Joan clambered into the boat, put her hilted rapier on her lap, and watched as he stowed the basket at her feet and sat down. “You look as proper as a gentleman in Hyde Park.” Then she glanced down and broke into giggles. “Even your feet are elegant for a man. Does your valet put wax on your toes?”
He was concentrating on his grandmother’s wart so that hopefully, by the time he got to the island, he could remove his blasted coat. “Wax? Why?” He put the oars in the water and gave them a powerful wrench that sent the rowboat skimming through the water lilies.
“To remove hair, of course,” Joan cried. “Haven’t you ever discussed hairy toes with other men?”