“You’re not even swimming yet.” His large hands closed around her waist. He drew her toward him as he stepped back further into the pond. “Here. Come deeper with me.”
She clutched at his shoulders. “I can’t feel the bottom anymore!”
“I have you. I’ll not let you si nk.”
“You had better n ot,” she warned him. “If I drown in this pond—”
“You’ll not drown.”
“—I shall come back to haunt you.”
He gave her a fleeting grin. “‘Be with me always—take any form—drive me mad.’”
Her fingers dug into his muscles. “You said this wasn’t like Wuthering Heights.”
“Thank God for that. I much prefer you alive.” He spun her in a slow circle, taking her even deeper.
Some of the chill dissipated as she acclimated to the water. It was actually quite comfortable. The perfect temperature, just as he’d said. Gleaming rays of sunlight reflected on the pond’s dark surface in sparkling glints, warming her damp hair and face. She moved her legs, feeling strangely weightless.
“You’re floating,” Jasper said.
“I’m not. You’re holding me up.”
His hands loosened at her waist. “It’s you, not me. See? The human body is buoyant in the water.”
She held on to him even tighter. “If that’s the case, how do you account for so many people drowning in the sea?”
“You’re not going to drown,” he said again. “So long as you remember not to panic.”
Further down the pond, the boys were splashing each other and shouting. Daisy was encouraging them with piercing shrieks of laughter.
The sight of them heartened Julia. If they weren’t afraid, what right had she to be frightened?
She gradually eased her grip on Jaspers shoulders.
He was a patient teacher, showing her how to kick her legs and to move her arms, and how to float on her back when she was weary. In time, he moved away and she was able to paddle a short distance to him. On reaching him, she clutched at his shoulders, laughing.
His arms came around her waist. His hair was wet, and water droplets clung to his face. He was smiling at her, proud of her small accomplishment.
She clung to him, breathing heavily. “Jasper . . .”
His smiled faded. Every time she used his given name it was a reminder of the distance between them.
She couldn’t help it. It would have been disingenuous to call him my dear or dearest so soon after the revelations about his past. Certainly not now, when Julia had the unhappy premonition there were even more revelations to come.
“How did you get those scars on your back?” she asked.
His expression shuttered. But he didn’t dissemble. “I was flogged.”
“In the Crimea?” She searched his eyes. “But . . . who would dare?”
A flicker of wry humor crossed his face at her naivete. “Everyone has a superior.”
“I can’t imagine you having one. Not one brave enough to flog you.”
“Bravery had nothing to do with it. Floggings are a part of life in the army. During my time in the Crimea, they were administered with frequency, often for the smallest infractions.”
She hesitated before reminding him, “You administered quite a few yourself.”
He didn’t deny it. “There are many who consider the conduct justifiable.”
Julia didn’t doubt it. It was why Jasper hadn’t been blackballed from polite society. Why he’d been welcomed to London as a hero, despite his rumored history of cruelty. She nevertheless inquired, “Who thinks so?”
“Old soldiers and politicians, mostly. Ask any of them about floggings and brandings, and they’ll say such punishments are necessary to keep order in the ranks. They may be right. I don’t know anymore.”
“Why were you flogged?” she asked.
“Insubordination.”
“Who did it? Was it some major or colonel or somebody?”
“It was an evil man, irrespective of his rank. Probably the evilest man I’ve ever had the misfortune to encounter.”
“Who—”
“No more questions.” Jasper gave her a look as stern as the one he’d given Daisy before she went into the pond. “I mean it. My past is a poison. There’s enough of it here in Yorkshire already. I don’t fancy any more of it.”
Her hands slid to the nape of his neck, smoothing over his wet hair in unspoken apology. “I’m sorry. I know I promised not to ask. But that was before.”
“Before what?”
“Before you were mine,” she said.
His brows notched in a troubled frown. As if she’d expressed something he didn’t quite know what to do with. “Julia . . .”
She stroked his nape with gentle fingers. “I want to know everything about you.”
He bowed his head to hers, submitting to her soft caresses in much the way a very large lion might submit to his mate. “Can this not be enough?”
“Perhaps it can,” she said. “Eventually.” And then she surprised them both by pressing her damp lips to his.
His arms tightened at her waist.
“They’re kissing!” Daisy cried.
The boys whooped with laughter.
Julia broke the kiss almost immediately on a self-conscious laugh of her own. “I forgot we have an audience.”
Jasper didn’t seem to care. His gaze was riveted to hers. “What was that for?”
Her mouth curved in a faint smile. “I suppose I was reminding you.”
“Of what?”
“That you’re mine, of course.”
He gave a husky laugh. “I’m not likely to forget.” His fingers flexed at her waist. “But please, do remind me again whenever the mood takes you.”
* * *
“Is Father already in his study?” Alfred asked when Julia entered the dining room the next morning. He and Charlie were seated at the table eating their breakfast. A teapot and teacups were arrayed next to them, along with the jam pot and a half-empty rack of toast.
Julia crossed to the sideboard and retrieved a plate for herself. It was Mr. Beecham’s habit to set out the hot food in silver chafing dishes. There was no specific time the household was expected to breakfast, but if one waited too long, one was inevitably left with cold eggs and congealed porridge.