Moaning, she paced the length of her room, but it did nothing to help. The throbbing was so intense. The heat made her want to rip off her clothes . . . dive into a frigid pool of water.
The pond.
No one was awake yet. She could slip from the house without anyone noticing. She quickly undressed and delved into the back of her wardrobe for one of her simple dresses. One of the plain frocks she owned before she’d moved into the duke’s house following her sister’s marriage—before she was granted a new wardrobe.
Dressed humbly, feeling more herself in that regard (if not in the terrible arousal twisting like a serpent through her), she fled the house, departing via the back servants’ stairs. Thankfully, undetected. She had no wish to come face-to-face with anyone, yet again, in her present condition.
She rounded the house and cut away from the pebbled drive, crossing the stretching slope of grass until she entered the copse of woods surrounding her brother-in-law’s estate. Her legs churned beneath her skirts. The exertion only exacerbated her condition—made her blood burn beneath her skin.
The air was murky but not impenetrable to the naked eye. She knew every bit of Brambledon and the surrounding area. She could find her way even if it was pitch-black at night.
She moved just short of a run. Her feet led her to the narrow path that routed directly to her pond.
Very well. She knew it wasn’t her pond. None of this belonged to her. It was Nathaniel’s and now her sister’s. She didn’t have anything. Not until she married.
The soft burble of water reached her ears moments before she broke out into a small clearing. She had to slow down and carefully mind her steps down the rather steep decline that led to the banks of the pond. She didn’t need to break her neck. That would cast a definite pall over the strange events of this day.
The deep pool of water was the result of where two streams converged. She was well acquainted with the pond. With the cool sensation of crisp water on her skin, with the soft moss under her feet, with the smooth shape of time-eroded stones beneath the twin waterfalls.
Her pulse pounded in her ears, matching the deep, pulling throb between her legs.
What if it never went away? What if her sister had poisoned her for all time?
She shook her head. No. It could not be. It simply needed time to run its course. Like any fever. It couldn’t last forever.
The glass-like surface beckoned. Despite her sense of urgency, she forced herself to pause and glance around, peering into the dark shadows. Not that anyone would be here at this hour.
Satisfied and reassured with that reminder, she disrobed, her movements hasty as she removed her dress and tossed it over a nearby bush. She slid off her stockings and shoes and yanked her chemise over her head.
She sighed in relief once she was free of her garments. Her heated and too-tight skin already felt better.
Wearing nothing at all, she charged ahead on her bare feet. The sharp prick of stones and pebbles beneath the soles of her feet felt actually good—a welcome distraction from the primal urges engulfing her body.
She didn’t ease into the water hesitantly. She rushed in to her waist and then plunged the rest of the way in until she was submerged up to her shoulders.
With her hair coiled and pinned atop her head, the cool water lapped deliciously at her neck and shoulders, helping to relieve the fires.
And yet it did not bank them entirely.
The throb was still there between her legs. Her breasts were heavy and tingling as she stretched her arms and sliced through the water, feeling as free as a mermaid. At least she always imagined a mermaid would feel free. No societal pressures or expectations.
It was scandalous, she supposed. Swimming naked in the great out of doors.
No one would ever guess she was capable of such behavior. Not even her sisters. They would never say so, but she knew they thought her boring and predictable.
This was her secret. Something that was hers alone. In addition to what she’d done with Kingston earlier.
She winced. He was departing today. At least there was that. She would not have to worry about confronting him any time soon.
Shaking her head, she turned and floated on her back, letting her arms fan out at her sides in rhythmic strokes. Closing her eyes, she ignored the pulling ache in her body and tried to melt and relax into the gentle current.
Water lapped at her sides, splashing over her bare breasts. Air flowed over her chest, pleasantly cooling all her wet skin.
A bird chirped in the distance, signaling the impending dawn, and she knew she’d have to leave soon and make her way home. She couldn’t risk lingering much longer.
She was no daring heroine, unfortunately. No. Not unfortunately.
Her sisters were bold heroines. Outspoken and adventurous. She had never aspired to that. As much as she admired them, she did not envy them. What they had . . . what they were . . . it was not in her.
Only here, alone, reveling in the privacy of this pond, she felt decadent and free. For once she felt like a bold heroine.
But it would have to end.
It was Sunday. They had church to attend. Unless she begged off because of illness, she would be expected to go. Billy and his family would be there. She had promised to take afternoon tea with them.
She must make an appearance with a smile on her face, all misdeeds put firmly behind her.
Kingston stared wide-eyed into the darkness, one arm tossed over his brow, his breathing still much too labored for a man who should be easing into slumber. But there was no ease. There’d be no slumber.
Not this night.
Of course not. After that encounter? After Charlotte Langley had shattered him so thoroughly? How could he sleep?
He was as awake and alert as when he first returned to his chamber a few hours ago. Sleep was impossible. His pulse thrummed hard and fast at his neck.
He stilled at the sound of movements outside his door.
Footsteps.
He assumed the tread belonged to Charlotte Langley.
Strange as it was, he felt acutely attuned to her. His nostrils flared and his pores contracted as though sensing her just beyond the door.
Impossible, he knew, but she had already proved herself to be someone who kept late hours. And did outrageous things in those late hours.
It had to be Charlotte. Who else could be up at this hour in the family wing of the house? This wing of the house boasted the most luxurious chambers and was only for the privileged few—the duke and his wife and the Langley sisters. The list was short. He did not expect to find himself included on it. It certainly was not his stepbrother’s doing. If it had been up to Warrington, he would likely be sleeping in the barn with all the animals. No, the lovely Duchess of Warrington had had her hand in this. Her generous hospitality had seen to this arrangement.
Her tread faded away. She was moving quickly.
He could not stay put a moment longer.
Climbing from his bed, he dressed quickly, determined to follow her and see what mischief she was up to now.
He told himself he was concerned.
She had been distraught when she left him earlier. There’d been something in her eyes. A wild-eyed glazed look that seemed to go beyond the passion of their liaison. He couldn’t entirely credit it, but he could still see it clearly in his mind. It was troubling.
As he emerged out into the hall, the distant squeak of hinges below alerted him that she had moved downstairs. He took himself below, marching down the corridor and bypassing the kitchens until he reached the back servants’ door.