“You look a little flushed,” he murmured, his eyes knowing and intent.
“It’s warm today, don’t you think?”
“Swim with me. Right now.”
“My gown…”
“Leave it on. Take it off. I don’t care.”
She caught a droplet hanging from his hair. “Swimming fully clothed… That seems rather impulsive.”
“It won’t be impulsive if you keep bloody talking about it.”
“You are so grumpy.”
“I am not.”
But he was smiling. Properly smiling, dimple and all. Thea slid an arm around his neck and gave him her weight. He lifted her down into the water, blessedly cool against her hot, tormented skin. Her skirts bunched around her; laughing, she pushed the air out of them and they grudgingly sank below the surface to swirl heavily. Her foot bumped him, and she slid it up his leg, over the roughness of his hairs. Those assured legs did not falter as he pushed back through the water, sweeping her away with him. Her feet did not touch the bottom, but she did not need firm ground to stand, not when he held her in his sure, strong arms.
His forehead pressed against hers, and he freed one hand to tug pins from her hair and run his fingers through the strands.
Next, he would kiss her again. Kiss her, and he did not even know her name.
She couldn’t do this.
She was deceiving him, and oh, how she wished it could last forever, this magical day, the sunlight, the water, the sheer folly of swimming in her clothes, his arms, his caress, this unexpected moment of bliss.
She wished it could last forever, but nothing in her life ever did.
“Rafe,” she whispered.
“Hmm.”
He trailed his lips down the side of her face and nuzzled her neck. Thea tangled her fingers in his wet hair and tugged.
“I have to tell you something. About…me.”
“Tell me tomorrow.”
“I have to tell you now.”
“No,” he murmured against her throat. “Tomorrow. It can wait until tomorrow.”
The water swirled and yanked at her skirts. Her limbs became weak but his strong arms held her.
His arms, at least, did not lie.
“You already know,” she whispered.
He pulled her closer, as he moved them through the water. Her skirts fought them both and she wound her arms more tightly around his neck, even as her heart began to ache.
“Tomorrow,” he repeated roughly. “If you say it, it will be over. Like an enchantment coming to an end. Give us one more day. One more day to swim and play. One more night to dine together. Let us pretend, for one more day. Let us have the fiction of our marriage. It is all we have holding us together. Let it hold us together one more day.”
No more was he trying to kiss her. His eyes searched hers, as he tenderly brushed back her hair.
“How did you find out?” she whispered.
“I always knew.”
And once more, everything she believed was swept out from under her. She had to move away or slap him or tear out his eyes, but he didn’t release her, and she needed him to hold her up.
He had lied too.
Nothing was as she thought; nothing was the same. She no longer knew what was real, what was false, what was fantasy, what was true.
“I bribed a servant in your parents’ house, who read your letters to Helen.” As he talked, his eyes roamed over her face, as if he was trying to capture it in his mind. Their words were ending this, but still they clung to each other, their bodies not yet ready to believe the news. “I saw you arrive at that coaching inn in Warwickshire, dressed as a man. I saw Helen arrive, and go to the same room. I saw Helen in men’s clothing board the stagecoach north, and then you and Miss Larke came downstairs. Ventnor’s men didn’t notice the switch, but I sent them back to London, just in case.”
“Why? You knew the marriage would be invalid. Why?”
“I needed a marriage certificate and living bride to secure the money from my mother’s trust, and I’ve sworn never to marry again.”
She realized then that he had been moving them toward the shore, and despite her heavy skirts’ protests, her feet sank into the mud. He was right: It could have waited until tomorrow. She could have waited one more day to know that he had lied to her too, that he had schemed as she had, but he had done it better, and he had won.
A dragonfly skimmed past his head, the sunlight glinting on its wings, and the waters of the lake washed peacefully around them. Everything was perfect and carefree, on this giddy summer’s day. Everything but them.
“You should have told me,” she said, aware of her own hypocrisy.
“Countess, we—”
“No!” She pushed away from him and lost her balance. He caught her and steadied her, before the water and hurt could carry her away. “You know my name. Use my name.”
“Then it will truly end.”
Again, he was right. Her name would be like the magic word that ended an enchantment. No more pretending. They would have to retreat behind the barriers of propriety and outrage and opposition. She had thought they were enemies, and then they were not, and now they would be adversaries again.
“Say it,” she whispered.
“Thea.”
Her name was never much more than a breath, and that was how he said it now, breathing her name like a prayer or a curse. He looked as if he had lost something, but there had never been anything to lose. They had played a game of make-believe; now the game was over, they were just cold and wet.
“I don’t understand.” She knew she had no right to be hurt, but the betrayal stung anyway. Everything she thought she knew was wrong, and now she knew nothing at all. “If you knew who I was, then you let them elope, Helen and Mr. Russell. Lord Ventnor will be furious.”
“I hope so.”
Something plopped into the water beside them, splashing them both. Thea gasped but Rafe did not so much as flinch. He turned his head, and Thea did too, and saw the tall, thin man on the bank, the breeze teasing the ends of his white hair under his hat, his arm pulled back, ready to throw another stone. Lord Ventnor.
“Speak of the Devil and he appears,” Rafe said wryly. “And he does look rather furious, doesn’t he?”
Chapter 17
Thea shivered. Even though she stared at Ventnor—and yes, a rather furious-looking Ventnor—she could hardly believe he was there.
He did not belong here, in this strange place Brinkley End had become. He was too real. She could not even fathom how he had arrived. Perhaps he had appeared in a puff of smoke the moment Rafe spoke her name and ended their enchantment.
“Get up here now, Luxborough!” Ventnor shouted.
Thea and Rafe ignored him.
“You’re cold. Go inside and change,” Rafe said. “I’ll deal with him.”
He reached for her and she yanked her arm away. “Don’t touch me!”
Rafe hurtled back so fast waves washed around her. Another stone landed beside Rafe’s head, the water splashing his face.
“Would you two be so courteous as to have your lovers’ tiff some other time?” Ventnor called. “I demand you talk to me.”
For a long while, Rafe studied her. Then, with a sigh, he headed for the shore. Thea tried to follow, but her dress dragged against her and she slipped in the mud.