Page 32 of A Scandal In July
“That’s cheerful,” he said dryly.
“My favorite was the story about a mermaid, called the Iara. She lures men to their doom with her singing and false promises of great riches at the bottom of the river.”
“I think most cultures have legends about beautiful women luring foolish men to their doom,” he said half serious. “The ancient Greeks had their sirens and their naiads. We Welsh have Gwenhidw, a magical mermaid queen. Some say she’s the inspiration for King Arthur’s Guinevere. Men have made fools of themselves over pretty faces for thousands of years.”
He sent her a wry, sideways glance that made her pulse pound.
If only he’d make a fool of himself over her.
“It’s not always women.” She sent him an answering smile. “There’s also a male river spirit, an unnaturally handsome warrior who comes out of the river at the full moon and seduces all the prettiest girls in the village. He makes love to them at night, but in the morning, he’s gone, turned back into his true form, a pink river dolphin.”
Rhys’s expression was one of laughing disbelief. “A pink dolphin?”
“They exist. I’ve seen one, in the Amazon River.”
“And were you captivated by this scarlet seducer?” he teased.
“I was not.”
His mouth opened as if he was about to ask another question, but then he seemed to change his mind and glanced away, and Lenore bit back a wave of disappointment.
She gazed out across the lake. The sun was dropping toward the horizon, slanting its peachy rays across the land and turning the sky purple and gold. A few ducks paddled about, upending themselves in that comical way they had to search for pond weed. The water reflected the darkening sky and the fluffy white clouds above. It was an idyllic spot.
“You must have had some exciting adventures yourself, though,” she prodded softly. “You went to Portugal, Spain, and France.”
Rhys splashed back to the shore and sank down on the grass again. “I did. But I had quite a few close brushes with death, too. I was in the same regiment as Gryff, the Royal Welsh Fusiliers. We saw action at Salamanca, Nivelle, and Toulouse. Gryff left just before Waterloo because our father had died and he needed to come back and take over as earl, but I stayed to get the job done. Or until I met my maker, whichever came first.”
Lenore lowered herself down next to him. “Brave men like you are the reason we’re not all speaking French right now.”
He gave a self-deprecating shrug, uncomfortable with her praise, but she’d wanted to tell him this ever since she’d met him.
“Waterloo was such a close-run thing,” he said quietly. “It could have gone against us so easily.” He selected a flat stone and sent it skimming over the surface of the water with a practiced flick of his arm. “I feel incredibly lucky to have survived, when so many of my friends didn’t get to come home.”
Sadness flashed across his features, and she reined in the impulse to put her arms around him and give him a hug. She pressed her shoulder against his instead, in a wordless show of sympathy, and he sent her a smile to show he appreciated the gesture.
His humility was humbling. He was so much more than just his good looks. He had depths to his personality, a hundred different facets, and she wanted to discover them all. She wanted to know his likes and dislikes, what made him laugh, what made him cry.
She already knew he liked physical activity, like boxing. But did he also like to read? To ride? Was he musical? Could he play an instrument? What was his favorite book?
She couldn’t pepper him with a thousand questions now, though, however much she wanted to.
She picked up her own stone and managed a very creditable four skips before it sank into the lake. He shot her an impressed look, eyebrows raised.
“I think travel has changed me,” she said pensively. “Well, maybe not changed me, exactly, but certainlyshapedme. It brought out aspects of my character that probably already existed but made them stronger. My resourcefulness, for instance.” Her lips quirked. “And my stubbornness. And despite all the misfortunes—some frightening, some even life-threatening—I can be proud of the fact that I survived. I am stronger than I thought I could be. I can endure more than I ever imagined.”
“War changed me,” Rhys admitted. “It made me realize that people can do the most incredible things, both good and bad.”
“Do you believe in fate?” Lenore asked, curious.
He shook his head. “Not really. I mean, I don’t think I was destined to live while other men around me died. I think there were a hundred times when my life hung in the balance, and I couldn’t say whether I survived because of some action I took, or because of sheer luck.”
“Well, whatever it was, I’m glad,” she said with a smile. “Just think of the millions of tiny incidents that have led to the two of us being here, at exactly this point in time. It’s enough to make your head spin, really.”
“Best not to think about it too hard,” Rhys grinned. “I’ve heard too much thinking can addle the brain.”
She gave him a playful punch on the arm. “I’m not the one whose grey matter is scrambled from all those punches to the head.”
He chuckled. “I’m beginning to think there’s more to us being stuck here than just our siblings’ desire to win this treasure hunt. I think the lot of them are throwing us together for their own amusement. Because we’re the only two unmarried ones left.”