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C aitria O’Donnell knew what she was doing would likely see her cousin-in-law, Lord Lucien Furoe, lose his mind, but since moving from Ireland with him last year to look after his daughter, Ava-Marie, she hadn’t swum once. Let alone in the sea.

In Ireland, she’d swum almost every day regardless of the weather.

Only when the seas were too rough did she put her sensible hat on and remain on dry land.

This afternoon, as soon as they’d arrived at Lucien’s seaside estate in Dorset, the sparkling sea had beckoned.

Especially after the heat of the day’s travel.

Three years ago, her life had greatly changed when her cousin Ava died, leaving a one-year-old daughter Ava-Marie.

Ava’s husband, Lucien, had needed her help, so she’d gladly left Cork and moved to Malahide near Dublin to help him.

Little did any of them know that Lucien was actually Viscount Furoe, heir to the Earl of Danvers.

Lucien had lost his memory after an injury in the Irish Rebellion a year earlier, and he spoke in Gaelic too.

Ava had taken advantage of him, telling him he was her husband.

Caitria knew what Ava did was wrong, but Lucien had really loved her cousin and he’d been happy. But now Lucien was back where he belonged and much to her surprise, he’d kept her with the family to help with Ava-Marie’s transition into this new privileged world.

Once Ava-Marie went down for a nap, Caitria had raced off on her own and found a small cove for a swim.

Diving beneath the warm surf, she still couldn’t quite believe the life she now lived.

Lord Lucien treated her like she was part of his family, even though she was simply the poor cousin of his late wife—who it turns out hadn’t even been married to him.

But her cousin was the mother of Lucien’s child, Ava-Marie.

This meant Caitria lived as if she too were upper class, when in reality she was the daughter of an impoverished Irish potato farmer.

Even more surprising was all Lucien’s closest friends treated her as an equal.

Of course, not all of society had welcomed her with open arms, but she didn’t care.

She was content with her life. She’d gotten over her silly infatuation with Lucien, and she genuinely loved his new wife Courtney.

But sometimes living with newlyweds was lonely.

Would she ever find someone to share her life with?

It would be hard as she straddled two worlds and wasn’t sure where she fit.

With a muttered oath, she surfaced, rolled onto her back, and scolded herself for being ungrateful for her wonderful life.

She could be out on the streets starving, or worse, laying on her back for money like Ava had to do for a short time.

She shuddered, and not from the brisk chill of the sea.

Yes, her life could have been vastly different.

Yet, here she was swimming at a beautiful cove, without a care in the world. Jagged boulders blessed with a small sandy beach flanked the two sides of the cove, and behind was a small bank with large bushes atop, shielding the beach from the prying eyes of anyone who might pass by.

Caitria started swimming again, working out muscles unused during the long carriage journey from London.

Finally spent, she floated again, closing her eyes and letting the warm July sun and the salty seawater soothe her inner demons.

She had a few years yet to see what life held for her.

Given her situation, she was sure her friends would help to find her someone suitable to marry.

Perhaps a nice vicar or a clerk in a law office.

Noticing how wrinkly her fingers had become, she knew it was time to swim to shore.

She breathed deep, filling her lungs with the salty sea air, and marveled at the beauty of the world.

Walking onto the beach, she stood for a moment, dripping wet in her shift, wringing out her hair.

The sea breeze would dry it quickly, as would the sun, because there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.

She walked over the burning sand to where she’d left her clothes neatly stacked and searched for the towel she’d brought with her, but it was gone. Her eyes lifted to scan the beach, her body tensing. She’d been so lost in her thoughts, she’d not noticed an intruder on her little slice of heaven.

He was sitting casually on the rocks at the bottom of the path, his long legs stretched out before him, watching her from the afternoon shadows.

Caitria froze, her heart thudding in her chest. He blocked her way off the beach.

Her heartbeat only calmed as she realized she could probably swim around the cove if she had to.

She could out-swim anyone, even her brothers. They’d called her the little mermaid.

The stranger made no move toward her. He wore informal riding gear—his breeches were tucked into gleaming top-boots—but she saw no sign of a horse.

But it was the white cambric shirt hanging open, exposing tanned muscles that drew her attention.

She could not help but stare, until she noted he held her towel in his hands, while his eyes traveled over her body with casual arrogance.

She had seen that look in men’s eyes before. Want. Need. Primitive male lust.

She had dealt with men like him all her life. Men who thought because she was a woman of lesser means, they could take what they wanted from her. She gazed boldly back, refusing to be cowered.

“I think you have something that belongs to me. Give it back.” She tried to speak in the refined English voice the ladies had been helping her develop, but because of her nervousness, even she could hear the Irish brogue slip in.

He stood. “You’re a long way from home,” he said, his voice so refined it would iron out the wrinkles in her folded-up gown.

He was tall and well-built, with fair hair, longer than his shoulders, that ruffled in the light breeze.

When he stepped out of the shadows, and she could finally see his face, she almost forgot to breathe.

His lean, aristocratic features made her imagine a Greek god.

A sensual mouth that only slightly softened his striking good looks.

His heavily lashed eyes were as blue as the ocean she’d just swum in, and she suddenly felt as if she were drowning in them.

He moved toward her. “I’m Summerton,” he said simply, as if she should know who he was and be impressed.

She refused to step back. “May I have my towel please?” she said again, though this time, a little more polite. She held out her hand. There was no way she was giving this stranger her name.

The flash of surprise on his face fed her confidence. Until he stepped even closer. “It’s polite to reply with your name.” The towel now dangling behind his back called to her because she was very conscious of the view he must be seeing. Her shift was plastered to her wet body.

As quick as lightning, she pounced round him and grabbed for the towel, wrapping it round her before turning to address Summerton . He was now facing the sea, and she was tempted to skip happily up the path from the cove. She had plenty of other clothes.

She began backing up the path. “I should warn you, I’m under the protection of Lord Furoe. He will be most upset if anything—untoward—happened to me.”

His mouth curved in a charming half smile. “Then perhaps you should ensure Lord Furoe explains this cove is actually on my land.” He added smoothly, “You’re trespassing.”

Damn the man. “My apologies,” she said stiffly. “I’ll ensure I never swim here again.”

A lazy smile filled his blue eyes. “That would be a pity. It’s not every day I find a near naked mermaid swimming in the sea.

And such a beautiful mermaid at that. I was quite mesmerized.

” That charming half smile flashed again.

“If I’d been but a few minutes earlier, I could have joined you.

” His eyes suddenly filled with fire. “But I wouldn’t have been worried about clothing. ”

The implication he would swim naked sent heat to her very core. She almost wished she could have seen that sight, for he was a fine-looking gentleman.

“If you came to swim, then it’s best I give you your privacy. If you would please pass me my clothes, I shall retreat.” Blast, why had she said retreat, for that was exactly what she was doing? His presence was too overwhelming. And didn’t he just know it?

He laughed, but moved to collect her bundle. As he walked toward her, she felt her legs tremble. Never had a man had this effect on her, and it was very annoying.

He offered her the clothes, but just as she was about to take them from him, he pulled them back. “I shall give them to you if I may learn your name.”

She stood there, frozen in indecision. He could find out who she was fairly easily because she’d told him about Lord Furoe. What harm would it do? “My name is Caitria,” she said, then grabbed the clothes and took off up the path before he could blink.

She glanced behind her. Summerton wasn’t following her. Instead, he had turned his back on her and was pulling his shirt over his head. Then he bent down to remove the boots.

He was going to swim.

Naked.

She knew she shouldn’t, but she stood at the top of the hill, hidden by the bushes, and watched with growing awareness as he stripped down and casually strolled into the waves.

The only thing that helped her decide to scurry on home was the fact that he turned to face the exact spot where she was hidden, as if he knew she would stay to watch.

And what a sight that was. Hunger erupted from deep within her, and she almost skipped back down the path to play. It was the little finger he used to beckon her that cleared her momentary madness.

As she turned to flee, his wickedly sexy laughter echoed in her ears.

*

He started to swim, wanting to work off the ache deep in his groin.

It was turning out to be quite the morning. His mother had turned up last night and had brought Lady Penelope and her infuriating mother with her, hoping he would look favorably on the insipid miss as his duchess. But he had no intention of marrying for duty.

As a child, he’d lived in a house with nothing but coldness and hostility. He would not endure a marriage based on alliances or money, nor would he bring up children in that sort of environment. When he married, it would be for love.

He grinned to himself, remembering Caitria.

There was a woman he could come to love.

A pity she wasn’t from acceptable stock.

The snatches of the pure Irish accent she was trying to hide spoke of a very different social standing than him.

His mother would have a fit if he brought someone like Caitria home as his wife. Another point in Caitria’s favor.

When she’d first spied him, Caitria had been like a frightened deer, but she’d stood her ground. He’d admired that.

What he didn’t admire was the novel experience of having a woman ignore his charms. But then again, she was already under the protection of a wealthy man.

The disappointment that had surged through him upon learning she was the mistress of Lord Furoe still stung his pride. Normally females, no matter their station or claim to beauty, vied for his attention.

She hadn’t even softened upon hearing his name.

A duke would be a considerably loftier protector than a mere viscount.

He frowned. Funny, he had heard his old friend, Viscount Furoe, or as he was now referred to, “he who was back from the dead,” was recently married.

But then again, many men married for money and kept mistresses on the side.

His father was a classic example. He could quite understand why any man would want Caitria. She was pure sensuality.

Everything about her was profoundly arousing, from the deep auburn rich hair, to her creamy, silken skin, to her bountiful breasts, and long, long legs. But it was her eyes that struck him most. Like glittering emeralds, they revealed all her emotions. He could lose himself in them.

She would make a magnificent mistress.

A flash of pity for the new Lady Furoe swept over him.

Perhaps the lady would favorably view the removal of Furoe’s mistress. He grinned again as he swam back towards the shore. Just because Caitria was well below his station, that didn’t mean he couldn’t have a dalliance with her.

His smile died. He couldn’t lie to himself. It would be more than a dalliance. He wanted her. Wanted her with a desire he’d not felt in a long, long time.

Lucky for him, Alexander Forsyth, the fifth Duke of Summerton, usually got what he wanted.