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C aitria’s hands were still trembling as she made her way back to the house.

Not from the ordeal with the pups—she’d helped birth countless animals back home in Ireland.

No, her trembling came from being in Summerton’s presence.

He was a duke, for goodness’ sake. She shouldn’t feel the way she did for him—a man so far above her station, it was an impossible mountain to conquer.

Yet his proximity, the way his hands had moved so surely despite his obvious wealth and station, intrigued her. She liked him. Liked him too much.

The Duke of Summerton. She should have known. No mere gentleman would have carried himself with such unconscious authority.

She paused at the door to wipe her boots, though it was a lost cause.

Like her dress. Like her composure. The memory of him rolling up his sleeves, revealing strong forearms as he knelt beside her in the straw, made heat rise to her cheeks.

She recalled the sight of him running naked into the waves.

Today he hadn’t hesitated to get his fine clothes dirty, hadn’t flinched at the messy business of birth.

But as she climbed the stairs, she couldn’t shake the memory of his face when she had said his name. Alexander . She’d said it, tasting it on her tongue like forbidden fruit. And for just a moment, all the barriers between them had dissolved.

She stripped off her ruined dress, dropping it in the corner for the maids. The warm water in her wash basin turned brown as she scrubbed her hands and arms, but she could still feel the phantom touch of his fingers as they’d worked together over the laboring dog.

“Foolish girl,” she muttered to herself in Irish. “Getting above yourself again.” Men like Summerton had only one use for a woman such as her and it would only lead to heartache.

But another voice, one that sounded suspiciously like her mother’s, whispered, And why shouldn’t you? Didn’t the Old Ones say the land remembers when we were all kings and queens?

Her face heated, remembering that she’d told him she might swim again this afternoon. And she had meant it too, so caught up was she in the intimacy of the moment. Now, however, in the cold light of day, she wasn’t sure if she should.

She knew she shouldn’t.

A knock at her door prevented further brooding. “Caitria?” Ava-Marie’s voice piped through the wood. “Are the puppies really here? Can I see them?”

Caitria smiled, her troubled thoughts receding. This was her real life—lessons and laughter, family and simple joys. Not forbidden swims with handsome dukes or dreams above her station.

“Let me change my dress, a stór,” she called back. “Then we’ll go see them together.”

But as she reached for a clean dress, her eyes strayed to the window. The sun was high now, the sea a sparkling ribbon in the distance. Would he be there this afternoon, waiting? And more importantly—would she go?

She touched her lips, remembering how his name had felt when she’d said it. Alexander . It was like a spell, like a key turning in a lock. Like something that could either free her or trap her forever.

“Heaven help me,” she whispered. Because she knew where she would be this afternoon and it was definitely a place a woman such as she should not go.

*

She wasn’t coming…

Alex sat down on the same boulder he’d sat on yesterday when his knees had given out upon seeing his little mermaid splashing in the water.

When she’d stepped from the water with her thin linen shift clinging to a body made for sinning, he’d almost forgotten to breathe. She was any man’s dream come true.

He threw a stone and watched it skip across the water. He’d been here almost half an hour…waiting. It surprised him just how disappointed he was. She was a beautiful woman. He’d had his fair share, and then some, of beautiful woman. So why did her rejection irk him?

On a sigh, he lifted his shirt over his head.

He might as well cool his ardor with a swim.

He swam here every day over summer. He loved the feel of his muscles working as he cut through the waves.

It kept him in good shape and allowed him time to himself—something hard to come by with so many people in his house.

His servants tried to be circumspect but they were always there.

Time alone was even more important at the moment because of his mother’s interfering. Lady Penelope and her mother were becoming tiresome, and they’d only been here a day. Two weeks to go! They would drive him insane. No wonder he’d looked forward to a liaison with Caitria.

Shrugging out of the rest of his clothes, he ran into the waves.

The instant chill of the water cooled him as he dived under the waves.

Perhaps it was best she hadn’t come. It was obvious she was part of Furoe’s household and if she was the mother of his daughter, he didn’t want to come between them.

Furoe had every right to keep the child, and perhaps he might send Caitria away if she strayed.

The old Lucien would never have forbidden the mother of his child from seeing her daughter, but Alex had no idea who this returned Lord Furoe was. Perhaps Caitria was scared of her protector. Scared he’d take her daughter away?

He swam across the bay and was heading back when movement on the beach caught his eye. He stopped treading water. She’d come. His heart was soon racing from more than exertion as he watched her slowly remove her gown, then wearing only her shift, she walked into the waves.

Alex watched, mesmerized, as Caitria glided through the water with the grace of a sea nymph. Her auburn hair floated behind her like seaweed, catching the afternoon sun’s golden rays. She kept her distance, but her presence filled the cove as surely as the tide.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” he called out, careful to keep his voice steady despite his racing heart.

She tilted her head, treading water. “Neither was I.” Her Irish lilt carried across the waves. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have.”

“Then why did you?” He moved closer, drawn to her like a ship to shore.

“Because…” She paused, then laughed softly. “Because sometimes the sea calls, and propriety must wait.”

The sparkle in her eyes and the way she moved through the water with such confidence captivated him. She was nothing like the ladies his mother paraded before him, all artificial manners and calculated smiles.

“The sea isn’t the only one calling,” he said, closing the distance between them. They were close enough now that he could see droplets of water clinging to her eyelashes.

“Your Grace—”

“Alexander,” he corrected. “Please.”

Their eyes met, and the world seemed to still. Even the waves appeared to hold their breath. He reached out, his fingers brushing her cheek, and she didn’t pull away.

“Alexander,” she whispered, and the sound of his name on her lips undid him.

He caught her arm and pulled her to him, the heat from their bodies and the chill of the water clashing. He wished she were as naked as him, but the light linen was not much of a barrier. He saw dark, hard nipples and his mouth watered for a taste.

She floated before him like a feast and his mouth soon found her breasts, pushing the linen aside until he could suckle her gently. He wanted to taste her.

Pulling her into his arms once more, he kissed her, tasting salt and sunshine and something wild that reminded him of Irish cliffs and stormy seas. For a moment, she yielded, her hand coming to rest against his chest.

“You’re everything I’ve been looking for,” he murmured against her lips. “I can offer you so much more than Furoe. Your daughter could have everything—”

She jerked back as if struck. “What did you say?”

“I know about Ava-Marie,” he said gently. “I understand why you stay with him, but—”

“You understand nothing!” Her voice cracked like thunder. She pushed off his chest, turned and dived under the water before surfacing and cutting through the waves toward shore with powerful strokes, as if a shark were chasing her.

He quickly followed, wondering what he’d said wrong. He reached the beach just as she was wrapping herself in her towel. Her eyes blazed with an anger that put storm-tossed seas to shame.

“You think I’m Lucien’s mistress? The mother of his child?

” She laughed, but there was no warmth in it.

“I am Ava’s cousin. Ava—Lucien’s dead wife—was my cousin.

I came from Ireland to help care for Ava-Marie after her mother died.

I am neither mistress nor mother, Your Grace.

I am simply a poor relation doing her duty by family. ”

The truth hit him like a wave, washing away all his assumptions. “Caitria, I—”

“Save your breath, Your Grace. You’ve made your opinion of my character quite clear.

And this behavior just confirmed what you think of me.

” She gathered her dress, her movements sharp with dignity.

“But I would never offer myself for money, no matter what you think. I chose you because I liked you. I thought you were different. But how disappointing it is to learn you are like all titled men. You think money buys you everything. Well, Your Grace, it won’t buy me. ”

She marched up the path, head held high, leaving him standing naked in the surf with the bitter taste of his own prejudice in his mouth.

He’d been so wrong about everything. And now he wanted her even more.