Page 23

A fter a poor night’s sleep, Elaine was glad to rise with the dawn, wash in cold water, and clothe herself in a comfortable walking dress before quietly abandoning her sleeping guest. She was let out of the hotel by a very sleepy and surprised night porter.

She walked briskly to the harbor, and from there onto the beach in the general direction of her old companion’s home at Black Hill.

Not that she had any intention of visiting without sending a note first. For one thing, it was too long a walk.

But she remembered that some of the views were spectacular, and she had a notion to watch the sun come up from some secluded little bay and remember why she had come to Blackhaven in the first place.

Blackhaven was an odd little place, really, an isolated spa town coming to terms with its influx of fashionable visitors, many of whom either stayed or constantly returned.

A year ago, she, like so many others, had come for her health after a fever had left her physically weak and lethargic.

Blackhaven had cured her of that and changed her life forever.

She was six and thirty years old, well beyond marriageable age, and she thought that in Blackhaven last year she had come to accept this next phase of her life—an independent spinsterhood.

Now, she realized she had actually felt young here, meeting old and new friends, playing matchmaker and wise advisor, relearning her mischievous streaks…

With birdsong and the crying of gulls in her ears and the salty tang of the sea against her lips, she inhaled the fresh Blackhaven air and felt an unlikely happiness begin to seep into her bones.

With the beach to herself, ever widening as the tide retreated, she walked past the familiar castle, and on around to the next bay, and the next.

The sun was fully up long before seven of the clock, and she paused as she had intended by the large rock pool left by the tide.

She climbed up to sit on a comfortable rock and watch the pool begin its very slow trickle down the sand back into the sea.

It rarely emptied fully before the next tide swept in.

She sighed in contentment and enjoyed the peace.

A few far-distant boats moving slowly across the horizon seemed more like a pleasant painting than a sign of life.

This was why she had come back to Blackhaven.

In the months since she had left, she had been conscious of a growing sense of losing herself, of being subsumed by other people’s lives and loves, pleasures and sadnesses.

Which was odd, since she had devoted herself so enthusiastically to her brother Denzil’s career for so long.

That had been a choice, of course, and she had been glad to hand the duties over to Delilah on their marriage.

So why did she feel she had lost her choices?

Because everyone thought she needed a home to settle down in, with a new, genteel companion, though no one actually asked her?

Her jaunts around the countryside had been more of an escape than a search.

Yet here in Blackhaven, none of that seemed to matter.

She was back. It was beautiful, and the clear water of the rock pool enticed her.

Firmly, she removed her gaze to the open sea.

Of course, she had brought a problem with her.

What should she do about the pair of eloping children, who were absolutely not her responsibility?

Try to discover their families and warn them?

That felt like betrayal. Besides, they already seemed twitchy about Joe’s guardian, whom they had been trying to throw off the scent by veering away from the Edinburgh road to the west coast.

Should she hide them? Travel with them and lend such countenance as she could to their shocking elopement?

Or try to keep them here in Blackhaven with her?

Exercise a bit of diplomacy between them and their families—she was good at diplomacy, after all—and try to extract some kind of agreement for the children’s future? If they still wanted to be together.

In her short acquaintance with them, she’d judged their affection to be both deep and touching. But he was undoubtedly a wild youth, and she, poor and dependent, was nonetheless sheltered, both from the trials of life and the awfulness of the unforgiving society she was marrying into.

Knight . Did she know any Knights? If the Countess of Braithwaite was in residence, perhaps Elaine should make inquiries there. Or with Mrs. Grant the vicar’s wife…

Oh the devil, that water looks lovely. Cold and shocking, and…

She had got to her feet before she meant to, looking for signs of people.

The rock pool was sheltered from sight from the nearby road, and from the beaches on either side of this little bay.

Five minutes would be all she needed. She could dry herself with the shawl and walk very briskly back to the hotel, order a bath, and still be in time for breakfast with her adopted children.

It appeared her decision was made, for her shawl and bonnet were on the rock at her feet and she was already unfastening her pelisse.

*

His Grace, the Duke of Drimmen, returning from his brisk early- morning walk, did not feel old in body, merely in spirit.

Which was odd. If anything, this adventure should have revived his wild youth and his triumph at winning the chase.

However, he tasted no triumph at all. He felt weary and sad and curiously ashamed.

And ancient, though he was only two and forty.

Or was it three and forty? He didn’t much care.

Marching back to the town over the firm-ish wet sand of the beach, he forced himself to pick up his pace. He didn’t want to lose at the last moment, but still, he was curiously reluctant to do what he must.

He clambered over the rocks to the next sandy bay and had built up to a good speed when movement from the rock pool on his left caught his eye. And his breath.

Aphrodite arising from the sea, water trailing from her body. For an instant, he thought she was utterly naked, but it was only a beam of early sunlight penetrating the semi-transparence of a fine lawn chemise, through which a female form in all its glorious beauty was dazzlingly clear.

No, his body was not weary, not by a long chalk.

And all in a flash, neither was his spirit.

In fact, he was exultant, entranced by the ethereal loveliness of the whole figure, from her shining, wet hair to her bare toes.

And she had, besides, the kind of exquisite allure he had always imagined in Aphrodite…

And he was walking directly toward her.

A gentleman, despite the sudden youthful clamoring within, he truly meant to avert his eyes and his steps, only she had already seen him.

Clearly startled, she leapt for cover that was not there, slipped, and fell behind the rock she had been standing on.

A tiny cry of fright or pain reached him, but he was already running toward her.

He jumped across the rocks, rounding the pool until he could see her glaring up at him from the rock below. Although she was shivering violently, there was as much strength as beauty in her face, and he could tell at once that she would never let him see if she were in pain or even frightened.

He shrugged out of his coat. “Madam, are you hurt?”

“Please go away. I am perfectly well.”

He dropped his coat accurately around her shoulders. “At the very least, you are dangerously cold. Allow me to help you back within reach of your clothes.”

“That will not be necessary,” she said frostily. “I can manage.”

She was even tugging off his coat as she spoke, and abruptly, he lost patience.

“Oh, for the love of—” He reached down, seized her by the waist in both hands, and swung her up to where she had been in the first place.

Taken by surprise, she forgot to protest, and as soon as he had deposited her gently beside her clothes, he straightened and turned his back. “There. Be rid of the wet garment, dry, and dress. I shall repel all boarders.”

It was rather a pity he could not see the expression on her face. There was an instant’s silence and then some urgent rustling. Spray struck him from behind, and he concentrated quite hard on not imagining her peeling off that sodden chemise. Not that it had truly left much to the imagination…

“Do you need my shirt as a towel?” he asked.

“No,” she said. “Nor do I need direction.”

He focused his wayward attention on her voice, which was low and pleasant and bore the accent of a lady. And the shortness of a very cross woman. Fire and independence he liked, but what the devil was she so angry about?

“I can see the attraction of the pool,” he remarked, gazing into it while steadfastly keeping his back to her busy person.

“It was my mistake,” she pronounced between no-doubt chattering teeth. “I should never have taken the chance, and now your coat is wet. I’m sorry.”

The apology surprised him as his folded coat appeared on the rock beside him.

“A mere hint of dampness,” he assured her.

He heard water dripping into the pool below and turned to find her wringing out her long rope of light brown hair.

She was already knotting it up and stabbing it with pins when she noticed his gaze.

Color bloomed along the line of her cheekbone, which fascinated him.

She crammed her hat—a rather fashionable affair with ribbons and feathers, he noted—over the top, almost defiantly.

He couldn’t help smiling. “I never thought of Aphrodite as grumpy before.”

“She would have been if she had born here rather than the Paphos Sea,” she retorted, her clearly cold and shaking fingers fumbling with the ribbons of her bonnet.

Without a word, he leaned closer, brushed her hands aside, and prosaically tied the bonnet under her chin before turning to the fastenings of her open pelisse.

“I am not a child,” she snapped, pulling away.