Page 5

A nalise was having a great deal of difficulty breathing correctly and it was not entirely the fault of the cold lake water which had her left her shivering. Nor the fact that her shirt was entirely soaked, putting her modest bosom on display.

I didn’t expect to fall in the lake. Or that anyone would witness me doing so.

No, it was the large, half-naked outrageously handsome man standing before her that kept halting the air in her lungs.

Finley, as he introduced himself, seemed completely unconcerned to be exposed in his dripping wet trousers.

The wet fabric clung to the bunched muscles of his thighs, showing every band of sinew.

Droplets of water trailed from his head, over his shoulders, and finally down the magnificent expanse of his chest.

Analise swallowed. She had never seen a man without a shirt before. Not even her father.

Finley was a big man, not the size of Ware, who resembled a bear far more than a duke, but still much taller than Analise.

Eyes a deep brown, had raked over her blandly, which wasn’t at all unusual.

Men did not…linger over Analise. He hadn’t stared once at her exposed bosom and seemed to have no desire for her person.

The offer of a fire was rather kind under the circumstances. She had hit him with an oar.

“A fire would be very nice,” she finally agreed.

Finley stood and walked towards the folly while Analise tried desperately not to look too closely at his large, beautiful bare feet.

Or the tight clench of his backside as he moved up the small rise into the remains of the folly.

The sound of wood scraping met her ears before he returned once more holding a tin box.

“Pirate treasure.” He winked.

Analise forced herself to focus only on his face as he spoke, though her gaze kept drifting down the length of his sculpted torso.

A dark sprinkling of hair covered the carved muscles of his chest, drawing into a line below his navel before disappearing into his trousers.

She stared at the jut of hipbones and taut stomach.

Among…other things.

You are a scientist, Analise. Familiar with human anatomy. Stop gaping at him.

“Miss Peregrine. Are you quite well?” His brows were drawn together in what looked like concern, but Analise had the sense he had caught her ogling him. One side of his mouth had tipped up into a half-smile.

“Merely cold,” came her curt reply.

Men who looked like Finley must be used to adoring females. She didn’t need to contribute further to his ego. Though it was incredibly difficult to look away.

“I’ll have a fire started in a moment.” He picked up some wood scattered about and then moved outside to a large tree trunk near the edge of the water. The ground here was mostly pebbles, and he quickly dug out a circle, surrounded it with rocks and placed the wood inside.

“Miss Peregrine. Will you grab some of that grass?” He pointed. “Make sure it is dry.”

Shivering, she did as he asked, grabbing a handful and holding it out to him.

His fingers brushed along hers, the light touch sending a jolt of warmth up her arm.

She shivered again, but not from the cold of her wet clothes.

Analise had rarely been in the company of such an attractive man, especially one partially unclothed.

Her eyes kept straying to him no matter how hard she tried to look away.

Striking the flint, Finley cursed under his breath when the sparks didn’t immediately catch. Finally on the third try, a tiny flame took hold. Kneeling on the ground, he blew gently until the fire caught the larger pieces of wood.

Good Lord . His backside. Analise shut her eyes.

It wasn’t as if Analise didn’t find gentlemen appealing.

She did. There were even one or two at the Entomological Society who she thought quite attractive.

But she had never… swooned over any of them before.

The sight of Finley had warmth creeping between her thighs and an insistent flutter taking root between her breasts.

She felt a bit lightheaded in his presence. Surely, that constituted swooning.

He was that spectacular.

“Now, sit there,” he pointed to a weathered tree trunk that must have washed ashore. “You’ll be dry soon enough so that you might go about your…insecting.”

“I don’t believe that is a word, in fact, I’m positive it is not.”

“Who is to say it isn’t?”

“Every academic in England.”

Finley rolled the breadth of his shoulders, drawing her eye to all that sculpted sinew. Was he a footman, possibly? A groom?

“I didn’t do well in school,” he said, the half-smile still on his lips. “Found it boring.”