“Very well, Mr. Evans. You have a passenger.”
Chapter Seventeen
Richard refused to acknowledge quite how high his heart leaped when Genevieve agreed. He’d devised this scheme last night while he lay awake struggling against his yen to invade her virginal bed. Sleep had been a stranger since he’d kissed her and the added need for vigilance against intruders didn’t help.
He knew Oxford well. He and Cam had been students here. It was simple enough to arrange the boat and picnic basket. Tait had been a well-paid accomplice in Richard’s youthful adventures.
“You’ll be too warm in your coat.”
She unbuttoned the snug green velvet. “It was a gift from Lady Bellfield. I told her it was too extravagant for a mere vicar’s daughter, but I love it.”
Her uncertainty away from her books aroused a tenderness more unsettling than lust. “You’re more than a mere vicar’s daughter.” He damned the betraying huskiness in his voice. “You’re a beautiful, alluring woman.”
He waited for some spiky response, but to his surprise, she smiled with shy pleasure. “Thank you.”
He slid the coat from her shoulders. Beneath the spectacular pelisse, her dress was a becoming pale gold. She usually wore high necklines, suitable for a clergyman’s daughter, but this dress scooped across her lush breasts. It was obviously her best, a fact that touched him too—most women in his circle had so many clothes, they never singled out a “best” dress.
In a London ballroom, her modest décolletage would incite scarcely a murmur. Here alone with her, his reaction to that slope of white skin thundered through him like a thousand cannons firing together.
She watched as he placed the folded coat in the boat. Shrugging out of his own coat, Richard bent to lift the long wooden pole at his feet. He stepped onto the punt’s raised stern, automatically finding his balance.
When he helped Genevieve on board, her hand clung to his, the sun gleamed down, and the rest of the world receded. A warning clanged in his mind. His defenses, fortified through years of countering derision with a careless smile and an elegant shrug, fell dangerously low. Stifling his disquiet, he settled her in the prow against the satin cushions he’d had Tait buy new for today. The rich blues and reds reminded him of the Harmsworth Jewel.
His expertise with the punt swiftly returned. Genevieve removed her bonnet, one hand trailed in the water and a faint smile lifted the corners of her lips. Her legs stretched along the boat’s narrow base, permitting a glimpse of her fine ankles. Her blissful expression as she closed her eyes and raised her face toward the sun made him yearn as he’d never yearned before, even kissing her.
Perhaps he burned so hot because he’d tasted her passion. The need to kiss her again built like lava inside a volcano. He stared at the river, his gaze focused over her head. If he kept watching her, God help him, he’d jump on her. And devil take the risk of the boat overturning.
“I’ve never been in a punt before.” She broke the increasingly taut silence. She studied the way her fingers made lines in the water. “It’s very pleasant.”
Despite his overheated state, he smiled. “You’re welcome.”
She glanced at him from the corner of her eyes. It was astonishingly seductive. He stifled a groan. “I wasn’t thanking you.”
“A pretty girl like you should have been on the river hundreds of times.”
She wiped her hand on her skirt. Briefly the material clung to the subtle curve of her belly and arousal stabbed him anew. Astonishing how even the most innocent movement fired him up. “I’m my father’s assistant. I have no time for dalliance, Mr. Evans.”
Hearing himself addressed as “Mr. Evans” rapidly palled. She’d call him Christopher before the day ended if it killed him. He crushed a longing to hear her call him Richard. Christopher Evans might wangle a chance at Miss Barrett’s charms. The hellish reality was that all of Richard Harmsworth’s lies exiled his true self from her favor forever.
“Your father mentioned young men who stayed as I have, to study. Surely one or two of those invited you on the river.” He ached to banish the wistful note in her smile.
Her voice was low, as if she confessed something shameful. “I rather terrified those young men.”
He only just stopped himself from commending that as a good thing. She needed a lover to match her, not some pimply stripling. “If they weren’t at least half in love with you, they weren’t fit to be called men.”
Her lips pursed to dismiss a compliment that she clearly considered extravagant. “Papa didn’t encourage his students to flirt.”
Hmm. More likely the old fox wanted his daughter concentrating on the scholarship that ensured his fame.
Richard easily located the loop in the Cherwell where as an undergraduate he’d brought many an eager girl. In the dozen or so years since, the willows over the water had thickened, lending the secluded nook greater privacy.
Which suited him perfectly.
He dug the pole into the riverbed and angled the boat through the graceful fronds. Sun penetrated in long golden beams and lit Genevieve as if she were onstage. He was always aware of her beauty—good God, he was in such a lather of desire, he was aware of everything about her—but in the soft light, she was breathtaking.
She sat up and glanced around with the wariness he’d hoped to extinguish with the leisurely boat ride. “Mr. Evans, this place reeks of rakish intentions.”
He didn’t blunt the wicked edge to his smile. “You’re such a clever girl. It’s dashed refreshing.”