Valentine looked startled, and then his brows drew down and his expression changed to suspicion. “He’s up to something,” he said. “Do you think he’s up to something?”
“He’s your brother. Surely you know him well enough to answer that question yourself.”
“I do, and he’s up to something,” he repeated with certainty.
Marissa unfurled her parasol; the shade was almost gone now. She glanced at the pond, and wondered if the water was as cool as it looked. It would be heavenly to dip her feet into those green depths.
Well, why not?
She set down the parasol and began to take off her shoes.
“He didn’t mention any boxing match to me,” Valentine said thoughtfully. “Did he say anything to… ?” His voice trailed off.
Marissa set her shoes neatly to one side and, drawing her skirt and petticoats over her knees, she began to untie the ribbons that held up her fine white stockings.
“What are you doing?” Valentine demanded in hushed tones.
“I’m taking off my shoes and stockings,” she replied calmly.
She peeled one stocking down over her calf, and then slipped it off her foot. Her toes felt much cooler already and she wriggled them with pleasure before beginning to remove the second stocking. Once that was disposed of, Marissa climbed to her feet and, lifting her heavy skirts, picked her way to the very edge of the pond.
Cautiously she sat down on the bank and dipped her toes in the water. It was deliciously cool, bringing goose bumps to her skin. She sighed, submerging her ankles and then a good six inches of leg, careful to hold her clothing out of the way.
She glanced sideways at Valentine. He was standing, watching her. “You should join me. It’s very soothing on such a hot day.”
“I haven’t dipped my feet in the water since I was a c
hild,” he said, as if she was suggesting something immoral.
Marissa laughed. “Then it’s time you did.”
Valentine glowered at her for a moment, and then suddenly he seemed to give in. He sat down beside her, tugging off first one boot and then the other one, before yanking off his stockings with flattering speed. He proceeded to roll up his trouser legs before he lowered his feet into the water.
“Must be deep to be so cold,” he said, slightly breathless.
She smiled at him and after a moment he smiled back. His eyes played over her mouth, and she felt her inner warmth returning, prickling her skin beneath her clothing, and making her breasts feel heavy and sensitive.
Impulsively she reached down to cup her hand in the water, lifting it to trickle over her throat. The cold liquid ran over and beneath the tight bodice of her dress. Relief was immediate, and she shuddered, and then laughed, turning back to Valentine. His face was flushed, and he was following the trickle of water with rapt attention.
Marissa reached down for more water, but this time she trickled it over Valentine’s throat, where his necktie was now undone, and the top of his shirt was unfastened.
He captured her hand. His eyes gleamed. “Minx,” he growled, and lifting her wet fingers to his mouth, kissed them.
This time it was Valentine who scooped up the water in his hands, allowing it to escape through his fingers and onto her skin, soaking her bodice. Then he used his tongue to follow the trail as far as he could. With gentle hands he cupped her breasts, fondling, until she began to breathe quickly, her eyes half-closed with pleasure. She swayed, dizzy, and suddenly she was slipping. Falling. With a squeak she began to slide down the steep bank and into the pond.
Valentine grabbed at her hands and gripped them tightly in his. Slowly, inexorably, he pulled her back up the bank and into his arms. They fell backward onto the ground together, cradled by the soft grass, their hearts beating hard.
“Valentine,” she whispered, reaching with a trembling hand to stroke his cheek and then brush his hair away from his eyes. He sighed and closed his eyes, and growing bolder, she bent to nuzzle the hollow of his throat, breathing in the masculine aroma she found so exciting.
She planned to explore further but Valentine had other ideas.
He clasped her in his arms and rolled her over, so that she was now beneath him, trapped under his weight and bulk. There was a moment when Marissa wondered whether she should be afraid—and she might have been afraid if it was any other man—but instead of fear she was filled with a sense of security. As if instinctively she knew that with Valentine she was perfectly safe.
His thighs were pressing to hers, and she wrapped her bare feet around his legs, at the same time wrapping her arms around his neck. Valentine bent his head and began to kiss her lips with a slow thoroughness that soon had her swooning.
His hand was on her hip, and then he was bundling up her skirt in determined folds, until he found what he was seeking. His fingers brushed against the flesh of her thigh. He found the ribbons that held her pantaloons in place, and proceeded to untie them.
“Take off your jacket,” she gasped, tugging at the garment.