“Thank you,” she said.
Rose laid down beside him, making sure to leave a decent distance between their bodies. The blanket was already warm from the heat of the sun, and the grass was soft and springy beneath it. She put her head on his jacket.
“Lord, that feels good,” she said.
They lay side by side, the sun warming her face and body as she listened to the sound of his breathing. He didn't reach for her or kiss her, but she was acutely aware of his scent and the heat radiating from his body. It was like there were two of her. Rose, the sensible, logical, practical Rose, and then this soppy, romantic Rose who yearned for Will and his touch no matter what. She knew she had to keep that one in check.
“I remember this so well,” he said. “We used to lie like this for hours.”
“We would try to find shapes in the clouds, do you remember?”
“Yes.” That was all he said, a single word, but for Rose it conveyed so much of the memories they would forever share.
She wondered if he and the countess went on picnics like this. She wondered how much time they spent together, if they were inseparable when he was in London. When she saw them dancing together, he seemed so at ease, and her smile was so bright. She wondered if she should ask him about it. Why hadn't they married if they were such close friends? But she knew it was none of her business given the fated path she was doomed to take.
He was pushing himself up now, away from the blanket, and she thought he was going to dig into the basket for some food, but instead, he stood in front of her and began unbuttoning his shirt.
CHAPTERFOURTEEN
“What are you doing?” she asked tremulously, looking around them. She knew this had been a mistake.
“I am going for a swim. Would you like to join me?”
She shook her head, her heart calming a little.
“Suit yourself,” he smiled.
He had already undone all of his shirt buttons. He yanked it from the top of his breeches and tossed it onto the blanket next to her. As he bent to remove his boots, she could see the soft, springy hair on his chest. He gripped each heel in his palm and yanked them free as the sunlight filtered through the leaves of the trees, creating a dappled effect on his broad, tanned shoulders. Rose knew she should turn away, but she was powerless to do so. The movement of his muscles down his arms, chest, and abdomen was intoxicating. She convinced herself that there was no harm in staring at him. She had done nothing wrong. However, the sun's heat suddenly felt ten times hotter, and her dress became noticeably tighter.
He had removed his boots and stockings, and he stood before her in only his breeches. She wondered if they were to be the next to go and had no idea where she would look if he began unbuttoning them, but instead, he turned suddenly and dove straight into the stream behind him. The water his body displaced surged up, lightly splashing her by the river bank.
“Will!” She reprimanded him as his head broke the surface, but he just laughed.
“Well, if you are already wet, you might as well come in. The water is lovely.”
He shook the drops from the ends of his tousled hair away from his face. It was unfashionably long, but cut in the same style he'd worn as a teenager withhis sideburns grown downto his jawline.
“I will do my own thing,” he used to tell her when she asked if he thought he should follow fashion. She had loved that about him.
Rose would have liked nothing better than to shrug off her dress and dive in after him, in only her undergarments. She hadn’t thought twice about it before she was married. They had swum almost every day in those long hot summers. Now, she sat primly on his blanket, holding her legs up with her arms behind her knees, and watched him ducking and diving under the water, yearning to do the same.
“This is just glorious,” he said as he broke the surface for the dozenth time. “I needed this.”
At that moment, Rose knew she needed it too, but not the water: him. She needed to be beside with him without rancor or anger. She needed a return to the sanity of her previous life rather than the totally alien path she had been treading for years.
While he swam back and forth in the stream, she opened his picnic basket, pulled out two wine glasses, and began to lever the cork out of the bottle.
“Wine already?” he chided.
If you keep swimming back and forth in front of me like that, we are going to need more than just one bottle.
He pulled himself out of the water then like a seal, rolling to lay completely sodden on the blanket. His burgundy breeches were molded to him. She handed him his shirt, but he didn’t put it back on, stretching out next to her instead, half-naked.
“Give me wine, woman,” he commanded, and she placed one of the goblets in his hand. They sipped in companionable silence. Rose formed sentences in her head to say to him but abandoned them all in favor of just listening to his deep breathing and the tranquility of theirsurroundings. When she turned to ask if his glass needed refilling, she realized he had fallen asleep with the glass in his hand, balanced on the muscles of his chest. She gently removed the glass from his fingers and placed it by the basket. He looked so comfortable. His wet hair was drying unevenly, and water gleamed off his shoulders and stomach. She traced those drops with her eyes, down his middle to the band of fabric, where his body met the top of his breeches and where the taut muscles of his slim hips disappeared beneath the burgundy material.
Suddenly, his fingers snaked around her arm and held her tight. When she looked at his face, he had one eye open, studying her.
“I thought you were asleep.”