All she was achieving was to deepen her gloom, she thought. But just around the bend there was a shelving beach of gravel and a wide pool of water. She could take off her slippers and paddle a little. It would be so cooling.
Silent as a moth, so as not to frighten the nightingale, she went down to the water’s edge, took off her shoes and stepped into the rippling water. Oh, it was so good! Even the soft mud oozing between her toes was cooling. The moon went behind a cloud momentarily, and as it did so she heard another splash, then another.
Intrigued, Antonia peered across the pool as a dark, sleek, object appeared around the bend. An otter? How wonderful to see one, she thought, standing very still. Then the moon was unveiled again, the pool suddenly flooded with light, and she saw it was no wild creature, but a human swimmer, lazily drifting on his back with the current.
There she was, at this hour, bare-footed – bare-legged – and about to come face to face with one of her tenants, no doubt as overheated as she was and taking an illicit dip in the private stretch of river. And then she realised that at any moment she might be confronted by a scantily-clad, even naked, man.
She turned to run, but at the same moment the swimmer twisted in the water and stood up. Antonia gasped in recognition, the sound loud in the still, sultry air. This was no tenant, this was Marcus, water cascading from his sleek dark hair and off the naked planes of his body.
After one startled, horrified – fascinated – glance Antonia looked away but moving, saying anything, even running away, were quite beyond her.
She was aware of him wading ashore and moving about on the bank, but then to her dismay she heard him splashing through the shallows behind her.
‘Antonia?’ He was close enough to send ripples lapping against her calves, drenching the hem of her muslin skirts. His breath was warm on her neck and even though he said no more, that one word was full of amusement and an emotion she could not identify. Mockery probably, she thought bitterly.
She spun round, stumbling in the mud, uncaring about Marcus’s state of undress, and found herself confronting him. He had pulled on his breeches and shirt, but the fine white lawn was unfastened and clung to his damp body and his wet hair was slicked back from his forehead.
‘Go away,’ she said, furious. ‘This is not… not seemly.’
‘Indeed it is not.’ Oh yes, he was amused. ‘Really, Antonia, you shock me. Do you make a habit of haunting the local bathing pools at night? I was most embarrassed.’
‘You? Embarrassed? How dare you imply that I was spying on you.’ He was so close that she could see the glitter in his dark eyes, part mockery, part something far more disturbing. His mouth was curved with amusement and a deep sensuality.
‘Were you not? I’m crushed. Then what were you about out here at this time of night?’ He was closer now, his voice husky.
‘I was too hot, I went for a walk.’
He was overwhelmingly close, his half-clad body somehow disturbingly different, his eyes now openly travelling from her face to where her feet glinted white through the water. Antonia raised both hands in a futile gesture of denial and found her wrists caught in his grip.
Marcus pulled her gently towards him and she went, oblivious to the water splashing to her knees, oblivious to everything in her desperate craving for the touch of his lips. His mouth was burning on hers, his hands cold on her shoulders and the bare skin of his chest wet against the sensitive curves of her breast through the thin muslin bodice.
His mouth opened on hers, his tongue invading, inciting, tormenting her until she responded, tentatively at first, then with growing abandon, the shock of the intimate intrusion rousing feelings of desire she was not aware she was capable of.
Marcus’s strong arms enfolded her, then he picked her up effortlessly without breaking the kiss. Antonia clung to him, unconcerned that he would drop her, only anxious that he never stop kissing her, possessing her like this…
Marcus strode up the beach and laid her gently down on the grass slope of the bank. ‘Antonia, darling,’ he murmured huskily, his hands brushing the soft skin at the edge of the bodice, before reaching up to shrug off the clinging fabric of his shirt. ‘We have been making such a mull of this.’
Antonia, looked up into his intent face as he bent over her, lifted one hand and traced her fingers over the cool skin of his chest, gasped as his nipple hardened under her fingertip.
Marcus moaned, deep in his throat and stooped to press his mouth to hers again, the weight of him thrilling over her.
The nightingale whistled a few bars, almost beside them, then Antonia realised it was not the bird, but a human, imitating the song. She gasped and pushed against Marcus’s chest, but he responded only by tangling his fingers in her tousled hair.
Then the silence was broken by the sharp crack of a twig on the path and Marcus sat up, his eyes narrowed as he searched the shadows. He stood, pulling her to her feet with him then pushed her behind him as he called sharply, ‘Who is there?’
Antonia cast around wildly for a bush to hide behind, found none and prayed that the newcomer would take alarm at the challenge and turn tail. She pulled the edges of her bodice up, pushed the hair from her face and tried to steady her breathing.
‘l am Jeremy Blake of Rye End Hall. And who the devil might you be, sir, on my uncle’s lands?’ Jeremy stepped out of the shadows cast by a willow onto the cropped grass of the little bay. ‘Allington? Damn it, you gave me a start. I thought you were a poacher after my uncle’s trout.’
‘Blake. Sorry to alarm you. I came down for a swim, it is so infernally hot. I had not looked to see anyone else about at this hour. Are you also intending to swim? It is a good safe bottom here, if you are.’
Antonia, her heart in her mouth, admired his sang-froid and the way in which he resisted any temptation to glance behind him to where she stood.
‘No, I woke and heard the nightingale, so I decided to stroll along the river bank to find out if any more were about. I?
?ve had a keen interest in matters ornithological, truth be told.’ He shifted, apparently rather embarrassed by his confession. ‘I realise many people think that rather odd and that I should be more concerned with shooting wildlife than watching it, but – ’
His movement must have changed his view because Antonia saw him stiffen. He had seen her. ‘You should have said I was intruding.’ Now he sounded both embarrassed and judgmental. ‘I will bid you good night.’