Unveiled (Undone by Love Book 3)

by Kristina Cook

  Jane raised her skirts and stepped carefully over a downed tree, its trunk covered with spongy green moss. The water’s roar grew louder still, and she pushed by a veil of ferns, their fronds angling across the barely visible path. At last the falls came into her sight, a narrow cascade tumbling over a stand of rocks perhaps twelve feet high and falling into a wide pool of shimmering blue-green water.

  Jane quickened her gait, enthralled by the tranquil setting. As she approached, the water rippled strangely. Something slick and dark surfaced, displacing the water with a rush.

  Jane’s hand rose to her mouth, the basket dropping to the mossy ground beside her boots with a thud. Oh, dear God. It was a man, his backside facing her. Sunlight pierced the thick canopy above the pool, bathing the water in a ray of light and clearly illuminating the swell of the man’s bare buttocks above the waterline. She sucked in her breath, immobilized by shock. She knew she should turn and flee at once but she was positively mesmerized by the sight before her.

  Fat droplets of water dripped from his dark head and down his back in tiny rivulets. Muscles rippled across the length of his back as he propelled himself forward, back toward the foam-tipped water that tumbled down the greenish rocks.

  At last her limbs obeyed her command and she took a step backward, right into her basket. With a yelp, she fell to the ground in a heap, one boot tangled in the wicker handle.

  In stunned horror, she watched as the man spun around, a spray of water accompanying the motion. Lord Westfield.

  “Oh!” she cried out.

  She saw his eyes widen in surprise. “Dear Lord, Miss Rosemoor! Are you hurt?” He moved rapidly through the water, toward her.

  “No,” she managed to squeak, attempting unsuccessfully to gain her feet with a modicum of grace. Her eyes flew involuntarily to the length of his torso, and followed the trail of dark hair down his stomach where it disappeared beneath the surface of the water. Her gaze flew immediately back up to his face. “Good heavens, my lord! You’re unclothed!” At last, she disentangled herself from the basket and rose on unsteady legs.

  “A fine observation, Miss Rosemoor. I was not expecting spectators.”

  “B...but,” she sputtered, “you’re right out in the open. Anyone could stumble upon you.”

  “On my own property, I might add.”

  “Your property? But Emily said...she said–”

  “Mrs. Tolland sent you in this direction, then?” His mouth curved into a smile. She attempted to look anywhere but at him, standing there glistening in the sunlight, utterly and completely nude. Thank God he remained modestly immersed in the water. Even so, she’d never before seen a man shirtless–well, none but her brother Colin. Her own curiosity made her cheeks burn with humiliation even as she secretly allowed herself to admire his spectacular male form. She swallowed hard before finding her voice. “Yes, Emily specifically sent me here in search of wood lilies. I had no idea this was your property.”

  “That line of trees behind you marks the property line, although I’ve always been happy to share this pool with the Tollands. With forewarning, that is, as I make a habit of bathing here. Unclothed. A fact I’m certain Mrs. Tolland is aware of. Wood lilies, eh?”

  “Are you suggesting that Emily sent me here on purpose, hoping that I’d encounter you in such a state of...of dishabille?” The heat in her cheeks rose.

  “That’s exactly what I’m suggesting, Miss Rosemoor. Your cousin is a clever woman. Never underestimate her.”

  “That’s nonsense,” Jane protested with a wave of one hand. “Whatever would it accomplish?”

  “Need I spell it out for you? We’re alone, together, and as you so astutely pointed out, I am unclothed. To what conclusion does that lead you?”

  She felt the flush spread from her cheeks down her neck. “Emily is aware that you have already offered your hand in marriage, and that I declined your kind offer. What would she do, send the vicar here in search of wood lilies too, hoping he’d find us together?”

  “There’s no vicar at Richmond,” he countered. “The post has remained empty for many years now.”

  “Well, then, what purpose would such maneuverings serve on her part?”

  “What if you were to find yourself in my arms, Miss Rosemoor? In a compromising position? What then? Would you still refuse my suit?”

  “You wouldn’t dare,” she said breathlessly. He took two steps toward the shore. “Stop!” she called out. “For the love of God, my lord. This is indecent.”

  “You’re blushing, Miss Rosemoor. Furiously. Does my ‘state of dishabille,’ as you so delicately put it, unsettle you so?”

  “What do you think?” she snapped. “Of course it does. Need I remind you that I am a lady? It’s not every day that I find myself in such a position. Why, even Colin wouldn’t dare to...to...well, to so blatantly parade about in such a state.”

  “I must confess, I’m finding a great deal of enjoyment in your discomfort. What you call blatantly parading about in such a state, Miss Rosemoor, I call enjoying the outdoors, bathing in the privacy of my own grounds. And, I might add, no one is forcing you to remain here in my presence. You should see yourself; you look like a frightened fox, cornered by the hounds.”

  “I’m not frightened.”

  “Aren’t you? You’re terrified that I might walk out the water at any moment.”

  “Don’t be absurd. It’s not as if I haven’t seen a...the...the male form before,” she lied. Foolish talk. Hadn’t she just said that she’d never before found herself in such a position?

  A deep, booming laugh echoed off the trees. Clearly he saw through her words. “Is that so? Then you won’t mind if I come out now. It’s getting a bit chilly, standing here having this conversation with you, no matter how pleasant.” He moved toward the shore, the water behind him forming a ‘v’ as he pushed through it. “My clothes are right there on that branch, just to your right. Would you mind–?”

  “I most certainly would mind.” Jane spun around with a huff, her back to him. “You’re positively barbaric, you know. Completely uncivilized.” She heard his footsteps on the soft earth, followed by a faint rustling sound. She sighed with relief, hoping he was retrieving his clothing. She reached blindly for her basket, knowing it must be somewhere around her feet. “I should go. What if what you say is true, and Emily has sent someone out here to witness us together?”

  “Who would she send? Tolland? I wouldn’t worry. I’m sure she was counting on your own sense of duty, once you found yourself unable to resist my charms.”

  “Hah!” She rolled her eyes heavenward, her back still facing the sound of his movements. “You overestimate your appeal, I’m afraid. I’m in no danger of succumbing to your so-called charms.”

  “An assertion I’d sorely like to test,” came his reply.

  Jane knew she should go–immediately. What on earth was stilling her feet and holding here in this dangerous spot? She was surely turning into a silly fool, and she didn’t like it one bit.

  “You may turn around now, Miss Rosemoor,” Hayden said, pulling on his boots. “I’m sufficiently clothed as to no longer affront your maidenly sensibilities.” He saw her spine stiffen in reply.

  “I really should be going.” She reached for her basket, her hand visibly trembling. She turned so her profile faced him, obviously avoiding looking in his direction, yet remaining rooted to the spot, not moving a muscle to flee as she insisted she must.

  “Miss Rosemoor?” Finally her gaze flicked toward him, her mouth set in a tight line of disapproval.

  “You could at least button your shirt, you know,” she snapped. “Do try for civility.”

  He glanced down at his unbuttoned linen and shrugged. “I’m not yet dry. Shall I help you locate the highly sought-after wood lily? I believe it’s generally found over here in abundance, although I’m not certain any are yet in bloom.” With a gesture to the right he moved off toward the small glade just beyond the falls. “Watch that root ther
e, it’ll surely–”

  Thud. He spun around in time to see the usually composed Miss Rosemoor fall into a heap of muslin for the second time in one day. He couldn’t help the laughter that issued forth at the sight of the fuming woman, her cheeks flushed delightfully pink and her eyes flashing angrily.

  “I suppose you find this funny?”

  “I’m sorry. Not very chivalrous of me, is it? Here, let me assist you.” He reached a hand out to her and she took it warily, rising unsteadily. He saw her wince as she put weight on her right foot, her leg buckling beneath her.

  His arms went around her instantly, his brows drawn in concern. “Are you injured?”

  “No, I...ahhhhh.” She bit her lower lip. “Yes. My ankle. It’s smarting a bit.”

  In a swift motion, he lifted her off her feet and into his arms, carrying her back to the side of the pool. He set her gently on a smooth stump and began to unlace her half-boot.

  “What are you doing? Remove your hands at once.” She clutched at the sides of the stump.

  “I’m checking your ankle, Miss Rosemoor. You might have sprained it. If you don’t get the boot off now, the swelling might force you to have it cut off.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s nothing. Just a twinge.” She peeled off her gloves and stuffed them into her apron pocket.

  The boot slid off and he circled the span of her delicate ankle, running his fingertips across the curved arch of her foot and back to the ankle again. He decidedly felt a shudder run through her, and he smiled inwardly.

  “Please,” she protested. “You really mustn’t. Ouch!” A hand flew out and gripped his shoulder. The linen slid down the slope of his shoulder, and her fingers made contact with his skin, still damp from the pool. Her hand slipped, sliding down over his breastbone, her palm flat against his bare chest. A jolt ran through him, startling him, at the intimate contact. There was no denying that he enjoyed her touch.

  She pulled back her hand as if burned. He rocked back on his heels, steadying himself against the onslaught of lustful thoughts running through his mind. Bloody hell, it wasn’t often that he found himself half-clothed in the middle of the woods, alone with a woman as tempting as Eve herself. More than anything, he wanted to strip off her maidenly gown and make love to her beneath the falls. In seconds, his mind formed a picture of her standing naked, her skin bathed in sunlight as the foamy water tumbled over her shoulders. It took a great deal of fortitude to push the vision from his mind.

  “Please, Lord Westfield. This is highly irregular. I really must go.”

  “As you’ve said. Numerous times. But look, your ankle is already swelling. Definitely a sprain, or a strain at the very least. The water in the pool is quite cold. I suggest you dip your ankle into it. That might reduce the swelling. Here, can you pull down this stocking? I’ll carry you over to the pool.”

  She clutched at her stocking, her eyes filled with terror. “Of course I can’t. You shouldn’t even mention such things.”

  “Good God, woman, your ankle is swelling up right before my eyes, and you’re quibbling over whether or not to remove your stocking? I can assure you it would not be the first time I’ve seen a woman’s leg. But, if you insist, put your foot in the water with your stocking on.” He gathered her in his arms and carried her toward the pool’s bank, lowering her to the grass beside him.

  Without a word, she tentatively lowered her injured foot into the water, gasping as her stocking-clad skin broke the surface.

  “There, how’s that?” he asked after a moment of silence.

  “Cold. Better.”

  “Good. Leave it there for a few minutes. It’ll reduce the swelling and numb it a bit.”

  She shivered and wrapped her arms about herself. “However did you bathe in this water? It’s positively frigid.”

  “I find it refreshing.” It was cold. Despite his threats to the contrary, he never would have emerged from the water in her sight, not with what the cold did to his body–it certainly wouldn’t have showcased his assets to their best potential. Of course, now that she sat beside him, her body brushing enticingly against his and the delicious curve of her ankle bared to his gaze, warmth was flooding to his nether regions, almost uncomfortably so. Before long he’d have to cool himself off again or his arousal would become evident.

  “When do you leave for London?” she asked conversationally, jarring him from his lustful thoughts.

  “In two days’ time. I’ll stop briefly in Hertfordshire to visit Mrs. Tolland’s brother and arrive in Town shortly thereafter. Just in time for the resumption of Parliament following the Easter break. Why do you ask?”

  She shrugged, and his eyes were involuntarily drawn to the swell of her breasts. “I’m just making polite conversation.”

  “And do you expect to come to Town yourself?”

  “I’m not certain. I’d planned to join my mother there midsummer, but now I’m thinking it might be good for Emily’s spirits if we traveled there together as soon as possible. I shall speak to Cecil about it.”

  “Hmm, a fine idea. I’m sure she would prefer it to remaining here alone while her husband spends time in Town. You’re a good friend to Mrs. Tolland.”

  “It would seem we have that in common, Lord Westfield. She admires you greatly.”

  “Yes, well, perhaps,” he replied uncomfortably.

  “Why does my pointing out your kindness to Emily make you uncomfortable?”

  “Why the impertinent questions?”

  “That wasn’t the least bit impertinent.”

  “Why haven’t you married, Miss Rosemoor?” The question continued to burn in the back of his mind.

  “I told you. No one suited.” She looked off toward the horizon, her features hard.

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “Believe what you wish. I don’t owe you any explanations.”

  “Perhaps you’re hoping for a love match?”

  “Of course not. I’m a sensible woman.” She swirled her foot in the water, sending an arc of ripples to the far side of the pool.

  “Here, let me see.” He reached for her foot, pulling it from the water. “The swelling’s down a bit. How does it feel?” He cradled it in his lap, massaging it.

  “Much improved, thank you. That’s not necessary.” She tried to pull her foot from his grasp, but he only tightened his hold.

  “Do you fear my touch, Miss Rosemoor?” He continued to massage her ankle with his thumbs.

  “You’re talking nonsense again. I’m not afraid of you, Lord Westfield.”

  “I think you are. I think you fear that I might kiss you again, and that you might like it.”

  She gasped as he released her foot and moved toward her, his mouth slanting toward hers. He heard her rapid breaths, saw her eyes widen, her pupils dilated. He softly brushed his lips against hers, his erection straining against his breeches’ flap. With a groan, he took her mouth with his, his lips crushing hers, his tongue boldly seeking entrance.

  He felt her hands move against him, as if she were going to draw him closer. And then he felt himself tumbling backwards, right into the cold water below with a splash.

  His feet found the sandy bottom and he came up, sputtering in indignation. Miss Rosemoor sat on the bank watching him, her arms folded across her breasts, a smug smile on her face. “And you thought I couldn’t resist your charms,” she called out. He glared at her as she rose on unsteady legs and retrieved her discarded boot, limping as she went.

  Blast it; he couldn’t let her walk home, not in such a state. Her ankle would never hold out. He quickly gained the bank and climbed out. Without another word, he came up behind her and lifted her off her feet. His clothes sopping wet, he silently carried her back through the woods and right into the Tollands’ front hall, a trail of water dripping in his wake.

  Emily looked up from her needlework in surprise as he carried Jane into the salon and deposited her, now almost as wet as he was, onto the blue sofa.

  Emil
y rose, her needlework still clutched in her hands. “What on earth?”

  “Don’t ask,” Jane muttered.

  With a nod to Emily, Hayden turned and strode out, bristling at the sound of feminine laughter behind him.

  “Enjoy your time in Town,” Jane called out gaily, just before the front door slammed shut behind him.

  Chapter 10

  Mayfair, London

  “Isn’t this lovely, Emily?” Jane smiled at her cousin, who stood by her side holding a flute of champagne in one hand and looking happy and relaxed for the first time in ages. “Her Grace throws the most lavish balls.”

  Emily reached over to squeeze her hand in reply. “Coming to Town was a brilliant idea. I’m so glad you talked Cecil into it.”

  Jane looked around the crowded ballroom, filled with the ton’s most fashionable ladies and gentlemen, and sighed appreciatively. The Duke and Duchess of Falmouth’s annual ball was perhaps the most sought-after invitation of the Season. She knew she had her close association with the Mandevilles to thank for their presence there. Already Lucy and Emily had become fast friends, and their first few days in Town had passed much too quickly, a pleasant blur of rounds of calls, dinners, and soirees. Now that she was here, in familiar circumstances and enjoying the Season as she always did, Jane would be very sorry indeed to return to Derbyshire in a month’s time.

  “Jane, Mrs. Tolland,” a voice rang out through the crowd, and Jane looked up to see Lucy headed their way, her husband, Lord Mandeville, in tow.

  “I thought I’d never push my way across the room,” Lucy huffed. “What a crush tonight.”

  “Isn’t it?” Jane replied. “You look positively radiant, Lucy.”