Secrets of a Gentleman Escort

by Bronwyn Scott

  ‘I must have been thirteen the last time I did that!’ she called over the gurgle of the river, her self-consciousness slipping away with the water.

  ‘Very nice!’ he called back with a mischievous look that said he wasn’t to be outdone. No sooner had she thrown her line than he threw his in a side cast, the fly landing with a quiet plop on the water.

  ‘Show-off!’ Annorah retorted with good humour. ‘That’s not bad for a man about town.’ She caught a suspicious movement in the water to her left. Fish! She quickly reeled in her line. A basic cast would have been sufficient, but she couldn’t help a little showing off of her own. ‘Watch this.’ Annorah flicked the line back and forwards and back again for a sharply executed false cast.

  It became a competition after that. He answered with a side cast. She came back with a roll out. He executed a double haul. She threw a flawless reverse. On it went until they were laughing and wet, their clothes far beyond damp.

  A fierce tug on the line claimed her attention. ‘I’ve got one!’ Annorah shouted, the excitement of the catch seizing her. She began to reel in her line, but the current and the weight of the fish conspired against her. She took an involuntary step towards the centre of the river, planning on retrenching, but her fish had other ideas. He tugged. She slid. Her bare feet ploughed the soft mud of the river bed. Annorah wrestled with the rod. The pole began to bend. ‘You’re not getting away from me, you little bugger!’ She was going to need help.

  No sooner had she thought it, than Nicholas was there, his hands closing over hers, his body coming up and around her from behind, lending her its strength. ‘Tut, tut, Annorah. Such language from a lady. I wouldn’t have guessed.’ He chuckled in her ear. She could feel the heat and muscle of him through his soaked shirt.

  ‘Pull with me, I think we’ve got him.’

  They tugged and reeled, laughing and stumbling in the current, his body there to steady her. At last they landed that fish, a huge river trout. ‘Enough to feed two.’ Nick dragged the fish up on to the bank and flopped down beside it. ‘I say we save it for dinner.’

  ‘What about lunch?’

  Nick grinned and pulled out a gutting knife. ‘You’ve shown yourself to be the better fisherman between us. You go get a pair of fish for lunch and I’ll see to this fellow here.’

  ‘I’ll race you!’ Annorah laughed and waded back in. Her dress was soaked. It hardly mattered how wet she got now. But it was a race she was happy to lose.

  * * *

  By the time she’d returned with her creel full of fish, Nicholas had a camp of sorts arranged. A blanket was spread out in front of a small fire, a spit already set up over the flames. The day was warm, but the heat was welcome against the chill of the river and the damp of her clothes.

  Nick skewered the fish and she busied herself laying out the rest of the picnic items with one notable exception. ‘You meant it about no fish, no food, didn’t you?’

  Nick flashed her a grin as he bent over the fire, his wet trousers tight over his buttocks. ‘I never lie.’ He removed the fish and slid one on to a plate for her. ‘We wouldn’t have starved. There was bread and wine.’

  ‘Hardly a meal,’ Annorah shot back with a laugh. She sliced bread for him. He poured wine for her. There was an easy rhythm in the simple tasks. She wouldn’t have thought slicing bread could be intimate, but here by the fire, with their catch roasting, it was.

  ‘Oh, there’s worse, I assure you.’ Nicholas settled beside her on the blanket, looking entirely too attractive with his wet hair falling in his face, his shirt undone to reveal the muscled chest beneath, a beautiful bronze to match his legs.

  ‘Like what?’ Annorah bit into her fish. She flicked her tongue to catch the juices dribbling down her chin.

  ‘Lutefisk. It’s a Norwegian fish soaked in lye for a particular taste.’ Nicholas made a face.

  ‘Wherever did you eat that? It sounds terrible.’ Annorah laughed. She’d been doing a lot of it since yesterday and it felt good. It made her wonder if her world had been so very silent before his arrival.

  ‘I lived with a Norwegian family when I first came to London. How about you? What’s the worst thing you’ve ever eaten?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Annorah pushed a hand through the tangle of her hair, thinking. ‘Oh, yes, I do!’ She smiled suddenly, the memory coming to her. ‘I sneaked into the kitchen one afternoon, determined to make a cake. Let’s just say it didn’t turn out.’

  Nicholas’s eyes danced. ‘In my experience, icing can save a lot of doomed projects.’

  ‘Not this one.’ She finished her fish and set aside her plate. ‘What shall we do next?’ She was feeling relaxed and perhaps a bit euphoric. It was surprisingly easy to be with him—yet another easy thing to add to the list: easy to laugh with, easy to talk to, easy to be with. She was just about to conclude anything would be easy with him when he came up with his next idea.

  ‘I’m going swimming. How about you?’

  There was nothing easy about that. Swimming would be complicated. Annorah drew her knees up and hugged them. She used to love to swim, but that was before she grew up and swimming was ruled as something ladies didn’t do. A lady couldn’t very well swim in her clothes, which made the activity lewd and public. ‘The water will make my skirts too heavy.’

  Nicholas grinned wickedly. ‘Then take them off.’

  * * *

  He was going to have to debate with her about it. Nicholas heard the regret in her voice as if she was merely making the appropriate answer. Well, he’d see what he could do about that. He rose from the blanket and shrugged out of his shirt. It was perhaps not as gracefully done as it might have been. The shirt was wet and it stuck to him. He threw it on a hanging branch and his hands went to the waistband of his trousers.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Annorah’s voice barely disguised a gasp of excitement mixed with trepidation.

  ‘I’m taking off my trousers. I don’t mean to swim in them,’ he called over his shoulder.

  ‘What do you mean to swim in?’

  ‘In my altogether. You could swim in your chemise if you preferred,’ he suggested.

  ‘I couldn’t.’ Annorah hesitated, biting her lip.

  ‘Then take it off, too.’ He pushed his trousers past his hips and kicked them off, leaving only his smalls; a concession to her modesty. He turned around and Annorah blushed, her gaze looking everywhere but at him.

  ‘Don’t tell me you’re embarrassed by my natural state.’ Nick spread his arms wide from his sides and sauntered towards her. He couldn’t resist having a bit of fun. If he’d learned one thing about her this afternoon, it was that she could be teased—the wildness inside was very much alive once she let down her guard. He rather enjoyed getting past that guard, as he had in the river.

  ‘It’s not that.’

  ‘It isn’t? Then is it perhaps that you’re embarrassed about your natural state? I think your natural state would be quite lovely.’ He reached a hand down to her and tugged, letting the teasing fade from his voice. ‘Come on, Annorah. It’s just the two of us. You’ve been eyeing that swimming hole since we got here. You know you want to.’ You want to do more than swim and if you’d look at me you’d know I do, too.

  He had her on her feet and then he had her in his arms, kissing her; her throat, her neck, her lips. She tasted like wine, her body all compliance beneath his mouth. A soft moan escaped her. His hands worked the simple fastenings of her gown. He hesitated before pushing the dress down her shoulders, giving her one last chance to back out. If she resisted now, he’d let her. But she didn’t. He smiled to himself. Sometimes all a person needed was a nudge.

  Then they were running, her hand clasped in his as they took a leap into the swimming hole. They hit the water with a splash and he let out a yelp. Good lord, it was cold! Nick surfaced and shook the
water from his hair. He watched Annorah emerge, her hair a sleek pelt neatly slicked back from her face by the water’s efforts. She was laughing and trying to catch her breath.

  ‘You should have warned me!’ she sputtered. ‘It’s colder than I thought.’

  ‘I should have warned you? It’s your swimming hole!’ Nick splashed her for good measure. She yelped and dived beneath the surface, disappearing for a moment before he felt her pull on his legs and he went under. Oh, he was going to get her for this!

  She was waiting for him under the water and he gave chase. He caught her and pushed them both to the surface. She gave an undignified squeal and he kissed her hard on the mouth. ‘That’s no less than you deserve, wench, for dunking me.’ He was too breathless to be serious. Her arms were about his neck. His hands rested on the narrow span of her rib-cage just beneath the swell of her breasts, the thin linen of her chemise outlining the dark press of her nipples. The wet fabric offered no protection, but plenty of provocation. Her head thrown back, she was enjoying the thrill of the moment. Even in the chilly water, the sight of this woman finding pleasure in their play made him hard, genuinely hard. No artifice or tool, or amount of concentration on his part, had conjured this.

  In those precious seconds Nicholas felt one fundamental truth rock his body. He was alive! The power of the summer’s day, the potency of his body’s response fired in his blood, sending its message of life thrumming through his veins. It was a moment and a sensation he had not thought to reclaim. He’d not felt like this since he was seventeen and desperately in love, or what passed for love at that age, with Brenna Forsyth, the squire’s daughter. What a heady summer that had been!

  When he looked at Annorah and saw those hazel eyes dancing with the same emotions; he knew he wasn’t alone in this perfect moment. To share it with this woman he’d known for such a short time was almost overwhelming. She was nothing like his London women. She was extraordinary.

  Annorah’s lips parted, her head tipped slightly to one side and all thoughts of summers past were driven away. The tip of her head was the only warning he had. She was kissing him. Softly, gently at first, pulling on his lower lip with her teeth, tracing the contours of his mouth with the tip of her tongue. It was quite possibly the most honest kiss he’d ever received and he revelled in it.

  ‘I’ve wanted to do that since you stepped into my hall,’ Annorah whispered, tracing his lips with a finger. ‘You have the most sensual mouth for a man.’

  Nicholas laughed. ‘Why, thank you. Do you know what I’ve wanted to do?’ He didn’t give her a chance to answer. He swept her up into his arms and carried her ashore, giving her little screams of surprise no quarter. He deposited her on the blanket beside their fire and followed her down, propping himself up on one elbow.

  ‘This is what you’ve wanted to do?’ Annorah teased. But he could see the action had excited her. The pulse at the base of her neck beat a fast tattoo. ‘You’ve wanted to carry me dripping wet out of a swimming hole.’

  ‘Oh, yes.’ He gave her a slow smile and drew a lazy finger down her breast bone, resting his hand on the flat of her stomach. ‘You were a spot of vibrant colour in the hall, dressed in yellow like a daffodil. I thought then that your hair would look like wild honey when it was wet and I could hardly wait to find out.’ He held her gaze. ‘I was right. It is the colour of beautiful, thick honey. Close your eyes, Annorah.’

  He kissed her mouth and worked his way down, kissing her throat, her neck. Wet fabric clung to the curve of a breast and he took it in his mouth, nipping and suckling. He moved over her, feeling her body rise against him, her hips arching up to him as a little moan escaped her lips. He had his mouth at her belly, her chemise pushed up, her skin bare as he feathered her navel with a gentle breath. His hands bracketed her hips as he steadied her for his next foray, his thumbs at the juncture of her thighs, his mouth pressing a kiss to her mons.

  She jumped a bit at the extreme intimacy of the contact. ‘Nicholas?’

  ‘Shh. Keep your eyes shut, Annorah,’ Nick coached softly. ‘It’s all right. You will like this, I promise.’ He blew against her furrow, as he had her belly, and looked up long enough to see a smile take her mouth. He kept his voice low, a whispering caress. ‘That’s right, Annorah, let go. This is for you. Get lost in the moment.’ He licked the secret pearl of her flesh and felt her tremble as the initial sensation of such contact took her. She tasted of salt and desire on his lips and his body was tense with a rising want of his own. But that was for later. Here, by the fire, with an afternoon of pleasures behind them was just for her.

  He cupped her with his hand, working her swollen pearl with his thumb. She was rising fast. She pressed hard against his touch, searching instinctively for the satisfaction that waited on the other side of this. Her breath came in gasps; she was working hard for it. She wasn’t far now. Then she was there. He watched the achievement sweep over her. Her back arched, her hips bucked against his hand. Her head was thrown back, all that honey hair spilling about her, a sob on her lips full of amazement and wonder at the miracle of climax.

  An urge to capture the moment took him unexpectedly. This had happened before numerous times. He’d brought this particular pleasure to women beyond his count. But this was a new variation on the old theme in some immeasurable way he couldn’t define beyond the simple fact that it was different.

  Annorah opened her eyes and he took up his old position, propped on his side next to her. Her eyes weren’t dreamy or faraway as he’d expected. They were sharp and alert. Suddenly, he feared the first words out of her mouth. He didn’t want those words to be: you were worth every pound. He didn’t want to talk about what had transpired at all. He simply wanted it to be. Other lovers, real lovers, didn’t lie around and dissect the interlude afterwards, analysing the performance.

  Annorah raised a hand to his face, brushing back a strand of loose hair. It was a delicate gesture, perhaps a trifle hesitant once she realised what she was doing and the familiarity attached to it. Her first words didn’t disappoint. ‘Thank you for today. I haven’t had this much fun for ages.’ She gave one of her delightful little laughs. ‘I’ve been saying that a lot. It sounds trite, but it’s true. I can’t quite recall the last time I had this much fun as an adult.’

  She paused, a delightful furrow appearing between her brows as she studied him. ‘Why do you suppose adults stop playing? Why would society decree such a thing? I can’t imagine it makes anyone happy.’

  ‘We don’t have to stop, Annorah.’ His voice was quiet—he was unwilling to shatter the wondrous intimacy that had sprung up between them. The world was still around them, interrupted only by the murmur of the river and the occasion chirp of the birds.

  She gave him a wry smile. ‘Shall we be rebels?’

  ‘I think you are already more of a rebel than you realise.’ He traced a swirly design on the flat of her abdomen. ‘You’ve defied convention, Annorah Price-Ellis. You’re an heiress who has escaped marriage, a woman who has defined the terms of her existence according to her own wishes. In our world, that is rare indeed.’

  She warmed to that thought, a slow smile replacing the wry one. ‘I like the sound of that. I am a rebel.’ They laughed together in the warm afternoon. She was extraordinary. His earlier use of the term had not been exaggerated. She was a unique woman, living under unique circumstances. He thought if anything neared earthly perfection, her life was it. And yet, she wasn’t perfect. He knew that already. She had a sharp tongue and a streak of cynicism. Those were certainly not the qualities of perfection, nor were they qualities acquired from living a perfect life.

  She had her mysteries, but she’d opened to him today. Part of him wanted to congratulate himself on a brilliantly designed strategy. He’d played this just right. Part of him didn’t want to think of today as another tactical manoeuvre. He wanted today to exist on its own merits because he’d e
njoyed it, too.

  ‘Should I take the rebel home?’ he asked reluctantly when the laughter and conversation subsided into a lull.

  ‘No, I’d like to stay awhile longer.’ They were both whispering now in an attempt to hold on to the magic.

  Nicholas rolled over on his back and pulled her to him, nestling her in the hollow of his arm where shoulder met chest. ‘I’d like that, too.’ He meant it. Perfection was hard to come by and when it was available, it was usually in small moments. Today had been surprisingly full of them and he was loath to let go. It had been full of spontaneity. He’d planned the outing in the hopes that coming to river would help her relax and get past some of the restraints holding her back. But he’d not planned on the casting competition, or playing tag in the swimming hole. He’d certainly not planned for the remarkable set of feelings that swamped him now as they lay here.

  The outing was notable also for what it had lacked. For the first time in seven years, he’d been in the country and not been swamped with the memories. Then again, it was easier to hold the ghosts at bay in the summery light of an afternoon with a woman lying in his arms. Maybe only storms provoked them, his more cynical side argued, the side that was determined he’d never forget every detail of the night the life he knew had slipped away and he’d been helpless to stop it.

  Chapter Seven

  The last of the late afternoon slipped away, giving ground to a stunning evening while Annorah soaked in her bath. The wide windows of her room were open, catching a cooling breeze and providing a delicious contrast to the warm water. She sank low into the lavender-scented bubbles, eyes closed. She wanted to savour the afternoon, wanted to commit it to memory.

  It was an afternoon full of pictures, peopled with images of Nicholas: Nicholas rolling up his trousers; Nicholas wading into the stream and daring her to join him; Nicholas, muscles flexing as he cast his line. There were more intimate images, too: Nicholas standing before her in his smalls, completely at ease with his nudity. And why shouldn’t he be? He’d been magnificent, beautiful even.