Unbefitting a Lady

by Bronwyn Scott

  Chapter Ten

  Phaedra cantered Isolde across the fields, enjoying the rare warmth of an early-spring day. The heather was starting to show its purple colour and the grass was looking green instead of brown. Winter was fading at long last. But spring brought its own sense of urgency. April meant racing season opened in a month. In the south, it would open in a matter of weeks and she had yet to ride Warbourne. Until she could mount him and put him through his paces without fail, she couldn’t begin to look for a jockey.

  Tomorrow. She’d mount him tomorrow to celebrate the end of the first week of April. One week closer to Epsom and one week closer to Aunt Wilhelmina’s party, the compromise to a Season. If she wouldn’t go to London, she had to at least tolerate a party—a party with dancing. Ugh.

  Giles had drawn the line at that and Phaedra knew it was the best she could hope for. But she wasn’t looking forward to it. The dress-fitting this morning had delayed her time in the stables, hence this late-afternoon ride.

  The lake came into view and Phaedra reined Isolde to a halt. A quick look about her confirmed she was alone. She grinned and slid off the mare’s back. After all the pins and poking she’d endured for her party gown, she deserved a treat. She’d go for a quick swim. The water was bound to be cold, but it would be private. No one else would be mad enough to dare the chilly waters.

  Phaedra made a quick picket for Isolde and headed towards the lake shore, pulling her shirt tails from her waistband as she went. At the lake’s edge, she bent and pulled off her boots. That’s when she noticed. She wasn’t as alone as she’d thought on first glance. There was a horse picketed on the west edge of the lake, out of her initial view, a tall chestnut that looked remarkably like...Merlin.

  Phaedra switched her gaze to the lake’s grey surface but she knew what she’d find before she saw him. It wasn’t as if there’d be a stranger out there. This was Castonbury land, after all.

  There was someone else mad enough to brave the lake. Bram was striking towards the west shore with long easy strokes. Was there anything he wasn’t good at? He could ride, he could swim and he could kiss. Lord, how he could kiss! Every time she was with him there was something new and exciting to explore. He was the kind of man mothers warned their daughters about and he made no apologies for it.

  Phaedra debated making a quiet exit. No good could come of being out here with him and one of them naked! Especially after his proposition in the riding house, a proposition she’d yet to officially answer.

  Phaedra bent to pick up her boots and took a step backwards, hoping slow movements wouldn’t catch his eye. But luck was in short supply. He caught sight of her and changed his direction. So much for making a quiet disappearance. If she was gone when he reached shore, he would know she’d run. There was nothing to do but stand her ground.

  Phaedra crossed her arms and assumed a stance she’d seen Giles use when he wanted to promote his dominance. At least she’d noticed Bram before she’d taken off any significant piece of her clothing which was more than she could say for him. The angel on her shoulder hoped he’d have the decency to stay in water that covered him. The devil on the other hoped he wouldn’t. An illicit trill ran through her at the prospect of what might be revealed.

  Bram reached the shallows and began to wade towards shore, the water receding to showcase his muscled chest and lean hip bones before he stopped, making Phaedra well aware that the downward angle of his musculature pointed the way to the unknown beneath the water.

  ‘Coming for a swim?’ His gaze landed on her bare feet where they squished in the mud.

  ‘I was but you stole my lake.’

  ‘It’s still your lake. No one’s stopping you. Come on in. I’d say the water was fine but it’s not. It’s absolutely frigid.’ His blue eyes dared her to join him.

  Water dripped from his dark hair and he looked like a veritable Adam in the garden, primal and handsome. For a moment her wilder side was tempted. But then she recalled other things that happened in the garden, other things like sin.

  ‘It looks like you’re not sure though,’ Bram challenged good-naturedly. ‘If you want to swim, you should. Really, Phaedra, what’s the worst that can happen?’

  ‘You tell me.’

  Bram threw back his head and laughed. ‘Worst is not one of the words ladies use to describe what happens with me.’

  ‘Well, it might be one of the words Giles uses to describe you. If he knew half of what we’ve done, you’d be finished here.’

  Bram shrugged. ‘Then it hardly matters what we do now. The damage is apparently already accomplished.’ He held out a hand. ‘Come on in, Phaedra. You know you want to.’ He cocked a dark eyebrow, looking irresistible. ‘Unless...you’re afraid?’

  Phaedra fixed with him a thunderous glare, curiosity getting the better of her by a long shot. ‘Those are fighting words.’ She stripped down to her undergarments—a modified chemise that came to her waist and custom-made smalls she wore beneath her breeches—and strode into the icy water. She was Phaedra Montague. She wasn’t afraid of anything, certainly not of Bram Basingstoke’s hot blue eyes, and she was going to prove it.

  * * *

  Lucifer’s stones, she’d actually done it! Bram grinned in appreciation. Phaedra’s adventurous spirit had not failed him. Phaedra splashed at him as she strode past, the movements of her lithe body reminding him that the thin garments she wore offered very little real protection from male eyes. Once she was wet, there’d be no protection at all. She executed a shallow dive, striking out for deeper water. ‘Race you to the island!’

  Bram dove and followed. He was a strong swimmer but Phaedra had a head start and hadn’t already spent herself swimming vigorous laps in the lake. The island was about two hundred yards out in centre of the lake and Bram pushed hard to catch her but Phaedra reached the shore a body length ahead.

  ‘Remember, we have to swim back.’ Bram started to pull himself out of the water, weighing the disadvantages of full emergence. Now that the excitement of the race was over, his own nakedness had not escaped him. Did he risk freezing in the lake and stay decently covered to play the gentleman or did he walk up on shore in all his glory and venture making a bad first impression? Admittedly, the cold water had affected his ‘glory’ somewhat. The devil in him wanted to stalk out of the water and see what Phaedra made of his altogether, even if it was slightly less than standard at the moment.

  In the end, Phaedra decided for him. She faced him squarely on the beach, hands on hips, either not caring or else oblivious to the way her undergarments clung to her skin. ‘Are you going to stay in the water all day? I wouldn’t have you freeze for modesty’s sake. It’s not like I haven’t seen a pizzle before.’

  Bram laughed, his body rousing in spite of the cold. He loved a vibrant woman who was sure of herself, even if she shouldn’t be, and Phaedra was as vibrant as they came.

  ‘A horse and a man are two different things,’ Bram warned with a wicked smile, coming closer. He fully intended to call her bluff. If she wanted him to stop, she’d have to ask after having made that bold statement.

  ‘I know,’ she shot back. ‘I have brothers.’

  ‘If you’re sure?’ Bram gained the shore, thankful to be out of the water. The island was quiet, unaffected by the wind that blew along the shoreline. Bram was thankful for the small bit of warmth the stillness afforded. ‘You know what they say, “once revealed, never concealed.”’

  Phaedra gave a most unladylike snort. ‘That sounds like one of Aunt Wilhelmina’s sayings.’ But she wasn’t indifferent, Bram noted with satisfaction. For all her vaunted experience with stallions, her eyes had a hard time focusing elsewhere in spite of her valiant effort.

  This was definitely one of her more endearing qualities—supposed worldliness mixed with untried curiosity. He’d not been wrong about her in Buxton. She was exciting.

  Her hair hung in a thick wet plait over one shoulder, her undergarments clung, outlining the delectable fullness of he
r breasts and the slim curve of her hip. She was every man’s dripping-wet fantasy, which was rapidly being confirmed by signs of life in his nether regions. Bram could set aside concerns of making a bad first impression and worry instead about the very opposite.

  She’d not mentioned his proposition. He could only assume she’d stumbled on him by accident. That being the case, he hoped they wouldn’t stay long. There was no reason to linger on the island considering the weather and the state of their garments or lack of them. Unless, came the thought, she’d sought him out deliberately. Perhaps she’d decided on her answer.

  ‘Too bad there isn’t a fire waiting for us,’ Bram joked, not nearly as at ease with the situation as he’d thought he’d be. He was used to women watching his body, women seeing him naked, seeing him in various states of arousal, but Phaedra’s untutored gaze was proving to be far more arousing than the jaded eyes of London’s fast widows and wives.

  ‘There is, if you want to make one.’ Phaedra busied herself pushing aside a clump of foliage, revealing an old wooden chest with iron bindings. She lifted the lid with a grunt. ‘In the summers, we’d spend the day out here, my brothers, my sister and me. We’ve never really outgrown keeping a few supplies out here.’ She tossed him an old quilt and took one for herself. ‘There’s dry wood and flint in the trunk too.’

  Bram took the quilt and wrapped it about his waist. ‘You’re a regular Robinson Crusoe.’

  ‘It’s hard not to be when you have four brothers who were mad for all the adventure stories.’ Phaedra sobered and corrected herself. ‘Had. I mean, had four brothers. Now I guess I just have two.’

  Bram set to work laying a small fire. ‘You have a good family, one that loves one another. You’re lucky.’ He struck the flint, watching the sparks ignite. ‘I don’t know about Aunt Wilhelmina, of course, but your brother seems devoted.’ Phaedra might not recognise how fortunate she was on that account. He’d seen too many young women compelled to marry simply because their family demanded it or were forced to it, exiled out of the family home because the males hadn’t provided for them. His own sister had been a victim of the former. He doubted Giles would ever compel Phaedra to unwillingly take a husband.

  ‘Aunt Wilhelmina means well but her ideas about life are a bit limiting and archaic.’ Phaedra tugged her quilt about her, covering up her curves. ‘She’s been with us since my mother died. She’s really the only mother I’ve known, for whatever that’s been worth. Raising us was a labour of duty to her, not necessarily a labour of love.’ Phaedra gave a telltale shrug beneath the quilt and stared into the little fire. ‘I was only four when she came to live with us. I don’t remember my mother.’

  It bothered her, Bram thought, settling beside the fire. She’d given one of those shrugs of hers meant to communicate complacency when it implied the opposite. She cared very much that she didn’t remember her mother.

  ‘What happened?’ Bram probed gently, his own curiosity piqued.

  ‘When I was younger, I was told it was a fever. But later, Kate hinted it might have been a miscarriage.’

  ‘Childbed fever, perhaps.’

  Phaedra gave him a soft smile. ‘Perhaps. All I remember now are nuances—a smell, a gesture, a tone, just shadows really. There are portraits, of course, but those are someone else’s memories imposed on mine. She was beautiful and kind and father doted on her.’

  ‘Ah, it was a love match, then?’ That would be something rare indeed in the high echelons of dukes. Dukes seldom had that luxury.

  Phaedra shook her head. ‘Not love but something very close to it. My father is like any other man of his rank. He has his bastards. But he and mother dealt well together and he was affectionate.’ Hope and disappointment warred in that comment. Hope that something more than an arranged marriage was possible and disappointment that the one marriage she knew of had fallen short of that.

  ‘We don’t talk about her very much any more.’ Phaedra gave him a long considering look, her head tilted to one side. ‘I think you’re the first person I’ve ever told. I wonder what that means? I feel like I’ve packed her up and put her away somewhere but now I can’t remember where that is.’

  Phaedra began undoing the long braid. It was an entirely feminine gesture. The quilt slipped from one shoulder as she raised an arm and she shivered.

  ‘Here, let me do that for you,’ Bram offered so she could stay warm. ‘Turn sideways a little.’ He unravelled the long strands and drew his fingers gently through them in a combing motion. The fire was growing hot now and the little beach was actually comfortable. They could stay awhile longer.

  ‘What about your family?’ Phaedra asked, her train of thought still running along that same line. It wasn’t his favourite topic.

  ‘I have a sister and a brother, both older.’ If he’d been born second, there’d have been no need for a third child. But his father had been adamant he have his spare. Bram’s sister had not been enough.

  ‘And your parents?’ Phaedra prompted.

  ‘Both still alive. Your hair is much darker wet. It looks like wild honey.’ He tried to redirect the discussion. His family was not worth the conversation. But Phaedra would not be deterred.

  ‘Do you see them often?’

  ‘No, my father is something of a...well, suffice it to say that we don’t get along.’ That was putting it mildly. He’d never quite lived up to his father’s expectations. It had become something of a game to see just how disappointing he could be before his father cut him off entirely. This last escapade which had landed him in Derbyshire had nearly done it.

  ‘You shouldn’t speak of your father like that,’ Phaedra said, clearly shocked he’d be so irreverent.

  ‘Why not if it’s the truth?’ Bram’s answer was harsher than he intended. ‘You don’t know him,’ Bram amended. His father had revered his older brother to the exclusion of him and his sister. Eloise had been brought up to think of herself as a nuisance to the family, an expensive flower to decorate another’s garden. She’d married the first decent match to come along to appease their father and get out.

  ‘I didn’t exactly fit into my father’s plans for me.’ He didn’t dare say anything else for fear of giving himself away.

  ‘What was that?’ Of course she’d want to know. But Bram had other things on his mind than his father. He was sitting beside a fire on a deserted island, never mind it was in the middle of an estate, with a mostly naked woman of delectable proportions. It was amazing they were still just talking.

  Bram leaned in close to Phaedra’s ear, breathing in the scent of her. She smelled of water and wind and ever-present apples. ‘The church,’ he ventured. Perhaps she would think his family were gentleman farmers. It wasn’t out of the realm of possibility his father had ‘aimed high’ for his son. He feathered a breath past her ear, his hands kneading her shoulders. ‘That’s why I know so much about sin.’

  ‘I bet you do.’ She gave a soft laugh and leaned against him, her head lolling comfortably on his shoulder. The fire and the intimacy of their situation were starting to work their magic. She was feeling safe and comfortable.

  ‘I wish we could stay here for ever,’ Phaedra confessed drowsily.

  Bram reached with one arm and threw the last of the kindling on the fire. They would have to go soon. ‘Aside from the swim back, why would you want to stay here? We are lacking in amenities.’

  Phaedra stretched against him. ‘Aunt Wilhelmina is planning a party for me in lieu of me going to London for a Season.’ Apparently that issue had been resolved with a compromise.

  ‘Don’t you like parties? Pretty dresses?’ Bram encouraged. He’d yet to meet a woman who wasn’t swayed by the promise of a new gown.

  Phaedra laughed and turned to face him, a little smile flitting on her lips as they sat cross-legged. ‘Do you want to know a secret?’ she said in low tones. ‘I can’t dance.’

  ‘You can’t?’ He had a hard time believing it. Phaedra was athletic. She could swim, she could
ride. How was it that she couldn’t dance? He loved dancing; the feel of his hand at a woman’s back was one of Society’s permissible pleasures.

  ‘It’s not for a lack of trying. Aunt Wilhelmina hired countless dancing instructors for Kate and me but apparently the males in the family got that talent.’

  ‘Maybe you simply haven’t found the right partner?’

  ‘Maybe I simply can’t do it,’ Phaedra replied honestly.

  ‘Maybe you haven’t had the right instructor,’ Bram argued. He’d not met Aunt Wilhelmina but from Phaedra’s description, he could imagine the sort of dance master she’d hire. One of those prim and prudish gentlemen in a cheap black suit, who thought dancing was the stiff performance of figures and patterns. Dancing was anything but that. It was passion and life, energy and motion, an exquisite form of human expression.

  ‘Stand up,’ Bram urged, rising and brushing at the sandy dirt on his quilt. He shifted his quilt to his waist to free his arms.

  ‘What are you doing?’ Phaedra rose, uncertain, clutching her quilt about her.

  ‘Not me, we. We are dancing.’ He took her hand and placed it on his shoulder.

  ‘Oh, no, we are not doing this.’ Her quilt slipped to the ground and Bram moved her into his frame, his hand at her back, feeling her skin through the damp silk. His other hand closed over hers and he moved them into position. ‘Ready? One, two, three, one, two, three.’ He guided them into motion, dipping and swaying as he counted. ‘You’re doing fabulously,’ he said, slowly taking them through a turn on the other side of the dying fire. ‘Don’t look down. Look up, at my eyes.’ He held her firmly against him as they moved, their proximity much closer than a ballroom would allow, her hips flush against his, their bodies keeping no secrets.