Mistress by Mistake

Chapter 21

It rained for over a week, days and days of damp, leaden skies and roiling ocean. Bay’s hand became surer wielding his charcoal. He expanded to India ink and watercolors, sending to London for a fresh set of paints. He’d never be a master with oil paint, but he was determined to improve while he had such a radiant subject. Charlie had learned to relax, and their fantasies had expanded far beyond pirates and sultans. Each session ended with a satisfying foray in the art of love. Almost half of his time with Charlie was up, and he was missing her already.

But one morning a brilliant ray of sunshine pierced the cocoon of his bed hangings, and he pushed them aside. His bedroom was bathed in light so bright, Bay thought he’d be struck blind. In her sleep, Charlie turned from the glare with a little groan, exposing the length of her white back to him. He pulled the covers from her buttocks and was inspired to sketch her from this angle. She was as compelling as any odalisque he’s seen in a museum, her jet hair ribboned across the pillows. He slipped from the bed to get his pad, then returned to draw her sweet curves.

She was beautifully fleshy. He pictured her buoyant in the sea like a mermaid, playful, teasing. Perhaps today they would have their picnic on the beach. There didn’t seem to be a cloud in the sky.

If he counted correctly, there would be a full moon tonight. Even better to make love to her under its pearly glow, listening to the lap of each wave as they rode to their bliss together. He stiffened automatically and knew he couldn’t wait for this afternoon or this evening to take her.

He cast the pad aside and returned to the bed. What position suited him this morning? He and Charlie had been creative exploring the house and each other. He decided to spoon against her, his cock bobbing against her lovely arse. He reached over her soft belly and buried his fingers in her nether curls, stroking her awake. She gasped and thrust back snugly as though she had been dreaming of just such a thing. He guided himself in with his other hand, interlocking the pieces of their sensual puzzle until her wet and heat surrounded him. Inflamed him. Completed him.

“Good morning,” he whispered, and then made it so.

He kissed her shoulder, a poor substitute for her mouth, but he knew this position gave him easy access to her breasts and her clitoris. He cupped one full breast and circled the nipple, peaking it to perfection. She always came so alive in his hands. It was not so much his skill but her life force, long buried beneath gray dresses and linen caps. Charlie was meant for lust, even more so than her famous sister. Meant for love.

Now, where did that thought come from? His cock surged in possession. She was his absolutely. At least for now. Every smooth white surface, every curly dark hair. He smiled against her back. Even the silver ones. Her innocent blue eyes, her knowing mouth. Her small, work-worn hand, now pressing his as he rolled her clit between his fingers.

“Oh! I cannot bear much more. Please, Bay!”

“Please what?” He couldn’t bear much more either, but couldn’t bear the thought of stopping. Of withdrawing from her tight perfection. Never had any woman made him feel this way. Transcendent. Capable of nearly anything.

She uttered something, but it was more a growl than a word. Then her core shook him to his own, marking him. Making him lose control. His seed spilled inside her, as it so often did. He’d long since stopped worrying about consequences. He’d take care of her. Always, if he could.

When they were at last finished with each other for the time being, Charlotte squinted into the shafts of sunlight. “Can it possibly be? Is the sun really shining, or have you brought me to heaven?”

“Both,” Bay chuckled. “As you have brought me.” He kissed her mouth, tasting sleep and satisfaction. “And we should make the most of it before the clouds roll back in. Breakfast in bed first, though, I should think.”

Charlotte shook her head. “I’m not at all hungry. Some tea perhaps. I think I could manage that.”

Bay raised himself up on one elbow. Now that he could see her face, she did look pale. “Are you ill?”

“Oh, no. I’m fine. Mrs. Kelly’s been spoiling me rotten with her cooking. I’ve overindulged, that’s all.”

“Charlie, I’ve told you a hundred times I love your body. And shown you, too. You’ll not be so foolish to go without eating. I won’t permit it.”

“Really, you sound very bossy this morning, Major Sir Michael. I’m not one of your soldiers to be ordered about.” She sat up quickly, and just as quickly dropped back into the pillows.

“Charlie! What is it?”

“A dizzy spell. It will pass.”

“This is what come of going without food, you ninny,” Bay thundered. “I’ll go downstairs and bring up a tray myself, and you’ll eat every bit.”

He belted his robe and left the room. Charlotte scrambled out of bed and made it to the chamber pot just in time, then collapsed on the floor. “Blast.” She felt too weak to pick up the pot and toss the evidence out the window, but she must before Bay returned. Staggering to the window, she heaved the mess onto the bushes below, gulping the fresh sea air. Sunlight sparkled on the water like a convocation of fireflies. She had to close her eyes.

There would be a baby. She had no doubt of it now. She was queasy at the thought of food, and not just at breakfast time. Her breasts were so swollen she struggled to lace them flat enough to fit into her gowns. Charlotte had spent years as Little Hyssop’s helpful neighbor and was well aware of the symptoms of pregnancy. Bay might notice, too. As her sister Deborah once said, Bay was a noticing sort of fellow.

What would he do if he discovered her secret? She need only get through the next two weeks before she never had to see him again.

Which would tear her heart in two, for she loved him so.

She hadn’t wanted to. For all his naughty, teasing barbs, he was the finest man she had ever met. He was thoughtful, and deeper than the rakish dilettante she first supposed him to be. Charlotte alternately cursed and thanked Deb for tricking her and running off with Arthur. How much easier her life would be if she’d never felt Bay’s wicked kiss that morning on Jane Street.

She threw open all the bedroom windows to air out the room, then turned her attention to her own appearance. The pier glass on the wall told a grim tale. Charlotte splashed some water on her face, pinched her cheeks for color, and borrowed Bay’s tooth powder to get the revolting taste out of her mouth. Before she put on her dressing gown, she turned to the side and examined her reflection. Her stomach, never flat to start with, seemed a little rounder. But perhaps she was just imagining things.

Hearing the rattle of the breakfast dishes, she sat down at the round table tucked into the corner of Bay’s bedroom. She was not going to wind up in bed again, covered with jam and crumbs and clotted cream while Bay feasted.

“Here we go.” The tray was heavy with covered dishes and condiments. Charlotte felt her stomach flip but willed the sensation away. Bay poured her a cup of tea and began to drop a sugar lump into it. He knew her sweet tooth, but today she wanted bitter, black, and harsh.

“No sugar this morning, please. I told you my stomach is not quite settled from all the rich food last night.” She pretended to take a sip. “Ah, isn’t the day just beautiful?”

“The wind is brisk, a perfect day for a sail. I say, Charlie, our breakfast will blow away with all these windows open. Do you mind if I close some?”

“I’ll do it.” She leaped up to shut the window that overlooked the vomit-covered bushes, praying for more rain to wash away the stain. She was not at all sure her stomach was ready for a day spent in a boat, pitching and rolling about.

She came back to a plate loaded with ham, toast, and eggs and began to mince everything into miniscule pieces. “Do you really want to go out on the water? I haven’t been on a boat since my parents died.”

Bay looked stricken. Oh, she was evil, using such an excuse. If she did get ill, she could always chalk it up to plain seasickness.

“Not if you don’t want to. I’m sorry, Charlie, I didn’t think.”

“Perhaps not today. But a walk along the beach would be lovely.” She forked a tiny square of eggy toast into her mouth and chewed determinedly.

“That might put the roses back into your cheeks.”

He was looking at her with speculative intensity. He was a noticing sort of man. She forced a smile. “If you didn’t keep me up all hours of the night, you randy devil, I suppose I might look like less of a hag. A woman my age needs her beauty sleep, you know.”

“I didn’t hear any objection to my attentions, my dear. And I know from experience when you are not pleased, your wicked tongue can lacerate. All I can remember of last night’s conversation was ‘Please, please’ and ‘Oh, yes’ and ‘Oh, God.’” He slathered butter on a muffin and crunched away, looking pleased with himself.

“See? I must have been half-asleep if I confused you with the Lord.”

Bay looked up at the coffered ceiling. “I’m waiting for lightning to strike.”

“Not today.” She took a deep breath of fresh air, reveling in the salty scent. “You must want to visit with your tenants now that it’s not so grim.”

Bay put his napkin down. His plate was clean, whereas she had barely touched a thing. “You know, I may just do that. You won’t mind being alone for a few hours?”

“I welcome a respite from your wicked ways. I shall loll about like a lady of leisure.”

“Good. You might do so in my grandmother’s garden. Feel free to make any improvements. I expect to be inundated with bouquets when I return. I imagine it’s a bit overgrown since I left.”

“As my garden at home must be.”

He got up and chucked her under her chin. “You sound wistful. Homesick. Have I bored you?”

“Don’t be silly. You could never be boring.” How she would miss him when she left. And how she would miss her cozy little cottage. The Widow Fallon could not stay in Little Hyssop and produce a child in seven months’ time.

“We’ll have a romantic picnic supper on the beach. Watch the sun set. How does that sound?”

Charlotte agreed that sounded like a perfect way to end the day. She watched as Bay moved efficiently around the room, his military bearing and training still evident. In a matter of minutes he was shaved and dressed for riding. Charlotte decided it was time to make a foray into cleanliness herself and rang for a bath in her own room. A good soak would help her think and plan more clearly.

She spent the rest of the day in blissful retreat within the high stone walls of Bay’s grandmother’s garden. The roses had rioted over their cages and trellises. Charlotte found an old pair of gloves and kept busy pruning and clipping, wondering if Bay had transplanted Mr. Trumbull’s cuttings. She peered into the empty conservatory and saw four lonely jars on a wooden table. By next spring, the twigs they held would be ready to join the rest of the bushes. She stepped inside with her basket of flowers and shears, imagining the space as it must have been years ago, lush and redolent with plant life. The sun-heated bricks warmed the soles of her slippers. A solitary wicker chair listed in one corner, and she dragged it to the wall of glass so she could watch the ocean beyond the emerald lawn. It wouldn’t do to become so mesmerized by the waves that she forgot to put the cut roses in water, but she couldn’t resist watching the gulls wheeling over the whitecaps. She supposed in a few hours she would be frolicking below like a fat water sprite, drunk on wine and Bay’s attentions.

Sunlight slanted in through the glass roof, making her hot and drowsy. The girls could tend to the flowers. Charlotte rather thought she should have a nap to be ready for the night.

Bay had been busy since he returned home. His tenants had been glad to see him and had pressed all manner of tribute on him-tiny wild strawberries, a tin of biscuits, a thick wedge of Dorset Blue Vinny, a nut loaf fresh from the oven. Mrs. Kelly had augmented her baskets, and Bay sent Frazier and the maids to set up the picnic area sheltered by a crescent of rocks. He had half an idea to sleep under the stars with Charlie, so there was much to-ing and fro-ing with blankets and pillows and whatever else might come in handy. Once things were to Frazier’s satisfaction, he was to walk the girls to the village and take the rest of the evening off. There was the pub-and Kitty’s parlor, if Angus wished to brave the difficult Mrs. Toothaker.

He noted the hall was filled with roses, a sure sign that Charlie had been equally busy. He followed the scented trail to her bedroom. Her door was ajar, and he peeked in. A row of mismatched vases lined the mantel, filling the room with perfume. Charlie lay beneath the coverlet sound asleep under the cloud of fragrance. As tempting as it would be to crawl into bed with her, he reckoned he needed a bath to rid himself of the smell of sweat and horse which all the roses in the garden could not overcome.

He’d done a fair amount of thinking as he rode over his acreage, and had come to a surprising conclusion that had eluded him too long. His grandmother had been an excellent steward of the estate even at her advanced age, but there was no excuse now for him to fritter away any more time in London. His respectable army career was long over. If he hadn’t conquered his demons by now with women and drink, he never would. It was past time he assume his responsibilities as magistrate in his own little corner of the world.

But he didn’t want to live at Bayard Court alone.

In fact, he didn’t want to live anywhere without Charlie.

He didn’t know quite when her singular presence had become so necessary to him. She was a little shrew, and far past the age of biddability. He was unlikely to be Petrucchio to her Kate. In fact, it was she who had tamed him, bringing him back in touch with his boyhood home and ambition. His art was now paramount, and Charlie was his muse. Of course no one could ever set eyes on all the nudes he had done of her over the past weeks-it would be highly improper. Those drawings were for their pleasure alone. But they had warmed him up and unlocked the river of creativity which had been dammed up for a decade. He had plenty of money to indulge his hobby, and would have even more if he implemented improvements to his property. And surely she was not too old to bear him a child or two. His head was buzzing with possibilities. But foremost was securing Charlie permanently.

He would ask her to marry him this evening.

There truly could be no objection. Even if his grandmother had lived to give her opinion, Charlie was from a respectable gentry family, though they’d fallen on hard times. The fictitious Mrs. Fallon could easily disappear from Little Crackup and reappear here as a Dorset lamb come home. The Divine Deborah was now a dull married woman in distant Kent, too busy being Mrs. Bannister to bother them.

And Robert Chase would keep his mouth shut if he knew what was good for him. Bay was longing to smash him into the ground at the slightest provocation, the merest hint of a knowing smile or whispered word. He would never have the power to hurt Charlie again.

Bay whistled through his bath, pleased with his plans. The only fly in the ointment was Anne Whitley, who was not in France or any other foreign country, despite the fact that Bay had shoved her onto the packet himself weeks ago. He had learned from one of his tenant farmers today that she had been seen shopping in the village with her mother. The man obviously thought that Bay and Anne would be reunited now that the impediment of a living husband was overcome. Bay quickly disabused him of this notion. There would never be a second wedding ceremony for them in the village church no matter how many times Bay was kidnapped. He’d kill himself first.

Anne’s parents’ home was not very far from Bayard Court. She had been an object of his boyhood admiration for years before neighborliness turned to something more, and then something much less. He and Frazier had conferred on the matter this afternoon, and a few village lads were to be hired to repel unwanted guests, specifically Lady Whitley. If she caused him any further trouble, Bay was prepared to have her arrested. Charlie was apt to take matters in her own hands if she learned Anne was anywhere in the vicinity, and that was one encounter Bay could not permit.

He would marry Charlie by special license if he had to, just to make sure Anne got the point that they were finished for good. But tonight Bay had to make his own point with his future bride, a prospect that filled him with some trepidation. He’d always been much better on paper than in speech, writing poetic nonsense rather effortlessly. Charlie deserved some romantic blather, but Bay could see her stubborn chin and her incredulous look already. She was a practical woman who would no doubt disbelieve that he loved her.

He almost disbelieved it himself. He’d thought he was incapable of another grand passion until he’d been trapped indoors with Charlie through the rainiest summer in memory. Rather than chafing at the limitations, he had enjoyed every moment spent in her company. Even when she was disagreeable about her placement across a sofa as he sketched her or embarrassed by her expletives as he brought her to climax, she was a delight to him. His grandmother would have loved her, recognizing another woman who had the mettle to keep him in line.

Bay had not wanted to fall in love, had indeed fought against it, but Charlie with her honesty and incredible body had vanquished him utterly. He’d realized it today as he met with the humble farm families and felt jealous of their good fortune. Their dwellings were not as grand as Bayard Court, yet they had a shared purpose, children, affection. He would soon have that, too. The next time he rode out to visit with his tenants, she’d be with him, with bits of her lace and bunches of flowers. There would be no more hiding.

He had nothing to pledge their troth with, however. When his grandmother had passed on, he’d sent her jewels to his bank in London for safekeeping. There was nothing left but the ruby necklace, and he’d already convinced Charlie to keep it. She could have whatever she wanted-more rubies and diamonds or sapphires to match her eyes. They would go to Garrard’s first thing when they returned to London, although he was loath to break up their idyll to do so. However, something must be done about the house on Jane Street and his art collection. Perhaps if he promised Charlie all his lovely Italian ladies could be housed in one empty room at Bayard Court, she wouldn’t protest too loudly. She put them all to shame anyhow.

Feeling refreshed and confident, Bay stepped down the hall to find Charlie. She was, he was surprised to see, still firmly asleep, her hand curled under her chin like a child’s-and snoring just a bit. A delicate and ladylike snore, but a snore nonetheless. He had tired her out every night for weeks, poor thing, and would continue to do so for the rest of his life while he still could. A wife like Charlie might keep him young forever.

He bent over her and blew a breath across her eyelids. Her lashes fluttered, her eyebrows scrunched, but she continued to sleep. The sun would not dip behind the cliffs for hours yet, and he had every intention of seeing her naked in the foam before too long.

“Sweetheart, wake up.”

She rolled away with a grunt.

“Charlie, it’s still warm and beautiful outside. Let’s enjoy the rest of the day together.”

“Go away,” she mumbled.

“Come on, sleepyhead.” He tugged the covers from her. To his disappointment, she was in one of her prim white nightgowns, not an inch of her delicious skin visible save for her face and hands and toes. Her cheeks were sleep-rumpled and rosier than when he saw her last. The day in the garden and the nap had done her good. “I’ve got a supper fit for a princess down at the shore. Are you hungry?”

“Mmmf.”

“I’ll take that as a yes. I’ll send Irene up to help you dress, unless you’d like me to play maid.”

“As if you’d put clothes on me.” She stretched like a lazy cat. “What time is it?”

“Just after six. I thought we could have a swim before we eat.”

“I don’t have a bathing costume.”

Bay lifted an eyebrow but said nothing.

“Oh, but you’re a fiend.” She said the epithet mildly, as though she was very fond of fiends, him in particular.

“I’ll meet you in the garden in thirty minutes. I want to see the wonders you worked.”

“Mostly I just cut.” She rubbed her hands together. Bay noticed a scratch and kissed it.

“It was worth the injury. The house smells wonderful, like it did when my grandmother was alive. She would have liked you.”

“You can’t know that.”

“Oh, but I do. And even if she didn’t, I like you enough for two or three people,” he teased.

Charlie blushed. “Oh, go away and let me get dressed. I won’t need Irene, either.”

“As you wish.” He kissed her hand again and then drew her to him, finding her lips warm and soft, a seductive promise of what was to come. “Don’t be too long. I’m very anxious for our swimming lesson.”

“Perhaps I’ll teach you a trick or two,” Charlie said, a naughty gleam in her blue eyes.

“Perhaps you will.” Bay looked forward to it.

The sun hovered over the horizon, still a bold orange in the sky. Bay led her across the thick lawn to the beach below, holding her hand as they picked their way over a jumble of rocks. Charlotte was amazed to see a mock room set up in the curve of sheltering stones. There was an enormous moth-eaten carpet unrolled over the sand, two camp chairs, heaps of pillows placed here and there, blankets tented over poles to keep the wind away. A small freestanding stove was already alight, a tin bucket of coals next to it. Boxes and baskets of provisions anchored one corner of the rug and a flickering lantern was sunk into the sand. Bay-or someone-had thought of everything.

“This is lovely!”

“Not as lovely as you. Here, sit down.” He indicated a flat rock.

Mystified, Charlotte did as she was told. Bay dropped to his knees and Charlotte’s heart lurched. Surely he wasn’t going to propose.

Assuredly, he wasn’t. He began to unlace her boots with concentration.

“I can do that.” She managed to sound quite normal after her scare. But it wasn’t a scare, it was a dream. And a foolish one at that.

“Don’t spoil my fun.” She watched as his fingers slowly worked at the knot she’d so hastily tied so she could be ready for their picnic on time.

“Blast. You don’t mind if I cut this, do you?”

“I certainly do! These are my only boots.” Charlotte tried to tug her foot away, but Bay held on to her ankle.

“I’ll buy you new ones. Or at the very least, new laces.” He took a pocketknife out and sliced the stubborn knot. Once her foot was free, he tickled the bottom of her stocking.

She tapped him lightly on the head. “Oh, no. No tickling. You promised.”

“So I did. I’ll have to find another diversion.” His hand smoothed up her calf to her garter. Sight unseen, he flicked it with a finger and it unraveled. He unrolled both stockings, paying far too much attention to her exposed flesh as he did so. Charlotte was reminded of raindrops slowly sliding down a window. Each fingertip left its trace.

He looked up at her, his smug grin revealing that he knew perfectly well the effect he was having on her. “There! Doesn’t the sand feel good between your toes?”

Charlotte scrunched her feet into the sun-warmed sand. She hadn’t gone barefoot on the beach since she was a child chasing after Deb. “It does. But don’t ask me to remove your boots so you can say the same. I can’t do it.”

“Not a problem.” He hopped up to rummage around in a basket and pulled out a bootjack. “Frazier is a nonpareil. I should give him a raise. Scoot over.”

Charlotte made room for him on the rock. “You should. I think he’s very smitten with Kitty. He should marry her.”

“Marry!” Bay wrenched a boot off and tossed it to the rug. “He’s that far gone, is he? What do you think of the girl?”

“She’s very quiet. A hard worker. I think she’d be forever grateful to him.”

Bay frowned. “Doesn’t sound like a grand love affair to me.”

“Girls like Kitty and Mary can’t afford grand love affairs.” Or me, for that matter, she thought ruefully. “She’s very young. But I think she holds him in esteem. Her face turns as red as his hair when her sister teases her about him.”

“So grizzled old Frazier is a Lothario, is he? I’ll have to tell him I approve. There’s plenty of work for them both in London.”

Charlotte’s breath caught. “So you won’t be staying here at Bayard Court?”

Bay unwound his neckcloth. “I’ve urgent business to tend to once our month is up.”

“Oh.” Charlotte had envisioned Bay as lord of his manor, busy sketching and painting away. She supposed one of his urgent tasks was to secure another mistress for Jane Street. She was half tempted to tell him she could serve in that role as well as any other, but then she remembered the possibility of a baby. No man wanted a pregnant mistress. She didn’t want Bay’s pity or his charity. The sum he’d settled on her already was more than enough.

But soon she didn’t have the wit to think or say anything. He was peeling back her gown, unlacing her corset, slipping her chemise down to suckle her breasts. The copper strands in his hair glinted in the waning sunlight, his long fingers were dark against the white of her skin. She closed her eyes to his beauty as he worked his lips around one nipple, then the other. Her limbs loosened as his warm, wet tongue unleashed its magic.

He stopped abruptly, his dark eyes unreadable. “W-what’s wrong?” she asked.

“Not a thing. It occurs to me if we are to go swimming, we should do so now before the sun drops and the wind picks up. We’ll continue this in the water.”

Charlotte shivered in anticipation. They both shed their clothes and left them folded on the rock. Judging from Bay’s jutting erection, he had every intention of taking her quickly. She couldn’t imagine how this was to be accomplished, but was perfectly happy to be an experiment. Before she knew it, he had scooped her up and tossed her into the waves.

“It’s freezing!” she shrieked. She had forgotten just how cold it was so early in the season.

“Only at first. Better to get it out of the way than to walk in inch by inch. You’ll be warm in no time. Here, come to me.” His arms encircled her as he brought her to his chest. His brave words were false-even his nipples were pebbled. He took down her hair, tossing the pins away.

“New pins, new boots,” he said, warding off her criticism. “New everything. Kiss me, Charlie.”

As if she could refuse. They were lost in each other for a spell, hands and mouths slippery and busy, the taste of salty skin and water sweet as wine. He finally lifted her up, fitting her to him. She slid onto his cock effortlessly, and then they drifted, caressed by the waves. The sensation of being anchored to him, yet absolutely free, was a novelty. Swirling at first in lazy circles, his hands clamped around her hips, she closed her eyes again and let bliss overtake her. His movements, so gentle yet inexorable, brought them both to climax.

She held fast, feeling his erratic pulse on her check. She would never forget this day.

“Mermaid,” he whispered, toying with her hair. It floated around her like black satin ribbons. Charlotte wondered if the inestimable Frazier had packed a hairbrush, for she was likely to look more like Medusa than a mermaid when her hair dried.

She smiled up at him. “Shall I sing a song and bewitch you?”

“Unnecessary. You already have. I’ve crashed up against the rocks, shattered. Splintered. There’s no hope. Take me to your kingdom at the bottom of the sea.”

“Bah.” Charlotte pushed away from him, treading water. “What good are you to me if you drown?”

“I? Drown?” Bay thrashed through the sea, his arms wind-milling.

Charlotte was not about to be left behind. She kicked off and made a creditable attempt to catch up, ducking under the swells. Bay allowed her to reach him, and together, hand in hand, they floated on their backs, watching the sky turn turquoise and lavender, the clouds tinged silver-pink.

“It’s beautiful here,” Charlotte murmured.

“Mermaids and shipwrecked sailors cannot live on beauty alone. I’m starved.”

“I wonder what mermaids eat. Certainly not fish. That doesn’t seem right.”

“Yes, rather like a cannibal eating his own feet. Speaking of which-” He flipped over, grabbed her waist, and stood her upright. To her surprise, she felt sand and rocks

“This is so shallow!”

“A perfect spot to teach children to swim. You can go out quite a ways without fear. I practically lived at this cove when I was a boy. Camped out nearly every summer night with my friend Jamie. We slept rough, hoping to be carried off on a smugglers’ adventure. It was,” he said, a rueful expression on his face, “excellent training for the army. No tents or pillows or rugs for me then.”

“Thank goodness you weren’t kidnapped! Your grandmother would have been frantic!”

Bay laughed. “You don’t know the half of it. She set up a camp bed at the end of the tunnel just in case. I never found out until the butler told me years later. Either she or he or another poor servant kept vigil in the cave to watch over us.”

“Oh, she must have loved you so.”

“Yes. Spoiled me rotten, as you can see. Come on, I’ll show you her hiding place.”

They splashed to the shore. Once out of the water, Charlotte shook with cold. Bay opened a battered trunk and pulled out a thick towel and led her to stand before the little stove. He scrubbed her down thoroughly, taking more time than was absolutely necessary with every nook and cranny. Charlotte submitted, wondering how she would be able to live without his touch. Then he wrapped her in a dark blue cashmere robe that felt like a warm cloud against her skin.

Charlotte’s hand traced the soft folds. “Goodness! What else is in that trunk?”

Bay bent over, still perfectly naked. “A robe for me. I suppose you’ll want this.” He tossed her a tortoiseshell comb. “Some slippers for both of us. Odds and ends. I hoped you’d agree to spend the night with me under the stars.”

Charlotte gasped when she saw what he pulled out of the trunk next.

“In case of smugglers. Or Jamie. No one is welcome to intrude on us this evening.”

She stared at the pistol, her stomach twisting nervously. The last time she had seen such a weapon was still too fresh in her mind.

“I thought you said the smugglers have gone straight hereabouts.”

“So they have. Frazier, God bless him, is a worrywart. Plans for every eventuality. I hope Kitty settles him down. It’s a wonder he didn’t pack a rapier.” Bay put the gun back and pulled a banyan over his head, a colorful striped affair that made him look reckless and rakish. “Let me comb out your hair, and then we’ll go a-caving.”

Charlotte sat down obediently on a folding camp chair. There was no fear of the pocketknife this time. Bay was efficient in unknotting knots and untangling tangles. She suspected he had lots of practice combing women’s hair and felt a flare of jealousy. Soon some other lucky dark-haired blue-eyed girl would be his companion, unless he changed his ways and made her his wife. There were probably a slew of seventeen-year-old brunettes lined up at Almack’s just waiting for him to get back. She pushed her disagreeable thoughts away and concentrated on the moment. The sky was turning smoky purple, and orange and pink clouds hung low on the horizon. The ocean glittered with the last of the light, the regular rush of the waves as soothing as the strokes through her hair. Her body felt heavy with relaxation, but she remembered exploration and supper were still ahead.

Apparently satisfied with his results, Bay tossed the comb onto the old carpet. Charlotte could see it once had been a thing of true beauty. Scarlet poppies and palm fronds formed an elaborate border around a midnight blue field covered with golden birds. There was a substantial rip in the center, with loose threads sticking up everywhere.

“This rug-I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“My grandfather sent it back from India. It was in my grandmother’s bedchamber for years until she kept tripping on the worn spots. I made her retire it but she didn’t have the heart to throw it away. It does lend some class to our camp-out.”

“I haven’t agreed to spend the night out here with you, you know. I’ve never done such a thing.”

Bay nuzzled her neck. “I’ll keep the fire going. There is a chamber pot nearby, if that’s what you’re worrying about.”

Charlotte felt heat course through her. How very cavalier he was about her bodily functions. There were still some things she was too shy to speak of or do anywhere in his vicinity.

“I’ve seen it all, you know. There weren’t privies in Portugal,” he reminded her, as if sensing her objection.

“Well, we are in England, and my mama would die if she weren’t dead already that we are even having this conversation.” Charlotte fastened the robe more securely around her waist. Her mama would certainly not approve of her current attire or recent activities either. “Speaking of which, let’s change the subject. Take me to your cave.”

Bay picked up the lantern and offered her an arm. “You know the hidden passage in the parlor. Turn left and you’re up the stairs. Turn right and there’s another set of stairs that leads to the cellars and an underground tunnel, very convenient when you’re unloading contraband from the beach. Right through here-”

He pointed to a narrow seam between two boulders.

“Goodness! Your contraband couldn’t be very wide, could it?”

“Ye of little faith.”

Bay placed his hand in an indentation and the rock, which wasn’t really a rock at all, pushed open with a screech of hinges. The rock had been sliced and affixed to a wooden panel. They were now standing in a small stone-lined chamber. There was indeed a fraying canvas cot, an abandoned rusty lantern, and a gleaming white chamber pot with neatly folded linen rags beside it.

“See? Nothing to worry about. Frazier is incomparable.”

Charlotte laughed. “What about the bats and spiders?”

“Gone. They wouldn’t dare linger. Now, my mermaid, what say you? Are you ready to spend a night counting stars with me?”

To do the job properly would take an infinite number of nights, but Charlotte knew she had just one.

“I am.”