“And I am thinking of my new parasol, which will surely be consigned to the Thames unless I am able to set it properly aside.”
“How easily you attempt to dampen my ardor,” he replied, taking the parasol and tossing it behind him in the boat.
She was flirtatious. “Is your ardor so delicate that so small a thing as a parasol becomes an obstacle?”
“Fie on you, madam, are you challenging my manhood?” He moved over her, supporting himself on his hands as he gazed down into her eyes.
Voices carried from a crowded pleasure barge that sailed downstream only yards from their secret place amid the willows. Juliet’s breath caught nervously. “Sssh, Charles, they may hear us,” she whispered.
“There will be nothing to hear if you kiss me,” he replied.
She knew the look in his eyes, and was a little shocked. “Here? Oh, Charles . . .”
“Why not here? Where better to make love than on the river, beneath a canopy of leaves? Have you no spirit? Don’t you relish the risk of being caught?”
She gazed up at him for a moment, and then smiled. “You are leading me astray, Sir Charles.”
“Ah, so you do relish it,” he breathed.
“I would be an eeyot not to,” she said softly as he sank down to gather her into his embrace. Their lips came together, and she linked her arms around his neck, her body arching against his. And so they made love in the boat, their passion and pleasure taking them into another realm entirely. As Charles was lost in the ecstasy of the moment, the insidious uncertainty, so briefly presented, slid ashamedly away into the leafy shadows.
Charles raised his face to the storm, remembering how the uncertainty had returned again and again, gradually changing into an obsession. Oh, fool, fool! Why could he not have been content with the riches Fate had poured into his lap? He’d had everything, but had thrown it away because he was too immature to appreciate his good fortune.
With a heavy heart he gazed ahead, wishing the crossing was over and done with, for he longed to rest his head on a pillow and sleep. After eating, of course. As he looked at the island, something suddenly occurred to him. The charmless postilion had been paid for his trouble, and the luggage already taken across to the Retreat, or so James had assured him, so it was a little puzzling that there were still no lights at the lodge. “James, shouldn’t there be lights on the island?” he shouted above the storm.
“The servants are probably dozing in the kitchens, sir,” the footman called back between the grunts of pulling on the oars. “They’ll be hoping no one’s going to arrive at this late stage.”
“How can they hope that if all my luggage has arrived there?” Charles’s voice was buffeted by the storm.
James didn’t reply, but glanced over his shoulder to be sure of navigating the frail craft to the upstream side of the jetty, where another rowing boat tugged at a mooring rope. With a skill and dexterity born of years of practice, the footman edged to the jetty, and quickly grabbed another rope. Pulling mightily on it, he forced the rowing boat alongside the wooden structure. “Best jump while you have the chance, sir!” he yelled, straining to keep closed the gap between boat and landing.
Charles obeyed without thinking, holding the lantern as carefully as he could as he scrambled thankfully onto the wet, slippery planks.
“You go on up to the lodge, sir, while I make things secure here,” advised the footman.
“Don’t you need a little help?”
“No, I can manage well enough,” James reassured him.
“As you wish.” Tugging his top hat low, and hunching his shoulders against the wind, Charles began to hurry along the jetty and on to the blessedly firm grass of the island. Something made him pause and look back, and to his astonishment he saw James reaching over to untie the second rowing boat. Then, with the other craft tied firmly to the stern of his own, the footman calmly pushed an oar against the jetty, and slid downstream on the current for a few yards before he was able to use the oars again.
Dumbfounded, Charles stared after him, so surprised that for a moment he couldn’t move. Then he ran back onto the jetty. “Hey! What are you doing? You’re marooning me here!”
“Lady Marchwell’s orders, sir,” James shouted back. “She said something about being your fairy godmother.”
Charles was obliged to cup his hands to his mouth as the two boats edged farther and farther away. “I don’t give a damn what she said, I order you to come back here this instant!”
“Happy Christmas, Sir Charles!” the footman yelled back a little cheekily.