The Wrong Girl(24)

"It's what we both prefer. So you're back to being suspicious again, are you?"

"No!"

"Then why all the questions? I thought you got them out of your system yesterday."

I waved my hand and turned to the door. I didn't think I could lie to him while looking him in the eye. He'd surely know.

"Are you going to the parlor to see Sylvia?" he asked.

I paused in the doorway and blinked back at him. "Worried I'll try to escape again?"

"No, I just want to know where I can find you when it's time to resume training."

I groaned. "We're not finished for the day?"

"Not even close."

"Then I look forward to seeing you again."

"No, you don't, but I appreciate your attempt at flattery anyway."

In truth, I did look forward to seeing him again, but it was far less humiliating to laugh than tell him that.

***

While it was pleasant enough embroidering and listening to Sylvia's chatter, I soon found myself looking up at every sound, hoping Jack would enter the parlor. Just as a watched pot never boils, a watched door never opens, except to let in the footman. He came to deliver a letter to Sylvia. As he was about to leave, I set aside my embroidery and followed him.

"Tommy, wait a moment."

"Yes, my lady?" While his accent wasn't as cultured as Jack's, there was little hint of the speech pattern he'd used the night before when I'd overheard their conversation. It would seem they could both switch seamlessly from one accent to the other.

"Is Mr. Jack Langley about?" I asked.

"I believe he went to the lake."

"The lake? Whatever for?"

"For a...walk."

His hesitation intrigued me. "Thank you, Tommy." He left and I returned to the parlor. Sylvia was reading her letter and didn't look up. "Do you mind if I go for a stroll to the lake?"

She dropped the letter to her lap. "I...I suppose not." She nibbled her lower lip, clearly considering whether she ought to let me go. "You won't forget your agreement."

"No, but if it makes you feel any better, you may watch me from the window and have Tommy escort me."

"There's no need for an escort." She said nothing about not watching. Indeed, she rose from the sofa as I left and settled onto the window seat with her correspondence.

I waved to her once I was outside and she waved back, then pretended to read her letter when she actually watched me from behind her lowered lashes. I crossed the drive and lawn and walked to the lake.

It was a starkly beautiful place. Weeping willows hunched over the bank like tired ghosts, their bare branches drooping into the sleek, dark water. The grass was a green so bright it almost hurt to look at it, although it was muddy in patches, particularly on the banks of the lake itself. The vista would be lovely covered with snow. Hopefully there'd be some by Christmas. I'd like to see it.

I wondered if Tommy was mistaken because I didn't see any sign of Jack at the lake. Not at first. Then movement on the far bank caught my attention. He was running between three trees, touching each trunk, then repeating the course over and over. He was lightning fast. He reached each tree in a fraction of the time it would have taken me.

When he finally finished running, he climbed one of the trees and walked along a horizontal branch. He didn't hold onto any of the other branches, but kept his arms outstretched for balance. He walked up and back several times, then stopped in the middle and jumped off. He caught the branch with both hands and pulled himself up until his chin was above it, then lowered himself again. He repeated the exercise, varying the speeds until finally he let go and landed deftly on the ground.

I was about to call out and wave when he did a most unexpected thing. He walked to the lake's edge and kept going. Good lord, he was having a dip! I know he didn't feel the cold, but it was late November! Madness.

He swam toward me, making it look easy. I'd never swum before, never even seen anyone swim, and I couldn't look away. He slipped across the surface like a boat, his strokes effortless, graceful. Perhaps I should have left and not let him know I'd been watching, but I was too intrigued. That a man could be as natural in the water as out of it was amazing.

I thought he hadn't noticed me, so when he stood up a few feet from the edge and acknowledged me with a nod, I was taken aback. I blushed fiercely and looked away. He wore only a sodden shirt and breeches, and both clung to him like skin, outlining the muscular contours of his chest, shoulders and thighs. He possessed an athletic build, tall and broad across the shoulders, tapering to a narrow waist. Magnificent. Better than any classical statue depicted in Vi's copy of Gods of the Ancient World.

"Grew bored with embroidery, did you?" he asked, wading through the shallows toward me. Water cascaded off his body and dripped from his hair and lashes. The corners of his mouth lifted in a teasing smile. He looked like a devilish sprite, up to no good.