Page 25 of With Love in Sight
She was about to question him further when he was suddenly off again, pulling her through the brush.
“But this is getting us nowhere if we wish to start your adventuring,” he said briskly over his shoulder.
Imogen stumbled after him, just barely avoiding a low tree branch. “What is your hurry?” she gasped. “The pond is certainly not going anywhere.”
“No, but there is no telling when someone will go looking for one of us. And I’ll not have you say I have failed you on the first try.”
Within minutes they broke through the cover of trees into a small clearing. Sunlight shone golden through the branches above them and sparkled on the still face of a small round pond. A large flat rock jutted out over the water, and it was here they stopped.
“Caleb,” Imogen breathed, turning in a slow circle to take it all in, “however did you find such a place?”
Caleb placed the picnic basket down and shrugged out of his coat. “My cousin Ignatius and I spent many an idyllic afternoon here when we were children.” He paused to waggle his eyebrows at her. “Sans clothing.”
As he sat and pulled off his boots, Imogen sputtered a laugh. But it quickly died as Caleb rose and removed his waistcoat. Her eyes fastened on his long, tanned fingers as they went to his cravat. He pulled apart the intricate knot, and then the long, snowy white piece of fabric joined the growing pile of clothing on the ground.
Imogen stared in fascination at the small triangle of taut strong throat that had been revealed, her mouth suddenly dry as dust. She moistened her lips, adjusting her spectacles as he undid the buttons and the shirt went up and over his head, ruffling his copper hair so it fell in adorable disarray over his forehead. Her breath hitched as her eyes travelled over the smooth, tanned skin of his chest and arms and abdomen, at the well-defined muscles, cording every bit of flesh into firm perfection, at the faint smattering of hair that dusted his chest and trailed down, over his stomach, past his navel, into the waistband of his breeches. And then his hands were there, at the fastenings, and he was pushing the fabric down over his slim hips…
Imogen gasped, covering her face with her bag. “What are you doing?” she squeaked.
“Swimming,” he replied patiently. She heard the faint whisper of more cloth hitting the pile, and then a splash as he entered the water.
“Damnation!” he swore, gasping. “I don’t remember it being so cold. Oh, pardon me.”
“Don’t curb your tongue on my account,” she muttered. “Though I’m not sure that’s any way to actually get me in that frigid water.” She peeked over at the pile of clothes he had left, his boots nearby. Please, she thought madly, let him still have his smalls on. She shifted her gaze to where he treaded water, chewing on her lower lip.
He stared at her, water streaming down his face and neck. “Imogen?”
“I cannot do it!” she burst out.
“Yes, you can,” he replied with infinite patience.
“No, no I cannot.” She began to back away. “Thank you for trying. Truly, thank you. But I cannot do this.”
“Imogen,” he said, swimming back toward her with strong, smooth strokes, “come here.”
Imogen’s eyes widened at the silken purr of his voice. “No,” she answered. “I think I had best return to the house.”
“Imogen,” he repeated, placing his hands on the rock, “you will come into this water if I have to physically drag you into it.” He saw her gaze dart to his pile of clothes and his eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “If you force me to leave this water, you will find out for certain.”
Her gaze, wide-eyed in horror, flew to his face. “Find out what?” she managed on a croak.
He grinned wolfishly. “Whether I’ve taken my smalls off or not.”
She gasped, then colored. “You are horrid!”
“If being horrid is what it takes to keep my promise to you, then so be it.”
She stared at him for a long moment, at the determination that glinted like steel from his gray eyes, and she knew with certainty he would come after her if she turned and ran. An image of him, streaking after her through the trees, wearing nothing but what he was born with, came unbidden to her mind.
“Fine!” she exploded. “Turn around so I can get this gown off.”
She blinked as his grin widened and he turned away. Seriously, he could make double his fortune if he were able to bottle whatever it was that made his smiles so potent.
After a long moment he spoke up. “I am waiting, Imogen. And I am not a patient man.”
She started and dropped her bag. Her fingers flew to the buttons of her gown.
In no time she was down to just her chemise. She removed her spectacles and laid them down gingerly on her neatly folded pile of clothing. Only then did she approach the water, keeping a wary eye on him all the while. He was still facing the opposite bank, treading water. She sat down on the flat rock and gingerly dipped her bare toes in the water. The chill stunned her.
