Page 15 of The Butterfly
Perhaps a swim would clear her head. This time of year, the water would be just the right temperature.
She made quick work of removing her old, worn morning gown, under which she had only donned a chemise. Knowing she would swim today, she had left off petticoats, stays, and stockings. If the earl knew, he would have her locked in her room for a week. Kicking off her slippers, she approached the pond’s edge, smiling as the cool water lapped over her toes.
She submerged herself and swam to the center, where she laid back and floated on the surface. Above her, a lattice of tree branches and leaves allowed in tiny beams of sunlight that danced like flitting moths overhead. A soft breeze rustled the branches, and the foliage whispered in a comforting melody. When she had been a girl, Adam had told her that the sound was actually the utterance of fairies, that if she closed her eyes and listened closely, she might be able to understand them. She had believed him then, and even now at four-and-ten, she still wanted to believe, even knowing fairies were not real.
After a time, she left the water and approached the bank, reaching into her satchel for a book to read while the sun dried her.
This was how Niall found her. She glanced up from her book as he approached … alone. Her heart stuttered, and her throat constricted until she could hardly breathe. He wore only a shirt and trousers with braces, his sleeves rolled to the elbows to display sinewy forearms. She had seen those arms so many times, as well as his bare chest. Nevertheless, she could not help but notice the dark hair sprouting in places it had not grown before, the veins showing on the backs of his hands, the tension of his shirt pulled tight over his shoulders. Had he always been so big? Had he always been so masculine? It was as if she had blinked, and Niall the boy had transformed into Niall the man.
He nodded at her in greeting, pausing to kick off his shoes. She placed her scrap of lace in the book to mark her place and watched as he began unbuttoning his shirt.
“Where is Adam?” she asked, doing her best to keep her voice level. The skin he revealed with the opening of his shirt made her tongue feel thick and useless in her mouth.
“Your da wanted a word with him,” he said, avoiding her gaze as he had been these past few days. “He’ll be along.”
That did not give her much hope. The earl’s ‘word’ with Adam was likely to turn into a lecture that could last for hours, which meant she and Niall had no choice but to remain here alone.
“Oh,” she murmured, going back to her book as he approached the water wearing only his trousers.
Despite her best efforts, she found herself unable to concentrate, her gaze wandering to Niall far too often. She watched him walk into the water, then duck his head beneath the surface. Her mouth fell open when he rose again, beads of water forming on his bare skin before trickling down in little rivulets. His hair plastered to his head and neck, the sun shining off his slick skin in a way that made it difficult for her to look away.
As she watched him swim, recollections of conversations she’d overheard at school came back to her. Some of the older girls had often boasted about their experience with young men—mostly kisses and a few tentative caresses. But, it proved more than most of the younger girls had experienced. Olivia had only listened halfheartedly, more interested in her books than anything else. Her sheltered life at Dunvar House had not allowed her to come into contact with any young men other than Adam, Niall, and the silent servants who treated her like some untouchable princess they could barely look at, let alone talk to. There had been no opportunity for her to experience attraction toward anyone of the opposite sex.
This was what those older girls had been talking about, she realized, as Niall left the water and approached, every line and bulge of his body on display due to his clinging, wet trousers. This was what attraction and desire felt like. She let it wash over her, hot and tingly and overwhelming. It felt impossible that Niall would be the first man she felt this way toward. Even so, her body did not lie. The tightness in her breasts and the flutters in her belly were not going away and only grew stronger as he came closer. Surely, this meant she wanted to be kissed, and by him.
But, that was ridiculous. Niall was eighteen now, just like Adam, far too old to care that she had started growing a bosom and no longer had a round, baby face. She’d heard some of the chambermaids whispering about the both of them, and knew that he’d likely kissed some of them … had probably donemorethan kiss them. Why would he want young, inexperienced her? It did not matter that she was a lady more finely adorned than a maid. Those maids were older, experienced, and probably knew what to do about the painful tightness in their nipples and the incessant fluttering between their legs. She was practically an infant by comparison; of course he would never want to kiss her.
However, when he sank onto the ground nearby—but not so close that they could touch—Olivia could not stop thinking about what it might be like to kiss Niall. As he folded his arms and rested them on his bent knees, gazing out over the water, she studied his profile, her gaze settling on his mouth. She had never given any thought to the shape of his lips, but could not stop tracing the curves and lines with her gaze. They weren’t as full as hers, but were shapely, his upper lip slightly bowed with a tiny scar he’d gotten when a horse he’d been training had thrown him. She longed to trace that scar with her fingertip.
He darted his gaze in her direction in response to her perusal. “Somethin’ wrong, m’lady?”
Sighing, she set her book aside and sat up straight, tucking her legs under her. His gaze shifted, making her very much aware of the damp chemise clinging to her body. It had never mattered before, but his stare made her wonder if he could see through the muslin, if her nipples might be on display. Folding her arms over her chest, she cleared her throat.
“I don’t know. You just seem … different.”
“Different how?”
His brusque tone took her aback, and she frowned, studying him intently. “You’ve hardly looked at me or talked to me since I arrived home, and … and you keep calling me ‘my lady’, as if you’re addressing a stranger instead of … well, me.”
His gaze focused upon her face now, and she could practically feel him tracing the lines and planes. “Ye’ve grown up overnight it seems … into a proper lady. It’s the right way for me to—”
“What utter nonsense!” she scoffed. “When have we ever cared about what is proper? I do not like it, Niall. Many things in my life have changed since I left for school, but … I never wanted you to be one of them. I don’t want you to be different.”
“Ye’redifferent now, too.”
“Different how?”
“Ye’re taller.”
She laughed. “So are you.”
That got a smile out of him, and he seemed to relax a bit. “Yer hair got longer. I like it.”
Her belly quivered at the unexpected compliment.
“You have a beard,” she pointed out.
He rubbed a hand over the hair on his jaw. “Aye. I shave, but it grows too fast.”
