Page 104 of A Perilous Passion

She relented. “I thought it might be a piece of cloth, trapped by a rock and waving in the billows, or it may just be seaweed. It’s out there.”

Still holding her captive, he shaded his eyes and peered out to sea, then suddenly released her, strode into the shallows, and pulled out the object she’d seen. He splashed back toward her, his trousers soaked to the knee, and she stepped forward to see what he’d picked up.

“Oh, it’s lace. How lovely! I can think of a hundred uses for it already.” Lace was scarce and expensive due to the war with Napoleon, and she happened to know that most of it was brought in by smugglers, keen to avoid the weighty customs duties.

Yes, she knew rather more about such goings-on than she would ever let on to a stranger. Or even a friend.

It looked like Brussels lace—the very best money could buy—yet the stupid fellow was crumpling it in his great fist.

“You’ll ruin it!” she exclaimed, reaching for the lace.

He held a finger to his lips, then thrust the piece inside his waistcoat and peered around him, intent as a hound on a scent. “We must go from here,” he said. Catching her by the arm again, he jerked her into a running walk and headed back up the beach toward the path that led inland.

“Let go of me at once! Where are you taking me?”

“Back to the village. It’s not safe for you here on your own. Haven’t you heard the stories about the horseless highwayman?”

She had, as had everyone who lived on this part of the Dorset coast. She countered, “But it’s broad daylight, and we’re on the beach, not the highway.”

His square chin was determined, the full lips pressed into a stubborn line. This was a man used to being obeyed. Without slackening his pace, he said, “It’s for your own good. How do you know the footpad doesn’t mark his victims by day, then follow them and watch until nightfall, waiting for his moment to strike?”

This gave her pause for thought. Then her foot slipped into one of the freshwater rills that laced the beach, and her anger returned.

“How do I know you’re not the footpad?” she queried, hauling him to a stop so she could balance on his arm and shake the water out of her shoe. “You could be abducting me even now, planning to have your evil way with me.”

Jerking her back into motion he said, “You’ve been reading too many Gothic novels, by the sound of it. I think they’re ridiculous, responsible for spoiling many a young mind. You should try Swift, or the wonderful studies in human absurdity written by Miss Burney. So much more realistic.”

He was striding along so fast, she had to struggle for the breath to respond. “Not only do you manhandle me in a most ungentlemanly manner,” she said, panting, “but now you’re recommending suitable reading material. What kind of man are you?”

“The kind that has your best interests at heart, believe me.”

“I don’t believe you. Let me go!”

She yanked so hard on his arm it pulled him off-balance, and they both fell with a thump into the icy trickle of a rill.

Well, at least she was on top now. But that didn’t make it any better. To get off would involve an undignified scramble, and parts of her anatomy would come into even closer contact with parts of his.

Oh dear.

His body arched beneath her, his stomach muscles flexing against her belly in a thoroughly disturbing fashion. She fought against a peculiar lightheadedness, intensified by the friction of his chest against her breasts.

She didn’t realize what was happening until a smile blossomed on his face.

“Oh, how dare you laugh! It’s not at all amusing, being tumbled around in the mud with you.” She scrambled off, subjecting him to a quelling look that did no good at all.

He regained his feet in an instant, still chuckling.

She snapped, “You look ridiculous. Your hair’s plastered with silt.”

“And you look like you’ve been trying to catch a piglet in a muddy sty.”

She regarded him coolly and found herself distracted by the way his expression had transformed from a warning frown to a decidedly attractive grin. His brown eyes with their long lashes sparkled at her, giving her a tantalizing glimpse of a vibrant, virile man in the peak of health and humor.

Dazzled, she smiled back.

He said, “I can’t let you go home looking like that. I’ll fetch some grass to brush the sand off. I can’t do anything about the wetness except wring you out, and that would crumple your skirts, so best not.”

She stood self-consciously by a dune while he broke off handfuls of long grass, the sharp edges raising beads of blood on his palms. As he brushed at her skirt, she watched, fascinated, enjoying the play of the muscles across his shoulders, and his quick, sure movements. He was so very different from Justin, yet she could see how some women might be drawn to such a man.