Page 27 of Taken By the Broken Duke
When lights began to flash before his eyes and he could bear the pain in his chest no longer, Horatio kicked vigorously for the surface. He broke it with an explosion of water, sucking in lungfuls of air. Just then, he heard soft, feminine laughter.
Whirling around in the water and tossing his hair from his face, he saw Juliet sitting on the bank. She was barefoot, clad in a white cotton shift that clung to her body. She had drawn up her knees and folded her arms across them to hide her almost nakedness. Horatio gaped. She had come ashore a few yards from where he had, clearly having swum the entire distance underwater.
“You tricked me!” he spluttered, sucking in a mouthful of water as he tried to breathe and speak at the same time.
His subsequent choking made Juliet grin. “I thought you needed to be brought down a peg or two, as my papa was fond of saying,” she giggled.
“I thought you had drowned!” Horatio accused.
“I am a strong swimmer, though that was the absolute limit of my breath,” Juliet admitted, “I lay just beneath the surface until you went under. I thought you never would!”
Horatio smiled, feeling foolish.
He had thought himself so clever, challenging her to swim. He had half expected her to scream and gasp, thrash about noisily. In other words, to prove herself to be the typical gentlewoman that he was accustomed to.
Instead, she had met his challenge with one of her own. She had proven herself his match as a swimmer and as a practical joker. Horatio found himself regretting her family. This woman might have possibly been a perfect partner for him.
With that thought, he began to swim for the shore, hiding his face in the water. He had not been ready for a wife before he met Juliet and was still not. Particularly one who might well be allied with his enemies. This relationship was purely transactional and served only to eliminate the scandal.
He reached the shore and stood, dragging a hand through sopping hair. Juliet rose with her back to him and gathered her shift at the front, squeezing and wringing it to dispel as much water as possible. As she did, Horatio was offered a view of her legs and pert buttocks, revealed by the clinging wet material. He looked away when she turned to glance back over her shoulder.
“I will start a fire for you to dry yourself. There is an old row boat further around the shore, so you won’t have to swim back,” he said, setting off into the trees.
The flint and tinder were tied into an oiled leather pouch, in an iron-strong box, which Horatio had partially buried with twigs and leaves. Soon, to his word, he had a crackling fire underway.
Using a knife from the same strong box, he stripped a few willow branches and tied them together with twine, creating a modesty screen to separate him from Juliet when she reached the fire. She poked her head from amid a large cluster of ferns as he did so. He averted his gaze as she approached and positioned the screen between them, with Juliet on the side of the fire.
“Thank you, Your Grace,” she breathed in reprieve, crouching before the flames.
Horatio shuddered. “If there is to be any relationship between us worth a damn, please desist from using honorifics around me. It is difficult enough to accept from the servants. I will not have it from you. My given name is Horatio. If you do not wish to use it, then at least call me Ravenscourt.”
“You are rather… unorthodox…Horatio,” Juliet said.
“I am. As are you.”
“I… I must apologize for the subterfuge earlier. For pretending to be someone else. I feared you would remember the nameJuliet Semphill,” she said in a rush, as though summoning the courage to speak.
“I did. Ido,” Horatio replied somewhat awkwardly.
The sound of ruffling cloth reached him, and he could not help but glance across the makeshift fence between them. Juliet was in the process of removing her shift, drawing it up over her head. Her bronze hair cascaded back down as she removed it. He saw her back and glimpsed the swelling of her hips, the beginning of her buttocks before whirling around. The brief glimpse of her naked body was enough to inflame his senses, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up and his desire surge within him.
She was more perfect than any dream. More pristine. That skin would be so soft to the touch. Like silk. But finer than silk. So smooth against his lips. Against his tongue. He closed his eyes, but his imagination would not let him rest. It conjured fuller images of her naked body. Of holding her in his arms, pressing himself against her.
“I will not shirk away from responsibility for what happened,” Juliet murmured. “I allowed myself to be coerced into saying what I said. I am sorry. More sorry than you can ever know. I was frightened and alone and… I am just sorry.”
“I know,” Horatio sighed. “You were little more than a child. I… I cannot blame you.”
To his surprise, he meant it. He did not blame the young Juliet for what she had been coaxed to say. Lady Meredith had set outto destroy him. She had used Juliet as a vessel. Horatio would not hold that against her.
“Perhaps we could pretend that we have never met. That there is no history between us. Begin again—asstrangers,” Juliet suggested haltingly.
Horatio shook his head, decisively. “No, there is nothing to be gained in denying the past. It happened. I was challenged to a duel as a result and took the life of a good man. That was my fault, and I deserved my exile for it. I will not pretend it did not happen.”
Juliet sighed. Horatio looked over. She was sitting before the fire naked. He could not see beyond the elegant curve of her bare shoulders because of the makeshift screen. She had spread her shift out on two sticks which she had leaned together next to the hungry flames.
She looked over her shoulder at him. Their eyes locked. She knew that he would see her naked body if he just lifted his head a little. He knew it too. She leaned back, her hair cascading in a shimmering veil down her spine, her hands braced against the ground.
If he raised his head just slightly, he would glimpse the curves she made no effort to hide—the shadow of a breast, the smooth line of her back. She did not try to hide from him. Horatio experienced an almost overwhelming urge to tear down the flimsy barrier between them, press her against the earth, andclaim her in the firelight. He turned away, sitting on the ground with a thud, breathing ragged.
