Page 56 of The Viscount in her Bedroom
Robert the gardener helped Manvil guide both boats to the end of the pier. The boat rocked gently beneath her, and she was wondering how much it would really rock once Simon was rowing. She’d seen how hard he worked, how fast the boat went. She prayed that she was not the type to get seasick.
“The course is such, gentlemen,” Manvil said. “Row straight across the lake from this pier. Begin turning back after your bow passes the large boulder off the far shore. Remember to turn to the outside. Ladies, do make sure they don’t hit anything, including each other. The first one whose bow passes the end of this pier wins. You should have sufficient time to slow before you scrape bottom near the shore. I will count to three, and then call ‘start.’ Are we ready?”
Simon gripped the oars, his head bent in obvious concentration. She could see the tense line of muscles in his arms, the taut skin over his knuckles.
“What should I do, Simon?” she asked.
“Just tell me if I veer off this straight line. And watch your fingers.”
Puzzled, she clasped her hands together. To her shock, he spread his legs and braced them on her seat on either side of her. Her skirt was caught on one side, but she said nothing. She just watched his tense expression in fascination. Who would have guessed that such a casual, easy-going man would be so competitive?
As Manvil started his slow count, Simon leaned toward her, his oars behind him in the water. At “Start!” he pulled straight back, the oars moving powerfully. The boat surged forward, and Louisa swayed backward. She gripped the seat between his boot and her hips.
He didn’t need much correction from her, whereas within twenty yards, she heard Georgie shout, “To the left. I meanmyleft!”
Keane was glancing constantly over his shoulder to the far side of the lake, obviously not trusting Georgie. Simon did not have that distraction. He was totally focused on moving the oars as swiftly and evenly as possible. His arms moved like a machine, and they began to pull ahead of Lord Keane.
“He’s falling behind, Simon,” she called. “Veer a little to your right.”
As he corrected his course, he gave her a grimace that was part smile. Sweat broke out on his forehead. As they neared the far side, his shirt began to stick to his body. To her surprise it was a sheer garment, and the wetter it became, the more she could see. Whenever he leaned back, she could see the dark shadow of his nipples. And always, there was the spread of his legs right before her, and the interesting way his trousers fit him.
She wished she’d brought a fan to flutter in her hot face.
“We’re approaching the boulder!” she called. “It’s between the two boats, but we don’t look like we’re going to hit it.”
“How far back…is he?” Simon asked between grunts.
“Maybe five yards?”
“Not…enough.”
“Our bow has passed the boulder!”
She found herself falling to the side as Simon abruptly began to row each oar in opposite directions, turning in a tight circle.
“Stop turning!” she cried, impressed, as he reversed the rowing to steady the boat. “You can go straight.”
For two full strokes of the oars, they were moving in the opposite direction as Keane. Louisa saw his shocked expression, then watched with satisfaction as he began to turn. Apparently he wasn’t used to rowing, because he only used one oar, and they turned in a wide circle. But she saw the surge in his shoulders when he began to chase them once more.
Louisa looked over her shoulder. “He’s done turning.” Facing the pier again, she said, “Veer a little to your right!”
“How far…is he behind?”
“Maybe twenty yards?”
“I want…more.”
She didn’t think that he could go any faster, but he did. The wind tossed her hair back, and several curls finally escaped their pins. She laughed with the sheer exuberance of feeling like she was flying.
“Oh, Simon, this is wonderful!”
But his face was grimacing with the strain, his muscles heaved and bunched, and still he continued to row at this punishing pace. Louisa turned back to see that Lord Keane had fallen even farther behind.
As they reached the pier, Manvil shouted, “The winner!”
Simon immediately rowed in the opposite direction and she fell forward, catching herself with a hand on his thigh. She pulled back quickly, but not before she got the impression of damp wool and hot, hard muscle. Simon rowed slower and slower, then finally pulled in his oars. She didn’t know where to look as he took in great gulps of air, his chest heaving, his body slumped tiredly as he propped his arms on his thighs. The boat bumped gently on the bottom, with barely a scraping sound.
Out of the corner of her eye she saw Lord Keane pass the pier. His boat soon crunched along the bottom, and Georgie, too, almost fell forward. Her umbrella tipped over the side and floated like a miniature boat.
