Page 25 of Enticing the Devil

Beneath the thin cotton of his shirt, muscles bulged and rolled as he and the footman adjusted their hold on the boat in order to set it into the water and secure it to the dock. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing the sun-bronzed muscles of his forearms. For some reason the way those muscles tightened and released as his large hands and deft fingers worked the rope into a proper knot made Anne’s heart skip madly about.

Heat rushed through her as she realized how crudely she was ogling the man. But just as she was about to flee back around the corner of the building, Mr. Thomas straightened. Bracing his large hands on trim hips, he turned to say something to the footman beside him. He must have caught sight of Anne from the corner of his eye, because while the footman replied with a laugh, Thomas sent his heavy, dark gaze in her direction.

And then fleeing was impossible.

Breath and thought were impossible.

There was something so...raw and intense in how he looked at her. What she’d initially thought was anger, she was starting to suspect might be much more complicated than that. Or maybe it was her own reaction that was so complicated and intense. Whatever it was, it seemed to increase with each encounter, each glance, each brief conversation.

Essentially frozen in place, she watched with a little stab of disappointment as he unrolled his sleeves while he stalked purposefully to shore. After swiping up his coat from where he’d left it on the grass, he shrugged into the garment and was once again a properly clothed gentleman by the time he reached her.

“Lady Anne.”

Why did his voice always sound so weighted with richness and texture? As though it were a physical thing flowing through her?

“Good morning, Mr. Thomas.”

It was all they managed before the sound of voices preceded the arrival of several more guests. Then it was a few moments of activity as everyone selected their fishing poles and bait and other necessities which the footmen loaded into the boats while the gentlemen assisted their ladies onto the vessels before embarking themselves.

When Mr. Thomas held his hand out to Anne, she automatically set her fingers in his palm. Neither of them wore gloves and the sensation of his warm, roughed skin against hers sent a strange frisson through her body. The sensation was delicate but sharp and she recalled that she’d felt something similar when she’d taken his hand for the downhill race. But it was significantly more unsettling this time. She might have been able to conceal her reaction if she weren’t already out of sorts from earlier. As it was, she stilled. Abruptly.

Her lips parted on a quick inhale and her attention flickered up to his face. With his head bowed as he looked down at her, his dark-set features appeared slightly menacing.

It was definitely anger that she saw in his eyes.

And for some reason, the hard edge of his glare and the firm press of his mouth just then struck her in a new way. It rather hurt, actually.

His eyes narrowed as he glanced down to where her fingers still rested against his palm before meeting her gaze again. “It’s just a hand, Lady Anne. Rougher and larger than yours. But no different otherwise.”

She blinked. The tone of his voice was harsh and accusing. She blinked again then widened her eyes as she realized with a pang of shock that he thought she’d been offended by his touch when the opposite couldn’t be more true. Heat infused her cheeks as she glanced down. It was horribly embarrassing to think he’d believe her so shallow, but it seemed worse, however, to admit the truth.

“Of course,” she murmured as she turned toward the rowboat, suddenly wishing she could just disappear.

As she stepped somewhat hastily into the unsteady vessel, it rocked a bit, forcing her to grasp tighter to his hand as she regained her balance. But as soon as she did, she released him and took her seat at the bow.

He embarked with much more assurance and masculine grace. Within another moment, the footman released the rope and gave a little shove to clear them from the dock. Two of the other teams were already gliding gently away from shore and the third was soon to follow when Mr. Thomas grasped the oars and set to rowing.

While the other gentlemen rowers maintained a steady but gentle pace, the sheer power of her partner’s movements quickly eliminated the disadvantage of being one of the last to push off as he angled them toward the shady side of the lake.

Anne kept her focus on staying balanced and centered on the narrow wooden bench seat as they glided swiftly over the water. Since her partner appeared intent upon his task, she didn’t bother with small talk even though she heard the murmur of conversation and periodic laughter drifting from the other rowboats.

After another few minutes, she was able to find some pleasure in watching the softly rising sun slowly disperse the layer of fog that drifted across the lake’s surface. Gentle rays of light began to sparkle on the water as the greenery along shore came to life. In any other circumstance, it might have been a very romantic scene. For that reason specifically, Anne forced herself not to send even a casual glance in Mr. Thomas’s direction in case he somehow misconstrued her enjoyment.

As they reached a small bay lined with large deciduous trees that created dappled patterns in the water, Mr. Thomas ceased rowing and dropped a small anchor.

Still without speaking, he secured the oars then began to ready their tackle. His movements were efficient and well practiced as he set up the long bamboo fishing poles.

Being that he was so occupied with his task, she allowed herself a moment to observe him. Avidly.

With his feet braced widely in the bottom of the rowboat, he didn’t even seem to notice the occasional rocking as he leaned forward for this or twisted around for that. With surprising deftness, his large hands secured the line and set the bait to the hooks.

He was very comfortable here. In this element. Outdoors, beneath the sky, with the quiet of nature surrounding him. No doubt, he’d have been even more comfortable if she weren’t there.

He glanced up and extended one of the poles toward her.

The dark force of his sudden attention unbalanced her far more than the gentle sway of the rowboat. Being alone with him like this—even though they were in full sight of the other competitors and anyone who came down to the lakeshore—felt disturbingly intimate. Until his features pulled into a grim and almost hostile expression.

“Your pole, Lady Anne,” he muttered.

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