Julia Justiss - Regency High Society Vol 4

With a sigh he sat beside her, taking her hand gently in his. “Whatever else happens, chérie, remember that I love you.”

She smiled wistfully. “And I love you, Michel.” She looked down at how neatly their fingers intertwined and wished their lives could do the same. He loved her and she loved him, but she wasn’t foolish enough to believe that what they shared could survive whatever lay ahead in Martinique.

With infinite care she slipped her fingers free. “I thought you would be hungry,” she said, lifting the bananas from her lap. “I’m not certain, but I thought this must be some sort of fruit.”

“Bananas, ma petite. Something else that you won’t find on your Narragansett island.” He took the bunch from her, snapped the ripest banana free and peeled back the skin. Breaking off a piece, he held it before her until she opened her mouth to take it from his fingers. “They’re everywhere in the islands.”

She chewed it slowly, relishing the sweet, unfamiliar flavor before she finally smiled. “That’s very good,” she said, taking the rest of it from him to finish herself. “But surely you would like one, too?”

He shook his head. “Before I eat anything, Rusa, we must find fresh water.”

“Oh, I found that already.” Quickly she stood, thankful for something to do. “Near the bananas.”

The path through the forest was wide and clear, so easy to follow from the beach that Michel was certain it was used by ships refilling their water barrels after long voyages. But he’d expected a utilitarian stream or river, not the exquisite clearing that Jerusa now led him to, and familiar though he was with the beauty of the islands, this took his breath away.

Twenty feet above their heads, a narrow stream of fresh water rushed down from the island’s higher ground over smooth black rock before it fell, glittering like diamonds in the dappled sunlight, into a wide, clear pool. Tall, feathery ferns and trees shaded the pond, and yellow and lavender orchids punctuated the shadows with bright spots of bobbing color. The air around them was alive with the sound of falling water and the cries of the forest thrushes.

And yet as beautiful as the place was, for Michel the loveliest part of it was Jerusa as she stood on one of the smooth, flat rocks that hung over the water, just within reach of the cascade. She held her arms slightly bent, her fingers spread and her shoulders raised as she let the cool drops of water sprinkle over her, and her smile was so full of unfeigned, open pleasure that Michel knew he’d never forget it.

She laughed when she caught his eye, shaking her hair back over her shoulders and scattering a new shower of droplets into the air.

“I’ll say it before you will,” she called over the sound of the water. “No, there is no place like this on any island in Narragansett Bay, nor any other place in all of Rhode Island, either.”

He laughed with her as he came to kneel on another rock near hers, reaching down to scoop up the cool, clear water. No wine or brandy had ever tasted so fine to him, and he drank deeply, letting the water take away the parched heat from his throat. When he was done, he sat back on his heels to watch Jerusa.

She’d inched closer into the waterfall itself, and she stood with her head arched back, her eyes closed, and the same blissful smile on her face as the water streamed over her body. Her tattered green gown was soaked, clinging to her body in a way that reminded him of the tub at the inn in Seabrook.

“You are very hard on your gowns, chère,” he called. “I pity your husband.”

She opened her eyes and grinned wickedly. “What, because you think I’ll be hard on him, too?”

“I hadn’t intended it that way, ma petite Rusa, but now that you say it, I shall consider the possibilities.”

He liked seeing her laugh as she did now, and with regret he realized how rarely she’d smiled or laughed since he had come into her life. And yet, in reverse, how often she had brought joy to him, a man who’d always before found little in the world to amuse him!

“You may consider them, but that is all,” she said with mock solemnity. “The possibilities themselves shall remain private between my husband and myself.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t dream of intruding. Unless, of course, you’d wed Carberry.”

“You’ve no right to say that!” she scolded, trying to look as indignant as she could while soaking wet. “Tom and I simply didn’t suit one another, that was all.”

“All, and everything, ma mie.” Watching her in the water reminded him not only of the Seabrook inn but of how gritty and hot he felt himself, covered with sand and sticky with salt from the sea. He glanced from her to the water and back again, his lazy smile of suggestion widening. What was he waiting for, anyway?

“Whatever are you doing, Michel?” asked Jerusa as he pulled his shirt over his head and dropped it onto the rock beside him. He unbuckled his breeches at the knees and then stood to unbutton the fall at his waist. “Michel!”

His smile was his only answer, and swiftly she turned her back to him, staring into the wet black stone of the waterfall rather than see him naked. She heard the splash as he dived into the water, and next his shouted exclamation as he discovered how cool the water was. It was easy to imagine him behind her in the pond, and easier still to picture him without his clothing, no matter how much her conscience ordered her to do otherwise.

“Come join me, chérie!” he called. “You will, I promise, feel much refreshed!”

“I would feel most indecent, thank you,” she answered, sounding impossibly prim even to her own ears. But his words had done their work. Despite the waterfall, she still could feel the sand that had been washed under her clothes by the waves, bits of grit trapped between her shift and her skin. The water would be so deliciously cool, and it would be wonderful to feel clean again.

“Jerusa, Jerusa,” he chided mockingly. “Why deprive yourself? It would be, after all, nothing I haven’t seen already. If you’ll but recall that afternoon in Seabrook—”

“I remember!” she snapped, and with a deep breath she spun around. Though he was in the water and his clothes remained on the rock, he was not exactly indecent; the ripples in the water around him hid all but his shoulders and arms. He flung his wet hair back from his face and slowly smiled, as blatant an invitation as any she’d ever had.

What was she waiting for, anyway?

Before she could change her mind she unhooked her bodice and tossed it onto the next rock. Her skirts, petticoats and stays followed, until all that was left was her shift. She looked down and saw the rapt look of anticipation on Michel’s face, and before he could ogle her any longer, she whipped the shift over her head and leapt into the water.

She gasped with surprise as her head broke the water’s surface, and Michel laughed.

“It’s not so bad after a minute or two,” he said. “Truly.”

“Not so bad if you’re accustomed to swimming in December!” she said, still gasping.

But as he’d predicted, the longer she was in the water, the less chilly it seemed to be. The pond was deeper than she’d realized, too, well beyond her depth, and automatically she began to tread water to keep afloat. Like loading and firing guns, her father had insisted she learn how to swim alongside her brothers, too, and as she paddled in the cool water now she was thankful he had.

“Are you all right?” he asked with amusement. “Would you rather stand, chère? The water’s not as deep here, by me.”

“I don’t need to stand, near you or otherwise.” To prove it, she swam away from him, enjoying the feel of the cool water against her skin and how her body warmed from the swimming.