A Study In Seduction(56)
“I am,” she muttered, flinging her rod back with a little too much force. Her line ended up tangled in the reeds at the side of the river.
“You’ve got to establish a rhythm,” Northwood said. “It’s the same tempo as breathing. Match the two. Back and forth, in and out.”
“I can’t establish anything with you standing so close,” Lydia whispered irritably.
He chuckled and moved away, but not before she swore he patted her backside. She wished he’d do it again—only at a time when she could actually feel it.
She cast again and landed her line in the middle of the stream. Castleford, Talia, and Sebastian all expertly cast and retrieved their lines, though they caught only one or two small trout, which they unhooked and tossed back in. Lydia found herself thoroughly enjoying the company and spring air, which filled her with a sense of warmth and lightness.
After a couple of hours with little reward, they settled underneath a tree to indulge in a delicious picnic lunch of cold roasted fowl, cheese, fruit, crusty bread, cider, and pastries. The men ate so much that after lunch, they tipped their hats over their faces and stretched out to nap.
Lydia and Talia exchanged amused glances over the three long, recumbent bodies. Faint snores filtered up into the tree leaves.
“Like beached whales,” Talia said.
Lydia smiled. As they packed up the remnants of the picnic, she allowed her gaze to dart every now and then to Northwood. His broad chest moved with heavy, even breaths, one big hand resting over his stomach.
As she moved the basket aside, she felt Talia’s hand on her arm. She turned to meet the other woman’s gaze.
“Lydia, I just want you to know that he’s a good man.” Talia’s words came out in a tumble, two spots of color appearing on her cheeks. “I… Alexander, I mean. He’s had a hard time with… with all that happened, and the broken engagement, and he does have a terrible tendency to want to control everything, but he… he means well. He’s honest. I just want you to know that.”
“I do know that.” Although she spoke with soft certainty, Lydia felt a rustle of discomfort.
Why was Talia trying to convince her of Northwood’s worth?
Talia nodded and sat back, looking faintly relieved. She reached into another basket and removed an embroidery hoop. “Despite what my brothers think, I do enjoy more feminine pastimes. Do you embroider?”
Lydia shook her head, watching as Talia’s needle flashed in and out of the cloth. She stood and dusted off her hands.
“I’ll just go for a walk, I think.”
“I’ll stay and safeguard our priceless bounty.” Talia tilted her head toward the slumbering men.
Lydia picked up her rod and started down the riverbank. The cool, fresh air wiped the lingering stress and fatigue from her body. She breathed deeply, enjoying the stretch of her muscles, the warmth of the sun against her face.
A splash sounded in the water. She peered out as a large fish broke through the glittering surface of the river and flopped back in. Excitement—and the lure of competition—sprang through her.
How she’d love to catch a big, fat fish while her three strapping male companions snored the afternoon away. She’d return in triumph and—with Talia’s full support—tease them all without mercy.
She looked at the Royal Trude. It didn’t look at all edible to her, but then she wasn’t a trout. Lydia decided she would give the fish something they couldn’t refuse.
A cluster of trees sat near the riverbank, one of them broken and half-submerged in the water. She crouched beneath the base and began digging through the soft dirt. At least eight worms wriggled from the pile.
Lydia winced. Jane would love this. Her sister would collect all the worms in a glass container and bring them into the house for further study.
With a grimace, Lydia plucked a worm from the dirt and tried to ignore its writhing as she impaled it on the hook. She wiped her hands on her skirt and cast the line out. The hook tangled in the reeds.
Lydia muttered an oath and tried again. The line fell short and caught on the grass. She yanked it free and inspected the hook. The worm was gone.
Suppressing her squeamishness, she dug for another worm and attached it to the hook. She cast again and watched the hook plop into the reeds.
Match the tempo to your breathing, she thought. Balderdash. What she needed was to get farther out to the middle of the river where she’d seen the fish.
She reeled the line back in and climbed onto the tree trunk that jutted out into the water. It was slippery with moss but jagged enough that she could maintain her balance by digging her feet into the grooves of bark and holding on to the branches with her other hand.