The Belle of Belgrave Square (Belles of London #2)(87)

“If you can call it teaching,” he added grimly.

She glanced up at him, surprised he was willing to say anything else on the subject. “What do you mean?”

“When I was a boy, he threw me off of the village pier. Sink or swim, that was his philosophy. There was no instruction connected with it.” Jasper stopped to set down their hamper on a shady patch of grass beneath one of the trees that curved toward the water. “Pity. The current was quite strong that day.”

“What did you do?”

“I nearly drowned. And then, after swallowing most of the lake, I managed to save myself.” A rueful smile quirked his mouth. “Sorry. That’s rather a poor tale to start your first day in the water.”

That wasn’t the reason she was frowning at him. “I thought you didn’t want to talk about your past.”

“I don’t.” His brows notched. “That is, I ought not. But sometimes, when we’re together . . . I have the urge to tell you things I shouldn’t.”

“Why shouldn’t you if you want to? No harm can come from confiding our secrets to each other.”

His smile broadened. “Do you have secrets, sweetheart?”

“Some,” she replied, on her dignity. “Every lady does. Though not as many as you have, I’d wager.”

“Not all my secrets are mine to tell.” At that, he shouted to Daisy, “Don’t go into the water in your boots!”

“I’m not!” Daisy stepped away from the water’s edge. “They’re only a little wet.”

“Come and change,” Jasper said. “Show your stepmama there’s nothing to be afraid of.”

Daisy ran back to them. “Are you afraid?”

“Not so long as I have you and your papa nearby,” Julia said.

“There’s nothing at all to be afraid of here,” Jasper said. “The pond is quite safe.”

“I saw a snake in there once.” Daisy expanded her arms. “He was this big.”

Julia blanched. “There aren’t snakes in the water, are there?”

“There are not.” Jasper gave Daisy a stern look. “No more tall tales.”

“But I did see one,” Daisy insisted as Jasper helped her out of her pinafore and dress. She rested a hand on his shoulder as he crouched to remove her tiny boots. “And a frog, and a lizard. And once a great big crocodile.”

“A crocodile? In North Yorkshire?” Julia’s brows lifted. “My goodness. I wonder how he made it here all the way from the Egyptian Nile?”

“By steamer ship, of course,” Jasper said. “Then by rail.”

“By rail!” Daisy echoed gleefully.

Julia’s mouth tugged into a smile. The little girl’s laughter was contagious.

If that wasn’t enough to warm her heart, there was the way Jasper interacted with his daughter. He was steady and patient. Stern at times, but ultimately kind. The same way he was with all his children. A man they could rely on.

A good man.

Julia had daily evidence of that fact. She never failed to notice it.

Jasper stood. “All right,” he said, gazing down at Daisy. “No more foolery. Swimming is a serious business. You know the rules. Stay close to your brothers and venture no further than the blackened oak. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Papa.”

He pivoted her small body toward the pond. “Go on.”

She burst into a run the second he released her, leaping into the water with as much exuberance as the boys had. They greeted her as she paddled out to them, splashing and cheering her in equal measure.

Jasper raised his voice. “Charlie, Alfred, look after your sister!”

The boys answered in unison: “Yes, sir!”

Julia observed the interaction as she unfastened the hidden hooks at the front o?f her bodice.

Jasper? turned back to her. “She has a vivid imagination. I don’t usually discourage it.”

“‘An imagination is nothing to apologize for,’” she quoted back to him. “You told me that at Lady Holland’s dinner. Do you remember?”

“I remember everything we’ve ever said to each other.”

Her cheeks warmed. “That’s very flattering.”

He shrugged. “It’s the truth.” His gaze dropped briefly to the front of her bodice. She’d unfastened it almost to the waist. “Do you need help?”

“No, thank you. I can manage.” She focused on removing her own clothing, first endeavoring to ignore the intensity of his regard, then attempting to ignore the fact that he was disrobing, too.

As she stepped out of her skirts and petticoats, she cast him a cautious glance through her lashes.

He’d already removed his top boots and stripped off his shirt.

Her breath caught in her throat. She’d never seen him shirtless before—or any gentleman, come to that.

He was impossibly large and powerful. All broad shoulders, hard muscles, and sun-burnished skin. A picture of raw masculine power, rather like the Grecian friezes and sculptures in the British Museum.

One of them in particular: the reclining Dionysos. She remembered admiring it once in company with Anne, the two of them staring wide-eyed at the god’s nude torso, every plane and groove of his chest chiseled in perfect relief.