The Youngest Dowager: A Regency romance(35)
The water struck cold but she did not hesitate, wading out, relishing the chill kiss on her heated skin. The beach shelved very gradually that even after wading several hundred yards the water did not quite reach her waist. The moon was so big, so beautiful that she held her face up to its light and just stood relishing the tranquillity, the freedom, the aloneness.
The chestnut hunter breasted the dunes at the gallop, plunging as it scrambled down the far slope. Marcus reined in hard, making it rear, unsettling Tempest who had fallen into a half-doze.
Marcus swung down, dropped the reins and scanned the expanse of sea. There she was, standing like a naiad in the moonlight. Her hair cascaded down her bare back, black against the alabaster of her skin. As he watched, transfixed, she raised her hands and lifted the mass of dark curls off her neck, exposing the whole of her naked form before letting her hair drop once more.
She was beautiful, lovely beyond the imaginings he had striven so hard to control. Her slender waist, the curve of her hip rising from the lapping waves, took his breath away. Then she moved swiftly, disappearing into the water with barely a ripple.
Urgently Marcus ripped off his shirt, tore off his boots and breeches and plunged into the water. The shallowness forced him to run, not swim, and he felt as though he were being dragged back with every stride. The cold water splashed up his back and chest as he pushed on, conscious of nothing but the need to reach her before she sank from sight below the grey waves.
Frustrated by the impeding water Marcus plunged into a running dive, struck out strongly to where he had last glimpsed Marissa, praying through clenched teeth that she had not already sunk beyond his reach. Half blinded by the salt in his eyes he surged forward, cutting through the water with powerful overarm strokes. His search succeeded better than he could have hoped as, with startling suddenness, he collided with a body.
Chapter Twelve
Marissa floated tranquilly on her back, her fingers gently fanning the water to keep her in position. The wind must be getting up because she could hear splashing, although her ears were under water which muffled everything.
She had perhaps two seconds warning as she floated serenely, her face to the moon. The surface of the sea rocked in a sudden swell, sending little waves across her face. Before she could react, before she could feel fear, a hard body crashed into hers. The breath knocked from her lungs, she was pushed under the surface of the sea. Water flooded her nostrils, stung her eyes, filled her ears. Her bare behind grazed the rippled sand of the sea bottom and the shallowness took some of the panic away.
She curled her legs underneath her, found her footing and stood up, coughing and spluttering as she took in air. She looked round urgently for whatever it was that had rammed her, suddenly afraid again. The local people had tales of sharks in these waters which she had always dismissed as fantasy – now she was not so sure.
But it was not a shark who seized her from behind. Strong arms clamped themselves around her waist and she was lifted bodily from the water. Pressed against hard, cold flesh Marissa kicked, screamed and dug in her elbows. With a muffled curse her assailant dropped her. Her feet hit the bottom, she dug in her toes and spun round to face him.
‘Marcus!’ She was so taken aback that she fell back into the water with a splash. The realisation of her nakedness kept her submerged, crouched so that only her head and shoulders emerged. No such considerations of modesty appeared to afflict Marcus, who stood there, hands on hips and chest heaving, glaring down at her.
‘You must be mad. Whatever has possessed you? This is no solution.’ He caught a ragged breath and stared at her with a strange mixture of anger and concern.
‘I must be mad?’ Marissa was so taken aback that she half rose, then remembered her state and fell to her knees. ‘What do you think you are doing, crashing into me like that? You could have drowned me!’ Her hair hung in sodden strands across her face, dripping stinging salt water into her eyes. She pushed it back with both hands, then dropped her arms hastily to cover her breasts.
‘Why should you worry about me drowning you when you were hell-bent on self-destruction? he demanded furiously.
‘Self-destruction? Marcus, have you completely taken leave of your senses?’ Her sense of bewilderment was growing by the second. ‘I came for a swim because it has been so hot all day. I am a very good swimmer, I would have you know, and I do this frequently and quite safely.’ She looked up at the water-drenched figure. His hair was dark and sleek, pushed back to reveal the strong planes of his face. His powerfully muscled shoulders, moving slightly with his breathing, gleamed as the moonlight struck the water droplets. She did not dare let her eyes stray lower.
He spoke slowly and deliberately, as though his relief fired his anger as he realised just how badly he had misread the situation. ‘Swimming? You are here in the middle of the night, all alone and you tell me you do this often? If you do not care for the risk you put yourself to, do you not have some concern for the impropriety of it? You have a position to uphold. You are the Dowager Countess of Longminster. What if someone were to see you? What do the servants think of you riding around in men’s clothes?’
‘My servants are loyal to me and do what I tell them,’ Marissa retorted.
‘In that case I shall speak to Peters in the morning and have your horse brought back to the stables at the Hall. We will have no more unsupervised riding.’