Page 71 of Hearts of Locke Hill

“I’ll not censure you,” he said. “Nor will I mention probable scandal. We obviously had the same idea after spending hours in that office, so here we are.”

She stared, mesmerized as water dripped from his trim beard down his neck to the sinewy tendons and muscles of his upper torso. He wore no shirt. No gaudy striped-wool tunic, as any normal male bather did nowadays. Of course not. She swallowed. “You must leave.”

He frowned. “I must not. I was here first. And who knows when I’ll be able to swim here again once school starts. You want to start a scandal? Throw me in here during lessons. I can hear the screaming now.”

“Yes, well, that would be far better than skulking along the pool floor, lying in wait to terrify thirteen-year-olds.”

“So they can kick me in the ribs? I’ve had enough of that, thank you. Look, the pool is plenty big. You can have that entire half to yourself, and I’ll remain over here.”

She narrowed her gaze. “You’re not going to leave, are you?”

“Not at all.” He pushed off the wall. “I’ll take the far side, then. And I’ll stay off the pool floor.”

“Very reassuring.”

“You can choose to believe me, or you can spend your entireswim watching for crocodiles.” He lifted an arm and shifted into a perfect front crawl to the other side of the pool.

Violet didn’t move. Not for fear of crocodiles but for the choice that lay before her. If someone were to walk into the pool house, the consequences could be quite dire. On the other hand, she would not be leaving, and he was already on a second lap. The idea that anything compromising would occur between Cyril and herself was absurd.

Apparently.

She watched him make a turn for another lap and found her jaw clenched.

Well. He was making it very easy for her to decide. She let go of the ledge and continued tentatively with her lap, choosing a backstroke. Over the next several minutes, the sounds of her own breathing and splashing water worked to ease her attention to her own movements through the water, almost as well as when she had a good run. How fortunate they were to have such a facility. She hoped the girls would take full advantage while they were here.

As she came to the end of a lap, she noticed Cyril was also making his turn at the same end. He nodded his soaked head in her direction, then pushed off as she did. They both chose a forward crawl, and Violet found herself matching his pace, stroke for stroke. She caught his eye as they each turned their heads for air, and in the next cycle, she thought she caught a smile on his lips as he pulled ahead.

Oh no you won’t.

She stretched her body out, making her pulls at the water as efficient as possible, lengthening her kicks, keeping up with his long legs. She touched the wall a fraction of a moment after he did and made her turn quickly. They’d drifted closer to oneanother as they continued to push their speeds, eyeing each other as they did. Smiles had disappeared and brows had tensed. With a surge of determination, she reached for the other wall and let out a “Ha!” as she beat him to it. But her sense of victory was short-lived. Cyril stroked past her after the turn, too easily.

In a flash of anger and resentment, she reached over and grabbed for him, any part of him she could grasp. Her grip finally latched onto his ankle, and she pulled with all her might.

Too late, her mindless fury cleared as an arm as strong as steel wrapped around her waist and tumbled her over in the water. Grappling back up, she wrapped her hands around his head, fingers clumsily over his eye, and leaned sideways, taking him down with her. This time he had her foot and held it aloft as she slipped under, and her only recourse was to attach herself to his back like a barnacle and clamber up, forcing him down. He attempted to roll from under her weight, but she held on, and they both came up laughing, as she was practically on his shoulders. He stood, staggering, as they were now in the shallower end, and she shrieked as he heaved her off and into the water. As she came up blinking, she saw him fill his lungs, eyes wide, and slip swiftly under the water. Before she could retaliate, the door to the pool house banged open and a maid entered with a short stack of towels.

Violet’s heart stuttered, eyes going to where Cyril remained submerged. The maid paused, seeing the stack of towels already on the bench.

Violet strode against the force of the water, and before the maid could turn, she reached Cyril and stood on his stomach, keeping him down. She’d never before stood on a man’s stomach, shod or with bare feet. The sensation was … novel.

“Mrs. Cole sent me with towels, but I see you already have a set.” Fortunately, the maid spoke more to the towels than to her.

“Yes, I brought some, just in case.”

The maid lifted her gaze as Violet nearly lost her balance and Cyril’s hands wrapped around her ankles. She splashed lightly, as if she were delighted that water was water.

“May I get you anything else, ma’am?”

“Oh no, I’ll be getting out shortly.”

The maid nodded with a bob and turned just as Cyril’s fingers wrapped around her foot and squeezed. A hyphenated squeal escaped her, and the maid turned back at the sound.

“The floor of the pool,” Violet said, regaining her balance. “Slippery.”

The maid nodded hesitantly, then nipped out the door.

Violet stepped off Cyril’s stomach and nudged him with her foot.

He burst upward, filling his lungs.