Page 57 of A Shore Thing

Her cheeks went pink. Was she nervous? They hadn’t been alone since their tête-à-tête on the rocks. He realized—all at once, with something like shock—that he was nervous. At a level below conscious thought, he’d spent the last days wondering how much—if anything—to divulge to her about his past, about his particular type of manhood.

His nervousness told him he’d decided and decided on all.

Unprecedented.

Back in London, when he’d used that other name, he’d felt discomfort when his lovers interpreted his body as feminine, when he sensed them desiring someone he wasn’t. In Cornwall, his lovers met him as a man, and he kept his body to himself, engaging in erotic activities that allowed him to preserve his privacy.

The simplicity felt like luxury.

Suddenly, he didn’t give a fig for simplicity.

She’d gone even pinker under his prolonged gaze.

“We’ve no need of chaperones.” She said it forcefully, but he heard the slight hitch in her breath.

“I’m in complete agreement.” He let his voice vibrate with innuendo. Flirtation was his favorite pastime, and it steadied him.

No need for nervousness either. There was some new ground to cover, but it wasn’t without its well-worn grooves.

“I think we mean different things.” She tried to frown but laughed instead. She’d been laughing more frequently around him. Every time, the sound sent a warm swell through his chest.

“And James and Mr. Ponsonby haven’t been chaperoning,” she continued. “They’ve been entertaining themselves. James won’t admit it, but he likes cycling.”

“Does he?” Ponsonby had convinced Raleigh to give it a try, and the four of them had spent Saturday and Sunday riding together on the field paths. Raleigh had taken every opportunity to compare the experience unfavorably to a gallop on a good hunter.

“Absolutely.” Her nod was emphatic. “The more negative he seems, the more he’s enjoying himself.”

“Do you like it?” He found himself unduly interested in the answer. She’d gone about determinedly mastering the mechanics. But did the momentum fill her with giddy joy, as it did him?

“I do like it, very much. Now that I don’t topple over.” She put her hands on the handlebars, and he let his remain where they were, their fingers nearly brushing, for a beat too long.

He released the bicycle, and she rocked it toward her, lowering her gaze to the polished frame.

“I think I’ll get one, in New York,” she said. “Although James said if I ride in the city, I have to promise I’ll wear a pith helmet.”

“Very protective,” he murmured.

“Pith helmets?” She looked up.

“No.” He smirked. “Raleigh.”

She laughed again. “We look out for each other.” Slowly, the laughter faded from her eyes, leaving an inexplicable shadow. “When we can.”

His instinct was to cradle her face. To coax her confidence, and to pledge his assistance vanquishing any hardship.

Instead, he spoke lightly. “You’re like a sister to him.”

“He said that to you?” Her smile returned.

“He did. Although he didn’t have to. It’s obvious.”

“He only has brothers, by birth. Older, thank God. I don’t have any siblings myself.” She paused. “Do you?”

He supposed he was looking at her too fixedly. But he didn’t look away.

Older, thank God. An offhand comment, and an odd one, on the surface. But of course, Muriel had to know that her friend fancied men. The eldest son always bore the brunt of dynastic responsibility. Marriage. Children. It was fortunate for Raleigh, being youngest. Muriel was sensitive to that fact, and to Raleigh himself, to his right to live a life that didn’t feel like a lie. Whatever her personal experiences, at the least she was aware that people loved differently. She was aware that alternate ways of being existed, outside the narrow limits prescribed by British law, church doctrine, and social convention.

That boded well.