“I’ll be out just as soon as you’re gone,” he promised.
“But if I go, how do I know you’ll get out? I’m not joking, Kit. Kate would be furious if she caught you. You’re lucky it was me.”
Whose luck? His, or hers?
“Very well, since you insist.” Abruptly, he stood up and splashed through the weeds towards the bank. The lantern light reflected off his wet skin.
“No, Kit, you’re naked! Stop!”
“Of course, I’m naked. My clothes are right by your feet. Why would I want to get them wet?” He didn’t stop—he was enjoying the game too much.
As he climbed up the bank, Alys let out a squeak. “Come no closer.” She seized his clothing in a bundle and waved it at him. “If you don’t back away, these are going in the pond.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” His voice was a growl. Now, they were adversaries, and he was damned if he was going to give in. He stood on solid ground now, right in front of her.
He could see her face clearly now, her lower lip trembling. How he wanted to taste it, nip at it, plunge his tongue into her mouth. He leaned in… and saw his clothes sail past him. The pond received them with a greedy splash.
“You may come to regret that.”
She tilted her chin at him, her expression a delightful mix of alarm and determination. “Yes. Because I shall throw you in after them.”
She gaped at him a moment, then tossed her head. “That is hardly the behavior of a gentleman.”
“But here at Selwood, I am no gentleman, remember?”
Before she could react, he pulled her sharply against him and applied his hungry lips to hers. She resisted for barely an instant before her hand tangled in his wet hair, pulling him closer.
He drove the kiss deep and long, fired by the excitement of the day, pushed to the brink by the battle with his desires. And was thrilled to discover he was right—there was latent passion in this woman. She met his tongue, stroke for stroke, moaned and pressed her body against his. It was exquisitely erotic, his naked body against her clothed one, although the urge to redress the balance was powerful. But here, now? That would be madness.
“Ouch!” He dragged his lips away.
“Oh, Kit, I’m so sorry!”
The lantern had swung against his bare thigh, scorching it.
“No matter.” He reached for her again, but she pushed him off.
“Seriously, Kit, you’re hurt.”
Charmed by her concern, he stamped down the flames of his ardor. “I’ll cool it in the water when I go to fetch out my clothes.”
“Is there anything I can do?” She was all solicitousness.
Yes. Stay with me. Let me kiss you again. “Indeed. Go to my hut and seek out my comfrey and goose grease salve. I’ll meet you there.”
She hurried off, leaving him to the miserable task of retrieving his sodden clothing and trying to struggle back into it. He’d change as soon as he got back to the hut.
And what happened after that was anybody’s guess.
Chapter Seventeen
Alys gazed around the tiny hut, wondering which of several pots contained the ointment for burns. She was shaking with remorse—she’d played an idiotic game, and he’d ended up hurt.
Moments later, he joined her, leaned over her shoulder, and selected a small earthenware pot with a pig’s bladder tied tight over the top.
“You might want to stay facing the wall.”
Cheeks burning, she mused that there was little point, as she’d seen a fair bit of him already, despite attempting to keep her eyes at the level of his. But there was no need to make things worse. Eventually, the pot was replaced, and a soft voice beside her ear announced, “You can look now.”
When she turned around, Kit was sitting across his bedding, knees pulled up, strong bare feet planted firmly on the planking floor. He’d thrown on a long shirt, and his head rested back against the wall. He looked weary, but a smile flickered at the edges of his mouth.
Her lantern was now being used to weigh down Kit’s damp shirt. On the corner of a table, his leather jerkin steamed slightly from the heat of a candle beside it. His smart day clothes were draped forlornly over rake handles and scythes.
“I should apologize—”
“You have a good heart, Mistress Barchard. Alys.”
She loved the sound of her name on his tongue. Even though she should reproach him for such familiarity. But what would be the point? They’d both thrown propriety to the Four Winds.
“I should not have taken the jest so far. But then again, you should have obeyed me, and stopped coming on. Only, I should be grateful, as you saved me from those footpads.”
He chuckled. “I fear I’ve confused you. Forgive me—it has been a strange day. I’m weary but not yet ready to sleep. Will you stay and talk a while?”
She was dying to find out more about him. “I shouldn’t.”
“Will you be missed at the house?”
If only! “Not for a while. They don’t trouble themselves overmuch about me.”
Kit gazed at her for a moment, then patted the heap of bedding next to him. “Come, tell me about them, how they treat you. How do they go on, this household? What is Sir Thomas to do with you all, and Richard Avery?”
Her heart skittered. But the bedding looked far more inviting than the low stool. She sat next to him, curling her legs beneath her, tempted by his nearness but, at the same time, disquieted.
“I suppose if your tale of being a nobleman is true, you must have already heard of them. Have you never seen them at court?” Good, her voice wasn’t coming out as a nervous squeak.
“They’d not be seen dead at court.”
“Then you know their feelings better than I. It seems odd, for they often mention people in Elizabeth’s circle.”
She felt him tense. “Have they given any names?”
Why was he
