When they reached the beach, the gentlemen spread out the blankets, while Imogen and Lady Morpeth took George’s example and removed their hats. All three ladies seated themselves on the blankets, fully prepared to lounge there and relax for a good, long while.
The boys quickly stripped to their drawers and ran out into the surf, splashing one another and giggling loudly. Simone, in nothing but her shift, joined them a few moments later, running out and dunking Hay under with all her might. He came up sputtering, and dunked Simone in return. Caesar was busy splashing in the waves, leaping about and periodically knocking the children down, while Simone’s small pug ran up and down the surf line, barking hysterically.
George shook her head. ‘Silly beast.’ She leaned forward and kicked off her shoes, then carefully rolled off her stockings, stuffed them into one shoe, and with a sigh, buried her toes in the sand.
Imogen quickly did the same, utterly loving the feeling of the warm sand between her toes. She’d never been barefoot on the beach before. Her mother would be horrified if she could see her now.
St Audley wandered over, and joined them in their barefoot hedonism. He sank down just behind George, and the countess immediately settled on her back, her head pillowed on his thigh. She stretched and glanced up at her friend. ‘Ash,’ she said, reaching to poke him in the side, ‘are you coming to the races?’
‘First October?’ he asked, not looking down at the countess, but continuing to watch the children play. ‘I wasn’t planning on it, but I’ll be up for the later races after Lord Glendower’s shooting party.’
George pulled a face. ‘I guess that will do.’
‘It will have to,’ St Audley replied with a chuckle.
‘I suppose.’ She sat up again, the breeze pulling her hair across her face. ‘I hate it when a party breaks up. Let’s go for a walk. There’s a lovely little cove just up the beach with a waterfall and everything. I don’t think Imogen has seen it yet, though she’s been here all summer. I’ve been remiss in my duties as hostess.’
St Audley helped George to her feet and led her over to where her husband stood watching the children play. Imogen ran her toes through the sand, watching the grains roll down her feet.
How to steal a moment alone. That was the question. The challenge.
A pair of shod feet stepped into view, wet sand clinging to the shiny leather. Imogen followed them up, tracing a path over stockings, breeches, waistcoat, cravat, all the way to Angelstone’s politely bland face.
How did he do that? Look so cool, so disinterested?
‘Coming?’ Imogen’s head snapped around to where George and the earl stood, waiting beside the outcropping of rock that hid the waterfall from their view.
Imogen reached up and Angelstone pulled her to her feet in one neat motion. She took a couple deep breaths, willing her nerves to calm down. The last thing she wanted was for George to notice her reaction. She was sure the countess would guess instantly what its source was. And she didn’t want George to know about her encounter with Gabriel, at least not yet.
Not until she knew what it meant. What his intentions were. What her own were.
Gabriel placed his free hand over hers, trapping it in the crook of his arm. His fingers slid across the back of her hand, making her shiver. Imogen fought to repress any sign of awareness or embarrassment.
Around the bend they found the others gathered near a small pond at the base of a lively little waterfall. A crab scuttled away, snapping its claws at them.
‘It would be lovely captured in watercolours, wouldn’t it?’ Lady Morpeth said.
A loud shriek caused Lady Morpeth to wince. ‘We’d best get back to the children. Lord knows what they’d get up to with only Glenelg and St Audley to watch them.’
George agreed and pulled her husband along after the Morpeths. Left suddenly alone, Imogen flushed hotly, and focused her attention on the scenery, trying hard to ignore the sensation of Gabriel’s thumb lightly stroking her hand.
It really was a lovely spot. Tiny plants grew out of the rock wall. A twisting stream meandered its way through the sand to pour itself into the ocean. Several large trees grew at the top of the low cliffs, providing ample shade for the shallow pool. Down the beach gulls fought over something washed up on the sand, raucous cries loud and harsh.
Imogen’s head snapped up when his amusement at his friends’ and family’s blatant tactics overcame him. ‘So much for subtlety.’
She stared up at him, doe-eyed, reticent.
Torrie clearly thought his infatuation with her new friend ought to be encouraged, it hadn’t been his imagination, and she’d even apparently brought George round. What could they be thinking? Could Torrie possibly be dreaming of bridals? He was positive George knew better.
He was not the marrying kind…though if he was, his nymph would be a tempting option. But Gabriel sincerely couldn’t picture himself becoming a tenant for life. Not with Imogen. Not with anyone. The confines of marriage would turn something which was a delight to duty and ashes inside of a month.
He’d yet to encounter a woman who’d held his interest for more than a few months, and rarely even that. It was always relief he felt at the end of an affair, and sometimes something almost akin to joy when a mistress announced she’d found a new protector, or a lover drifted off to try her luck with someone else. But that flush of emotion was nothing when compared to the excitement he felt upon setting up a new flirt; commencing a new seduction. And just now, he was very much engaged with the lady standing so demurely beside him.
‘I don’t believe there’s a subtle bone in the countess’s body.’
‘Very likely not.’ It was impossible to defend George on this particular
