“Still breathing,” he said hoarsely. “That’s a good sign.”
She peeped at him from under her lashes, watching for signs that he’d been transformed into a ravening beast at the sight of her exposed flesh.
He appeared genuinely concerned about her welfare. Although, she did notice his gaze lingering on her bosom for a brief, heart-pounding moment.
He really was undeniably good-looking. Sandrine noted this while keeping her eyes mostly closed and lying still. She was attempting to catch her breath and make some sense of what had just happened. She also needed to formulate a plan whereby she obtained his solemn promise never to mention any of this to her mother.
The longer she lay still, the more agitated he became. Which was rather satisfying, given the distress he’d so recently caused her.
“You’ll catch a cold,” he muttered. He left fora moment and then was back with his coat. He lifted her by the shoulders, wrapping his coat about her and cradling her against his chest. “Wake up, miss.”
There was a lovely scent about his jawline despite his seawater dunking, as though he’d shaved with expensive soap scented with manly things like cedarwood and leather. She fit perfectly against his wide chest, enclosed in the safety of his strong arms.
Her breathing quieted as he stroked her back and wrapped her in warmth. His lips had a sensual fullness about them and on closer inspection the cleft in the center of his chin was a deep dimple.
Could it be that she was the one undergoing the beastly transformation? She did feel an unprecedented stirring in her bosom. Her mother was always warning her about the danger of carnal cravings. Perhaps this was what she meant. She had the strangest urge to pull his head down to her level and kiss those finely sculpted lips.
He reached around her, wrestling something out of his coat pocket with one hand. Something cold and hard pressed against her lips, opening them.
Molten fire burned down her throat, and her eyes flew open as she sat up and wiped her lips. “What was that?”
“Brandy.” He screwed the lid back onto a silver flask. “Works wonders for reviving fainting young ladies. Though, I did notice you peeping at me from under your lashes.”
“I wasn’t! And I’m forbidden by my mother to taste strong spirits. Oh dear, I’m breaking so many of her rules today.” The taste of it lingered on her tongue, heavy and spiced with forbidden vice.
She’d never tasted strong spirits. Or dipped so much as a toe into the sea. Never allowed her feet to leave the earth and her arms to spread wide in a cradle of water. Never worn a wet shift in front of a man. Or been clasped in a man’s embrace, or felt his thumb brush her lips.
His eyes were a clear blue, and dark wet hair curled over his brow. She’d have to remember every detail. How he’d held her so solicitously. How, when he laughed at her, his lips quirked to one side and his eyes sparked with devilry.
She was up to at least six unpredictable and thrilling occurrences by now—and she’d broken so many of her mother’s rules that she’d lost count.
“I should leave. We can’t be seen together.”
“Stay a moment and dry yourself in the sun. There’s no one about. We’re quite sheltered.”
She twisted her hair and squeezed it until seawater dripped onto the sand. “My mother is going to be livid when I come home wet and bedraggled. ‘Splashing about in the ocean is for fish, not respectable young ladies,’ she always says to me. And if she knew that a man had witnessed me bathing, she would surely faint dead away. She can never, ever know about any of this.”
“You were drowning, and I did the only chivalrous—”
“I wasn’t drowning.”
“You were in distress.”
“I wasn’t. I was delightfully bobbing about in complete control of everything before you descended upon me and half drowned me dragging me to shore.”
“What was I supposed to think? Young ladies don’t go swimming unchaperoned and without a bathing machine in which to change into their costume. At least none of my acquaintance do.”
“I can assure you I don’t make a habit of it! This was my first—and last—foray into the sea.”
“What made you decide to bathe today?”
“I was driven to an act of disobedience by an impending marriage proposal from Mr. Pilkington, the village vicar.”
He frowned. “You were attempting to drown yourself to escape marriage?”
“No, no, nothing of the sort. I only wanted... well, it seems silly now. I wanted to do something out of the ordinary.”
“So this was an act of rebellion.”