Linger’s Ghost.
My heart pounded against my ribs. The pale figure moved toward me.
I backed up a step, then two, and a scream filled my throat, when sud-denly a strange idea occurred to me.
I stopped, peering at the figure in the moonlight, and with a nervous voice called out, “Good evening!” I felt infinitely stupid, not knowing how else to address what surely was a man in the water.
The ghost—the man—stopped moving and peered in my direction.
“Kate? Is that you?”
My mouth fell open. “Henry?”
“Yes.”
He started moving again, and I stammered, “Er . . . are you . . . uh . . .
clothed?”
A pause met my question. “No,” he said with a laugh.
My face was hot. I turned my back to the water and called out, “I need to speak with you. Can you . . . come out? And put some clothes on?”
I waited, my face on fire, as another low chuckle reached my ears.
Then I heard soft splashing, and I imagined him walking onto the sand.
Or, rather, I tried not to imagine him walking onto the sand without a stitch of clothing on. The seconds stretched on so long I thought I would die of embarrassment. I was losing my nerve and starting to question the wisdom of my idea.
Then soft footsteps approached me from behind, and Henry’s voice said, “You can turn around now.”
I turned around, but I was not fully prepared for the sight before me.
My jaw fell open before I could catch it. Henry had put on his breeches— slung low around his hips—but nothing else. The moonlight glimmered off his bare chest and shoulders, drops of water clinging to his skin. His skin was smooth and more muscled than I had ever dared to imagine. His 127
J u l i a n n e D o n a l D s o n muscles went on and on, lean and defined, and yet he stood there without any self-consciousness, as if looking like a Greek god was something that came easily to him.
“What did you need?” he asked, rubbing his hand over his wet hair.
I forced my mouth to close, and then I tried to swallow. All rational thoughts had flown from my mind, and I could not pull my eyes away from his shoulders, his chest, his . . .
“Kate?”
I pulled my gaze up to his face, but that was no better, with his eyes dark as night and his lips . . .
“Do you . . . have a shirt?” I spied a white bundle in his hand. “Is that it? You should put it on.” I was speaking much too fast, and my voice cracked.
Henry chuckled, a low, sultry sound. “Why? Does this bother you?”
He wore a wicked grin. My face flamed hotter.
“No. I only thought you looked cold. Isn’t the water cold?” I was still speaking too fast, but I couldn’t stop myself.
“Don’t worry,” he said and did not move to put his shirt on. He did, however, rest his hands on his hips, which only drew my attention to how low his breeches were sitting. “What are you doing out here?” he asked.
I pulled my attention back to his face, cursing myself silently for be-coming so distracted. “I was looking for a seashell. For Oliver. But I am glad to find you here. I was hoping to speak to you. Alone.”
His brow furrowed. “Why?”
“I need you.”
The words struck me as sounding much too forward and leaving too much open to interpretation. I saw that Henry thought the same thing by the way his head reared back.
I hurried to fill in the space I had opened. “I need your help, rather.”
He folded his arms across his chest, but that made things worse for me, watching how the muscles in his arms bulged. I really needed to stop thinking about his muscles.
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“Does anyone know you’re out here?” he asked.
I shook my head. “I sneaked out.” I expected him to smile. But he didn’t. If anything, he looked more severe than before.
He shook his head, blew out an exasperated breath. He raked a hand through his wet hair, releasing drops of water. I expected a lecture about my habit of sneaking out, but it didn’t come. Instead he said, “And what about Mr. Brandon?”
I looked at him, puzzled. I could not understand this severity, this sternness about him. No, it was more than sternness. It was anger.
“What about him?”
“What does he know?”
I was more confused than before and shook my head. “I don’t know what you mean.”
He stepped closer—so close I could smell the salt of the ocean on him. My heart quickened. The moonlight was doing all sorts of favors for Henry, casting him midnight and silver and dark and strong.
“Have you told him what you’ve told me a hundred times?” His voice was low, a thread of something running through it—anger? Or some other emotion? “Have you told him that you have no intention of mar-rying? Ever?”
I blinked in surprise, struggled for words, and found myself completely dumbstruck. Some strong emotion was coming off Henry in waves, and I felt struck by the impact. I stepped back from him.
“I don’t think that’s something I need to tell him.” In fact, the very thought of it struck me as completely presumptuous.
“Why not?”
I lifted my hands, at a loss. “I have done nothing to encourage his affection.”
His jaw clenched, and he shook his head, a look of reprimand in his dark eyes. “A man does not need encouragement to lose his heart.”
My heart thumped hard. I drew in a shaky breath. This was going all 129
J u l i a n n e D o n a l D s o n wrong. “I did not come out here to talk about Mr. Brandon. Let us agree to disagree on that subject, shall we?”
He pressed his lips together and looked away.
I tried to smile, tried to lighten the mood. “So . . . you like to swim in the ocean. At night. By yourself.” I frowned as I looked at the waves behind him. “It seems quite dangerous. Is this a regular habit of yours when you’re here?”
A half-smile lifted one side of his mouth. “Not exactly.” He took the shirt he held, shook it out, and pulled it over his head. I did not stare at the way his muscles bunched as he did so. At least, I tried very hard not to.
“So why tonight?”
Another half-smile. “I felt the need to do something daring. That is all.”
There was something between us. Secrets that we were keeping from each other. I was just as guilty of it as Henry was, and so I had nothing to say in response to his cryptic answer. But I wondered if my idea was feasible at all, considering this new strain between us.
“So, Miss Kate. What did you need from me?” His tone was lighter, more playful. His anger seemed gone—or at least hidden—and my friend Henry was back.
Hope seized me, and quickly, before I could lose my courage, I said, “I need you to propose to me.”
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Chapter 16
Henry looked stunned. He stared at me, completely still, and I felt like the biggest dolt alive.
“That didn’t sound right,” I hurried to say, my face hot with embarrassment. “I made a bargain with Mama before I left. She said that if I receive and reject three proposals, she will give up hope of ever marrying me off and allow me to go to India. I don’t need you to tell me how mad this scheme was, but I was desperate when I agreed to it. I don’t know what I was thinking.” I drew in a shaky breath. “But Sylvia told me last night—she told me how stupid I was to think that three men here would propose to me.”
Something like anger flashed across Henry’s face, and he opened his mouth to speak, but I held up a hand, stopping him. “Let me finish. Last night you told me that there had to be more than one option. And then this morning I found my other option! I remembered that Mama and I had agreed to three proposals rather than three gentlemen, and you told me that if I ever needed saving, that you would . . .” I swallowed and said softly, “that you would save me.”
Henry’s expression erased my newfound hope. It was stern and bleak, and there was that anger again. “You want me to propose. Three times.”
I nodded.
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