“I’m certain of it.”

“And Lord Payne, you devil . . .” The matron’s face creased with a smile as she waved her handkerchief at Colin. “You must promise her a nice, slow quadrille this time. None of that wild country dancing.”

Colin bowed. “As you like, ma’am.”

Hoping to redirect the conversation, Susanna cleared her throat. “Now, for preparations. I will ask Miss Winterbottom and Mrs. Montgomery to assist with the menus. Sally Bright and Mr. Keane—you two possess the best eye for color, so decorations are yours. Miss Taylor is the natural choice for music, and Mr. Fosbury, I do hope you’ll bake us some cakes. Our chef at Summerfield can’t match your confections.” She smiled at him over the paper. “Now, Mrs. Lange—”

The woman in question sat tall. “You don’t have to ask. I’d be glad to compose a poem for the occasion.”

“That would be very . . .” Susanna paused. “Special,” she finished. “Thank you, Mrs. Lange.”

“What about me?” Charlotte waved her hand. “Everyone else has a task. I want one, too.”

She smiled. “I have a very important job for you, Charlotte. And I’ll explain it to you later, back at the rooming house.” She lowered the paper. “It goes without saying, our usual activity schedule is suspended.”

“We have a lot of work ahead of us,” Bram said. “And it starts this afternoon. Finish your refreshments. Pack away the blankets and canopies. Take the scarf off the sheep. All men should assemble for drill in a quarter hour’s time.”

“Ladies,” Susanna called out, before the entire group dispersed, “we will adjourn to the inn to begin cutting pieces for uniforms.”

As the men and women rose from their blankets and began to remove all evidence of merriment, she turned to Bram. “I think that went as well as could be expected.”

He nodded. “It went well indeed.”

To be truthful, she’d enjoyed the past quarter hour immensely. Standing next to Bram as an equal, rather than squaring off against him. Speaking together, instead of over each other’s words. As they’d addressed their friends and neighbors, the air had hummed with a pleasant chord of harmony, and she’d almost felt as if . . .

She dropped a step back, cocked her head, and peered at him.

“What is it?” he asked, looking self-conscious.

“It’s just . . . You look very lordly, all of a sudden. Standing there in front of the keep, addressing all the villagers. It’s as though you were born to the Rycliff title, instead of gifted it a week ago.”

“Well, I wasn’t.” His brows drew together. “My father was a major general, not an earl of any sort. I don’t mean to forget that, ever.”

“Of course not. I didn’t mean it that way. Your father was a great man, and naturally you’ll always be proud to be his son. But that doesn’t mean he couldn’t be proud of you today, does it?”

He had no reply to that. After a prolonged pause, he said, “I’d best go ready myself for drill.”

“Yes. I suppose I should be going, too.”

As he began to walk past her toward the keep, she once again noted the slight hitch in his gait. An impulse seized her. “Wait.”

She could have reached out to catch his arm or his shoulder. But no. She had to go pressing her hand flat against his strong, solid chest. Realizing her mistake, she snatched it back—but the thumping echo of his heartbeat lingered on her palm.

A furtive glance around her indicated that no one had observed the bold gesture. Not this time, at least. But judging by the hot blush scalding her cheeks, Susanna knew she was going to have to work very hard to keep her attraction to Bram below notice.

Which made her next words imprudent as anything.

“There’s one other task we need to address. One not on the list.” She still clutched the paper in her hand and spoke low. “Something that requires the two of us to work together. Alone.”

“Is that so?” Surprise—and desire—flared in his jade-green eyes. “I can’t deny that I’m intrigued. Name the place and time. I’ll be there.”

“The cove,” she murmured, sending up a prayer that she wasn’t making an enormous mistake. “After dark. Tonight.”

Twenty

Stars blanketed the clear night, and the moon hung large and yellow in the sky. A fortunate thing, or Bram would have had no light by which to pick his way down to the cove. He kept his eyes trained on the path, careful not to misstep. As a result, he reached the pebbled shore without any idea where—or even if—he would find Susanna. He didn’t see her anywhere along the beach.

Perhaps she hadn’t been able to slip away. Perhaps she’d changed her mind about meeting him. Perhaps she’d never intended to meet him at all, but only meant to play him a clever trick.

A soft splash drew his attention.

“Over here,” he heard her call.

He approached the water’s edge. “Susanna?”

“I’m here. In the water.”

“In the water?” His eyes adjusted to the darkness. There she was, his alluring mermaid, submerged to her neck in the sea. “What are you wearing under there?”

“Come join me if you want to find out.”

Bram had never shucked his clothes faster. He stripped straight down to his skin. This wasn’t one of Spindle Cove’s warm, sunny afternoons. He would have a long walk back to the castle, and he didn’t want to make it in sopping wet clothes.

“Damn, this water is cold,” he said, testing it with his toes.

“It’s not so bad tonight, truly. You’ll grow accustomed to it.”

He dashed into the sea, knowing it was better to douse himself all at once than to draw out the torture by slow degrees. He met her some distance out from shore, in a place where the water line hit him mid-abdomen. Unable to get a good look in the dark, he gave her shoulder an exploratory grope.

When he caught a handful of rough fabric, he groaned. “Not the wretched bathing costume.”

She laughed, a husky, arousing laugh.

Blast it, he knew he shouldn’t press matters too far. But she was so close, and they were finally alone again. He couldn’t resist doing what he’d been wanting to do all day. In a quick move, he pulled her close, wrapping arms and legs about her slender form. Holding her tight.

In his arms, she went utterly still. He felt her every muscle go rigid as steel.

“Bram. What are you doing?”

“I’m embracing you. It’s cold.”

“You’re . . .” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “You’re naked.”

“Sorry, I forgot my bathing costume.” He chuckled. “You’ve seen all there is to see of me already. And there’s no one here but the two of us.”

“Precisely.”

“Then why is it we’re whispering?”

Peeved, she said aloud, “I don’t know.”

He teased her ear with his breath. “We could warm each other.”

She made a frustrated noise and pushed away. “Be serious, please. We’re here for a reason.”

“Believe me, I know I’m here for a reason. The reason is you.”

“No. The reason is your knee.”

“My knee?”

“Yes. I know it’s been paining you. If you’re going to make it through these next few weeks, you need to care for it properly. And if you’re determined to return to field command after that . . . Well, I’m equally determined to send you back with as much strength and stamina as possible.”

“I am strong.” His pride was piqued. “And you should know, I have abundant stamina.”

With a dismissive noise, she moved away. She swam a few strokes to a nearby boulder, reaching for something. The way the mysterious object rattled, he imagined it to be some sort of chain. When she returned carrying it just at the water’s surface, he caught the gleam of metal in the moonlight.

“What is that?” he asked, peering at it. “Some sort of medieval torture device?”

“Yes. That’s exactly what it is.”

“God. I was joking. But you aren’t, are you?”

“No. I borrowed it from my father’s collection. There’s an ankle cuff, and this ball is attached. It’s deuced heavy. Here.” She dumped the ball into his hands.

“You’re right,” he said, his voice suddenly strained. “It is deuced heavy.”

From a cord tied about her neck, she produced a thick key. With a bit of trial and error, she managed to fit the key into a hole in the iron cuff. The two halves opened like a clamshell.

“This fits around your ankle, see?” she said. “Stand on your good leg, lift the bad, and I’ll secure the thing.”

“Now wait just a minute. Let me be certain I understand this. You have me out here in the freezing ocean, naked—”

“I didn’t ask you to be naked.”

“And now you propose to leg-shackle me.”

“Only in the literal sense.”

“Yes. It’s the literal sense that concerns me. Being literally leg-shackled is bad enough, no need of metaphors. So once you have me bound and chained, how am I to know you won’t just leave me here to freeze all night and be picked apart by gulls tomorrow morning?”

She unlooped the key from her own neck and transferred the necklace to him. “There. You may hold the key. Does that make you feel better?”

“Not really. I still don’t understand what your purpose is.”

“You’ll understand soon enough. Just lift your leg.”

He obeyed, tilting his head back to stare up at the night. There was nothing like a sky full of stars to make a man reckon with his own humility. How, precisely, had he arrived at this? He was taking orders from a spinster, willingly submitting himself to her medieval torture devices. And she wasn’t even naked.

“You can never tell a soul about this,” he said. “I mean it, Susanna. I’ll deny it to my grave. My reputation would never recover.”

“Your reputation? Do you think I’m eager to spread tales of this scene?” She fixed the cuff around his leg, and it snapped into place. “Now slowly lower your foot, and drop the ball into the water.”

Once again, he did as directed. The ball sank quickly to the pebbled bottom, dragging his foot down with it.

“There. Now you have resistance.”

“I didn’t realize I was short on resistance. I rather thought you’d been giving me ample supply.”

“Physical resistance.” She retreated soundlessly, slicing back through the calm water to put space between them. “Walk toward me, slowly. You’ll see.”

He stepped forward onto his good leg. When he tried to take a step with his injured leg, the ball and shackle dragged behind him. Heavy, but with the water’s help, not impossible to move.

“That’s good,” she said, backing up another pace. “Keep moving. Be certain to lift your leg, not drag it. As if you’re marching.”

He took several lunging paces more, chasing her through the chest-deep water. “Tell me why I’m doing this?” He backed her against a boulder, but she darted to the side, swimming away.

“Come this way now,” she directed, shaking her hair free of salty spray. “And I’ll explain.”

He moved forward again. “Explain.”

“It’s like this, Bram. You’re a large man.”

“I’m so glad you’ve noticed.”

“What I mean is, you’re heavy. You’re absolutely right that you need to use your leg in order to recover your full strength. Once your wound healed, staying abed was of no further benefit. But when you walk—or run, or march—on solid ground, you’re adding your entire body weight to every step. And you’re so big, it’s too much strain. Here in the sea, the buoyancy relieves the pressure on your knee. And the shackle gives you a weight to work against.”