“The sea, once it casts its spell, holds one in its net of wonder forever.”
—Jacques-Yves Cousteau
Off the coast of Newport, Rhode Island
June 1895
Mermaids existed.
At least Andrew Talbot, the eighth Duke of Lockwood, was fairly certain of it. At the moment a creature with long limbs and red hair was most definitely splashing in the frothy waves near the beach. If not a mermaid then a naiad, perhaps.
Though he hated the ocean, he’d come out after dark to swim in the chilly, murky water of the Atlantic, his body requiring the bloody exercise. He hadn’t expected to see anyone else. Who was out frolicking at this time of night, if not a mythical creature?
Bare legs flashed in the surf. A shapely arm followed. He continued to tread water, unable to look away. Then a form rose up in the foam, and long red hair flipped backward. A woman. A naked woman. He was entranced.
As if the moon pulled him toward her, he soon found himself in the surf, too. The water reached his waist, and he watched her tumble and roll in the waves, like a small child who’d been cooped up all day and finally had a taste of freedom.
What did it feel like, such freedom?
Lockwood had never experienced it, not truly. His life had been shaped and molded since birth. He was a line drawn on a family tree to future generations of the same. The weight of it all fell on his shoulders—the crumbling estates, the empty bank accounts, the judgment of long-dead ancestors—and there were days when he feared for his sanity. Not a soul would remember him, unless he was the one who failed.
A terrible legacy, that.
A splash snapped him out of his dark thoughts. Saint’s teeth, she was beautiful. In truth, he’d never seen a more captivating woman. The sight of her slim limbs, high breasts and incredible hair wound through him like vines, expanding and twisting, strangling him until he had no choice but to dive under the cool water.
When he resurfaced, she was there, directly behind him.
Long arms twined around his neck and she wrapped her legs around his hips. Bare flesh pressed soft and cool against his back. “About time you arrived,” her husky voice said in his ear, like a whisper of silk over his soul.
He shivered. The right thing to do would be to let her go. To put his hands up and acknowledge the mistake. His title as a gentleman demanded it.
But he was tired of always doing the right thing.
Couldn’t he act instead of think? Feel for once instead of strategize?
Heavy breasts rubbed on his shoulder blades, and despite the cold water his cock responded, thickening and rising against her calf. His problematic heart thumped behind his ribs, the beat echoing between his legs. He couldn’t seem to move or speak. Frozen by sensation.
Perhaps a shark would swim by and eat him. All his problems would be solved, then.
Sadly, his third cousin would inherit the title. Tooter, as he preferred to be called, was a complete nincompoop. Lockwood would wrestle the bloody shark with his bare hands to prevent that travesty from coming to pass.
“I thought you had forgotten about me,” she said, nibbling his earlobe.
Say something. Tell her she’s mistaken you for someone else.
Christ, she felt good.
When her bare quim met his lower back, his mouth went dry, and he began contemplating the practicalities of naked depravity on a beach. Better if she remained on her hands and knees so that no one would find sand in unfortunate places . . .
Now is the time to speak, before this goes too far.
Keeping his hands at his sides, he cleared his throat. “Madam, I believe you have mistaken me for someone else.” He winced. Even to his own ears, he sounded stuffy and ridiculous.
She eased back to study him, her expression solemn. “Turn to your right. I cannot see your face.”
He moved as instructed—and she gasped, releasing him as if he were engulfed in flames. “Damn and hell! Why did you not say something?”
He could see her then, but he almost wished he hadn’t. No matter what else happened in his lifetime, he would never forget this face.
She was simply stunning. Flawless skin and delicate features, with green eyes that glittered nearly gold in the
moonlight. Her lips were full and lush, with a small bow in the center of the top one, and the lines surrounding her mouth meant she smiled a lot. “I couldn’t be certain you were real.”
“What?” She bent her knees to hide her nakedness in the dark water. “Are you some sort of masher?”
“I beg your pardon, but you accosted me. I was swimming and minding my own business when you wrapped around me like a limpet.”
She splashed him with her hand. “I thought you were someone else.”
“Obviously.”
Her gaze traveled over his chest and shoulders encased in the thin bathing costume. He resisted the urge to flex his muscles. For some inane reason he wanted her to like what she saw. “You must swim a lot,” she finally said.
“I do.” He hated every second of it, but he hadn’t a choice. Like so many other things in his life.
“Why this late at night, though? What if you drowned?”
That would be Tooter’s good fortune, then. “I don’t sleep well. I also prefer the quiet.”
“Yes, I understand that. It’s peaceful out here at this time, before high tide rushes in.”
“The perfect time for midnight trysts,” he teased.
“Stop. I feel ridiculous enough as it is. Incidentally, I’m sorry for throwing myself at you.”
“I didn’t mind.”
“I suppose most men don’t mind when a naked woman swims up and clings to his very fit body.”
Very fit? “I cannot speak for most men, only me, and I liked it. A lot.”
“I noticed.” She smirked. “The water must not be all that cold.”
He choked on a laugh. “My apologies. I wish I could control it, but alas.”
“I’m quite fond of the organ myself. It’s temperamental but has a mind of its own. Sort of like a woman.”
“I like that comparison.”
“Well, fair warning, I can make it because I am a woman. You cannot.”
He moved to his knees, so their faces were on a more even level. “Is that how it works?”
“Yes. I love women and we have to band together as much as we can. Men are good for only one thing.”
“Midnight trysts?”
She grinned, showing him even, white teeth. “Precisely.” Then her grin fell as her gaze darted to the cliffs. “Though I suppose I’ve been stood up tonight.”
“My good fortune, then.”
“Don’t get ahead of yourself, Poseidon. I don’t even know your name, only that you’re English.”
Poseidon? He felt his lips twitch. In any other circumstance, he would introduce himself. Yet, he hesitated. The urge to remain anonymous with her, to forgo any and all
reminders of his life on dry land, won out. Which meant he could not ask her name, either.
He hooked a thumb in the direction of the open water. “Perhaps I fell over from one of Her Majesty’s ships out there and swam to shore.”
“With that upper-crust accent?”
“I might be an officer.”
“That would explain the lack of scurvy.”
He smiled. He wasn’t normally one to banter with women, but this was proving enjoyable. Indeed, when in recent memory had he felt this light, this happy? She was quick-witted and clearly no innocent, so a servant from one of the houses? Or perhaps the daughter of a local shopkeeper. “Would you believe I’ve been months at sea with other men, no contact from a woman in all that time?” It was partially true, anyway. He’d given up his mistress a year ago, unable to afford anything for himself beyond a basic necessity.
“I might believe it, based on—oh, shit!” She threw herself at him, but not in lust. Her eyes were wide with terror.
He caught her and stood up, cradling her close and definitely not thinking about her nudity. “What is it? Is something wrong?”
“Something bumped against my leg. Something big. And do not tell me it was a plant because this was not a plant.” She tried to climb up his body, doing all she could to lift her legs out of the water.
“There is nothing in this water but harmless fish and turtles,” he said, rubbing his hand down her back soothingly. “Furthermore, I am a much bigger target. If something decided to take a bite out of one of us, it would definitely be me.”
“You can’t say for certain.” She stared down at the water as if expecting a shark to jump up and attack her.
“I am absolutely confident you will not die out here. How about that?”
“You’re laughing at me, but I don’t care. I might look foolish, but I’ll still be alive.”
“You don’t look foolish,” he said with all due seriousness. “Indeed, you are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.”
She leaned to see his face. It occurred then that he had an armful of naked, wet and lush woman, one who wasn’t mistaking him for anyone else. One who didn’t know he was a duke, but simply a man. When was the last time that had happened?
He tightened his hold slightly, wanting to protect her. Wanting to keep her close and warm, and drive away anything that dared to scare her. He didn’t want to let her go.
When she trembled, he eased her back under the water but stayed close. They floated together, bobbing up and down in the gentle waves. Was it his imagination or had her breathing picked up? “Have we ever met before?” she asked. “I feel as though I know you.”
We have not been introduced. I definitely would have remembered a woman like you.”
“A woman like me?” She stiffened and floated away, and he had to hurry to keep up. “Loud and brazen, I suppose. Scandalous.” She drew out the word, as if she heard it quite a bit.
“Absolutely not. I was thinking clever and unafraid.”
“Hmm. That is a very good answer, but I cannot tell if you’re genuine or not.”
He slowly moved in closer, back to where they’d been a moment ago. “Why would I lie? We hardly know each other. There are no repercussions if I insult you.”
She bobbed on the surface, letting him hold her hand, maintaining their connection. “You, sir, are very good for my confidence. Pray, continue.”
“More compliments, then? Let’s see, you are gorgeous, but you likely know that. You curse like a sailor, which I find endearing. You have excellent taste in organs and possess the most remarkable laugh.”
Moonlight sparkled across the surface of the water, illuminating her shocked expression. Then she dragged her fingertips along his collarbone. “Beauty, charm and brains. The female population must absolutely adore you.”
“I could say the same about you and the male population.”
“I do my best. I plan on sampling as many of them as possible before I’m done, after all.”
“Before you marry, you mean.”
“No, before I die. I will never marry.”
She said this so casually, but with a note of finality in her voice, and he couldn’t help but say, “That’s a bloody shame. You should belong to someone. A lucky man who worships the ground beneath your feet.” Not him, unfortunately. The plans for his future had already been set. The ring was in his luggage, in fact.
“I’d rather not belong to anyone. Novel idea, I know, but I’d like to retain my name, my worldly possessions and my control over my body.”
“When you put it that way, I suppose the only appeal is children and regular bed sport.”
“Both of which do not require marriage.”
“What of disease?”
“Shields.”
He glanced around dramatically. “Have I traveled to the future, to a place where women have progressive ideas and independence?”
“Perhaps you are stuck in the past.” She pulled her hand out of his and pushed off his stomach to swim away. Legs kicking, she dove beneath the water, then resurfaced and shook water off her face.
“I thought you were afraid of the water.”
“Not with you here to protect me. Though I suppose you’ll have to catch me first.” She angled away from him
and began swimming, water churning around her as she performed a very competent breaststroke.
She was no match for him, however.
Lockwood dove in, kept his face in the water and started a hand-over stroke. It required a flutter kick as his arms rolled up and through the water, like a windmill. Every few strokes he rolled to the side and took a breath.
In seconds, he caught her.
She laughed and fell into his arms like she’d always been there. “That is hardly fair. You swim like a god.”
“I am a god, remember?”
“How could I forget?” She pressed close and wrapped her arms around his neck. He could feel her warm breath on his cheek. There was no one else around for miles, as far as he was concerned. The water was their safe haven, the moon their only witness.
It was magical, a world away from responsibilities and marriages.
“Are you married?” she asked. “I sincerely hope the answer is no, that your wife isn’t staying at one of the cottages here.”
“No wife. I am staying at the inn near the train station.” Real life began tomorrow. This was fantasy, a few stolen moments in the water with a beautiful stranger. So he made the offer without stopping to think of all the ways it would complicate his plans. “Would you like to come back to my room?”
She sighed near his ear. “I can’t. My absence would be noticed.”
Disappointment burned in his throat, but at least she hadn’t refused on the basis of being uninterested. “I see.”
“It probably sounds silly but I’ve made a promise and must abide by it, even if it does ruin all my fun.”
“And mine.” He cupped her face and dragged his thumb over her jaw. They were drifting away from the beach and into deeper water, but he didn’t care. He felt untethered by this woman, cast about from his moorings. Fitting they should make it literal, then. “This is quite probably wildly inappropriate,” he whispered, “especially as you have already refused my offer, but I should very much like to kiss you right now.”
“And here I was waiting for you to ask,” she murmured and moved to gently place her mouth on his.
Oh, thank Christ. Relieved, he let her control the kiss, her lips soft and pliant as she explored him. It was a kiss full of curiosity and anticipation, a slow slide into the depths rather than tumbling in. He followed, content to let their breath mingle as the water rocked them into the deep. After a minute or two she shifted to wrap her arms and legs around him, and he held them above the surface, his body moving and straining to tread water as they continued to kiss.
Suddenly, she broke off and swam backward toward the shore. When she crooked her finger at him, he was lost. Diving, he grabbed her and towed her closer to dry land, just
until he could stand on the sandy bottom. This time he captured her mouth in a brutal kiss. He held nothing back, letting her feel how much he wanted her, and she returned the kiss with abandon. When he flicked at her lips with his tongue, she opened and he thrust inside that warm haven. Their mouths and tongues worked in tandem, the lapping of water against their sides, and she held on, lightly digging her nails into his scalp.
“Harder,” he said into her mouth, and her nails found purchase in his skin. The rush of pain made him feel alive, like he was sparkling inside, tiny crackles of energy and light in every vein. His balls were heavy and his cock throbbed. He bit her lip, sharing a bit of that dark energy, hoping she liked it even a fraction as much as he did.
She gasped and clutched him tighter.
Suddenly, he was ravenous, his mouth slanting over hers at a frenetic pace. She kept up, her hands pulling at him while little whimpers escaped her throat. He let his lips wander over her cheek, along her jaw. Down her neck and across her collarbone.
He wanted to eat her alive.
“Are you certain you won’t come back to my room?” He panted onto her wet skin and tried to regain a bit of his reasoning ability. He should not be asking, considering his pending commitments, but the words tumbled out before he could hold them back. One night. That was all he needed. One night with this woman before he settled into responsibility.
“I can’t. I could meet you there tomorrow afternoon, however.”
“I’ll have relocated by then. What about here on the beach?”
“What time?”
“Midnight. I swim every night when I can. Will you meet me?” His stomach clenched. He wasn’t certain what he would do if she said no.
Looking up at him through her lashes, she whispered, “Another midnight tryst. I can hardly wait.”
Then his mysterious redheaded siren hurried up the rocks, where she stopped to collect her things before blending into the darkness. It had only been minutes but he already craved her again.
How was he going to survive the next twenty-four hours until he could have her?
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