Maggie Robinson - Mistress by Mistake

He stopped abruptly, his dark eyes unreadable. “W-what’s wrong?” she asked.

“Not a thing. It occurs to me if we are to go swimming, we should do so now before the sun drops and the wind picks up. We’ll continue this in the water.”

Charlotte shivered in anticipation. They both shed their clothes and left them folded on the rock. Judging from Bay’s jutting erection, he had every intention of taking her quickly. She couldn’t imagine how this was to be accomplished, but was perfectly happy to be an experiment. Before she knew it, he had scooped her up and tossed her into the waves.

“It’s freezing!” she shrieked. She had forgotten just how cold it was so early in the season.

“Only at first. Better to get it out of the way than to walk in inch by inch. You’ll be warm in no time. Here, come to me.” His arms encircled her as he brought her to his chest. His brave words were false-even his nipples were pebbled. He took down her hair, tossing the pins away.

“New pins, new boots,” he said, warding off her criticism. “New everything. Kiss me, Charlie.”

As if she could refuse. They were lost in each other for a spell, hands and mouths slippery and busy, the taste of salty skin and water sweet as wine. He finally lifted her up, fitting her to him. She slid onto his cock effortlessly, and then they drifted, caressed by the waves. The sensation of being anchored to him, yet absolutely free, was a novelty. Swirling at first in lazy circles, his hands clamped around her hips, she closed her eyes again and let bliss overtake her. His movements, so gentle yet inexorable, brought them both to climax.

She held fast, feeling his erratic pulse on her check. She would never forget this day.

“Mermaid,” he whispered, toying with her hair. It floated around her like black satin ribbons. Charlotte wondered if the inestimable Frazier had packed a hairbrush, for she was likely to look more like Medusa than a mermaid when her hair dried.

She smiled up at him. “Shall I sing a song and bewitch you?”

“Unnecessary. You already have. I’ve crashed up against the rocks, shattered. Splintered. There’s no hope. Take me to your kingdom at the bottom of the sea.”

“Bah.” Charlotte pushed away from him, treading water. “What good are you to me if you drown?”

“I? Drown?” Bay thrashed through the sea, his arms wind-milling.

Charlotte was not about to be left behind. She kicked off and made a creditable attempt to catch up, ducking under the swells. Bay allowed her to reach him, and together, hand in hand, they floated on their backs, watching the sky turn turquoise and lavender, the clouds tinged silver-pink.

“It’s beautiful here,” Charlotte murmured.

“Mermaids and shipwrecked sailors cannot live on beauty alone. I’m starved.”

“I wonder what mermaids eat. Certainly not fish. That doesn’t seem right.”

“Yes, rather like a cannibal eating his own feet. Speaking of which-” He flipped over, grabbed her waist, and stood her upright. To her surprise, she felt sand and rocks

“This is so shallow!”

“A perfect spot to teach children to swim. You can go out quite a ways without fear. I practically lived at this cove when I was a boy. Camped out nearly every summer night with my friend Jamie. We slept rough, hoping to be carried off on a smugglers’ adventure. It was,” he said, a rueful expression on his face, “excellent training for the army. No tents or pillows or rugs for me then.”

“Thank goodness you weren’t kidnapped! Your grandmother would have been frantic!”

Bay laughed. “You don’t know the half of it. She set up a camp bed at the end of the tunnel just in case. I never found out until the butler told me years later. Either she or he or another poor servant kept vigil in the cave to watch over us.”

“Oh, she must have loved you so.”

“Yes. Spoiled me rotten, as you can see. Come on, I’ll show you her hiding place.”

They splashed to the shore. Once out of the water, Charlotte shook with cold. Bay opened a battered trunk and pulled out a thick towel and led her to stand before the little stove. He scrubbed her down thoroughly, taking more time than was absolutely necessary with every nook and cranny. Charlotte submitted, wondering how she would be able to live without his touch. Then he wrapped her in a dark blue cashmere robe that felt like a warm cloud against her skin.

Charlotte’s hand traced the soft folds. “Goodness! What else is in that trunk?”

Bay bent over, still perfectly naked. “A robe for me. I suppose you’ll want this.” He tossed her a tortoiseshell comb. “Some slippers for both of us. Odds and ends. I hoped you’d agree to spend the night with me under the stars.”

Charlotte gasped when she saw what he pulled out of the trunk next.

“In case of smugglers. Or Jamie. No one is welcome to intrude on us this evening.”

She stared at the pistol, her stomach twisting nervously. The last time she had seen such a weapon was still too fresh in her mind.

“I thought you said the smugglers have gone straight hereabouts.”

“So they have. Frazier, God bless him, is a worrywart. Plans for every eventuality. I hope Kitty settles him down. It’s a wonder he didn’t pack a rapier.” Bay put the gun back and pulled a banyan over his head, a colorful striped affair that made him look reckless and rakish. “Let me comb out your hair, and then we’ll go a-caving.”

Charlotte sat down obediently on a folding camp chair. There was no fear of the pocketknife this time. Bay was efficient in unknotting knots and untangling tangles. She suspected he had lots of practice combing women’s hair and felt a flare of jealousy. Soon some other lucky dark-haired blue-eyed girl would be his companion, unless he changed his ways and made her his wife. There were probably a slew of seventeen-year-old brunettes lined up at Almack’s just waiting for him to get back. She pushed her disagreeable thoughts away and concentrated on the moment. The sky was turning smoky purple, and orange and pink clouds hung low on the horizon. The ocean glittered with the last of the light, the regular rush of the waves as soothing as the strokes through her hair. Her body felt heavy with relaxation, but she remembered exploration and supper were still ahead.

Apparently satisfied with his results, Bay tossed the comb onto the old carpet. Charlotte could see it once had been a thing of true beauty. Scarlet poppies and palm fronds formed an elaborate border around a midnight blue field covered with golden birds. There was a substantial rip in the center, with loose threads sticking up everywhere.

“This rug-I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“My grandfather sent it back from India. It was in my grandmother’s bedchamber for years until she kept tripping on the worn spots. I made her retire it but she didn’t have the heart to throw it away. It does lend some class to our camp-out.”

“I haven’t agreed to spend the night out here with you, you know. I’ve never done such a thing.”

Bay nuzzled her neck. “I’ll keep the fire going. There is a chamber pot nearby, if that’s what you’re worrying about.”

Charlotte felt heat course through her. How very cavalier he was about her bodily functions. There were still some things she was too shy to speak of or do anywhere in his vicinity.

“I’ve seen it all, you know. There weren’t privies in Portugal,” he reminded her, as if sensing her objection.

“Well, we are in England, and my mama would die if she weren’t dead already that we are even having this conversation.” Charlotte fastened the robe more securely around her waist. Her mama would certainly not approve of her current attire or recent activities either. “Speaking of which, let’s change the subject. Take me to your cave.”

Bay picked up the lantern and offered her an arm. “You know the hidden passage in the parlor. Turn left and you’re up the stairs. Turn right and there’s another set of stairs that leads to the cellars and an underground tunnel, very convenient when you’re unloading contraband from the beach. Right through here-”

He pointed to a narrow seam between two boulders.

“Goodness! Your contraband couldn’t be very wide, could it?”

“Ye of little faith.”

Bay placed his hand in an indentation and the rock, which wasn’t really a rock at all, pushed open with a screech of hinges. The rock had been sliced and affixed to a wooden panel. They were now standing in a small stone-lined chamber. There was indeed a fraying canvas cot, an abandoned rusty lantern, and a gleaming white chamber pot with neatly folded linen rags beside it.

“See? Nothing to worry about. Frazier is incomparable.”

Charlotte laughed. “What about the bats and spiders?”

“Gone. They wouldn’t dare linger. Now, my mermaid, what say you? Are you ready to spend a night counting stars with me?”

To do the job properly would take an infinite number of nights, but Charlotte knew she had just one.

“I am.”

Bay watched her as she unselfconsciously licked apple tart crumbs from her fingers in the shimmering glow of the lantern. Her glorious hair corkscrewed down her shoulders. The robe had come undone, and each time she had leaned forward to pick another treat from the basket in the center of the carpet, Bay caught a glimpse of plump white breast. The moon had risen, casting a silver stripe on the sea. The sky was spattered with stars and a sultry breeze billowed the makeshift tent. If this wasn’t the perfect time to propose, there would never be one.

He’d moderated his wine intake, wanting to be clear-headed when he made the most decisive declaration of his life. Charlie had no such scruples. She was a bit tipsy, delightfully so. Gone was the cap-wearing solemn spinster of old. In her place was a saucy temptress, whose every movement aroused his unbridled lust.