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Chapter 15

Rhys reached down and tugged off his wet boots and set them in a patch of sunlight to start drying, then peeled off his stockings.

Lenore turned her head and sneaked a glance at his long, tanned feet as he wriggled his toes in the grass, then went to cool them off in the water. Not to be outdone, she sat up and unlaced her ankle boots and removed her own stockings, relishing the naughty thrill of undressing, even partly, next to him.

But he only glanced her way once as she hitched up her skirts and waded into the shallows, then bent to inspect a patch of little yellow lily flowers floating nearby.

"In Brazil they have lily pads that are big enough for a person to sit on," Lenore said, desperate to keep his interest. "Like little boats. And quite a few of the tribes have legends about them."

"What kind of legends?"

"Of how the lily flowers are the spirits of beautiful maidens who've drowned in the water."

"That's cheerful," he said dryly.

"My favorite was the story about a mermaid, called the Iara. She lures men to their doom with her singing and false promises of great riches at the bottom of the river."

"I think most cultures have legends about beautiful women luring foolish men to their doom," he said half serious. "The ancient Greeks had their sirens and their naiads. We Welsh have Gwenhidw, a magical mermaid queen. Some say she's the inspiration for King Arthur's Guinevere. Men have made fools of themselves over pretty faces for thousands of years."

He sent her a wry, sideways glance that made her pulse pound.

If only he'd make a fool of himself over her.

"It's not always women." She sent him an answering smile. "There's also a male river spirit, an unnaturally handsome warrior who comes out of the river at the full moon and seduces all the prettiest girls in the village. He makes love to them at night, but in the morning, he's gone, turned back into his true form, a pink river dolphin."

Rhys's expression was one of laughing disbelief. "A pink dolphin?"

"They exist. I've seen one, in the Amazon River."

"And were you captivated by this scarlet seducer?" he teased.

"I was not."

His mouth opened as if he was about to ask another question, but then he seemed to change his mind and glanced away, and Lenore bit back a wave of disappointment.

She gazed out across the lake. The sun was dropping toward the horizon, slanting its peachy rays across the land and turning the sky purple and gold. A few ducks paddled about, upending themselves in that comical way they had to search for pond weed. The water reflected the darkening sky and the fluffy white clouds above. It was an idyllic spot.

"You must have had some exciting adventures yourself, though," she prodded softly. "You went to Portugal, Spain, and France."

Rhys splashed back to the shore and sank down on the grass again. "I did. But I had quite a few close brushes with death, too. I was in the same regiment as Gryff, the Royal Welsh Fusiliers. We saw action at Salamanca, Nivelle, and Toulouse. Gryff left just before Waterloo because our father had died and he needed to come back and take over as earl, but I stayed to get the job done. Or until I met my maker, whichever came first."

Lenore lowered herself down next to him. "Brave men like you are the reason we're not all speaking French right now."

He gave a self-deprecating shrug, uncomfortable with her praise, but she'd wanted to tell him this ever since she'd met him.

"Waterloo was such a close-run thing," he said quietly. "It could have gone against us so easily." He selected a flat stone and sent it skimming over the surface of the water with a practiced flick of his arm. "I feel incredibly lucky to have survived, when so many of my friends didn't get to come home."

Sadness flashed across his features, and she reined in the impulse to put her arms around him and give him a hug. She pressed her shoulder against his instead, in a wordless show of sympathy, and he sent her a smile to show he appreciated the gesture.

His humility was humbling. He was so much more than just his good looks. He had depths to his personality, a hundred different facets, and she wanted to discover them all. She wanted to know his likes and dislikes, what made him laugh, what made him cry.

She already knew he liked physical activity, like boxing. But did he also like to read? To ride? Was he musical? Could he play an instrument? What was his favorite book?

She couldn't pepper him with a thousand questions now, though, however much she wanted to.

She picked up her own stone and managed a very creditable four skips before it sank into the lake. He shot her an impressed look, eyebrows raised.

"I think travel has changed me," she said pensively. "Well, maybe not changed me, exactly, but certainly shaped me. It brought out aspects of my character that probably already existed but made them stronger. My resourcefulness, for instance." Her lips quirked. "And my stubbornness. And despite all the misfortunes—some frightening, some even life-threatening—I can be proud of the fact that I survived. I am stronger than I thought I could be. I can endure more than I ever imagined."

"War changed me," Rhys admitted. "It made me realize that people can do the most incredible things, both good and bad."

"Do you believe in fate?" Lenore asked, curious.

He shook his head. "Not really. I mean, I don't think I was destined to live while other men around me died. I think there were a hundred times when my life hung in the balance, and I couldn't say whether I survived because of some action I took, or because of sheer luck."

"Well, whatever it was, I'm glad," she said with a smile. "Just think of the millions of tiny incidents that have led to the two of us being here, at exactly this point in time. It's enough to make your head spin, really."

"Best not to think about it too hard," Rhys grinned. "I've heard too much thinking can addle the brain."

She gave him a playful punch on the arm. "I'm not the one whose grey matter is scrambled from all those punches to the head."

He chuckled. "I'm beginning to think there's more to us being stuck here than just our siblings' desire to win this treasure hunt. I think the lot of them are throwing us together for their own amusement. Because we're the only two unmarried ones left."

Lenore felt her cheeks heat with a guilty flush, as if that wasn't precisely what she'd asked her aunts to do. "Interesting theory."

"They all seem convinced the Davies-Montgomery enmity is a thing of the past. That we've been enemies for so long that the universe is righting itself now by having us all fall in love."

Lenore managed a snort. "That's ridiculous."

He raised his brows. "Is it? All three of my siblings have fallen for Montgomerys. Gryff with Maddie, Carys with Tristan, and Morgan with Harriet."

"You make it sound as though we're doomed."

He shrugged, and her heart gave a funny lurch at the fact that he wasn't outright denying the possibility that he could fall in love with her. Perhaps there was hope after all?

She skimmed another stone and kept her tone carefully neutral, praying that she wasn't about to make a complete fool of herself.

"Andover keeps asking me to marry him," she said. "He won't take no for an answer."

Rhys's shoulder lifted in a casual shrug, but there was a thread of steely tension in his voice as he spoke.

"Why don't you marry him, then? Put the poor sod out of his misery. And the rest of the country's unmarried men, too, for that matter. Once you accept Andover, the rest will stop thinking they have a chance of capturing your heart."

"That's just the problem," Lenore said, her heart pounding in her throat. "Andover doesn't have my heart."

Rhys didn't even bother to skim his stone. He just threw it as far into the lake as he could. He almost hit a duck.

"Why not? He's got a ducal title, a huge estate in Wiltshire, and a healthy bank balance."

"Is that what you think I'm looking for in a husband?"

"Isn't that what every woman's looking for in a husband?" he countered cynically.

"Not me. I mean, it would be nice if the man I eventually marry isn't a pauper, but I really don't care much about material things. I've spent a large part of my life without what most people would call creature comforts, even necessities. There are no lovely hot baths in the middle of the rainforest, no chefs to cook up whatever delicious puddings your brain can conceive. In Brazil, I only had three dresses to last me an entire year."

She twitched the skirts of her dress, which was now ruined beyond any hope of salvation. "And while I certainly appreciate pretty things, they're not the most important thing in life."

"What is?"

She tilted her head and waited for him to look directly at her. "Why, love of course."

He rolled his eyes in typical male exasperation.

"You mock," she said severely, "but that's precisely what kept my parents together all these years, through thick and thin. It's what kept us all from going mad and giving up hope for those weeks we were shipwrecked. I had a loving family to support me and comfort me. I'd trade a boatload of jewels for someone who loved me and cared for me."

Rhys turned to look at her again. "And Andover doesn't love you?"

She shook her head. "He does not."

"And you don't love him?"

"No."

"What will you do if you don't find someone who loves you?" he asked curiously.

"I suppose I'll just stay a spinster, like Aunts Prudence and Constance."

"A lot of women in your position would marry him just for financial security. Or to call themselves duchess."

"Not me. He doesn't make my heart flutter."

Rhys's dark eyes were steady on hers. "Have you ever met a man who does?

Lenore couldn't look away. "I have."

Rhys sucked in a breath. "Do I know him?"

Lenore threw caution to the wind. "Intimately."

She held her breath, bracing for rejection as she waited for him to realize the import of what she'd just said. His eyes widened in astonishment, then he frowned, as if questioning his own judgment.

"You might have been right about my brain and all those hits to the head," he said. "Are you saying the person who makes your heart flutter is me?"

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