Eugenia woke the next morning with conflicting emotions: a lazy, sensual happiness that came from the presence of the man lying asleep beside her, and an icy trepidation arising from the imminent swimming lesson.

She slid quietly out of bed. She was going in that lake, because she was determined never again to put anyone at risk to save her life. Since the accident, she’d chosen to avoid water—but that felt uncomfortably similar to the way she had been avoiding society.

She was no coward.

It was a glorious morning. Standing at the window, she heard a faint clatter and a fragment of distant song; the new kitchen maids were at their duties. The neat lawn behind the house sloped down to the lake, which looked deceptively benign in the morning light.

If she slipped out the side door, no one would see her. The kitchen and its gardens lay on the other side of the house. She could steal down to the water, wade in as far as her knees, and return to the house with no one the wiser.

Yesterday’s breeches were nowhere to be seen, but she could wear her chemise into the lake since she would be alone. Making up her mind, she gathered her robe and slipped quietly from the chamber.

When she reached the pebbly shore, she kicked off her slippers, bent over, and examined the tiny fish swimming among the weedy plants at the water’s edge. Her reflection in the water shook with wavelets, but her fingers were trembling in reality.

This was ridiculous! She was twenty-nine years old. She had established a successful registry company. She was no coward.

She had no fear of encountering dead things, fishy or otherwise, below the lake’s limpid surface. No, it was the sensation of water closing over her face, the terror of finding herself in a liquid coffin.

Enough!

She folded her dressing gown, placed it on top of her slippers, and inched forward. First her toes met dry sun-warmed stones and then those just under the water. She nearly forgot to breathe as she willed herself not to retreat back to dry land.

Thank goodness she was alone, because she was beginning to think she might vomit.

Ward and Lizzie and Otis were at home in water. Otis, in particular, had announced that he wanted to be in the lake every day. If she wished . . .

She gulped.

Did she want to be Otis’s mother? And Lizzie’s?

Knobby knees, earnest face, all chin and eyes. A pet rat named Jarvis, thrust at her like a furry, whiskery version of his boy. Lizzie’s fierce spirit and dramatic soul. Her black veil, trailing behind her now rather than sheltering her from the world.

Eugenia knew that answer. She wanted to be the children’s mother.

With all her heart.

Emboldened, she took another step so that water trickled over her toes before she froze again. The water was horridly cold and there was a faint smell of dead fish.

She stood as if rooted for what seemed like an age, cursing herself for being a coward, and incapable of going in any deeper.

Just when she was about to admit defeat, she was startled by strong arms wrapping around from behind.

She squealed. “Ward!”

“Good morning, angel,” he growled, his voice muffled by her hair.

“Stop teasing,” Eugenia said. “I detest that name.” He must think her a total ninny for standing in a half inch of water.

Ward moved around in front of her, water lapping over his ankles. He wore breeches and a loose shirt, but his feet were bare.

“What if someone sees us?” she asked.

He leaned forward and kissed her, as hot and needy as if he hadn’t woken her up twice during the night.

Eugenia’s mind slid away from the lake and into some special space where she and Ward breathed together, his muscled arms locked around her.

“Bloody hell,” he groaned a few moments later. “I feel unhinged around you, mad with lust.”

“We could return to my bedchamber,” she said. “It’s nice and dry there.”

“I want to kiss you.” He moved backward, farther out. He didn’t pull her toward him; he merely squeezed her hands, as if to promise, you are safe.

She looked down at their feet. Although he was no more than an arm’s length from her, his ankles were completely submerged.

“Are you trying to bribe me?”

“You’ll have kisses, either way,” Ward assured her.

But he made a little sound of satisfaction in the back of his throat when she stepped toward him.

He crushed her against his body, his hands running over her bottom and pulling her even tighter. Then he took another step back, bringing her with him. Her hands clenched on his shoulders.

“All right?” he murmured.

The water was brushing her calves, but she felt so overheated that its cool caress was welcome.

“Are you certain no one can see us?” she gasped, because his hand was caressing her breast.

“Quite certain,” Ward promised in a rusty voice. “Your back is to the house. Close your eyes.” Her chemise was no barrier to his mouth. Eugenia’s knees weakened, but he supported her.

She didn’t notice that he had guided her further out until cold water reached her thighs. Her eyes popped open.

“You’re seducing me into the water!” she gasped, pulling away from his arms and standing free.

He threw back his head and bellowed with laughter. For a moment she was struck by the sheer beauty of his face and arched neck. The shadow of lashes on his cheek, the sunlight striking gold from his hair.

He gathered her close again, and picked her up. Her legs curled around his hips just as they had when she lay underneath him in bed. Her chemise billowed around her, floating on the surface.

He took another step backward, bringing her bottom perilously close to the water. Eugenia wrapped her arms around his neck. “You cannot possibly think that we—that we could—”

“Well, we could,” Ward said, laughter threading through his voice. “But perhaps not during your first swimming attempt?”

“You must be joking!” Eugenia cried, missing the step that brought water all the way to her waist. “This is cold!” she squeaked, huddling against his chest.

“Your body will warm in a minute,” Ward said, nuzzling her ear.

Eugenia took a shuddering breath. “Very well, you may go a little deeper.”

Ward grinned. “I think you said the same thing last night.”

She pinched him in reply, and ordered, “Farther out, please, before I change my mind.”

When the water reached her shoulders, Eugenia made two discoveries. The first was that, below the water’s surface, her breasts looked enticingly mermaid-like.

The second was when one is plastered against a warm male body, cold water was surprisingly tolerable.

“I do not want the water to go over my head,” she told him. As secure as she felt with Ward, she had reached her limit.

“This is far enough for today,” he reassured her. “Uncurl your legs, Eugenia. I’m going to slide an arm under them.”

Somehow she forced her legs straight in the water. She trusted Ward with every particle of her being. He wouldn’t let her sink.

“You’re changing everything,” she whispered, squinting up at him as she floated—actually floated!—with the support of his arm at her back.

“I’m making you into a swimmer.” He scooped her back up against his chest again. “Enough for the day.”

Eugenia couldn’t stop smiling. “I floated!” He had opened doors for her, doors inside herself that she never knew existed.

“You did,” Ward said, kissing her nose. “Next thing I know, you’ll be swimming the Channel.”

“Do people do that?”

“Not as far as I know,” he replied cheerfully. “But you’re a woman who goes where others don’t, Eugenia.”

“Floating is enough,” she replied, resting her cheek against his chest.

Ward was plowing steadily through the water and up onto the shingle. “I think we should make this a daily ritual.” His voice was dark and needy.

Following his gaze, Eugenia looked down. Her dripping chemise clung to every curve. It was so thin that the tuft of hair between her legs could be seen through the fabric.

Morning ritual, Ward had said. He was planning their life together. They were both experiencing this new, tender emotion carved out of desire.

She felt a bolt of happiness that warmed even her chilled toes. “There’s more to us than desire,” she said. She could not shout that she loved him and she knew he loved her, even though it was true.

Ladies didn’t do that. Not proper, even for those conducting an illicit affaire.

Ward said nothing in reply, and they were back at the house and up the stairs before she untangled her thoughts about what ladies could and couldn’t do.

Once again in her chamber, he set her down. But there was something she had to clarify before she rang for a bath. “Ward, you are aware that I’m a lady, aren’t you?”

Ward stared at Eugenia, not knowing what to say.

What was she asking, exactly? She had freely told him of the prostitutes she’d met as a child, of her aunt’s directorship of Magdalene House, of her uncle who was in the Thames River Police . . .

On the other hand, she currently lived in an elegant house in the smartest neighborhood—though she had paid for it herself.

What made a lady? He himself was illegitimate, but he had never considered himself defined by that, any more than he was by being the son of aristocrats.

If he refused to define himself by the circumstances of his birth, he shouldn’t define Eugenia by hers. Nor his mother: for all her lineage and privilege, Lady Lisette had been no lady.

There was only one possible answer. “Of course I do. What I see before me,” he said, “is a very chilled, shivering lady.” He pulled the cord to summon her maid. “Who shall have a hot bath and later some champagne.”

Her mouth curled into a smile.

“It’s not every day that a lady overcomes her worst fear.” He brushed a kiss on her lips. “You are a remarkable woman, Eugenia.”

Ward needed a few minutes after he’d left Eugenia’s chamber to work out why he felt as if walls were closing around him. Then he remembered that just before she’d asked him about her status as a lady, Eugenia had said, “There’s more to us than desire.” His gut clenched uneasily.

There could be no “us.”

She was a delight, a revelation, a pure pleasure. She was a lady and yet not, given the scorn with which the likes of his grandmother and Lady Hyacinth greeted her.

He had to establish distance between them. He couldn’t endanger Eugenia’s heart; she had already lost one lover.

Actually, it was probably all in his imagination. Likely she didn’t give a ha’penny for him. Eugenia Snowe was a woman of common sense. They were enjoying each other with the kind of unbridled enthusiasm that came naturally to people who have been deprived of bed play.

They would always have a special tenderness between them.

That worked, he decided, yanking down his breeches.

Freed from the wet cloth, his erect cock bobbed against his stomach. His body didn’t give a damn about the plans he was making for sharing nostalgic glances with Eugenia at some time in the future.

It wanted her, to own her, take her.

Keep her.

Oh, bloody hell.