Marissa floated tranquilly on her back, her fingers gently fanning the water to keep her in position. The wind must be getting up because she could hear splashing, although her ears were under water which muffled everything.

She had perhaps two seconds warning as she floated serenely, her face to the moon. The surface of the sea rocked in a sudden swell, sending little waves across her face. Before she could react, before she could feel fear, a hard body crashed into hers. The breath knocked from her lungs, she was pushed under the surface of the sea. Water flooded her nostrils, stung her eyes, filled her ears. Her bare behind grazed the rippled sand of the sea bottom and the shallowness took some of the panic away.

She curled her legs underneath her, found her footing and stood up, coughing and spluttering as she took in air. She looked round urgently for whatever it was that had rammed her, suddenly afraid again. The local people had tales of sharks in these waters which she had always dismissed as fantasy – now she was not so sure.

But it was not a shark who seized her from behind. Strong arms clamped themselves around her waist and she was lifted bodily from the water. Pressed against hard, cold flesh Marissa kicked, screamed and dug in her elbows. With a muffled curse her assailant dropped her. Her feet hit the bottom, she dug in her toes and spun round to face him.

‘Marcus!’ She was so taken aback that she fell back into the water with a splash. The realisation of her nakedness kept her submerged, crouched so that only her head and shoulders emerged. No such considerations of modesty appeared to afflict Marcus, who stood there, hands on hips and chest heaving, glaring down at her.

‘You must be mad. Whatever has possessed you? This is no solution.’ He caught a ragged breath and stared at her with a strange mixture of anger and concern.

‘I must be mad?’ Marissa was so taken aback that she half rose, then remembered her state and fell to her knees. ‘What do you think you are doing, crashing into me like that? You could have drowned me!’ Her hair hung in sodden strands across her face, dripping stinging salt water into her eyes. She pushed it back with both hands, then dropped her arms hastily to cover her breasts.

‘Why should you worry about me drowning you when you were hell-bent on self-destruction? he demanded furiously.

‘Self-destruction? Marcus, have you completely taken leave of your senses?’ Her sense of bewilderment was growing by the second. ‘I came for a swim because it has been so hot all day. I am a very good swimmer, I would have you know, and I do this frequently and quite safely.’ She looked up at the water-drenched figure. His hair was dark and sleek, pushed back to reveal the strong planes of his face. His powerfully muscled shoulders, moving slightly with his breathing, gleamed as the moonlight struck the water droplets. She did not dare let her eyes stray lower.

He spoke slowly and deliberately, as though his relief fired his anger as he realised just how badly he had misread the situation. ‘Swimming? You are here in the middle of the night, all alone and you tell me you do this often? If you do not care for the risk you put yourself to, do you not have some concern for the impropriety of it? You have a position to uphold. You are the Dowager Countess of Longminster. What if someone were to see you? What do the servants think of you riding around in men’s clothes?’

‘My servants are loyal to me and do what I tell them,’ Marissa retorted.

‘In that case I shall speak to Peters in the morning and have your horse brought back to the stables at the Hall. We will have no more unsupervised riding.’

‘You will, will you? How dare you try to control my life?’ Marissa suddenly, and very satisfyingly, lost her temper. ‘I am neither your sister nor, thank heavens, your wife. You cannot command me, my lord. Take Tempest back if you wish to be so petty-minded. I will buy my own horse. And Tom – who, if you need to be reminded, is my groom – will look after it for me. I ride when and how and where I please.’

It was as if two years of subservience, of fearful obedience to her lord, had dissolved in a flash of anger. All her life men had controlled her. Well, now she was free, independent, able to do what she liked. She was so exhilarated by the thought that she stood up, forgetting her nakedness.

Marcus’s eyes widened as his gaze travelled down her body and he became, suddenly, very still. Marissa gulped, lifting her hands to cover as much of her chilled body as she could. ‘I have had quite enough of this nonsense. Turn away. I want to go back to the shore.’

As though her words had released him Marcus moved slowly to present her with a view of broad shoulders, a long, supple back tapering to narrow hips and taut buttocks. Marissa swallowed hard and turned away as abruptly herself. Too abruptly. Her foot caught one of the rare stones on that sandy shore and she stumbled, falling with a cry back into the cold water.

Instantly he was beside her, lifting her up in his arms and holding her tight against his chest. ‘You are frozen. You foolish woman, are you trying to catch pneumonia?’

Marissa could only shiver in response. Now she was out of the water, her wet skin fully exposed to the breeze, she was colder than ever. But it was not only the cold that was making her shiver, it was the nearness of this man, the strength of him, his obvious concern for her that had generated that outburst.

And there was something else, something that was dangerous insanity: she was falling in love with him. So this was what it was like, she thought as he made his way through the water, slowly, hampered by his burden and the dragging shallows. She had heard about love but had never felt it, never expected it, and now she recognised the months of thinking, dreaming about Marcus for what they were.

Instinctively Marissa snuggled closer into his arms, and was rewarded by a tightening of his grip. The, as they neared the beach, she began to think more clearly. This was a fatally stupid thing to do, to fall in love with this man. He was her husband’s cousin, so like him to look at that they could be twins, one dark, the other blond. And, however different his behaviour appeared to be on the surface, all men were driven by the same urges, the same dark passions, she had no doubt of that.

Marcus had made it quite plain that he was going to look for a wife in London. And men did not expect love in marriage, she knew that too. They sought duty, a good alliance, obedience and subservience. If he even guessed she was falling in love with him he would be embarrassed at best, appalled at worst.

As soon as Marcus’s feet touched dry sand Marissa wrenched from his arms and ran to where she had left her clothes and towels piled under a bush at the foot of  the dunes. She snatched the largest rectangle of linen and swathed it round her shivering body, keeping her back turned to him. Between chattering teeth, she said, ‘Will you please go away?’

‘I will, but I would appreciate it if you could spare me a towel, otherwise it will take me rather a long time to get dressed, given that I’m soaking wet.’ The anger had left his voice, leaving only a trace of faint, slightly breathless, amusement.

Without turning Marissa held out the smaller towel, conscious of just how close behind her he must be as he took it.

Seconds later, right at her back, he said, ‘Will you not get dressed? You are shivering.’

‘Go away, then! How can I get dressed with you here?’

‘For heaven’s sake, Marissa, stop acting the prude. You have been a married woman, when all’s said and done.’

‘But not to you,’ she snapped. Suddenly, incredibly, she felt the weight of her sodden hair lifted and strong hands gently wringing the water out of it. Then Marcus began to rub the damp mass with the towel he held, working down from the scalp to the finest tendrils lying on her shoulder-blades.

‘Stop it,’ she demanded. If Marcus was drying her hair with the towel then he was not wearing it himself.

‘Stand still.’ He carried on the rhythmic stroking. ‘If you will not dry yourself, I will do it for you.’

His hands touched her shoulders and Marissa whipped round, lifting her hands to fend him off. They flattened onto the planes of his chest, but she did not push, only stood there feeling the cold skin against her palms, the beat of his heart under her fingers. Marcus looked down at her for a long moment, then pulled her tight against him. She felt the heat of him under the cold skin, the hard strength of him, the frightening, arousing, maleness against her. His mouth came down slowly on hers and he kissed her as if asking a question. Her response seemed to give him the answer he was looking for as he deepened the kiss, his mouth moving sensuously against hers, his tongue probing gently into the softness of her mouth.

Her lord had never kissed her, except formally on the cheek, Marissa tentatively let her own tongue-tip taste his. The sensation made her knees feel weak, but she was rewarded by the soft groan in the back of his throat as Marcus moved his hand in a sweeping caress down her spine. The towel, swept away by his impatient fingers, fell unheeded to the sand as his hands, cupping her buttocks, moulded her to him.

The heat of him was a shock, then a thrill as she caught fire too. Speechless she clung to him as he dipped his head to graze a long kiss from her earlobe down her neck to the swell of her breast.

Marissa gasped out loud as his sharp teeth found one peaking nipple and fastened gently on the aroused tip. His tongue teased and tasted her salty skin and Marissa whimpered as it circled and licked the tight bud.

Through her shock and sensuous delight Marissa struggled to understand what was happening to her. Her husband had performed his marital duties on her shrinking body with a haste – and distaste – which had shown only too clearly how she had displeased and disappointed him. Never had she expected that a man could give her so much pleasure – this must be what they did with their mistresses…

But underneath this tide of unfamiliar pleasure there was something else, a building yearning, a feeling of expectation that there was more to come, a goal to be reached, to be striven for.

Marcus pulled her down gently onto the fallen towel, his hands never leaving her body, his mouth returning to hers for a long kiss that sapped her will and sent a frisson of delight pulsating through her. It was there again, this sense of building pleasure, of expectation. Her body arched under his hands and she whispered, ‘What are you doing to me?’

‘Making love to you, I had rather hoped,’ Marcus answered huskily, his voice sounding slightly amused. His breath was warm on her chin, then his tongue was trailing insidiously down the curve of her breast to the other nipple to recommence its teasing.

Marissa drew in a shuddering breath, hardly able to wait for whatever it was that was coming to sweep her away. Marcus’s fingers strayed downwards over the swell of her hip to the softness of her inner thighs, gently parting and exploring her secret core with stroking caresses.

The wave of sensation swept over Marissa, shaking her in every part of her body. She cried out, arching into his embrace, then fell back, lights exploding against her closed lids. As the pleasure ebbed, leaving her quivering in his arms, shudders shook her.

After an age she opened her eyes to meet his, smiling down at her. Marissa smiled tremulously back, reached up her hand to stroke his cheek. Marcus closed his eyes at the caress, then groaned. ‘Sweetheart, I really do not think that I can wait any longer…’

Her eyes closed again as his mouth fastened on hers, hard and demanding, then his weight was on her, pressing her down into the yielding sand, his long legs twining with hers, separating them, easing them apart.

Marissa opened her eyes, startled out of her sensual dream. The man above, the familiar weight on her flinching body, the water-darkened hair and the Southwood features lit coldly by the moonlight. It was horribly familiar and something slipped – time, perhaps – as Marissa did what she had always done to allow her body to be used. She lay still and passive, not preventing, not welcoming the invasion, her eyes open and unfocused.

 

Marcus froze as he realised the change in Marissa’s response to him, then rolled off her body and onto his feet in one swift movement. Something had happened, had gone horribly wrong, but he was not going to demand answers or explanations. Never in his life had he taken an unwilling woman and he was not about to start with this one.

He ran down the short beach and plunged beneath the cold water, feeling its cold kiss dousing his heated arousal. He swam hard for two minutes, killing the fire in his veins, before turning back to the shore. As he swam he did not allow himself to think. To feel. As he strode ashore he saw Marissa had pulled on her clothes and was standing with her back to him beside her horse.

‘The towels are by your clothes,’ she said, her voice expressionless, as she heard him splash ashore.

‘Thank you,’ he said, keeping his voice neutral as he searched for words. She walked away, leading Tempest to where a tree stump protruded from the sand at a convenient height for a mounting block. Her skin would still be damp and her breeches clung tightly as she bent her knee to mount. He should help her but she would not want him touching her, so he turned, pulling on his clothes over his wet skin. After a moment she managed to mount and gathered up the reins to turn the horse homeward and Marcus caught a glimpse of her face in the moonlight.

He ran to put a restraining hand on the bridle. ‘Wait, please. Marissa, you must believe that I intend to marry you.’

‘Indeed, my lord? It is doubtless very honourable of you to make the offer after your actions tonight. However, I have no more desire to marry you than you have shown up to now to marry me.’ She gazed down at him with an expression he could not read.

‘Desire?’ He laughed without humour. ‘If we are to talk about desire, Marissa, might I remind you that yours appeared to at least match mine. And certainly, unless you are a very good actress, you have obtained more pleasure from this night’s encounter than I.’

The words were out before he could stop them, call them back. She jerked at the reins, sending Tempest plunging away into the dunes, but not before he glimpsed the hurt twist of her mouth, the pain in her eyes.

But she was gone, and after one hasty step towards his hunter he checked himself. There was nothing he could do tonight to make things any better. After a night’s reflection Marissa would realise that she had to marry him. For himself, he reflected as he swung up into the saddle, the night’s escapade had made up his mind, his cousin’s widow would make an admirable wife. Provided she could forgive him for his crass words just then.

 

The rhythm of Tempest’s hoof-beats changed abruptly as she plunged down the bank from the saltings and onto the hard-packed surface of the coast road. It was enough to shake Marissa out of her mindless, headlong flight from the beach, from Marcus. She reined the mare in and trotted more gently up the carriage drive until a path led off towards the Dower House through the trees fringing the park.

The moon had disappeared behind a bank of high cloud and Marissa slowed Tempest to a walk to allow the horse to pick its way across the tussocky grass of the park. Now that her instinctive flight had ended she found she was acutely aware of every sensation, every sound. Her wet hair clung to her coat, soaking through the cloth between her shoulder blades, sand gritted between her toes inside the leather boots and her eyelashes felt salt-sticky. Yet despite these discomforts she felt alive, tingling with the consciousness of her body. For the first time she was truly aware of herself, of her skin, of her lips, of her breasts, of the caress of the night air on her cheeks.

She held her face up to the breeze as it sighed through the beeches and allowed her mind, at last, to be free, to think about what had just happened, what Marcus had done to her.

Through the stillness hoof-beats sounded, loud on the still night air. Marissa drew Tempest back farther into the shadows as Marcus’s hunter galloped by, his master low on its neck. Marissa let Tempest move forward to the edge of the copse and watched as the big horse vanished under the arch of the stable block.