“Of course.” Seraphina was using both hands to load sand into the pail. “You certainly don’t need to ask for my consent.”
Pandora was both amused and chagrined. “After a year of Lady Berwick’s instructions, I feel as if I should have permission from someone.” She glanced at Phoebe, who was at least a dozen yards away, looking out at the ocean. Obviously the woman couldn’t have cared less about what Pandora was doing.
Gabriel followed her gaze. “You have Phoebe’s permission,” he said dryly. “Let me walk with you.”
Still feeling shy from their earlier encounter, Pandora accompanied him across the cool, compacted sand. Her senses were overwhelmed by a deluge of sight, sound, and sensation. Every breath filled her lungs with vibrant, living air and left the taste of salt spindrift on her lips. Farther out, the ocean rolled in wind-harried billows, trimmed with ruffles of white foam. Pausing to stare out at the vast blue infinity, she tried to imagine what might be concealed in its mysterious depths, shipwrecks and whales and exotic creatures, and a pleasant shiver went through her. She bent to pick up a tiny cup-shaped shell that had been partially embedded in the sand, and rubbed her thumb across its rough gray-striped surface. “What is this?” she asked, showing it to Gabriel.
“A limpet.”
She found another shell, round and ridged. “And this? Is it a scallop?”
“A cockleshell. You can tell the difference by looking at the hinge-line. A scallop has a triangle on each side.”
As Pandora collected more shells—whelks, a winkle, mussels—she gave them to Gabriel, who carried them for her in one of his trouser pockets. She noticed he had rolled the hems of his trousers to the middle of his calves, which were lightly dusted with glinting tawny fleece.
“Do you have a bathing-suit?” she dared to ask shyly.
“Yes, but it’s not for mixed company.” At her questioning glance, Gabriel explained, “A man’s bathing-suit isn’t like the ones Ivo and Justin are wearing. It consists of flannel trunks that tie at the waist with a string. Once they’re wet, they leave so little to the imagination that a man may as well wear nothing at all. Most of us at the estate don’t bother with them when we go for a swim.”
“You swim naked?” Pandora asked, so flustered that a shell dropped from her lax fingers.
Gabriel bent to retrieve it. “Not with ladies present, of course.” He smiled at her pink face. “I usually go in the mornings.”
“The water must be like ice.”
“It is. But there are benefits to a cold ocean swim. Among other things, it stimulates the circulation.”
The idea of him swimming without a stitch on had certainly affected her circulation. She wandered to the water’s edge where the sand was glossy. It was too wet to leave a footprint: As soon as she took another step, silt flowed into the depression. A wave rolled in and thinned until it reached her toes. She started at the biting cold of it but took a few steps forward. The next surge flooded over her ankles and almost up to her knees in a rush of chilling, bubbling lightness. She gave a little squeal and a surprised laugh at the feel of it. The wave slackened, its forward momentum halting.
As the water retreated in a long pull, towing sand back with it, Pandora had the sensation of sliding backward even though she was standing still. At the same time, sand eroded from beneath her feet, as if someone were yanking away a rug she happened to be standing on.
The ground tilted sharply and she staggered, her equilibrium lost.
A pair of strong hands caught her from behind. Blinking, Pandora found herself pulled back against Gabriel’s hard, warm chest, with his thighs braced on either side of hers. She heard the baritone of his voice, but he spoke near her bad ear, and the sound of the surf muffled his words.
“Wh-what?” she asked, turning her head to the side.
“I said I have you,” Gabriel murmured at her other ear. The brush of his lips at the delicate outer rim sent an electric feeling through her. “I should have warned you. As the waves ebb, it can make you feel as if you’re moving even when you’re standing still.”
Another wave approached. Pandora tensed and backed up against him more tightly, and she was vaguely annoyed to feel him chuckle.
“I won’t let you fall.” His arms slid securely around her front. “Just relax.”
He steadied her as the wave broke and surged around her legs, its eddies raking up sand and shells. As the water retreated, Pandora considered fleeing to higher ground. But it felt so pleasant to lean back against Gabriel’s sturdy form that she hesitated, and then another surge was coming. She gripped his arm hard, and it tightened reassuringly across her middle. Shoaling water rose and broke with the sounds of shattering crystal, followed by swooshes as if something were being mopped. Over and over, in hypnotic rhythm. Gradually her breathing turned deep and regular.
The experience began to feel rather dreamlike. The world had become nothing but coldness, heat, sun, sand, the scent of brine and minerals. Gabriel’s torso was a wall of muscle at her back, flexing subtly as he adjusted for balance, keeping her braced and supported and safe. Random thoughts drifted through her mind, the way they did in early morning, in the margin between sleep and wakefulness. A breeze carried the sounds of the children laughing, the dog barking, Phoebe’s and Seraphina’s voices, but they all seemed removed from what was happening to her.
Forgetting herself entirely, Pandora let her head loll back against Gabriel’s shoulder. “What kind of glue does Ivo use?” she asked languidly.