Secrets of a Gentleman Escort. Bronwyn Scott
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his hands linger at her waist, his grip strong and confident as he held her. ‘I asked around. Your master of horse said this was a good spot for a picnic.’ Nicholas moved to the back of the gig and began to unpack, revealing at last what he’d stowed away. ‘I hear it’s a good place to fish.’
Fishing poles! Good heavens, she hadn’t seen the fishing poles for years, not since her grandfather had passed away actually. She hadn’t even been sure the poles were still around. Part of her assumed they’d simply found their way into other hands—perhaps a groom or two who’d gone fishing on a day off and had kept them, or perhaps some boys in the village had borrowed them. But here they were, looking as able as ever. He held out a pole. ‘Are you game?’
Annorah shot a quick glance at his boots, noting their high polish and expense. Water would ruin them. ‘You have to go in the water to fish.’
Nicholas gave her a wink. ‘I’ll let you in on a little secret. I plan on taking them off. How about you? I don’t think those half-boots will fare any better.’ Nicholas sat down on a big boulder by the river and tugged at his boots. He tossed them aside. ‘Here’s another secret. I plan to take off a lot more than my boots.’
Dear lord, he meant it. Annorah’s mouth went dry as he pushed up his trousers and began rolling off his socks, revealing well-muscled calves. It was ridiculous to be aroused by a man’s legs, but she rather doubted most men had legs like his; so perfectly turned with a sculpted bulge of muscle and tanned, too, not a pasty white. It suggested extraordinarily good health. Here was a man who knew how to take care of himself, whose body was not padded and moulded into a false representation of its true physique. There was no artifice here.
No, absolutely none, she affirmed a moment later. Off came his jacket, just to reinforce the point. The thin linen of his shirt hugged the breadth of his shoulders and tapered into the waistband of his trousers, calling attention to the trim line of his hips.
‘Well? Stop dawdling, Annorah.’ Nicholas stepped into the river with his pole. ‘We don’t eat until we fish.’
Right, just as soon as I get my jaw shut. She was being ridiculous.
He tossed a fishing pole in her direction. ‘Unless you’re too scared?’
That did it. She’d been more than an able fisher in her day. Annorah set to her boots with a flurry of efficiency. Boots and stockings were off, the skirts of her dress hiked up with the help of a hair ribbon. ‘I can outfish a man about town like you any day of the week.’
Nicholas grinned. ‘Then get in here and do it.’
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