Part 74 (2/2)

”Do give dearest Lucille our best wishes and tell her that we shall be over to Dilling ham soon to see how she goes on!” Mrs Dit ton gushed.

The Countess and Polly exchanged a look, in total accord.

”Poor Lucille,” the Countess murmured sotto voce.

”Just when she was beginning to feel a little better as well!”

The unrelenting summer heat continued. The Dowager Countess had taken to dozing the afternoon hours away, and with Lucille also confined to bed and Nicholas out about estate business, Polly would wander in the shade of the gardens or curl up with a book in the pergola beside the lake. It was too hot for riding. Her mind was preoccupied with thoughts of Lord Henry March night. Part of her longed to see him when he came to Wood bridge, but her practical side told her that this was unlikely. Whilst Lord Henry might well escort his mother and sister on the journey, he would hardly stay long in a provincial backwater which could hold no interest for one used to far more sophisticated pleasures. It seemed even less likely that Henry would choose to seek her out. Since he had not called in London after the ordeal, he would be unlikely to do so now.

Polly frowned, putting her book down on the painted seat of the paG.o.da and looking out across the dazzling water of the lake. There was no doubt that Lord Henry March night was an enigma. She had guessed he was not the foolish dandy he pretended to be, though his reputation as a rake was perhaps another matter. But there was something suspicious in his behaviour. Mr Dit ton's words at the ball, half- forgotten, came back to give her a slight shock. A gentleman who was bored with his aristocratic lifestyle might well become involved in criminal activities for excitement. He might well be lurking during a riot--could even be an instigator of the discontent that had led the mob to turn on them.

Polly s.h.i.+vered. Surely she was being foolish, particularly when she cared for him as she did. She could not equate her feelings for him with such doubts about his integrity. Yet something did not quite fit.

She got up, intending to walk off her fit of the dismals. She took the path which skirted the lake, enjoying the play of light on its surface and considering whether it would make a suitable subject for her painting.

Polly had not picked up her paintbrush since returning to Suffolk, but it was an activity which she thoroughly enjoyed and she had some skill.

It was a beautiful day to be outside, although a little too hot for comfort, but Polly's parasol kept the direct sunlight off her face.

The Dilling ham lake drained, by way of a small stream and a sluice gate, into the River De ben, and Polly slipped through the little gate and took the riverside path. Strictly speaking, this was not Sea grave land and belonged to Charles Far rant, but Polly knew he would not mind her trespa.s.sing. The Fan-ants and the Sea graves had grown up together.

There was a small fis.h.i.+ng-house a little way further down the bank.

With a smile, Polly remembered that this had been the scene of various childhood expeditions in the hot summers of years that had gone by; they had sat on the balcony of the fis.h.i.+ng-house, dangling their lines in the river and losing patience before they had caught anything. The boys had been allowed to swim, but her governess had scolded Polly for asking to join in too, and had only reluctantly allowed her to dangle her bare feet in the water of the pool inside the fis.h.i.+ng-house. Polly smiled at the memory. The pool, lined with coloured tiles and marble imported specially by Charles Far rant's father, had always fascinated her. The water had been so clear and deep, shadowed and secret. She was minded to peek inside just to see if the reality was anything like her childhood memories.

Polly pushed open the fis.h.i.+ng-house door and, in the split second that followed, her startled gaze took in everything before her. The interior was smaller than she remembered, but the tiles of a swirling green and blue were just the same. Light filtered down from the balcony above, dappling the water and illuminating the statues of mermaids and merman, which, in varying states of tasteful undress, lined the walls.

Polly certainly did not remember them. Her gaze lingered, half-shocked, half-intrigued at the sensuous display. Then she looked again at the pool and experienced a sensuous shock of an entirely more physical nature.

The pool was occupied. Polly, her hand still on the latch, took a hasty step backwards. And at that moment Lord Henry March night, his wet, fair hair as sleek as an otter's pelt, hauled himself out of the pool, the water running down his bronzed torso, s.h.i.+mmering droplets glistening on his naked body.

Polly gave a strangled squeak. She clapped her hand over her mouth, then wondered foolishly if it would be better to s.h.i.+eld her eyes, since she seemed incapable of tearing her gaze away from Lord Henry's body.

His nakedness was a shocking echo of the cla.s.sical poses of the statues.

But they were inanimate, whilst he was all too vividly alive. The strong, graceful lines of his body were utterly compelling. Somehow, Polly managed to raise her gaze to Lord Henry's bare, broad chest, where it appeared to become fixed once again. He had an excellent physique, she thought dazedly, without an ounce of fat, the powerful shoulders and chest tapering to the narrow waist and down to strong thighs, all too clearly displayed to her view.

Lord Henry turned aside in leisurely fas.h.i.+on to reach for the towel which lay across a wicker chair and Polly's fascinated gaze followed.

Then, as he finally draped the towel about his waist, she was released from the spell and met his eyes, full of speculative amus.e.m.e.nt.

”Have you seen enough. Lady Polly?” Lord Henry asked, scrupulously polite, his hand hovering suggestively over the knot at his waist.

Polly could not answer. A huge wave of heat washed over her, compounded of sheer sensual awareness and burning embarra.s.sment. Even as her mortification struggled for mastery, she was aware of other, more demanding and disturbing feelings, feelings she could not control or understand. She turned on her heel, b.u.mping clumsily against the door in her attempt to get out of the fis.h.i.+ng-house more quickly. The path was rough beneath the flimsy soles of her shoes as she ran from him. The sun suddenly seemed blindingly hot, the gra.s.ses thres.h.i.+ng against her skirt, the colours spinning in a whirling kaleidoscope.

Behind her, she thought she heard Lord Henry shout,

”Polly!

Wait!”

<script>