Diamonds in the Rough. Portia Da Costa

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СКАЧАТЬ There was magic enough without the fairies, though. A palpable excitement in the air, despite the superficial tranquility, as if the flowing water itself was generating energy. “I never knew about this spot.” It was true; she’d explored the grounds of Ruffington Hall before, escaping Mama, but never found this place. Trust Wilson to know it was here.

      “Yes, it’s special, isn’t it?” His voice was quiet, and he sounded wistful. But when she turned to him, he was looking at her, a challenging expression on his face.

      “Well, I think I shall do a little sketching,” Adela announced. She mustn’t let her cousin rattle her. Best to go calmly about her own business. But where to sit, wearing a gown of white, without getting mud or dust or plant stains upon it? She could hardly stand the whole time while she was drawing.

      Wilson whipped off his dressing gown in a whirl of silk and set it down on the grass in a little patch of shade. “Better not to sit in full sunlight, Della. I’ve been reading some studies into the effect of sunlight on human tissue, and I believe long exposure may prove harmful to delicate complexions.” He patted the robe, making it flat for her. “Your skin is exceptionally smooth and fine, so you really should take the best care of it. I could formulate an emollient preparation for you, if you like?”

      “Um...yes, thank you. That would be very kind....”

      This was typical Wilson. A pretty compliment combined with scientific instruction. Or maybe he was just trying to butter her up? So he could take liberties.

      Ah, but you want that, don’t you? The liberties...

      The voice of wisdom jabbed at her. She knew what she wanted, and knew she was a fool to want it. Yet still she couldn’t suppress her yearning. She caught her breath when Wilson swiftly undid the buttons of his shirt, then whipped the thing off over his head.

      “Right then, it’s a dip for me.” Flinging his shirt away, he revealed his bare chest and shoulders, so smooth and well shaped. Adela’s eyes skittered to the fastenings of his summer flannel trousers, and she wondered what lay beneath them. Was it drawers or just Wilson?

      Her cousin laughed. As usual, he seemed to have guessed what she was thinking.

      “You’ll have to wait and see.” Waggling his dark eyebrows at her, he threw himself down on the grass, just a foot or two away from her, and attacked the laces of his boots.

      Adela applied herself to her portfolio, but even with the green bounty of the natural world around her, and a freshly sharpened pencil, the blank page remained unsullied. She was trying not to look at Wilson, and failing abjectly.

      He flung away his boots and socks, then stood again. Turning directly toward her, in a blatant challenge, he slowly and teasingly unbuttoned his trousers and let them drop. Then laughed when Adela looked away.

      Wilson was wearing drawers, but they were summer-weight ones, reaching only to his knees. Adela didn’t get much chance to admire their style, though, because before she could protest, he was slipping them off, too. She turned resolutely away from him and studied a small white flower growing a few inches from where she was sitting, a bloom of delicate beauty and frailty.

      “Not interested in human anatomy, then?”

      The temptation to look at him had the force of the fast-flowing stream beside them, and all its inevitability. Her neck ached from the effort of not swiveling in his direction. “I’m very interested in anatomy, just not yours, Wilson. I’m fully conversant with the male form. I’ve studied many great works of art.”

      His laugh rang out, lusty and free. It was a happy sound, but it made her clench her teeth. She was always a source of amusement to him, and yet she couldn’t stop seeking his company.

      “Oh, Della, Della, Della... Don’t you know that all the classical artists tend to err on the side of underestimation in certain male characteristics?”

      “Don’t be disgusting.”

      She was fighting, fighting, fighting now. Resisting what in her heart she knew she’d really come here for.

      Fiddlesticks!

      Trying not to seem at all concerned, she slowly turned in Wilson’s direction. Only to find that he was already at the riverbank and wading in, his back to her.

      Drat the man!

      His shoulders, his back and his bottom were glorious, though. Before the latter disappeared beneath the water, she admired the firm, tight musculature of his buttocks and the way it moved, propelling him forward. The white flower was forgotten, and she began drawing as fast as she could, her pencil flying, inspired. It was always like this when she found a subject that really enchanted her. She could work quickly, almost at lightning speed, the result forming not only on the paper, but etched into her memory as if on a photographic plate, ready to be retrieved at any time, reworked and adapted.

      This was her great gift, and she knew that even if she never saw her cousin’s magnificent arse ever again, she would still be able to draw it over and over, whenever she wanted to.

      It took but a few moments to complete the study. Naked Wilson, his firm backside, his well-shaped torso, his dark hair, silky and tousled down the back of his neck. Smiling, she flipped over the page and drew another impression, this time changing the angle, making the view more a profile. But she didn’t attempt to portray his genitalia. Somehow it didn’t seem right, in case she shortchanged him.

      “Why don’t you come on in, Della? The water’s deliciously refreshing. A swim will do you good.” He half turned, smiling at her over his bare shoulder. “Can you swim?”

      “Indeed I can. I’ve bathed in the sea and I found it most invigorating. And even with the heavy drag of my bathing dress, I quickly took to the strokes.”

      Wilson cocked his head to one side. He looked impressed. “Well, then, you’ll find it even easier and much more pleasant if you swim naked.”

      “Wilson, you really do and say the most absurd things. I can’t possibly take my clothes off in front of you. It’s completely improper and I don’t know why you would even suggest it.”

      Even as she spoke the words, she almost choked on her own hypocrisy. She’d come here to see, think and do improper things. That was her nature. She’d already left off half her underpinnings, knowing full well it was daring and scandalous and would give Mama an apoplectic fit if she ever found out.

      “I don’t think you care about propriety, Della,” said Wilson, his voice low and challenging as he spun around in the flowing stream and approached the bank again.

      I should turn. I should turn.

      But Adela didn’t. She watched the point where Wilson’s body met the water, holding steady as his loins breached the surface and all was exposed to her.

      She blinked. Well, it didn’t seem as if that would go under one of those tiny fig leaves that adorned most classical statuary. Certainly not. His male appendage was sturdy, and had a cheeky, rather insolent look about it. Even as she stared, it gave a twitch, and she could swear it got plumper and longer.

      Wilson gave a low chuckle as he stepped onto the bank. “I’m sorry. I’ve disappointed you, haven’t I? You were expecting a weapon of massive proportions.” Adela’s heart nearly stopped when he reached down and casually fondled СКАЧАТЬ