Gareth's first thought was that if he had to be spotted by anyone, let it be Miss Evangeline Benedict.

He promptly lowered himself into the water with a terrific splash, even though he knew it was too late. Evangeline had seen everything. Yet still she stood there, mouth gaping.

"Miss Benedict!" Even as he said her name, he thought of how ludicrous it sounded, to be so formal with her while he was utterly naked.

She cocked her head forward a bit and narrowed her eyes, or maybe she was squinting. "Lord Gareth?"

As if she didn't realize that's who he was. Perhaps he could still claim to be an estate worker just cooling off in His Lordship's lake, or a vagabond, or—oh, bloody hell. He nodded, whereupon her eyes widened.

"Don't go," he said. "Please stay where you are."

"Do you see me running away?"

"No, and I'm glad."

"Why are you glad?"

His wits had totally deserted him, as his mind scrambled—well, it was already scrambled, thanks to the deserted wits—but it scrabbled and clawed for some sort of coherent response. "I'd hate to think I frightened you just now."

"If you had, I would have screamed and fled back to the house," she said. "What are you doing here? Why didn't you go to Yorkshire with the others?"

"That is why I would ask you to remain where you are."

She tossed her arms outward and offered him a mischievous smile. "As you can see, I haven't budged from this spot. I find the sight of you quite riveting. Wouldn't you, if our situations were reversed?"

"Most assuredly," he said, as his mind darted back to the night in the kitchen, when she threw off her night rail and lay back on the trestle table as if she were a feast for his delectation.

That was why he was now crouching in this cold water. He couldn't get the memory out of his head. He couldn't get anything about Evangeline Benedict out of his head.

"My clothes are on the opposite bank," he told her. "Do allow me to swim back and make myself more presentable." He turned and commenced paddling for the other side of the lake.

He had to marry her, and not just because she'd seen his manhood, or because he'd touched her womanhood, or because they met at a Cyprian's ball for pity's sake.

He couldn't leave her anywhere. As it was, he couldn't bear to leave her standing on that bank. Instead he wished he might have coaxed her into joining him, but she probably couldn't swim. Maybe he'd emerge on the opposite bank to find she was already there, as naked as he was, and—why couldn't he stop thinking about her? He went swimming not only to cool off after walking in the hot sun for so long, but to subdue his arousal. He wanted her, plain and simple—but not the way he'd ever wanted another woman, not even the late Lady Ruth Hale.

Upon reaching shallow water near the opposite side, he turned to steal a glance at where he'd seen her. He was almost disappointed to see her still standing there, but watching him as intently as she could without the benefit of a spyglass.

He stood up and waded the rest of the way, letting her enjoy whatever view she might have of his backside. Only when he stepped back onto terra firma did he venture another glance.

She was still there. She even waved to him.

So he wasn't going to step through the shrubbery to see her waiting for him on the grass, after all. He was definitely disappointed.

He was almost as disappointed to realize that he had no drying cloth. With his hands he brushed off most of the water still clinging to him as he found a sunny spot just beyond the trees and shrubbery lining the lake. He was still quite damp as he put his clothes back on, but at least he was reasonably presentable.

He donned his boots, threw his coat over his shoulder, and trudged along the path that curved back to where he'd last seen her. Halfway there he met her coming his way.

"I know you told me to remain where I was, but I decided to do a slow stroll in your direction," she said. "I hope that doesn't mean you won't tell me why you didn't go to Yorkshire."

"That's just it, Evangeline—"

"Oh, now that you're dressed you call me by my first name. Odd how you were so formal and proper while you were—well—"

He offered a sheepish grin. "Believe it or not, I thought the same thing at the time."

"But you may call me Evie, unless you don't consider yourself my friend."

He noted at once that she did not include the words or family. Was she still dead set against marrying him, or did she see no need to remind him that her mother and his brother would not be marrying, after all?

"I do consider you a friend. Evie. And I wish I could be something more."

"I don't want you to feel you must marry me because of an indiscretion that no one need ever know about," she said.

"I realize that. Indeed, I admire you for taking such a stand, Evie. I know many young ladies—well, actually, my brother, being a duke and ergo the greater catch, knows many who would think nothing of using such an indiscretion to insist on marriage, even if no one ever knew of said indiscretion. I must admit, I've often thought that might be the only way I could ever hope to persuade any young lady to marry me, since I'm not a duke."

Her face clouded. "Do you sincerely believe that's the only way you can persuade a young lady to accept your suit?"

"Not anymore, since you clearly will not accept it on those grounds," he said, smiling to soften any sting from that otherwise truthful statement.

She softened her voice to a near murmur. "Is that why you were at Madame Delphine's that night? Because you hoped to compromise someone like me into marrying you?"

He smiled and shook his head. "No, Evie, nothing of the sort, I assure you."

"What about Lady Ruth? Would you have married her if she hadn't died in that accident?"

He gazed at her for a long moment, wondering if he could ever tell her the truth about that.

"Where did you hear that?" he asked. "Her sister?"

"One might think so, when in fact I heard it from Lady Lockwood last night. She said Lady Ruth's death broke your heart."

"It did," he admitted, "but not for the reasons you think."

"I wish you would tell me why."

He sighed, lowering his gaze to the ground. "I wish I could tell you, too. But I can't."

"Is it too painful?"

He took a long while answering. "You might say that, yes."

"Lady Lockwood thinks I should marry you so as to heal your broken heart. But I don't know if I can do that. I can't take the place of another in someone's heart. It would be as if there was a ghost between us, always."

Gareth still didn't know if Evie loved him, but as for himself—well, why else did he decide against going to Yorkshire? Aside from the fact that he really had no desire to attend yet another house party where the resident spinster would be thrown at him.

That wasn't how he wished to marry, either. But he knew now why he remained here. He didn't want to leave Evie, and there could be only one reason for that.

She broke into his reverie. "You were going to meet her at Madame Delphine's that night, weren't you? But you saw her with someone else. And you realized, from the look of things, that you didn't have a chance."

Good God. Evie knew almost everything. Almost. But she couldn't know the real reason he fled the scene before Lady Ruth saw him there and realized her traitorous activities had been exposed—along with some other things of hers.

He lifted his gaze to meet hers. "I suppose that's one way of putting it," he said ruefully. He felt like a fool, as if Evie were leading him on a chase as merry as the one led by Lady Ruth had been disastrous.

But he was determined that this newest chase would not end in disaster.

How could he ever explain everything to this otherwise innocent young woman? Or did it matter anymore, now that the war was over? Gareth reasoned that maybe if he told Evie the ugly truth—maybe if he opened his heart to her, as he longed to do—she would learn that he loved her enough to trust her with his most painful secrets, much the way he'd foolishly trusted Ruth.

But would he be a fool to trust Evie? There was only one way to find out. He knew he couldn't spend the rest of his life refusing to trust women. And while he'd dallied with Lady Ruth, he realized now that his feelings for Evie ran much deeper—deep enough that he calculated she was worth the risk.

He stepped toward her and gently took her hand into his. "Let us walk around the lake and talk. I will tell you the truth, Evie, but you must give me your solemn word that you will never repeat any of it to another soul. Not your mother, and not your brother or his new wife."