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He held it up, dangling it from two fingers of his right hand. She reached for it and he snatched it from her reach. “I’ll just hold on to this,” he said. “I can’t go up there without a bra!” “You can,” he said. It was an order. “They will see. They will know.” He shook his head. “They will only know what we already know. They will know that you are brilliant, intelligent, and a smoking hot beauty.” “Give it back,” she demanded. He continued to shake his head. “This is mine.” “One day you’re going to go too far,” she huffed and buttoned up the three buttons on her blouse. She smoothed the fabric and re-tucked it into her skirt. She checked herself in the mirror, re-applied a thin coat of her lipstick, as he re-adjusted himself into his trousers. He strode to the door, unlocked it, opened it, and walked through with authority. When she collected her files, she clutched them to her chest to hide the lack of supporting underwear. She walked to her door. Taking a deep breath, she stepped. .. until it was too late...Well, what's done is done, and I'm the one who should be sorry."Yes, done, I thought miserably. At best, he would find a polite way to rescind the open pool invitation, but that was the least of my worries. Maybe he'd go so far as to rat me out to Mom. I felt sick to my stomach."Don't be ashamed of anything, Fiona. No one will hear a word of it. If you like, you can get dressed in the downstairs bath and go directly home. If you want to stay, I'll make myself scarce and you are more than welcome to enjoy the pool as long as you wish, with all the privacy you need."I could sense a window of opportunity sliding shut, and forced the words out. "I was thinking about you, just now," I whispered, still refusing to look at him."Ah." He took a deep breath, exhaled, stalled for a suitable approach.He resumed, keeping the tone easy and conversational. "Haven't been around much this season, but I thought I had spotted you in the company of...” He frowned as his memory.
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My family was kind and my parents had married out of love and had,unlike many other young noblemen and women, not been arranged to marryby their parents. Father was a banker and would daily go into town onerrands. He made heaps of money and me and my siblings all had trustfunds of decent sizes, protecting us from ever falling into poverty,which was the plan at least.My mother, who was four years my father's senior, had been a girlwithout greater assets before marrying my father. She'd worked as a maidin my grandparents' mansion and somehow she and my father, Gerard, hadfound each other almost right away. It was no secret that my mother,Rachel, had been married previously and that I actually was the son ofher first husband, Bart. The two had parted amicably and my real fatherhad passed away just a short time after my mother had become pregnant.As a way of honoring his legacy, she had named me after him. Up untilaround the age of 12 everybody called me "Bart" or "Barty," after that.

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