Page 153 of How to Lose a Lord in Ten Days

He leant down to the laces of his shoes.

‘On,’ Lydia stipulated.

He glared at her.

‘These cost —’

‘Shoes on.’

Ashford straightened slowly. ‘I am not sure you should be allowed to have this much power.’

Approaching the fountain, he took a readying breath, and swung one leg over, immediately grimacing.

‘How is the temperature?’ she asked sympathetically.

‘Chilly,’ he said, teeth gritted.

Lydia was enjoying herself immensely. ‘Oh dear. One would think the water would be warmed by the sunshine.’

‘It has not been.’

He swung the other leg in. The water came to thigh height, and though it was clearer than the tarn, Lydia could see the bottom was slick with algae and moss.

Ashford took a step, wobbled precariously once – the bottom of his shoes did not seem to have much grip – then twice, but held his balance.

‘You are getting rather good at this,’ Lydia praised.

‘Not a skill I imagine using again,’ he muttered, letting go of the side.

Pausing for only a moment longer, he sloshed across the fountain and seized the glove ‘There! Are you happy now?’

He held it triumphantly aloft. It was over far too quickly. Why, he was barely splashed. It had none of the satisfaction of the tarn experience, none at all.

Lydia withdrew the other glove.

Ashford glared. ‘No. You are being—’

It sailed past him through the air.

‘Ridiculous,’ he finished. ‘I am not getting it.’

‘You have to,’ she said imperiously.

‘I refuse.’

‘You asked me how you might prove yourself.’

‘Which I have done,’ he said. ‘It does not mean I will allow myself to be run roughshod over. This is my line.’

He sloshed resolutely to the side.

‘You cannot leave it there!’

‘You should have thought of that before,’ he retorted.

‘Then I will get it,’ she said. ‘If you are too craven.’

She strode toward the fountain, nose in the air.