Secrets of a Gentleman Escort. Bronwyn Scott

      Chapter Six

      Her toes touched the water and the years fell away. How quickly it all returned to her! Her body had not forgotten a single thing. Annorah cast her line with a fluid back-and-forwards movement, revelling in the thrill of the motion as the river took her fly and pulled it into the current. She revelled, too, in the knowledge that Nicholas was watching, approving.

      ‘I must have been thirteen the last time I did that!’ she called over the gurgle of the river, her self-consciousness slipping away with the water.

      ‘Very nice!’ he called back with a mischievous look that said he wasn’t to be outdone. No sooner had she thrown her line than he threw his in a side cast, the fly landing with a quiet plop on the water.

      ‘Show-off!’ Annorah retorted with good humour. ‘That’s not bad for a man about town.’ She caught a suspicious movement in the water to her left. Fish! She quickly reeled in her line. A basic cast would have been sufficient, but she couldn’t help a little showing off of her own. ‘Watch this.’ Annorah flicked the line back and forwards and back again for a sharply executed false cast.

      It became a competition after that. He answered with a side cast. She came back with a roll out. He executed a double haul. She threw a flawless reverse. On it went until they were laughing and wet, their clothes far beyond damp.

      A fierce tug on the line claimed her attention. ‘I’ve got one!’ Annorah shouted, the excitement of the catch seizing her. She began to reel in her line, but the current and the weight of the fish conspired against her. She took an involuntary step towards the centre of the river, planning on retrenching, but her fish had other ideas. He tugged. She slid. Her bare feet ploughed the soft mud of the river bed. Annorah wrestled with the rod. The pole began to bend. ‘You’re not getting away from me, you little bugger!’ She was going to need help.

      No sooner had she thought it, than Nicholas was there, his hands closing over hers, his body coming up and around her from behind, lending her its strength. ‘Tut, tut, Annorah. Such language from a lady. I wouldn’t have guessed.’ He chuckled in her ear. She could feel the heat and muscle of him through his soaked shirt.

      ‘Pull with me, I think we’ve got him.’

      They tugged and reeled, laughing and stumbling in the current, his body there to steady her. At last they landed that fish, a huge river trout. ‘Enough to feed two.’ Nick dragged the fish up on to the bank and flopped down beside it. ‘I say we save it for dinner.’

      ‘What about lunch?’

      Nick grinned and pulled out a gutting knife. ‘You’ve shown yourself to be the better fisherman between us. You go get a pair of fish for lunch and I’ll see to this fellow here.’

      ‘I’ll race you!’ Annorah laughed and waded back in. Her dress was soaked. It hardly mattered how wet she got now. But it was a race she was happy to lose.

      * * *

      By the time she’d returned with her creel full of fish, Nicholas had a camp of sorts arranged. A blanket was spread out in front of a small fire, a spit already set up over the flames. The day was warm, but the heat was welcome against the chill of the river and the damp of her clothes.

      Nick skewered the fish and she busied herself laying out the rest of the picnic items with one notable exception. ‘You meant it about no fish, no food, didn’t you?’