And so he found himself squeezed in a van loaded with sampling equipment and three vivacious people. It was relaxing to listen to them talk and laugh together; they seemed to expect nothing from him, which was just as he liked it. Elizabeth, as always, talked with her hands as well as her voice, even when limited by driving the van, providing a visual delight for him. His mind drifted into wondering how she would use her hands while making love, and whether her entire body would express her mood the way it did when she was excited by something. It was all too easy to imagine her hands exploring him, that striking intensity of hers focused on nothing but him. He let his imagination run free as they traveled along. It was the only part of himself he intended to make free with. Soon they pulled into a small parking lot. Elizabeth and Jane hopped out of the van and began unloading boxes of equipment from the back. Bingley hurried to help them, while Darcy held back, willing to assist but not wanting to intrude. Elizabeth gave him an amused look as she shouldered a backpack and picked up a box. "I hope you don't think we invited you along for your good looks. Make yourself useful." Her teasing manner took any sting of demand from her words. "And here I thought it was for my charming personality." He wanted to keep her interest for a moment longer.
"No, just your strong back and your scintillating conversation." She started along a narrow trail through a bank of trees. "Watch out for the poison ivy. It's thick here."
As he watched Elizabeth's lithe body sway ahead of him, he reflected that poison ivy was not the only hidden danger for him there. Elizabeth was not conventionally pretty the way Jane was, but there was something about her air that enchanted him. He was so caught up in his admiration of her that it came as a shock when they emerged from the trees into a totally different world.
At first glance it was completely flat, a sea of deep grass unbroken by trees or bushes. Looking more closely, he could see variegation in the height and color of grasses in different parts and dark areas which appeared to be streams cut through the marsh. Underfoot, it was not what he expected at all; it was dry and solid as they walked along a path of darkened dirt leading into the grass. Twice they came to winding channels of water cut straight down into the peat of the marsh, too narrow to be called a river yet too wide to jump across, with simply constructed wood plank bridges allowing them to cross. Eventually they reached a side path, leading to a small, roped-off area marked with a grid. "Here we are." Elizabeth set down her box and backpack. Instead of beginning to unpack as he expected, she stood and stretched and then gazed at their surroundings, a slight smile on her face. In all too short a time, she recalled his presence. "Sorry, I'm a salt marsh fan. Some people find it monotonous, but I think it's extraordinarily beautiful. I chose my field of research so I could spend more time here."
He enjoyed watching her pleasure in her surroundings. She seemed more relaxed and free here, in a very appealing way. "You must like grass then." "The Spartina? That's what most of the grass here is, different Spartina species. Yes, I like it. And I admire it."
"You admire the grass?" He was sure he had misunderstood her.
"Yes, I do. It's incredibly tough, and it survives conditions that would kill any other plant." She squatted next to the boxes and began opening them. "This is an unbelievably harsh environment for plants, where the freshwater river meets the saltwater bay. As the tide comes in, the salinity of the water increases, then decreases again as it goes out and the river water moves in. Most normal plants would be killed by salt water. Only a few species have undergone the enormous adaptation they need to survive and thrive in the presence of salt. And salt marsh plants have to go one step further. They have to be able to tolerate fresh water from the river as well. These grasses you see—they're survivors in a harsh world." She paused as she lifted out the coring equipment. "There are less than a dozen plants that can survive in this kind of environment, but do you know what the strange thing is? These grasses, as they decay and die, create the foundation for one of the richest ecosystems we know. On the surface, we only see a few types of grass, but below, where we can't see, there are all kinds of bacteria, fungi, and algae, then the insects, worms, crabs, snails, and fish. And it's all interconnected in one big web." She was silent for a moment. "That's part of what I love about salt marshes. They look so plain and simple on the surface, but underneath there is more going on than you can imagine. Even the simplicity is deceptive. It doesn't let you see the incredible feats of adaptation the grass has performed."
She glanced up at him. "Sorry, I didn't mean to lecture you. It's an occupational hazard, I'm afraid." "No, it's interesting." He wished he could express himself more articulately. If only he could somehow capture her vibrancy and open contentment to savor and enjoy later.
Bingley and Jane arrived with more boxes, as well as chatter that disrupted the peace of the moment. It was probably just as well. It kept him from doing something stupid, which was definitely a risk when Elizabeth was as full of life and as open as she was at the moment. Her enthusiasm for her work was contagious, and he liked listening to her all too much.
For safety's sake, he reverted to quietly following instructions, trying to smother his impulse to watch Elizabeth constantly. Her teasing manner when she spoke to him kept undermining him. It made him want to smile back at her.
"I'm sorry," she said at one point when he was particularly quiet. "I'm forgetting that you're volunteer labor here, not a grad student I can order around."
"I've always wondered what it would be like to go to grad school."
"Oh, it's a little better than being tortured and a little worse than indentured servitude. But don't listen to me. I actually liked grad school, which shows you how disturbed I am. Tell you what, though. When we're done with the sampling, I can show you around the marsh. Of course, not everyone appreciates the marsh the way I do, so that might not be a privilege."
She was irresistible when she was in this kind of irrepressible mood. He probably would have agreed to a tour of hell if she suggested it. Bingley and Jane declined to join them, preferring to sit and enjoy the sunshine, but Darcy followed Elizabeth deeper into the marsh. "The part we've been in, the dry peat, isn't really all that interesting to the casual observer," she explained as she led him to one of the stream banks near the ocean. "Now here there's quite a lot to see. Look over there." She pointed to the opposite bank where he could see an amazing number of small crabs scurrying sideways between little dark holes in the peat. "Those are fiddler crabs—if you look at them, you'll see that one front claw is much bigger than the other. That's how they get their name. It's like a fiddler whose bow arm is stronger than his fingering arm." "Quite a lot of them," he said.
"They're an important part of the ecosystem. They aerate the peat, as well as a number of other functions. Sorry, I'm lecturing again," she added with an apologetic smile. "Don't worry, I like it," he said impulsively.
She looked surprised at his words. "Well, let me show you some of the other critters that call the salt marsh home," she said. She rolled up the legs of her shorts and began to clamber down the nearly vertical bank of peat. She slipped halfway down, landing on her feet in the water, laughing. "Always happens," she said cheerfully. "I don't know why I don't just give up and jump in."
The water was just above her knees, and she looked down at it as she walked through it. She dipped her hand in and pulled out a larger crab. "Green crab," she said, holding it out toward him. He watched the creature's claws flailing with apprehension. "This is the kind you can eat for dinner, though this one's too small." She tossed it casually back in the water and dredged out a handful of small snails. "Littorina littorea, or the common periwinkle—an invasive species that has pretty much overrun the coast here. It came here from Europe, probably in the ballast water of a ship. Oh, and here we go—this one's my favorite. Pagurus longicarpus, the hermit crab. I did my first salt marsh research on these, looking at their diet in differing habitats." She waded over to him, holding what appeared to be an empty shell. "H
ere, take it," she said. A little nervously, he did as she asked and could just barely see tiny legs folded up inside the shell. "Now hold it in your palm," she directed. "Just watch for a minute."
As he did, the legs suddenly emerged, along with a tiny head and antennae, and the tiny creature began to scuttle around in his hand, tickling slightly. He smiled; it was an appealing little thing in an odd sort of way.
"They don't grow their own shells; they have to take another animal's discarded shell," she explained. "Here in the marsh, you'll see a lot of them in periwinkle shells, like that one. They're creatures of the intertidal zone, so they can survive for quite a while out of the water."
He sidestepped to a lower part of the bank to return the hermit crab to the water.
"Not there!" exclaimed Elizabeth as he moved, but it was too late. His shoe was already several inches deep in black mud. She tried unsuccessfully to hide a smile. "I'm sorry; I should have warned you. That's why I went straight down the bank instead of that way—the black stuff is mud a foot deep."
Darcy was off-balance in more ways than one. He did not like feeling embarrassed in front of the woman who had been inhabiting his fantasies. With an effort, he pulled his foot free, looking with some distaste at the dark mud clinging to it.
"Here, take that off and give it to me," said Elizabeth matter-of-factly. "I'll rinse it off. You'll want to clean it again with fresh water again when you get home, but salt water's still better than mud." She reached out her hand for it.
"That's all right," he said, a little stiffly. "I don't want you to have to get muddy."
With a look of amused exasperation, Elizabeth reached over and stuck her hand directly into the mud. "Look, it won't hurt me. It's nothing but rich soil packed with some extra anaerobic bacteria and no grass roots to hold it together."
He tried to imagine any other woman of his acquaintance voluntarily touching that muck, but it was impossible. She was different from them in so many ways, and she looked so alive in the afternoon sun sparkling off the water. "Your shoe," she reminded him pointedly.
Feeling it more discourteous to refuse her offer of assistance, he removed it and handed it to her. "Thank you," he said, watching as she carefully rinsed the sides of it while keeping the inside dry. He said ruefully, "Why do I suppose you would have expected me to do that myself if I were one of your grad students?"
Her eyes glinted with mischief. "Not at all—I'd just have pulled you in and let it rinse off naturally," she said. "Somehow I don't think you'd appreciate that, though."
He had a vivid image of himself standing in the water next to her, taking her into his arms and feeling her soft body pressed against his own. The surge of desire that rushed through him was almost overpowering. No, he would appreciate it all too much if she pulled him in. Far better to avoid her playfulness. It was the only way to keep them both safe. The question, then, was why he felt so disappointed when she merely handed the shoe back to him.
It was a faithful rendering of a day that hadn't struck her as important at the time, but it was so different from how she had seen it. How could she have missed all this? And what else had she missed? Cassie's stomach churned as his narrative approached their encounter at the beach. This was hard enough without revealing their most private moments to the entire world.
The scene started much as it had in reality. It diverged while they were in the water watching the bioluminescence.
He was just out of arm's reach when she gave a sharp cry of pain. She went under the water for a moment and then came up and swam a few feet away. "Damn, damn, damn," she muttered with deep feeling. "What's the matter?" he asked anxiously.
"Sea urchin. I stepped on one, and some of the spines broke off in my foot. I'll live; I just have to get to shore and get them out."
He knew instinctively she was minimizing her pain. "How can I help?"
"I'm fine." She half-swam, half-hopped toward the beach.
He followed her closely. As the water grew shallower, it became harder for her to move without putting any weight on her foot, and he reached out a hand to help support her by holding her arm. She turned a look on him that said she did not want his help, but at the same time could not refuse it. She struggled on for a few more feet and then stopped.
"Just give me a second." Her eyes were squeezed shut.
"Look, let me get you out of here." Unable to watch her discomfort, he picked her up in his arms and began to carry her to shore, trying not to think about her naked body pressed against his chest. "Will, I can get there by myself."
"No need; you're here already." He walked out of the shallow water. Carefully setting her down on her good foot, he fetched her towel and spread it on the sand. She sank down on it thankfully and twisted her leg to see the sole of her foot. He crouched down in the sand. "Here, let me do that. I can see it a lot better than you can." Reluctantly, she extended her leg to him, and he reached for the flashlight.
"Can you see them?" She craned to look as he shone the light on the sole of her foot.
"Yes, there are two of them right there." They were embedded deeply.
"If you can get a grip on them, pull them out gently." Her teeth were gritted. "You don't want to break the spines; then it's much worse getting them out."
"Can you hold still?" He grasped her foot with
one hand.
"Just do it."
He had never been one to be flustered by an emergency, and he took his time looking at the spines to be sure he understood their angle before he caught one between his fingers and tugged gently. He heard her sharp indrawn breath as it came out in his hand. "That's one; you're doing great." He worked to get a hold on the other one. It was in deeper, and he had to try twice before he could get enough of a grip on it to pull it out. For a moment it resisted enough that he was afraid it might break, but then it came free.
He turned off the flashlight and looked up, still a bit light-blind in the darkness. As his eyes adjusted, he could see her relief.
"Thanks." She flexed the toes of the injured foot. "I'm sorry it hurt." He looked into her eyes for reassurance that she was all right, his hand still resting on her ankle. He had been worried for her, but it was disturbing how much he enjoyed Elizabeth needing his help, even for such a simple physical matter as this. If she ever needed him for anything important, it would be like a drug, one he could become addicted to. "It's much better now. It just stings a little."
She was looking at him with an expression he was not sure how to interpret, but now that the crisis was past, he was increasingly aware of how close her naked body was to his. With some embarrassment, he realized that she could be in no doubt as to just how much he wanted her. He remembered how it had felt to hold her against him as he carried her out of the water, and without coherent thought, he discovered his hand had moved to lightly stroke the calf of her leg. He waited for her to make an objection, but when she did not, he made no effort to stop himself. It felt too good to touch her, too right, and as he began to understand what her look meant, all his carefully thought-out reasons seemed to vanish. All he wanted was to hold her in his arms and to make love to her until she was helpless with pleasure. His hand crept up to her knee, and she gave him a saucy look. "Doing a little research of your own, Will?" Her voice was low and husky.
"It's being surrounded by all these scientists. I can't help myself. Do you want me to stop?" In reply, she reached out and touched his lips lightly with her fingers. He felt the shock of the contact and ran his tongue along her fingertips. "Who am I to stand in the way of science?" Her smile was all the permission he needed. He leaned forward slowly, giving her plenty of time to draw back, until their lips met, first tentatively and then with increasing passion. God, the taste of her was sweet. It grew even sweeter as his hands caressed her body, discovering what she liked, exploring her breasts until she moaned.