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And that was it. She cried out softly, sprinted the few feet back to the muddy water’s edge and plunged in, diving beneath the surface as soon as she could and swimming harder than she had ever done in her life, unaware now of the cold and the aching in her lungs and limbs.
She surfaced, she knew not where, just as the rain began.
“MARGARET!”
David blinked, staring up through the mist of rain. And there she was, Lord Avery’s fair daughter, the very lovely and rich Lady Margaret, on her cheeks tears of a greater substance than the rain, staring down at him. Heedless of the mud, she sat on the embankment, his head cradled in her lap.
His heart leapt. Although she often appeared to care for him deeply, in fact, in the race for her hand, he had thought both Robert Stewart and Allan Beckensdale to be far ahead of him.
And yet now…how sweet to see her face!
For a moment, he was puzzled. There had been a fleeting moment when…he had thought he’d seen someone else. A different face. Fair and comely, with eyes a strange green fire and hair a searing flame-red. An angel? Had he come so close to death? No, then perhaps a mermaid, a sprite from the sea, or rather the river?
Had he imagined her?
And had he imagined, too, in the bluster of the day and the roll of the yacht, the hands at his back, pushing him, forcing him into the river?
“David! David, please, speak to me again, are you all right?” Margaret demanded anxiously.
“I…oh, dear, dear Margaret! Yes, I…I’m fine!” Not true. In fact, he was quite cold, but that mattered not in the least, not when this much-sought, beautiful lady was so gently tending to him.
Those eyes, so brilliantly blue, so studded with tears!
But…
“You saved me,” he said, still confused.
“Well,” she murmured, “I did drag you up the bank, hold you here, so dearly, in my lap.”
“He will live!” These words, dry, rough and impatient. And a spray of icy water falling on him.
“Sir Hunter?” David gasped, looking toward the voice. And, indeed, he was there, the renowned sailor, soldier, excavator and all-round adventurer; the toast of London society, standing above him, furious and frowning.
And dripping.
“He’s safely in your hands now, Lord Avery,” Hunter said dryly to Margaret’s father, who stood, David saw then, anxiously watching just a few feet away. “I must find the girl.”
“The girl?” David echoed, blinking again.
“The one who saved your life,” Sir Hunter said curtly, and David could hear the unspoken “You fool.”
“Good God, Sir Hunter, you cannot mean to plunge back in—” Lord Avery began.
“Oh, but I do,” Hunter said. “Lest she drown.”
“You’ll drown yourself!” Lord Avery argued. “If there is a girl out there, the boatsmen or fishermen will find her surely.”
Lord Avery’s protests were apparently insufficient for Hunter turned and strode back into the water.
“Father, he’ll be all right!” Margaret called, adding with a touch of admiration that sent a pang through David’s heart, “Sir Hunter MacDonald can withstand any hardship.”
Sir Hunter, David thought, ever the hero, strong and brave and invincible. And I myself here on the muddy shore, gasping, barely alive…
But in her arms!
“I hope you’re right, my dear,” Lord Avery said, kneeling down beside David as well and, slipping his fine jacket from his shoulders, placed it around David. “Thank God you survived, my boy! Can you rise? We’ll get you to the road and then to the town house before you catch your death of cold.”
David, trying to fathom what was real and what lay in the soul of his imagination asked, “There really was a girl?” He looked at Margaret.
“Yes…that or, truly, a sea creature!” Margaret said.
“We’ll see that she’s rewarded for the act, assuming that Sir Hunter can indeed find her. How very odd that she ran back into the river. She must be quite mad. Or perhaps she’s a lady of some fine family, afraid to be seen!” Lord Avery said gruffly. “One can only speculate, however, David. Right now, we must get you warm. That blasted river! Rarely is it anything less than wretched!”
“Yes, of course,” David murmured, “Thank you. But if there was a girl…a strong girl, rich or poor, we must indeed see that she is rewarded.”
Again he remembered—imagined?—being pushed into the river. It had been an act of pure malice and evil intent.
Whoever had done it had meant for him to die.
But why?
Margaret? To eliminate the competition for her hand?
Or was it something else entirely?
Suddenly he was afraid, deeply afraid, though he dared not show it. The thoughts tore through his mind. He and his friends had simply gone out for a day of sport and fun. Alfred Daws, Robert Stewart, Allan Beckensdale, Sydney Myers, all fellows he knew well. He’d studied with them, played cricket with them, trusted them….
He had to be mistaken!
And yet, if it hadn’t been for the girl who’d—
“David?”
His name was said with such anxiety! And Margaret smelled of roses, so delicious, and her arms were around him as she helped him to his feet.
“The girl saved your life,” Margaret agreed. “Your precious life.”
He forgot Lord Avery, forgot his fear regarding his friends, everything, as he stared into the sky-blue of her eyes. He needed his future secured. As the son-in-law of Lord Avery, it would be.
“Ah, but we know the real truth! You saved my life,” he declared. “You, with your gentle caring. You have brought me back. Even here, upon this shore, I might have died. Indeed, I would have died had I not opened my eyes to see your beautiful face!”
Her cheeks turned a delightful shade of pink, and he dared to mouth “I love you so!”
She did not reply, but the pink suffused to a darker shade as she reminded him softly, “My father, David!”
Yes, he thought, Margaret was indeed beautiful. And sweet. And very rich. For him, she would be the perfect wife.
He vowed then and there that he would be her husband.
SAVING THE OBJECT OF HER deepest desire had been difficult, but never in the long, cold struggle to bring him to shore had Kat feared for her own life.
Now, suddenly, she did so.
What a fool she had been to plunge back into the water! True, her sad state of undress might have brought about a few snickers and she’d certainly be considered rather scandalous. But what was scandalous compared to being dead!
Tired, cold and disoriented, she fought to retain her strength, to rise enough within the growing fury of the river to find either the shore or one of the vessels—fine or misbegotten—that braved the Thames no matter the weather. But though the rain had not come in heavy sheets as the sky had seemed to warn, it had formed a thick, blinding mist atop the churning waves. She was adrift in a cold sea of gray in which she seemed entirely alone.
She treaded water, turning this way and that, trying to see something through the haze. She knew she had to keep moving, lest the chill enshroud her. The euphoria she had felt after her rescue had faded completely, along with her strength. She was not sorry she had saved him—was his life not worth far more than her own?—but only sorry that she had been so foolish to run—or swim!—away. She struggled to give herself the impetus to go forward. She was her father’s daughter, after all. A creature of the sea, a part of this wet, murky world.
At last, she calmed herself and rolled onto her back, then frog-kicked sideways into the current. But as she relaxed, a new fear—that of the darkness, of knowing that the Thames was little more than a sewer pit, seized her as she saw something move. Ridiculous notions shot into her mind. Snakes! No, none in the waters here, surely. Serpents—just as silly. Sharks—in from the sea? Here? In the Thames? Heavens, no, but still… Oh, God, there was something in the water!
She let out a scream, then choked on water from the wave that splashed over her, gagged. Desperate, choking, barely able to breathe, she started her frog kick again.
Something touched her!
Something…against her bare leg, and then on her hip. She kicked harder, to propel herself away. Then she felt it again. Something smooth, strong, slippery…
“No!” she shrieked. She would not die so—definitely not on the day he had told her he loved her! She would not die in the water. Water was her home, it was what she knew, and she would not, could not, give in.
When the thing rose near her, she lashed out with a fist as hard as she could.
“Good God, girl! What on earth ails you? I am doing my best to save your life.”
It was a man. Just a man. She could make out little of him against the waves, but his voice was deep and rich and commanding. And then she remembered that a man had come out of the water when she’d been at David’s side, that his appearance, along with that of the elegant young woman, had been the impetus to send her back into the dreadful river.
“Save my life! You’re the reason that I’m threatened with the end of it!” she shouted back.
“Child, my craft is but a hundred yards south!”
A wave crested and washed over her. She had not been prepared, and she chocked in water, coughing, gasping.
And he was there, a wall of steel, an arm coming beneath her breasts, sliding most immodestly against her. She struggled.
“Damn you, be still! How on earth will I save you?”
“I don’t need to be saved!”
“Indeed, you do!”
“If you’d cease trying to drown me, I’d be doing quite well!”
But she was lying, she realized. She was truly spent. Staying on the surface and fighting the waves was becoming ever more difficult.
Naturally, however, as she cried out her accusation, he released her.
And just as naturally, another wave smacked over her just as she was still recovering from the last. And she went under.
A mighty kick brought her back to the surface and into his arms.
“Be still!” he snapped. “Else I shall slap you into unconsciousness so that I can save your wretched life!” The sting of his words was far worse than a slap.
“I’m telling you—”
“Don’t tell me!”
“But—”
“Dear God, woman, will you shut up!”
She had to then, for once again her mouth filled with river water, and she choked. She felt that steely power wind around her again, and despite the cold, his arms were warm, and despite her fury, exhaustion was winning. She felt a blackness creeping over the gray and brown of the day and the river, and suddenly it seemed right to close her eyes, give in….
His strength was great, for she was no longer moving on her own, yet felt as if she had been lifted, as if she were skimming over the water. Her head and nose remained above the surface.
Then there were voices, men’s voices, and she realized that they had come to a sailing vessel, a very fine one.
“Ethan!”
The shout startled her and she jerked violently away. Her head slammed against the bow of the yacht, making her gasp with pain.
Stars burst brilliantly before her eyes.
And then…blackness.
“SWEET MARY!” ETHAN exclaimed, his powerful arms capturing the slender being Hunter had salvaged from the sea, lifting her as if she were no more than a toy. And holding her tenderly, he stared at Hunter for the briefest moment before hurrying with his bundle down to the cabin.
The yacht yawed, and Hunter stumbled to the helm, grasping control as the wind ripped around them. Ignoring the fact that he was soaking wet and chilled to the bone, he swore as he struggled with a wicked shift in the wind, furled the sails on his own and brought the craft around. Ah, well, he was a sportsman, was he not? Still, he had not intended such sport today.
Ethan returned topside bringing a blanket and a cup of warm brandy. With a nod of thanks, Hunter took the latter first, drained it and felt the heat seep back into his body. He took the blanket, wrapping it around his shoulders, while Ethan took the helm.
“She’s all right?” Hunter asked, shouting to be heard.
“Nasty crack on her head!” Ethan shouted back. “But she opened her eyes. I’ve wrapped her in several blankets and given her a sip of brandy. She’ll be warm enough, and well enough, I imagine, while we make for shore. Where do we take her? To hospital?”
Hunter frowned and shook his head. “They say such places are improving, but I’d not take even a dog there. We’ll go to the town house. You’re sure she’s all right? She fought me like an insane woman….”
“Begging your pardon, Sir Hunter, but when you reached the yacht, I believe her head might have struck the hull.”
Ethan had seen a number of injuries, since he’d served alongside Hunter in battle and across several continents. He was a fine man when it came to setting bones, and he was equally adept at dispensing medications. He knew a mortal injury when he saw one, and this one certainly didn’t qualify.
“Who is she?” he demanded.
“I haven’t the faintest notion,” Hunter replied. “She apparently dived in to save young David, but from where, I do not know.” He paused, thinking. Had he seen her before? She was not among last season’s display of coming-of-age young society beauties, of that he was certain. He would have remembered her. Even wet and bedraggled, she was striking.
She had the abilities of a fish in water, so it seemed, and had been quite positive she didn’t need rescuing. Her hair…what color! Even wet, it was like fire. And her eyes, when opened, flashed fire to match that hair.
Then, of course, only a blind man could miss the perfection of her form. She was no hothouse flower, but all lean muscle and sinew, long legs, trim hips and…beautiful breasts. Firm, full, straining against the taut fabric.
He winced at his lascivious thoughts. But he wasn’t a blind man. He couldn’t have missed them.
