Seven Minutes in Heaven

by Eloisa James

  Clothilde was scandalized by the breeches, especially viewed from the rear. But given that the shirt fell well below her bottom, Eugenia was far more bothered by the idea of entering the water.

  She found Lizzie sitting on a great rock, watching Otis and Ward splash in the water.

  The little girl jumped up and bobbed a curtsy. “Good morning, Mrs. Snowe! I was afraid that you wouldn’t come.”

  “I apologize,” Eugenia said. “Ladies should never be tardy.”

  “That side is deep,” Lizzie said, pointing to a slice of dark water to her left. “We’re not allowed to go there, ever. But it’s shallow on this side.”

  Ward began heading toward them. The folds of his linen shirt clung to every ridge on his chest. Even in the grip of anxiety, she registered how extraordinarily alive and vigorous he looked. A beautiful, wet male.

  “Did you see that I’m wearing breeches, just like you?” Lizzie asked, as Eugenia stepped up onto the rock. “They belong to Otis but they fit me. This is one of his shirts.”

  “Indeed I did,” Eugenia said, sitting down. Her breeches tightened on her thighs, making them even more indecent. She tucked her feet to the side and arranged the shirt to cover her legs.

  Ward had reached them. “Good morning, Mrs. Snowe,” he said gravely, as if he hadn’t left her bedchamber a mere hour before. “The water is surprisingly warm for May. May I escort you to the water’s edge?”

  “I’d prefer to sit and watch for a minute or two,” Eugenia said, forcing her voice to remain steady. It was essential that she not communicate her fear to Lizzie. “Otis certainly seems to have taken to the water.”

  Otis had mastered the trick of floating. He resembled a river otter she’d once seen paddling in circles on his back.

  “It’s your turn, Lizzie,” Ward said. “You wished to wait for Mrs. Snowe, and here she is.”

  Lizzie’s fingers turned into talons clutching Eugenia’s hand. “Are you certain there’s nothing dead in the lake?”

  “Not a thing,” Ward said, holding out his arms. “Come on, Lizzie, my girl. No time like the present.”

  He carried her off without insisting that Eugenia join them, so she sank back on the warm rock instead.

  Wavelets glinted in the mid-day sunlight, turning the lake’s surface into liquid gold. It was pretty, but a part of her couldn’t help remembering the water closing over her head that terrible day. Her screams when Andrew didn’t reappear seemed to be echoing in her ears.

  Ward had coaxed Lizzie to put a foot in the water. Eugenia let her forehead sink onto her knees.

  What was she doing here?

  Not at the lake, here.

  She was quite proud of herself for embarking on an affaire. Susan would be pleased; Ward may fancy that he’d devised the idea of kidnapping her, but she recognized the Machiavellian hand of her best friend.

  It had taken courage to be intimate with a man who wasn’t Andrew. Learning to swim was yet another challenge, another way of living with courage.

  The rock beneath her was a gray-and-white color, mottled here and there with lichens. After closing her eyes, she smelled more strongly the wild roses growing on the other side of the rock, past the deep water. Under their strawberry-sweet smell, she caught the soft odor of mud and mown grass.

  The water lapping on the shingle had little relation to the thundering wave that had closed over her head and taken Andrew’s life. The lake didn’t smell briny, the way the ocean had.

  She had been brave as a child. She never imagined herself growing into a coward.

  Eugenia turned her head, still resting on her knees, and watched a butterfly alight next to her on the dove-gray rock. Its wings were cream-colored and tattered like cow parsley.

  When the butterfly flew away, she told herself, she would walk over to the lake edge and wade in, not too far. Up to her knees was enough for today.

  No one floated on their first day in the water. Well, no one except eager little boys.

  The butterfly’s wings trembled like a lace curtain in the wind, and it was gone. Eugenia lifted her head.

  Ward was standing in the water to his thighs, his right hand holding Lizzie’s, and his left, Otis’s. Both children were floating on their backs, lying on the surface of the water as if they were made of thistledown. His hair was spangled with sunshine, and the water eddied around the three of them in little waves.

  Her eyes met his and Ward broke into the widest, most joyful smile she’d ever seen. His hair was plastered to his head and she could see the contours of his skull.

  It was a magnificent skull. That very morning she had run her hands all over it, cupped his face and kissed him with every bit of passion she felt.

  The truth struck her like a blow: she was falling in love.

  Eugenia had never fainted in her life. Not when Andrew didn’t surface, not when they found his body, not when they lowered his coffin into the ground.

  No, she saved dizziness, a weightless feeling in her head, the gathering black dots at the corners of her vision, for the moment when her lover smiled at her from the lake.

  She came to with cold water dripping onto her face.

  “Eugenia,” Ward was saying, his voice low and insistent.

  “What happened?” she squeaked, brushing water from her face.

  “You fainted,” he said, not loosening his grip on her shoulders. “One moment you were watching us, and the next you slid over in a heap.”

  “I thought you were dead,” Lizzie said. “I screamed.”

  “I didn’t scream,” Otis said loftily. “I knew you weren’t dead because you didn’t look dead.”

  Ward glanced at his brother, visibly registering that Otis was familiar with the sight of a dead body.

  “I think we’ve had enough for our first lesson. We shall return to the house for a cup of tea.” He drew Eugenia to her feet and helped her down from the rock.

  “Jarvis will have missed me!” Otis said and began running toward the house.

  “He won’t have noticed,” Lizzie retorted, but she followed her brother.

  Eugenia’s knees trembled as she tried to puzzle out what had happened. She had fainted? Never. She never . . .

  But she knew what had happened. The shock of realizing she was falling in love for the second time in her life had made her faint, just as in a bad melodrama in which the heroine collapses in the hero’s arms.

  Now her heart was beating as if nothing had happened, yet her whole world had come sharply into focus.

  She could smell lake water on Ward, and below that, Ward himself. The man whom she loved. A man who smelled like mud and man and perhaps just a whiff of dead fish.

  Although she would never say that aloud, at least when Lizzie was within earshot.

  The truth of it had settled into her bones by the time they reached the house.

  She was in love.

  She loved the bastard son of an earl, an inventor. She loved a man who had adopted his captivating, orphaned siblings along with a pet rat.

  She loved a man who had made his own fortune, who had given up a prestigious university post for the sake of two orphans, who made love like a god.

  “Are you still dizzy?” the god-like man asked. He had commandeered a coat from a footman and wrapped it around her shoulders, ignoring the lake water dripping all over the marble floor.

  Ward looked irritable, which—in her experience—was exactly how men behaved when people they loved were ill.

  That idea ran through her mind without warning, but it felt true. Ward was in love with her too, although he would need more time to realize how lucky they were.

  They were both alive.

  Ward cupped her face in his hands. “I had no idea that the water would frighten you into a faint. Please forgive me, Eugenia.”

  She was unable to stop the smile that burst from her heart. “I shall learn to swim, Ward. I’ve made up my mind.”

  “But you fainted before even touching the wa
ter!”

  “I’ll try again tomorrow. It was just nerves. I haven’t been near water since the accident. I should probably rest.” Eugenia flashed him a look under her lashes. “An escort to my chamber would most welcome.”

  The grim lines around his mouth eased. “I see.”

  “And a bath, because someone dripped lake water on me,” she added. The entry was empty because the footman had run off to find rags to dry the floor. “Someone ought to wash my back. Someone who is already wet, perhaps.”

  Ward held out his arm. “I am, as always, your most obedient servant, Mrs. Snowe.”

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Saturday, May 30, 1801

  Eugenia woke the next morning with conflicting emotions: a lazy, sensual happiness that came from the presence of the man lying asleep beside her, and an icy trepidation arising from the imminent swimming lesson.

  She slid quietly out of bed. She was going in that lake, because she was determined never again to put anyone at risk to save her life. Since the accident, she’d chosen to avoid water—but that felt uncomfortably similar to the way she had been avoiding society.

  She was no coward.

  It was a glorious morning. Standing at the window, she heard a faint clatter and a fragment of distant song; the new kitchen maids were at their duties. The neat lawn behind the house sloped down to the lake, which looked deceptively benign in the morning light.

  If she slipped out the side door, no one would see her. The kitchen and its gardens lay on the other side of the house. She could steal down to the water, wade in as far as her knees, and return to the house with no one the wiser.

  Yesterday’s breeches were nowhere to be seen, but she could wear her chemise into the lake since she would be alone. Making up her mind, she gathered her robe and slipped quietly from the chamber.

  When she reached the pebbly shore, she kicked off her slippers, bent over, and examined the tiny fish swimming among the weedy plants at the water’s edge. Her reflection in the water shook with wavelets, but her fingers were trembling in reality.

  This was ridiculous! She was twenty-nine years old. She had established a successful registry company. She was no coward.

  She had no fear of encountering dead things, fishy or otherwise, below the lake’s limpid surface. No, it was the sensation of water closing over her face, the terror of finding herself in a liquid coffin.

  Enough!

  She folded her dressing gown, placed it on top of her slippers, and inched forward. First her toes met dry sun-warmed stones and then those just under the water. She nearly forgot to breathe as she willed herself not to retreat back to dry land.

  Thank goodness she was alone, because she was beginning to think she might vomit.

  Ward and Lizzie and Otis were at home in water. Otis, in particular, had announced that he wanted to be in the lake every day. If she wished . . .

  She gulped.

  Did she want to be Otis’s mother? And Lizzie’s?

  Knobby knees, earnest face, all chin and eyes. A pet rat named Jarvis, thrust at her like a furry, whiskery version of his boy. Lizzie’s fierce spirit and dramatic soul. Her black veil, trailing behind her now rather than sheltering her from the world.

  Eugenia knew that answer. She wanted to be the children’s mother.

  With all her heart.

  Emboldened, she took another step so that water trickled over her toes before she froze again. The water was horridly cold and there was a faint smell of dead fish.

  She stood as if rooted for what seemed like an age, cursing herself for being a coward, and incapable of going in any deeper.

  Just when she was about to admit defeat, she was startled by strong arms wrapping around from behind.

  She squealed. “Ward!”

  “Good morning, angel,” he growled, his voice muffled by her hair.

  “Stop teasing,” Eugenia said. “I detest that name.” He must think her a total ninny for standing in a half inch of water.

  Ward moved around in front of her, water lapping over his ankles. He wore breeches and a loose shirt, but his feet were bare.

  “What if someone sees us?” she asked.

  He leaned forward and kissed her, as hot and needy as if he hadn’t woken her up twice during the night.

  Eugenia’s mind slid away from the lake and into some special space where she and Ward breathed together, his muscled arms locked around her.

  “Bloody hell,” he groaned a few moments later. “I feel unhinged around you, mad with lust.”

  “We could return to my bedchamber,” she said. “It’s nice and dry there.”

  “I want to kiss you.” He moved backward, farther out. He didn’t pull her toward him; he merely squeezed her hands, as if to promise, you are safe.

  She looked down at their feet. Although he was no more than an arm’s length from her, his ankles were completely submerged.

  “Are you trying to bribe me?”

  “You’ll have kisses, either way,” Ward assured her.

  But he made a little sound of satisfaction in the back of his throat when she stepped toward him.

  He crushed her against his body, his hands running over her bottom and pulling her even tighter. Then he took another step back, bringing her with him. Her hands clenched on his shoulders.

  “All right?” he murmured.

  The water was brushing her calves, but she felt so overheated that its cool caress was welcome.

  “Are you certain no one can see us?” she gasped, because his hand was caressing her breast.

  “Quite certain,” Ward promised in a rusty voice. “Your back is to the house. Close your eyes.” Her chemise was no barrier to his mouth. Eugenia’s knees weakened, but he supported her.

  She didn’t notice that he had guided her further out until cold water reached her thighs. Her eyes popped open.

  “You’re seducing me into the water!” she gasped, pulling away from his arms and standing free.

  He threw back his head and bellowed with laughter. For a moment she was struck by the sheer beauty of his face and arched neck. The shadow of lashes on his cheek, the sunlight striking gold from his hair.

  He gathered her close again, and picked her up. Her legs curled around his hips just as they had when she lay underneath him in bed. Her chemise billowed around her, floating on the surface.

  He took another step backward, bringing her bottom perilously close to the water. Eugenia wrapped her arms around his neck. “You cannot possibly think that we—that we could—”

  “Well, we could,” Ward said, laughter threading through his voice. “But perhaps not during your first swimming attempt?”

  “You must be joking!” Eugenia cried, missing the step that brought water all the way to her waist. “This is cold!” she squeaked, huddling against his chest.

  “Your body will warm in a minute,” Ward said, nuzzling her ear.

  Eugenia took a shuddering breath. “Very well, you may go a little deeper.”

  Ward grinned. “I think you said the same thing last night.”

  She pinched him in reply, and ordered, “Farther out, please, before I change my mind.”

  When the water reached her shoulders, Eugenia made two discoveries. The first was that, below the water’s surface, her breasts looked enticingly mermaid-like.

  The second was when one is plastered against a warm male body, cold water was surprisingly tolerable.

  “I do not want the water to go over my head,” she told him. As secure as she felt with Ward, she had reached her limit.

  “This is far enough for today,” he reassured her. “Uncurl your legs, Eugenia. I’m going to slide an arm under them.”

  Somehow she forced her legs straight in the water. She trusted Ward with every particle of her being. He wouldn’t let her sink.

  “You’re changing everything,” she whispered, squinting up at him as she floated—actually floated!—with the support of his arm at her back.

  “I’m maki
ng you into a swimmer.” He scooped her back up against his chest again. “Enough for the day.”

  Eugenia couldn’t stop smiling. “I floated!” He had opened doors for her, doors inside herself that she never knew existed.

  “You did,” Ward said, kissing her nose. “Next thing I know, you’ll be swimming the Channel.”

  “Do people do that?”

  “Not as far as I know,” he replied cheerfully. “But you’re a woman who goes where others don’t, Eugenia.”

  “Floating is enough,” she replied, resting her cheek against his chest.

  Ward was plowing steadily through the water and up onto the shingle. “I think we should make this a daily ritual.” His voice was dark and needy.

  Following his gaze, Eugenia looked down. Her dripping chemise clung to every curve. It was so thin that the tuft of hair between her legs could be seen through the fabric.

  Morning ritual, Ward had said. He was planning their life together. They were both experiencing this new, tender emotion carved out of desire.

  She felt a bolt of happiness that warmed even her chilled toes. “There’s more to us than desire,” she said. She could not shout that she loved him and she knew he loved her, even though it was true.

  Ladies didn’t do that. Not proper, even for those conducting an illicit affaire.

  Ward said nothing in reply, and they were back at the house and up the stairs before she untangled her thoughts about what ladies could and couldn’t do.

  Once again in her chamber, he set her down. But there was something she had to clarify before she rang for a bath. “Ward, you are aware that I’m a lady, aren’t you?”

  Ward stared at Eugenia, not knowing what to say.

  What was she asking, exactly? She had freely told him of the prostitutes she’d met as a child, of her aunt’s directorship of Magdalene House, of her uncle who was in the Thames River Police . . .

  On the other hand, she currently lived in an elegant house in the smartest neighborhood—though she had paid for it herself.

  What made a lady? He himself was illegitimate, but he had never considered himself defined by that, any more than he was by being the son of aristocrats.