A Kiss at Midnight

by Eloisa James

  “What are we doing in this boat?” Effie asked, sitting bolt upright rather than reclining on the padded seat. “Wouldn’t it be better to watch from shore? The lake is so black at night.”

  At that moment a footman leaned forward and lit a torch on the shore before their boat, and then a torch actually attached to the prow of their ship. They both leaped into flame—blue flame. Effie screamed.

  “Don’t worry, Miss Starck,” Algie said. “It can’t hurt you.”

  “Why is it blue?” she whimpered.

  That stumped Algie, leaving Leo to drawl, “They’ve put some powder in with the oil. See, some boats are flaming red and others blue. There appear to be four of each.”

  Algie was busily patting Miss Starck’s arm. “My fiancée is just the same,” he said. “Ladies are delicate and frighten easily.”

  “Your fiancée doesn’t look frightened in the least,” Effie pointed out, narrowing her eyes at Kate.

  Kate realized that was her cue to look timid, but couldn’t manage. “I do believe that we are part of a naval flotilla,” she said. “Look! We’re the blues.”

  “What I can’t figure out,” Lord Hathaway said, “is how we’re going to take our places on the lake. Unless we’re meant to—”

  But at that moment the boat rocked, very gently, and began to pull away from the shore, as if drawn by an invisible hand. Naturally, Effie screamed again. Algie had taken her hand now, and was patting it madly.

  “You’re going to give her a bruise,” Kate said.

  “It’s magic!” Effie cried.

  Hathaway was craning his neck around the side of the boat. “Though magic sounds very delectable, in fact, we’re attached to a rope,” he reported. “There must be a man on the other side of the lake, drawing us over.”

  “And look,” Kate said, “the other boats are all coming out too.”

  From around the perimeter of the lake, boats flaming red or blue were slowly moving toward the center.

  Effie asked the obvious. “What if we all crash? I wish we weren’t going backwards. I don’t like sitting backwards in a coach either. I always make my maid do it.”

  “I can swim,” Algie announced.

  “Obviously we’re not going to crash,” Henry said. “Although, Leo, remember that if you have to tow me to shore, you’d better not forget my darling Coco or you’ll wish you’d sunk.”

  It was a good thing that Victoria had never appeared to care overly much about her dogs; it seemed likely that Coco would never darken the door of Mariana’s house again.

  A boat slid by them, red flame dancing over the excited faces inside the boat. The prince wasn’t among them, though it was a weakness of Kate’s that she even noticed.

  “About an inch to spare,” Leo said coolly.

  “It’s designed like clockwork,” Lord Hathaway said. “The boats are all slipping past each other; it must look amazing from the shore.” In a few minutes all the boats had crossed the lake and reached the opposite side.

  A grinning footman reeled them in. “Well done,” Lord Hathaway said. “You must have practiced for days to carry this out so well.”

  “Weeks,” the man said.

  “Why don’t the boats collide?” Hathaway asked.

  “I can answer that,” Leo said. “The ropes are presumably just at the water’s surface, so boats glide over each other’s attachments. And the boats aren’t going directly across the lake, because in that case a boat might crack into one coming from the opposite direction. They’re going catty-cornered, and the lake’s an oval, so they all just miss each other.”

  The footman nodded. “Now you’ll be pulled back the other way, my lord, and this time you’ll be able to see where you’re going, so it’ll be even better.”

  It did look splendid. Kate stripped off her right glove and trailed her fingers in the water, silently scolding herself for wondering where Gabriel was.

  “Have you taken off your glove?” Effie asked, sounding rather awed.

  “Yes,” Kate said. She raised her fingers and flicked water into the blue light thrown off by the torch. “Isn’t it lovely?”

  The boats were all moving slowly out from shore again, recommencing their orchestrated water ballet.

  Effie looked at her gloves but folded her hands in her lap.

  “Go on,” Henry said rather kindly, for her. “I won’t tell your mother.”

  “A lady—” Effie started, but stopped. She’d obviously just remembered that it would be impolite to suggest that Kate was not behaving in a ladylike manner.

  “A lady should never feel anxious about her behavior,” Henry announced. “The status is bred in the bone. To show anxiety is to lower oneself. Anxiety is vulgar.”

  Effie digested that and finally pulled off one glove and consigned it to Algie’s care. At first she squealed about how cool the water felt, but she seemed to gain courage as the boat moved silently out into the lake. When the first boat slid past them, she copied Kate and flicked drops of sparkling blue water toward them, giggling madly at the surprised faces in the boat.

  No prince, Kate noticed crossly. He was probably on shore, cozied up to a rich baroness.

  A second boat slipped past them, rocking a little. “What are they up to?” Henry asked. She had her head on Leo’s shoulder and was looking happily at the sky.

  “They’ve got a bottle of champagne,” Algie said in a disapproving voice.

  “Damn, got in the wrong boat,” Leo said softly.

  His wife reached up and pinched his nose.

  Algie was watching the red-torched boat retreat. “They must be rocking it on purpose.”

  “Silly,” Effie said, happily trailing her hand in the water all the way up to her wrist. One had to suppose that this was her first taste of freedom, such as it was.

  Another boat approached, rocking even more wildly.

  “All young men in that barque,” Lord Hathaway said. “They need women to keep them sedate. And sober.”

  “Don’t tell me that we’re the only boat consigned to sobriety,” Leo said, with mock sorrow.

  “They’ve—yes!” Algie cried, peering ahead. “A man’s overboard. He’s all right; he caught on to the rope.”

  “What fools,” Lord Hathaway said with disgust.

  “Wet fools,” Leo said. “It might set a new fashion for castle entertainment. Enough with the motley, and on with the water.”

  “He’s swimming to shore,” Algie said.

  “The problem is one of timing,” Leo said in a different tone of voice, sitting up. “Are you dripping with diamonds tonight?” he asked his wife.

  “No,” Henry replied. “Well, I have the big emerald and I’m afraid my ear bobs aren’t firmly attached.” She pulled them off in a businesslike fashion. “You’d better take them.” She handed over her jewels and hitched Coco so firmly against her bosom that the normally quiet dog gave a little yelp of protest. “Hathaway, you’re in charge of my goddaughter. And Dimsdale, you have Effie.”

  “Why?” Effie asked in alarm. “What do you mean, Lady Wrothe?”

  “Leo’s very good at this sort of thing,” Henry said, “and if he thinks—”

  But at that very moment a boat loomed up, except that it didn’t slide sweetly past their prow. Instead it slammed right into their side. For a second, it looked as if they would be fine. The boat tilted wildly, but righted itself.

  But then their boat jerked again, presumably because the footman was trying to pull them to shore, and it lurched over to the other side.

  Effie screamed; Kate screamed too, for the split second before the water rushed toward her and she fell into the lake.

  The water was cold but not freezing. She had a moment of terror thinking that the boat was on top of her, but then she realized she was facing the bottom of the lake and managed to kick her way to the top.

  She broke the surface with a gasp and a cough, and looked wildly for the boat. She turned in a circle, kicking madly to stay afloat, and c
ouldn’t see it. The lake was covered with flaring torches that appeared to be bouncing up and down from her position on the surface of the lake, but her boat . . . her boat . . . There it was. Getting farther away by the second.

  “I knew you weren’t a lady,” said an amused voice at her ear. “No lady even knows that word.”

  She screamed and would have clutched at him, but Gabriel was behind her, slipping a strong arm around her waist. He pulled her back against his chest, so she was virtually lying on her back in the water. “Don’t be so loud,” he said in her ear. “You don’t want all those other rescuers to find you instead of me, do you?”

  “What rescuers?” Kate said, spitting out a little lake water. “My godmother told Hathaway to save me and he’s obviously failed to do so.”

  “I’d love to say he sank like a stone,” Gabriel said, kicking his legs so they started moving through the water, “but it’s unlikely. My whole boat went over as well, and I expect Hathaway rescued the wrong damsel in distress.”

  “I like that,” Kate said darkly. “I could have drowned. I hope Henry is all right.”

  “Lady Wrothe managed to remain in the boat,” Gabriel said. “Her husband lunged for the opposite side at just the right moment and righted it. I think Miss Starck may have escaped the water as well.”

  “Henry must be worried about me,” Kate said. “Could you swim a little faster?”

  “No, I could not,” Gabriel said. “This is my fastest when it comes to swimming on my back and dragging you as well. I don’t think Lady Wrothe is worried, because she caught sight of me in the water and instructed me with one ferocious gesture to go after you. So I did.”

  “I could kick too,” Kate offered.

  “Your skirts are giving me enough trouble,” Gabriel said.

  There was a moment of silence. “Are we almost at shore?” she asked. The lights of the boat that she thought was hers were receding quickly.

  “We would have been, but I must have got turned around,” Gabriel said. “We’re heading for the far shore.”

  “There are no boats over there,” Kate said, peering over her shoulder.

  “Don’t complain,” Gabriel said. “You’re no lightweight, for all you’ve supposedly lost two stone.”

  “Just be glad you’re not rescuing Victoria,” Kate said.

  “I am.” Then he gave a grunt, which turned out to be because he had swum straight into the marble lip of the lake.

  “I can do it,” Kate said, twisting out of his grip and catching the marble.

  He hauled himself up and then reached down and grabbed her wrist, pulling her up as easily as if he were landing a trout.

  “Oh,” Kate said, shivering uncontrollably. “It’s so cold. You were brilliant, thanks.” She wrapped her arms around herself and peered across the lake. “Damnation, we came up on the far side.”

  Gabriel was walking away from her along the shore, so she stumbled after him, thinking that princes weren’t all that gentlemanly when it came to it. He could at least have taken her arm. But then he bent over and started to pull on a rope.

  Kate stood next to him, tremors going from the top of her shoulders to her feet. “Are—are you getting us a boat?” she asked, feeling as if cold water had frozen her brain.

  He was hauling on the rope so fast that it was spinning out behind him. “Don’t let this slap you,” he said with a gasp, and she suddenly realized how hard he was working. Sure enough, a boat was cutting through the water toward them. It was one of the red ones, its torch burning low now.

  Kate could have sobbed with joy at the sight of it. “Will they pull us back?” she asked. “Don’t answer that! Save your breath.” In the light of the approaching torch, she could see his muscled arms pulling, hand over hand, so fast that the rope raced past his shoulder.

  It was . . . interesting. He looked like a farm laborer, but at the same time, not at all like a farm laborer.

  The boat met the marble edge with a splintering thud. “Come on,” Gabriel said, breathing hard. He leaped in and held out his hand. She climbed on, almost losing her footing because of her wet slippers.

  “Sit down; they’ll pull us over directly,” he said.

  “I—” she said, teeth chattering, but he pulled her down onto his lap, and that was the end of whatever she was about to say.

  His body was huge and warm, and she was so cold that she melted into him with an entirely unladylike noise. He wrapped his arms around her and she almost moaned again from the pleasure of it.

  “You’re warm,” she said after a moment, feeling that they should be having some sort of conversation. “Is the boat moving?”

  “Yes.” He tucked her more firmly against the warmth of his chest. “Are you still cold?”

  “Not as much.”

  “I have the solution to your chill,” he said, and his voice had gone dark and fierce. She turned her face up to his like a child seeking a good-night kiss—it was that natural—and his lips parted hers.

  Their third kiss, she thought dimly, and it was already different from the others. They kissed now as if they knew each other, as if they were both leaping into a fire that they longed for. Raw heat scorched down her backbone and she broke away with a little murmur, almost frightened by the force of it.

  But his arms tightened and he wouldn’t let her go, brushing his mouth against hers. Then she felt his tongue caressing her bottom lip until she gasped from the sweet heat. He took her gasp as if it were an invitation and gave her a little bite, nibbling on her lip in a way that somehow had Kate pressing against his chest as if she wanted to get closer and closer.

  He just kept teasing her, until she took her hands from his chest and wrapped them around his neck, pulling his head down to hers in a silent demand.

  She could feel him laughing and then he was kissing her again and their tongues were tangling in a kind of rough explosion that made her feel dizzy and breathless.

  This time he pulled back. “We’re coming to shore. They’ll be able to see us soon.” He sounded a little drunk.

  Kate nodded, looking up at him. His eyes were black in the torchlight, his cheekbones drawn, and his wet hair slicked straight back from his head. He looked like a Cossack warrior, the kind who pillaged villages and stole maidens.

  Maidens like her, milkmaids and poor relations and women with few relatives.

  She cleared her throat and quickly shifted off his lap to the seat next to him. “Thank you for warming me,” she said, starting to shiver immediately.

  An odd look passed through his eyes and she followed his gaze downward. Her gown was utterly soaked, of course, and unfortunately her wax breasts had not survived their bath unscathed. One was still in place, perkily holding up Kate’s meager offering. But the one on the right, where Gabriel’s arm had towed her through the water, had been squished. The misshapen remains had migrated down and were positioned just above her waistline.

  She looked down, thinking desperately what to say. “Henry calls them her ‘bosom friends,’ ” she blurted out, saying the first thing that came to her head. “If you would please close your eyes . . .”

  He did. “A gentleman would not be grinning like that,” she scolded, plucking the freezing ball of wax from her ruined gown. The crushed one was a bit trickier, but she was able to pull her destroyed bodice down enough to pull it out through her stays.

  The boat was close to shore by the time she had restored her bosom to its natural state. Luckily they were obscured from view by the fact that their torch had at last spluttered out, though she could make out curious faces lining the marble basin.

  “All right,” she said, hauling her bodice into a reasonable approximation of its former self.

  He opened his eyes.

  “Take that expression off your face!” she said crossly.

  “It’s this or look at you in such a way that everyone would know exactly what I’m thinking about,” he said softly.

  She glanced down and saw her nipples
poking straight through the wet silk. Heat rose in her face. “You’d better give the discards to me,” he said. “If the servants find them, they’d never be able to keep it to themselves.”

  She had them hidden at her side, but she reluctantly handed them over. Gabriel turned over the blobs of wax. “You don’t need these,” he said. “But they’re fascinating, all the same.”

  “You may keep them,” Kate said. She could see Wick standing on the shore with what looked like a blanket in his hands. “Now,” she commanded, “go get me that blanket. I’m not standing up in this drenched gown.”

  “Not without your bosom friends,” he said.

  She gave him a fierce look, and it worked as well as it did with the French hairdresser; Gabriel got up, still laughing, and fetched the blanket.

  Then he came back and wrapped her in it. “Your wig is gone,” he said, looking down at her. “You look like a drowned rat.”

  He looked breathtakingly handsome, but she should retaliate for the benefit of his soul. The man raised confidence to the level of a deadly sin. “You look—” she began. But there was something in his eyes that she liked, something lustful perhaps, but still . . .

  “Thank you,” she said. “I might have drowned without you and I’m very grateful that you towed me out.”

  A strange look crossed his eyes. “You should slap me for that kiss, for taking advantage of your chill.”

  She moved around him, heading to the bow of the boat and Wick’s outstretched hand. Just before disembarking, she paused and looked over her shoulder. “Perhaps I took advantage of you,” she said, just quietly enough so that no one on shore could hear her.

  He blinked and then said, “I only wish you would.”

  Twenty

  The next morning Kate slept late, after a confused and mostly sleepless night in which she alternately tossed with fiery humiliation at the memory of Gabriel laughing down at her wax breasts, and flushed red at the memory of his kisses.

  She was wakened by Rosalie, who told her that Miss Starck’s maid was inquiring whether her mistress might join her for breakfast.