For the Sake of a Scottish Rake

by Anna Bradley

  It wasn’t something that had grabbed her foot.

  It was someone.

  A man, judging by the size of the hand. A man, and perhaps a murderer, because whoever he was…

  He was trying to pull her under.

  “Let go!” Lucy kicked out and her foot connected with something hard and spongy at the same time.

  “Oof!” There was a pained grunt. He dropped her ankle and Lucy tried to kick away from him, but the next thing she knew he’d grabbed a handful of the wet linen at the neck of her bathing costume and flipped her over onto her back. He wrapped an arm under her neck, dragged her body on top of his, and…

  Dear God, he was enormous! His arm, corded with muscle, was like a vice against her windpipe, and his hard chest was at least the twice the width of her back. She kicked out wildly, but just when she’d managed to squirm free he hauled her back against him and wrapped one long leg around her thighs. “Stop squirming!”

  Lucy’s mouth fell open in shock. An enormous man had just appeared from the depths of the ocean and wrapped his arm around her neck. This was not the time to stop squirming. “Let go! You’re choking me!”

  The arm around her neck loosened at once, but instead of letting her go he anchored his palm under her chin and tilted it up, so her face was away from the water and her head tipped back against his shoulder. “You’re all right, lass.”

  Lass? Was her murderer Scottish?

  “Keep still, and we’ll be on the beach in no time.”

  There was no mistaking that lilt—not when his deep, soothing voice was right next to her ear. That and the calm authority in his tone made Lucy pause just long enough for the worst of her panic to recede. She let her limbs go loose, and her body relax against his.

  She felt more than heard an approving rumble come from his chest. “Aye, that’s better.” He unwrapped himself from her lower body and began to kick toward the shore, his long legs slicing through the water with ease. “You’ll drown us both if you thrash about.”

  Drown? Oh, no. Surely, he didn’t think—

  “There’s a good lass. I’ve got you.”

  But of course, he did think it.

  Dash it, why should he jump to such a conclusion? Just because a lady chose to have a swim…alone, that is, in the dark, before the sun had risen…

  Very well, it was a trifle unusual, perhaps. There was some chance, just a tiny one, he’d mistaken her shout of joy as a cry for help. He must have seen her from the beach, or perhaps from the low rock wall. From there it might have looked as though the waves were dragging her down each time she dove under.

  This poor gentleman had thought—not without reason, she had to admit—she was drowning, and he’d dived in to rescue her.

  Lucy let out a low, despairing moan. Goodness, what a tangle.

  “There, it’s all right now,” he murmured, clearly mistaking her moan of embarrassment for a terrified whimper. “We’ve made it to the beach.”

  “Yes, yes, so we have. Oh, no! There’s no need to—”

  He brushed her feeble protests aside and rose from the water with her in his arms. “Yes, there is. You’ve had a shock.”

  She had, indeed, though not how he supposed. Still, there didn’t seem much point in objecting now. He’d already executed a daring ocean rescue. Was she really going to begrudge him another few moments of heroism?

  Lucy surrendered, and he carried her onto the beach. He lay her down in the sand and knelt down next to her to catch his breath. “Are you all right?”

  She lay on her back with her arm over her eyes for a moment, then turned to him with a sigh. “You’re very good, sir. I assure you, I’m—oh, my goodness! You’re bleeding!”

  Watery red streaks stained the front of his white shirt, and a fresh stream of blood poured from his nose. He pressed a hand to his face, and his palm came away covered with it. “Aye, so I am.” He tried to staunch it with his sleeve, but it was positively spouting, and the wet linen was no match for it.

  Lucy jumped to her feet to fetch one of the towels Eloisa had left on the rocks, then hurried back to him. “Here, take this. How did you…”

  Oh, no. Lucy wished she could sink into the sand beneath her feet. In the water, when she’d been struggling to get away, her foot had connected with something hard.

  She’d kicked him in the face. Hard. If the blood seeping through the towel was any indication…

  “I’ve broken your nose, haven’t I?”

  He shrugged. “It’s not broken. Just bent.”

  She bit her lip. “But there’s so much blood.”

  “Noses bleed.”

  Lucy couldn’t see his face because it was hidden by the towel, but his big shoulders moved in another shrug. He didn’t sound angry. Despite her mortification, a grin tugged at the corner of Lucy’s mouth. “A dousing, a kick to the face and a broken nose? My, you’re taking all this quite well.”

  A muffled laugh came from behind the towel. “Better a broken nose than a drowning.”

  Lucy winced. “Um, yes. Well, about that. You see—”

  “In any case, my nose isn’t broken.” He lowered the towel from his face, then rose to his feet until he was towering over her, his hands braced on his hips. “It’s hardly bleeding at all anymore.”

  Lucy stared at him, eyes wide.

  Goodness. He was quite…that is, he was rather…well, it wasn’t as if she could ignore it, since he was soaked to the skin, but even if he’d been dry, there could be no denying he was unusually…

  Robust.

  She was no expert on a gentleman’s anatomy, having scarcely set eyes on any gentleman but her father, but she doubted many of them could wear a wet shirt quite as well as this one did. His torso was…well, she’d never seen so many lovely angles and grooves in her life. The thin, transparent fabric of his shirt clung to his hard chest and taut belly as if it were proud to be there, and his dark blue breeches were plastered like a second skin to a pair of long, muscular thighs.

  Thank goodness they weren’t transparent, or she might have fallen into a swoon.

  Lucy’s face flamed with sudden heat as it dawned on her she was standing in front of him in nothing but her bathing costume. He seemed to notice it at the same time. His eyebrows rose as his gaze swept over her body. He had straight, dark eyebrows, and lovely eyes—a bright, ocean blue—but they narrowed as he stared at her, realization flickering in their depths.

  “Tell me, lass. How did you end up in the ocean? Did you fall in?”

  Lucy chewed on her lip as ten different responses flew through her head, each a more elaborate falsehood than the last. Really, what use was the truth in this instance? She couldn’t tell this poor gentleman he’d taken a blow to the nose and nearly drowned them both to save a lady who didn’t need saving.

  It would be dreadfully rude.

  Very well, then. A lie it was. “Yes, I’m afraid I’m quite clumsy. I fell in, and the next thing I knew I was fighting for my life in the pounding surf.”

  A bit dramatic, but it would do.

  “Were you, now? How terrifying. Did you fall from the wall?” He pointed to the ring of rocks lining the tiny cove.

  The wall? Yes, that seemed plausible. “I did, indeed. Tumbled right over the edge of it.”

  The blue eyes twinkled down at her. “Ah, I see. How did you happen to land in the water instead of in the sand?”

  Blast it. “Well, you see, I didn’t so much fall as I…what I meant to say was I was walking on the wall, but then I came down to the beach and—it was foolish of me, I know—I thought I’d put just a toe into the water, but the current overcame me, and the next thing I knew, I was fighting for my life in the pounding surf.”

  His lips twitched. “The pounding surf again? It must be powerful this morning to drag you out by a single toe. But there’s one thing I ca
n’t quite make out about your story.”

  “Is there, indeed?” Lucy widened her eyes and tried to look innocent, but she was as guilty as a thief with a pocketful of guineas, and she had the racing heart to prove it. “What’s that?”

  “I just wonder how, between dipping your toe into the water and being swept out to sea by the pounding surf, you had time to change into a bathing costume?”

  Lucy opened her mouth, then snapped it closed again without a word. Try as she might, there was simply no reasonable explanation for the bathing costume.

  “That’s your cloak and your shoes on that rock over there, isn’t it?” He pointed over her shoulder, then held up the towel she’d handed him. “And another towel?”

  Really, what could she say? That he’d been determined to save her, and since he was as big as a horse and twice as strong, there’d been little she could do to stop him? That his perfectly executed, daring rescue was entirely unnecessary? “Well yes, but—”

  “Ah.” The blue eyes glinted with humor. “You came out for a swim, didn’t you?”

  Lucy fidgeted with the skirt of her bathing costume. “Perhaps I did, but—”

  “Tell me, lass. Are you a strong swimmer?”

  She loosened her grip on her skirt and met his knowing blue eyes. “Yes, but even a strong swimmer—”

  “Even a strong swimmer can drown in the pounding surf? Is that what you were going to say?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “Aye, that’s one explanation. The other is you weren’t drowning at all.” He toyed with the towel, running it through his fist. “So, which is it, lass? Were you one gasp away from sinking to a watery grave, or is there some other explanation for my broken nose?”

  Chapter Two

  “You just told me it isn’t broken.” Wide, dark brown eyes narrowed suspiciously on his face, drops of water still clinging to her eyelashes. “Is it, or isn’t it?”

  Ciaran choked back a laugh. “Forgive me, ma’am. I should have asked if there’s some other explanation for my unbroken but severely injured nose.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest and waited while she decided whether or not to continue with her lie. They both knew he’d caught her out, but he could see she was considering carrying on with it, just the same.

  Dogged, daft little lass, wasn’t she?

  He couldn’t decide if he was impressed by her persistence, or offended she thought his male ego was too fragile to bear the truth. He knew one thing, though. After that tale she’d just told about the pounding surf dragging her out to sea by a single toe, he was eager to hear what she’d say next.

  The slight quiver of anticipation in his stomach felt odd. Damned if he could remember when he’d last looked forward to anything with even a flicker of interest. If he’d resisted this trip to Brighton with half as much enthusiasm, he wouldn’t be here now. “Well, lass? Which is it? A morning swim, or a near drowning?”

  She bit her lip and cast him a measuring look from under her damp lashes. “It depends.”

  Ciaran didn’t know whether it was the lady, the blood loss, or the shock of cold water so early in the morning, but a rusty laugh knocked loose from his chest. “On what?”

  “On whether your nose is actually broken or not.”

  Ciaran wriggled his nose a bit. It bloody well felt like it, but he hadn’t heard the telltale crack. No crack meant no break, but he wasn’t going to admit that to her. Not yet, anyway. “It’s difficult to say. Now I think on it, I may have heard a bone snap when you kicked me. It has taken a beating. It’s bruised, and likely to swell.”

  “Swell?” Her brows drew together in a guilty frown. “Do you think so?”

  Ciaran hastily stuffed the towel back into his face, and made a great show of holding it there and looking as pitiful as possible. “Yes. No doubt it will swell to three times its size and turn black and blue.”

  “Oh, dear.” She winced. “Is it terribly painful?”

  “Aye. The nose is a sensitive organ, lass, and that was a vicious blow you dealt me.” Ciaran hid his grin behind the towel. “The worst of it is I’ll certainly have to wear a plaster on it. The gentlemen will laugh at me, and the ladies will refuse to dance with me at the assemblies.”

  “Surely people won’t be as cruel as that?” She wrung her hands. “Why, you saved a lady in distress. Your actions were heroic—”

  “Were they?” He lowered the towel and took a step toward her. “Because I’ve an idea I saved you from nothing worse than your morning swim. Come now, lass. Tell the truth.”

  She raised her chin. “You believed I was in distress and you risked your own safety to rescue me. The truth is, it doesn’t matter one whit whether or not I was frolicking in the waves or drowning. Either way, you behaved like a noble gentleman.”

  Ciaran raised an eyebrow at this passionate speech. “I’ll have the truth between us just the same, if you don’t mind.”

  She threw her hands into the air. “Oh, very well, if you must. I wasn’t one gasp away from succumbing to a watery grave, as you put it. But if anyone has the nerve to laugh at your plaster, I’ll tell them I was.”

  This time Ciaran gave in to his amusement, throwing his head back with a hearty laugh. “That’s generous, but if I were you, I wouldn’t tell a soul about this.”

  If anyone in Brighton found out she’d been out swimming alone in the early morning hours, she might as well pack her things and go home now. He didn’t used to give much of a damn about propriety, but that was before he’d come to England and seen with his own eyes how much damage even the smallest slip could make to a lady’s reputation.

  And this wasn’t a small slip. It was a reckless dive straight into scandal.

  She tapped a finger against her lips. “Yes, perhaps we’d better keep this morning’s adventure to ourselves.”

  Ciaran might have let it go at that, but he felt obligated to give her a stern warning first. He wasn’t much of one for stern warnings—either delivering them, or heeding them—but it wasn’t just her reputation at risk. It was her safety. It was dangerous for even a strong swimmer to go out alone. If she’d been overcome by the current she might really have been swept out to sea by the pounding surf, and no one would ever have known what had happened to her.

  His amusement faded at the thought. What was the chit doing out here alone? Who were her people, and why didn’t they keep a better eye on her? What the devil was she about, scampering about Brighton like a wild thing, risking everything for a bit of fun?

  He eyed her, then asked in as firm a tone as he could manage, “If I happen to wander this same stretch of beach tomorrow morning, you won’t be here again, will you, lass?”

  She didn’t reply, but Ciaran noticed the sudden, stubborn thrust of her chin, the telltale flush on her cheeks. His eyes narrowed. “I asked you a question. This morning’s swim is your last, isn’t it?”

  She tossed her damp hair over her shoulder and gave him a bright smile. “Well, as to that, who can tell?”

  It wasn’t the answer Ciaran wanted to hear. “You can, lass. You can tell me you won’t come out here again, or you can keep this up until someone catches you at it, and they tell all of Brighton.”

  “Yes, I suppose they might do that.” She cocked her head to the side, as if considering it. “If they catch me.”

  “They will.” They always did. It was a bloody miracle she’d made it through the morning unscathed. She wouldn’t be so lucky a second time. “Why would you take the chance?”

  She’d turned away from him to gaze out at the water. Goose bumps rose on her skin, but she didn’t seem to notice. “Because I’ve waited a lifetime for a chance like this,” she murmured, more to herself than to him.

  What the devil did that mean? “A chance to go swimming?”

  She waved a hand toward the ocean. “A chance to see things. Why
should it be shocking to want to see things?”

  It shouldn’t be, but Ciaran didn’t say so. It would only encourage her. He dragged a hand through his wet hair, a defeated groan escaping his lips. If she didn’t reassure him this was her last swim, he’d be out here every bloody morning before dawn looking for her.

  Damnation.

  Sleeping until sunset was the only thing that made Brighton bearable. “If you insist on swimming, can’t you bring someone with you? A brother, or a friend? It won’t do a damn thing to protect your reputation, but at least you won’t drown.”

  “I’d like to have a friend to swim with. It would be a great deal pleasanter that way, wouldn’t it?” Her plump lips turned down for a moment, but when she faced him again, her smile was back. “But you needn’t worry about my drowning. I was very young when I learned to swim, and I’ve never forgot. I’m quite a capable swimmer.”

  Ciaran huffed out a breath, nettled to the last degree. It was another nonanswer. She was good at those. He’d been good at them at one time, too. His older brother Lachlan had usually been on the receiving end of those half-answers. Whoever would have guessed how annoying they were?

  “You know what will happen if someone sees you out on the beach alone in the dark in your bathing costume, don’t you?” Jesus. He sounded like a prig, but damn it, he’d never get another wink of sleep until she reassured him. “It’ll be a—”

  “Don’t say scandal!” Her face darkened with a scowl.

  Ciaran blinked at her, surprised. “All right. I won’t say it, but that won’t make it any less of one if you get caught.”

  She sighed. “It’s just…well, everything seems to cause a scandal, doesn’t it? Everything worth doing, anyway.”

  Ciaran opened his mouth to argue, realized he agreed with her, and closed it again.

  “It’s utter nonsense. Why should I have to apologize for wanting to do things?” She turned her wide dark eyes on him. “I’d far rather risk the scandal than just meander along, peeking into the edges of my life as if it doesn’t belong to me at all.”

  Her words sliced through Ciaran, unexpected and unwelcome, and something painful and bitter swelled inside him in response.