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.
“Brave little thing!” Ethan said. “Diving in when none of his fine, hearty companions could manage to do so.”
That, too, was true.
But then again, Hunter had seen the way she had looked at David on the embankment. Utterly rapt. She hadn’t dived in for someone who was a stranger to her. There had been something about that look, something that any man or woman living seldom achieved, yet might crave with all the heart. Indeed, she would have gladly given her life for David.
She’s in love, he thought.
“You think she’s a friend of the chap?” Ethan asked now.
“I’ve never seen her before,” Hunter said. “But then, I’m certainly not privy to all of young David’s acquaintances. Indeed, I’ve only come to know him because he is due to take part in the upcoming excavations along the Nile. And because, of course, his father is interested in financing such work.”
“Good Lord! You don’t think she’s a…”
“Doxy?” Hunter cocked his head, musing. “No,” he said after a moment. “She hasn’t the look. No hardness in her eyes. Not yet, anyway. But whoever she is, she will be a bit richer than she was, for Lord Avery is determined she be rewarded. Meanwhile, let’s just see to her welfare, eh?”
In another thirty minutes, the yacht was in and duly berthed. Hunter held the girl in his arms, wrapped warmly in the blankets Ethan had provided her, while Ethan brought round the carriage. Though the area at the docks had been much busier early in the day, the fair-weather sailors had come to realize that such a day was not for sport. Now there was no one about.
Certainly not young David, or any of his party. Though Hunter knew that Lord Avery would be true to his word and reward the girl, the man would not be overly concerned about her welfare. David would be his first concern.
And, of course, Margaret.
Ethan reined in the handsome carriage horses, and the two stood still, awaiting their burden. Hunter entered the carriage with the girl in his arms, needing little assistance.
“Home then, and quickly,” Ethan said, closing the doors and climbing up top to take the reins.
And as they rode, Hunter looked down at her face. It was truly beautiful. Skin, though ever so slightly tanned, as smooth as alabaster. Straight nose, lips perhaps a bit too wide and full for the current accepted state of fashion. Her cheekbones were high, her eyes large, lashes long and dark.
She stirred. Frowned.
A smile creased her lips, so sweetly.
She seemed to doze and to dream, and whatever she dreamed, it was sweet.
The dark lashes twitched and then rose.
Her eyes focused upon his, and she frowned.
“You’re with us,” he said softly.
Her lips moved. She seemed to have lost her voice.
“What?” he coaxed.
Something about her at that moment awoke a deep tenderness in him. He wanted to protect her. To bring all that was warm and gentle around her.
Her lips moved again.
He leaned close to catch the least whisper.
“You!” she breathed.
He heard the intense dismay. He clenched his teeth, forced a smile. And remembered the way she had looked at young David.
“Indeed, dear girl, ’tis I. And I do apologize. I should have left you in the water!”
Her eyes closed again. Apparently she still hadn’t realized where she was.
He was tempted to throw her off his lap, but he held his temper. Even in his most wretched moments, he had never been that bad a scoundrel.
“All right, then, who are you? And when we return you safely to your home, just where would that be?”
Once again, her eyes flew open and assessed him with what appeared to be anger. By all the gods, they were truly magnificent eyes, blazing with their unusual color. At this close range, he could truly inspect them. Blue-green along the outer rims, fading to green, then to gold. Extraordinary. Hmm, she was definitely a redhead, but it wasn’t a carroty color, rather like a deep, rich flame. And those dark lashes…
Wherever she came from, she was probably pure temper, and some poor father, brother or lover might well be glad of a holiday from her tongue!
She continued to stare at him, her expression becoming perplexed.
“Well? Who are you?” he demanded.
Her lashes fell. “I…”
“Good God, answer me!”
“I don’t know!” she snapped.
And so saying, she pushed from his hold, righting herself most regally—until she realized that she’d lost her blankets. She flushed, cast him a furious glance, and dragged the blankets back up to sit in noble silence.
Chapter 2
HUNTER EYED HER LONG AND carefully, then a slow smile crept onto his lips.
“You’re a liar,” he told her quietly.
“How dare you!” she accused.
He shook his head. “I simply do not believe you struck your head that hard.”
She turned to gaze out the carriage window as the busy streets of London passed by. Then she lowered her eyes, the wealth of lashes concealing her thoughts. Her hands, which showed small signs of hard work, were resting on the fine upholstery of the carriage seat and he could see that she was enjoying the soft feel of the fabric.
“My head pains me a great deal!” she snapped, and her gaze returned to his.
Again, he had to smile. “But you are alive,” he said.
“I was doing quite well without you.”
He didn’t bother to respond.
Her frown deepened and she eyed him warily, drawing the blankets more tightly to her throat. “Who are you?” she demanded.
“Hunter MacDonald.” He inclined his head in an ironic gesture. “At your service.”
He thought that he saw her eyes widen just a bit; she was quick to hide any sign that she might have recognized his name, if indeed, she had done so. Had she? His exploits were frequently in the papers, he knew, something about which he seldom gave a thought. He was equally referenced in the society pages, usually with a gleeful note—readers loved a touch of scandal.
Frankly, and certainly as of late, he did not deserve most of the more scandalous items of gossip, but he had long ago determined that no matter what one did, it was impossible to live up to the high standards set for a man such as he. He was able to be quite entertained, fortunately, by what fabrications might come along.
His passenger didn’t appear at all frightened to
be in the company of such an ill-reputed fellow. Indeed, she seemed to be scheming within her own mind.
“Where are we going?” she demanded.
“Why, my town house, of course,” he told her.
At that, he was pleased to witness the slightest bit of alarm pass briefly over her countenance.
“I may not know who I am,” she said, “but I’m quite certain that I…” Her voice trailed off as if the right words failed her. “That you what?” he offered helpfully.
She lowered her head. “If you would just return me to the sea, I believe I might recognize something…someone.”
“The sea?”
She flushed. “The area by the river.”
He appraised her with both his mind and his libido, ever more fascinated. She spoke well, extremely well, as if she had been decently educated. But he suspected that, nevertheless, she belonged to the poor area of the river.
And a class of Victorian society from which she might never hope to encounter her precious David except under unusual circumstances.
He found himself looking away, feeling the oddest little ache, as if he wished that he were the object of that deep affection she most obviously felt for the youngest son of the Baron Turnberry. It didn’t matter that David would not inherit his father’s title—there wasn’t just one or two male siblings above him in line, but five!—he was surely something of a shining, glittering star to this girl.
And if she felt such an affection for himself?
Ah, well. Some of his reputation was deserved. But never had he tarried with a member of the fairer sex who was truly young and innocent, and tender of heart, as well.
Then, again, what made him believe that she was truly innocent? She had plunged into the Thames nearly naked. For a man.
“I believe that he’s about to become engaged,” Hunter said harshly.
She was good at her charade.
“Who?”
“David Turnberry, my dear.”
“And why should that concern me?”
“I beg your pardon, I forgot. You do not know yourself, so how would you know of Mr. Turnberry?”
She looked at him, red tendrils of hair, drier now, falling softly across her face. “How would you happen to know about the relationships of…this man to whom you refer?” she asked.
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