Page 9 of The Spinster's Secret Scoundrel
“Yes, I am aware. I landed on your cargo, Thierry.”
He smiled.
“Try not to crush the bottles, Ada.”
Clanking and muttered curses echoed as she shoved crates around to make room for herself. The bow of the boat dipped visibly. When she was at the front of the boat, she wrapped the hem of her chemise around her feet and pushed off the ceiling. Her legs and the extra weight put the boat low enough in the water for Thierry to wedge it under the lip of the cavern.
The next wave slammed the boat back. Ada screamed. Thierry ducked.
When he came up, Ada was calling his name.
“I’m here, chérie.” This time, she didn’t chide him.
The boat had taken on water, which wasn’t great for the cognac but did help their immediate predicament by adding ballast.
“Excellent. Now, keep your pretty head down. I’m going to push.”
With his back braced against the wall, Thierry used his numb feet to shove the stern as hard as he could. Between Ada, the water, the cognac, and the pull of the sea, he managed to get it wedged well under the lip—but no farther.
“I believe this is what you call making a bad situation worse,” Ada called out.
“This misadventure has truly been a string of terrible decisions,” Thierry agreed. “I am ever grateful for your assistance, Miss—gah.”
Saltwater invaded his mouth. Sputtering, he lost his hold on the boat.
Ada yelped. The cavern was nearly submerged.
“Are you all right?” Her voice sounded strained. The scant light filtering in on either side of the boat, which now occupied the majority of what was left of the opening, made it difficult to make out what was happening. He was fairly certain that the enterprising woman had managed to wedge herself into the space between the bow and the rock, precariously positioned to get her face torn off if the boat moved forward again.
She was far too lovely to let that happen.
“Fine,” he shouted, though with all the churning seawater he had the distinct sense that he was going to drown trying to save a shipment of 1811 Croizet B. Léon, which was a very stupid way for a renowned smuggler to die. Thierry gathered his strength and, on the next sucking exhalation of water from the cave, shoved with all his might.
The boat did not budge.
“Putain d’enfer,” he cursed. “Move, you little whore.”
But the dinghy was as snug in this damned cove as a—Thierry briefly wondered whether his earlier, internal joke had cursed him in some way. He knew full well that he’d deserve it.
She, however, did not.
With a grunt and a flash of instinct, Thierry felt the water shift direction and pushed again. Wood scraped on rock. A ferocious groan from Ada redoubled his efforts. Together, they would birth this damned boat from the womb of the cave he’d stuck it in, and if that wasn’t a metaphor for something—
The dinghy popped free with a creak of wood. Thierry grinned, sucked in a breath, and dove beneath the waves only moments before the cavern was completely submerged.
Upon surfacing, he found the boat bobbing uselessly.
No sight of Miss Naughton.
“Shit,” he swore, spitting seawater.
ADELINE
A KISS OF BRANDY AND BRINE
Ada’s muscles ached like never before. Her skin was clammy and cold, and she’d swallowed enough saltwater to pickle herself.
Uncomfortable, but alive. She’d accept that tradeoff for the money Thierry had promised. This entire misadventure was one giant step closer to making an offer to Prescott for the cottage. Not that she had any real idea how to approach doing so. She might start with Mrs. Gosling, the viscount’s housekeeper.
