Page 60 of The Viscount's Promise
Malcolm pushed away from the shore without a word. The boat swayed, dipping from side to side in the water as it found purchase. Emily held her breath as Malcolm settled on the bench across from her and put the oars in the water. Damn him for getting her into this. He must know she had no wish to be near him, that being in forced proximity with him was the very last place she wished to be. She attempted to keep her eyes on the surrounding countryside. But, traitorous orbs that they were, she found them drawn to Malcolm. He had taken off his fine sage coat and looked wickedly handsome in his shirt and amber waistcoat. It enhanced his physique as he moved his arms in long, sure strokes, plying the oars in the water and moving them along at a smooth, brisk pace.
“This is all your fault, you know.”
His voice, so dark and low, made her jump. When his words finally sank in, she scowled at him. “How is this remotely my fault?”
He turned disgusted eyes on her. “Please. Do you think me a fool?”
“Do you truly wish me to answer that?” she muttered under her breath.
To his credit, he chose to ignore that. “If you had not insisted on playing matchmaker—again—we would not be sitting here in this boat together.”
Hurt flamed through her chest. “A situation I would much prefer, I assure you.”
He looked pained, opening his mouth as if he were about to say something. At the last moment he closed it with an audible snap and drew a deep breath in through his nose. “I have told you why it is a mistake to encourage an attachment between your sister and Tristan. Why do you insist on promoting it?”
She ignored him, pointedly looking out over the water.
He growled in frustration. “You will not win this battle, madam.”
“You think not?” she murmured.
“I know you won’t. I will guarantee it.”
She turned on him, all the grief and frustration of the past days coalescing into a desperate kind of anger. “Why can’t you let it be? They care for one another. They would be happy, I’m sure of it. Let them see where their affections may take them.”
His black eyes were hard. “Sometimes mutual affection is not enough to guarantee future happiness.”
If he had taken a knife and plunged it straight into her heart, giving it a twist for good measure, it would not have given her such pain. No, he was right in that, for weren’t they proof? Yes, they had cared for one another. But it had not been enough.Shehad not been enough. She turned to Bach, dragging her fingers through his fur, trying to stave off the tears that threatened. She would not let Malcolm see how his unfeeling words affected her.
Several long minutes passed in blessed silence. Emily began to fidget in her seat. Surely they had made their point as far as Lady Tarryton was concerned and needn’t stay out on the water any longer. Clearing her throat, she said as firmly as she could muster, “Please return me to shore. I wish to disembark.”
“I’m not ready to head back,” he murmured.
Emily shot him a suspicious look. He appeared incredibly focused on something. Following his gaze, she spied Sir Tristan and Daphne a short distance away. They had stopped their boat within a canopy of branches provided by an obliging willow tree and seemed in their own world. She narrowed her eyes. Was it her, or was Malcolm coming up unusually fast on them?
“Malcolm,” she said, “perhaps you’d best slow down.”
He didn’t seem to hear her, instead seeming to pick up speed. The oars were cutting through the water with impressive swiftness. That is, it would have been impressive, if they were not on what she now suspected was a purposeful collision course with the other boat.
Not thinking, only knowing that she had to save them from crashing, Emily launched herself at Malcolm.
Everything happened at once. There was the sound of the clattering of wood, Bach barking furiously, Malcolm’s shouts. And then a sloshing as the boat careened to one side. In the next moment, the cold shock of the water hit her as she sank down into the depths of the river.
Chapter 22
Malcolm came up sputtering, the shock of the chill water falling rapidly away to panic as he looked about him and didn’t see a familiar copper head bobbing beside him. Bach paddled like mad, his head held high above the surface. Tristan was calling out, but the dog wasn’t abiding. Daphne’s shrill voice echoed out over the water, calling for her sister.
There was no answer.
“Where is she?” Malcolm cried out.
“She went under and hasn’t resurfaced,” Tristan called back.
“Get the damn dog in the boat,” he yelled before he dove under. The water was like cotton in his ears, the silt that he was stirring up stinging his eyes and making it difficult to see. His lungs burned as he pulled himself deeper, using his hands to scour the water for her. Desperation and a burning fear for Emily made him stay down longer than he should have. When he could not ignore his body’s need for air a moment longer, he kicked hard, sputtering and gulping as he reached the surface. His breathing ragged, he turned back for the other boat. “Any sign of her?” he gasped.
He didn’t need Tristan to tell him. Lady Daphne’s pale face was more potent than any words would have been. His heart skipped and stuttered in his chest. He’d heard of women who had fallen into water fully dressed. Their sodden skirts were like a death trap to them, an anchor weighing them down, tangling in their legs, making it impossible to surface. An image of Emily’s sweet face, pale and cold in death, her beautiful pewter eyes closed forever, made his voice hoarse as he shouted for her.
The people on the far shore seemed to have realized what was going on. He could hear their voices carrying, shouts and crying drifting to him over the water’s surface. But there was not a hint of Emily’s voice. Bach, too, was still splashing about, ignoring Tristan’s attempts to get him in the boat. Malcolm couldn’t worry about him now. He had to find Emily. If anything were to happen to her—
