Page 61 of The Viscount's Promise
He left the thought unfinished. He would not consider it. Dragging in another gulping breath, he was about to dive down again into the murky depths when the dog’s sudden frantic barks stopped him cold. Bach began a mad paddle for the closest bank. Heart pounding, Malcolm followed, and nearly shouted with relief when he saw movement in the deep shadows.
“I think she’s in there,” he called to Tristan. “Take Lady Daphne to shore and come back for Lady Emily.” Without waiting for Tristan’s assent, he was off again, his arms slicing through the water, his feet kicking hard, propelling him forward.
He swam through the shade of the willow tree, heading for the small hidden inlet there. The dog had made the shore, was shaking water from his coat. And there, still in the water and clinging to a low hanging branch, was Emily.
She was drenched, her hair a heavy mass of dark copper that streamed down her back and over her shoulders. Her face was pale, her eyes huge in her face, her lips trembling and tinged blue from the chill of the water.
Never had anyone looked so beautiful.
Bach was dancing about on the bank, letting loose sharp yips as if to say,Here, you idiot. I’ve had to go and find her for you.Malcolm ignored him, heading straight for Emily. Once at her side, he did the only thing he could think to do. He dragged her away from the tree, into his arms, and kissed her.
Though her lips here cold, her mouth was hot and eager. The fear that had been burning in him just below the surface during his desperate search burst to brilliant life, transforming in a blink to a searing passion. Forgotten was the way she had turned from him, breaking his heart in the process. She was alive and in his arms. That was all that mattered. Their bodies entwined beneath the water, her gown billowing about them. He held her to him with one arm, dug through the water with the other until they were in the shallows. Once there, he pressed her into the bank. Her soft body gave to his willingly, the ebb and flow of the water around them making their embrace exquisitely erotic. He ran his hand down her body, the dampened fabric hiding nothing from his questing fingers. Every curve, every dip and valley was given up to him. She clung to him, her fingers digging into his back, her legs rubbing against his in silent entreaty.
Bach’s low whine pierced the haze of passion in his brain. Suddenly he was intensely aware of how chill her skin was to the touch; of the tremor of cold, not desire, that shook her thin frame. What the hell was he doing? They needed to get Emily to shore, to dry her off. Instead he was pawing at her in the shallows.
The horrifying realization of how easily he had forgotten how she’d turned on him sliced through him. He had known it was foolish to open himself up to another, but had ignored his better instincts and had done just that with Emily. And he had paid dearly for it. Now here he was, days later, and in a split second of panic he had willingly allowed her to lay waste to his newly erected barriers. Again. Anger consumed him then, dark and dangerous.
“What in hell did you think you were about, tackling me and overturning our boat like that?” he growled. “You could be lifeless at the bottom of the river this very moment. You damned fool woman.”
The passion in Emily’s eyes faded in an instant. She pushed away from him, dragging herself further up the muddy bank. “What did you expect me to do? You were planning on ramming into Daphne’s boat.”
“You thought I was going to ram them?” That had to be the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard.
She opened her mouth, no doubt to spew some scathing retort. Bach came bounding up just then, pushing between them, lathing her wet face with kisses. His tail flew from side to side in a wide arc, his joy in seeing Emily safe making him fairly tremble. She gave the beast a tight hug, pressing her face into his wet fur before pushing him back and bidding him to sit. The dog did so immediately. His one eye, however, remained fixed firmly on her, no doubt intending to make sure that she remained safe now that she was on land.
Turning from him, she pulled the heavy hank of her hair over one shoulder and twisted it viciously, sending rivulets of river water down over her breasts. Breasts, Malcolm noted, that were shown off in exquisite detail by the dampened bodice of her gown. He swallowed hard, unable to tear his eyes from the sight.
But she was talking. “You were headed directly for them. I am perfectly aware of your desire to see them parted. I am not an imbecile. You cannot possibly deny that you were heading for them with the intent to crash into them. I saw how you sped up, your direction. There could have been no other possible outcome had you continued on in that way.”
“As you are so well acquainted with my intentions,” he drawled, heaving himself to a more comfortable position in the shallows—if one could be at all comfortable sitting in slimy mud with water lapping at your once pristine boots, “tell me, what purpose would I have had in ramming them? It would have not only sent us in the water, but them as well.”
“I don’t know. I only knew I had to prevent the accident.”
He blew out a frustrated breath, running a hand through his hair to sluice the water from it. “For the last time, I was not going to hit them. If you must know, I was merely going to give them a bit of a scare. They were entirely too intimate with one another.”
“As I had planned on,” she shot back. The dog, hearing the frustration in her voice, moved close to her side and pressed himself against her. She reached for him blindly, grabbing onto him for all she was worth. It was then he saw what was underlying her anger. She was frightened. And desperately unhappy.
His anger dissipated in an instant. “Emily,” he said, softly. He reached out a hand for her.
“No.” She sliced a hand through the air. “Leave me alone, Malcolm. Please.”
It was the please that did it. Said in that broken way, when up until then she had been so gloriously furious, it cracked something deep within him.
She had hurt him dreadfully. But he realized now that he was not the only one affected by the brutal ending of their romance. He had just been too wounded—and too proud—to see it.
Emily was not cruel. Nor was she free with her affections. She would not have given so much of herself had she not felt something for him. Though she may not be deeply grieved by his presence, she must have felt some pain at it.
He stared at her in silence. She pressed her face into the dog’s neck, apparently more than willing to have the conversation over and done. Grief settled like a mantle about his shoulders then, making him feel as if he’d sink straight into the damp ground and never emerge.
Just then, he heard a shout. Tristan was headed their way.
“We’re here,” Malcolm called out. He winced, his voice sounding almost violent in the thick silence that had descended between them. Emily didn’t look up, the only indication she had been similarly affected was the slight stiffening of her shoulders and the low whine from the dog’s chest. It seemed an eternity before Drew and Tristan arrived, both rowing into the hidden inlet. With effort Malcolm rose, water streaming from his clothes, to help pull the first boat close. It was then that Emily roused herself, silently handing over Bach. Malcolm took hold of him to put him in the boat, but the dog backed away and pressed into Emily’s side.
“He won’t leave you,” Malcolm said.
Without acknowledging him, she accepted her brother’s hand, then picked up her sodden skirts with her free hand and heaved herself into the small craft. Bach followed close after, leaping up beside her, setting his slick head in her lap. Malcolm watched numbly as her brother carefully wrapped a blanket about her shoulders, then pushed away from the bank with his oar. He hardly saw Tristan’s skiff as it came closer for him to board, his gaze instead firmly on the back of Emily’s head as she floated away from him, feeling he was watching a part of himself float away as well.
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