Page 36 of A Damsel for the Wounded Earl
Lord Lanwood was looking at her, a strange, intent expression in his eyes. Try as she might, she couldn’t look away.
“I’d be pleased to make you some,” Felicity heard herself say, risking a small smile. “You seem to be in a great deal of pain with those megrims, and that’s a terrible shame.”
A smile spread over his face, mirroring hers.
He looks so handsome and young when he smiles,Felicity found herself thinking.I would like to see him smiling more.
He was still looking at her, and the pressure in her chest was intensifying, leaving her feeling breathless, fluttery, and…
A woman’s shrill scream split the air, making both of them almost jump out of their skin.
Felicity spun around, making the boat rock. Behind them, she could see other boaters staring in horror, and people clustering on the pier, talking frantically and pointing.
It didn’t take long to work out what they were looking at.
A boat floated, upturned, in the middle of the lake, ripples spreading out around it. A single oar floated beside it, its green-dappled keel pointing up to the sky.
“She’s gone in!” shouted a woman on the pier. “Oh, who will help her? She’ll drown!”
“Somebody’s capsized,” Felicity said, glancing over at Arthur.
Later on, she would realize that she knew exactly who had been capsized, even before a flailing, sodden figure broke the surface of the water.
Miranda Sinclair surfaced, hair plastered to her head like a seal, soaked veils of fabric clinging to her splashing arms. She drew in a frantic breath, then sank again.
“Her dress,” Felicity heard herself say, thinking of her own layers and layers of fabric, petticoats, and corsets. “Her dress will drag her down. She’ll drown.”
The nearest boat, containing an elderly reverend and his wife, was making a valiant effort to row towards where Miss Sinclair had disappeared, but the man seemed to have difficulty in managing the oars, and was currently turning his boat around and round in slow, dignified circles.
Felicity turned to Lord Lanwood, not entirely sure what she was intending to say to him.
There was no need to say anything, as it turned out. He was stripping out of his coat, tossing it unceremoniously into the bottom of the boat.
“Can you row yourself to shore?” he asked, tearing off his cravat.
“Yes, I can,” Felicity responded.
“Good. Be careful, won’t you?”
Without waiting for a reply, Lord Lanwood dived over the side of the boat, leaving the vessel bouncing and rocking, and began to plough his way through the water towards the capsized boat. Gripping the oars, heart pounding, Felicity began to row. She noticed that the ripples left by Miss Sinclair coming up for air had all but disappeared, and she hadn’t come up again.
Chapter Fourteen
The lake water was cold enough to take his breath away. Even with as many layers as he could respectably remove and leave in the boat, Arthur felt the drag of the water in the fabric, pulling him back and holding him down.
He came up for breath, assessing the situation as quickly as he could. That was something the war had taught him – act fast, seconds cost lives. Trust your gut, learn to pick out all the details in a glance.
He was almost at the place Miranda had last surfaced. Drawing in a lungful of air, Arthur dived again. The water was murky and greenish, but the sunlight arced down deep enough for him to see her, a floating, pale spectre, drifting in the depths, her skirts billowing out around her.
Arthur dived deep, deeper and deeper until his lungs were bursting. He grabbed her limp hand, hauling her up. He kicked, bearing them both up towards the light.
They broke the surface, and relief flooded him when he heard Miranda gasp for breath. They weren’t friends anymore, not by any stretch of the imagination, but he certainly didn’t want her to die.
No time for conversation, of course. He struck out for shore, towing Miranda along with him. He could hear the murmurs and chatter of people on shore and was vaguely aware of them running back along to the pier to greet him on shore. He could feel Miranda breathing, limply allowing him to tow her along.
It was a huge relief to feel the lakebed under his feet. Arthur was already tiring, his muscles twinging, and his sodden clothes threatening to pull him down. A pair of gentlemen came splashing through the now waist-deep water, supporting Miranda and him ashore.
They were surrounded almost immediately. Miranda was limp and floppy, unconscious or simply weak, he wasn’t sure. Arthur collapsed onto the sand, drawing in deep breaths.
