Page 70 of Love in the Time of Scandal
Then again, so was the yacht. As if nothing had happened,Dianawas still sailing on. She spat out a mouthful of water and searched for any sign of alarm or concern, and saw nothing. “Ben,” she whimpered. But he could have no idea. Neither of them had suspected Clary was on the boat, and as far as Benedict knew, she was safely warming her hands in the cabin. He might not realize she was missing until they reached the dock.
The waves were calming a little as the wake passed. Penelope squashed the flicker of panic in her breast; now was not the time. Her jaw firmed. She was not going to let that villainous snake kill her. She was going to save herself and then see Lord Clary in the dock for attempted murder. Whatever he wanted from Olivia no longer concerned her; he had tried to kill her and she would see him hang for it.
Her hair was a wet, heavy knot on her head. She managed to pull out a few pins until it collapsed into a long braid. Thank heaven she’d had Lizzie do a simple chignon. She made a few efforts to tear away her skirts, but the fabric was too sturdy. Realizing she could hardly feel her feet anymore, she scanned the shore for a mark—a tall tree—and began to swim for it.
Benedict cut through the water, driven by fear and fury. From the water’s surface he lost his vantage point to look for Penelope, and every dozen yards or so he stopped to shout her name. His heart pounded like a drum in his chest; it must be keeping him warm, for he barely felt the cold of the river. Penelope had been in the water longer, and he didn’t even know if she could swim. The thought that he might already be too late, that she could be sinking unconscious beneath the waves, drove him onward.
When he felt the current start to turn, he stopped to tread water and listen. “Penelope!” he shouted. “Pen, where are you?” There was no answer. “Penelope! Answer me!” His heart twisted in anguish. She had to answer. “Penelope!”
A faint sound ahead of him caught his ear. He swam forward a few more strokes and stopped again. “Penelope! Keep calling so I can follow your voice!”
“Ben...”
Before he heard the rest of his name, he gulped in a breath and plowed under the waves. She was still alive, and damn it all, he meant to keep her that way. Every few feet he came up to exchange a shout with her, until finally he saw her face, deathly white but alert and alive.
“Christ.” With shaking hands he pulled her to him, kicking hard to keep them afloat. She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him. Even though it was the wrong moment to delay, he kissed her back. “Thank God,” he gasped when she released him. “Thank God I found you...”
“Clary.” She could barely speak, but wheezed out the words. “Hepushedme.”
“I know.” His cravat had come undone as he swam, and now he peeled the limp linen from his neck. “Lovely day for a swim, Lady Atherton, but can I persuade you to come ashore?”
She laughed, a weak, relieved sound. “Easily... my lord... Where is the shore?”
He craned his neck. “That way.” He looped the cravat around her wrist. “Can you swim any more?”
Her face looked fearful, but she nodded. He tightened the loop, and forced her fingers to curl around it. Her skin was like ice, and he could tell she was struggling. That thick, warm dress was like an anchor around her body. “I can pull you. Do not let go, do you hear me?”
“I won’t.” A wave nearly rolled over her, and she spit out a mouthful of water. “I am not... going... to drown.”
He grinned at the fierce determination in her voice. “That’s the woman I know. Ready?” He knotted the other end of the cravat around his fist. When she gave a weak nod, he struck out for the shore.
Now that he had her, he had to be wise in using his energy. He could feel the cold creeping into his legs and shoulders, making them stiff. He swam a few strokes, then glided, letting the current propel them. Again he felt it start to turn, carrying them away from the shore he could see coming tantalizingly close. This part of the river was winding and picturesque, but Benedict realized he could use that to his advantage. In fact, when he stopped to get his bearings, he realized he knew exactly where they were. The current had carried them almost to the place where he had used to swim across as a boy. He knew this part of the river. And when he spied an exposed chunk of rock near the shore, he saw his opportunity. He dragged on the cravat to pull Penelope close.
“Do you see that large rock?” She searched for a moment. Her lips were blue and her eyes looked unfocused. He slapped her gently on the cheek. “We’re going to swim toward it, do you hear me? The current will bend away before we get there, but the boulder will disrupt it. We’re going to wait until we get near and then swim with all our strength for it. For now, just float along. Understand?” She just stared, glassy-eyed, at the rock, and he slapped her again, a little more sharply. “Penelope!”
The way she nodded made her head look heavy. “Swim for it.”
He cupped his hand around her cheek and forced her to look at him. “We’re almost there. Just a bit farther, love. Think of how Clary ought to die.” Something sparked in her eyes. “I’m leaning toward disembowelment,” he added.
“Drowned.” Her lips tried to turn up. “In a privy.”
He laughed. “Better!” She was exhausted. He could feel her fighting to keep her head up. Benedict revised his plan; let the current carry them. He had to keep her afloat, and if he saved some strength now, he should be able to tow her ashore when the moment came.
Soon, too soon, it was time. “Let’s go, Pen,” he said. “We’re almost there.” He didn’t add that getting ashore was only the first obstacle. The land in front of them was wild and lonely. These were the woods he had once explored with Sebastian Vane, before Mad Michael sold the whole acreage to Stratford for a few pounds. They’d been virtually untouched for a decade, and that meant he and Penelope had a long, challenging hike to Montrose Hill House. He ignored the flicker of uncertainty about turning to Sebastian. Abigail would help her sister, and if they turned him out on suspicion of being in league with his father and Clary... As long as they took in Penelope, he wouldn’t say anything except in thanks.
He let her float out to the length of the cravat. “Come on, Penelope, swim,” he prodded her. “Just a few more yards.”
She managed a faint nod and began moving her arms, and he struck out, keeping his eyes on the boulder. His shoulders burned; his right leg was beginning to cramp. His feet were numb. Every stroke felt like he was swimming through treacle, and the current was an insidious tug, trying to steer him off to the right. When he finally felt the welcome resistance of mud, he could barely stagger to his feet and reach for Penelope.
His heart seized as he pulled her to him. Hair lay in snaky locks over her face, her eyes were closed, and her lips were parted, and for a moment he couldn’t tell if she still breathed. “Penelope,” he said desperately, hauling her upright. “Wake up!”
For answer she bent at the waist and coughed up a good quantity of river water. “I am never going in the water again,” she said faintly. “Nor on a boat.”
He laughed, a painful, raspy gasp of incredulous joy. His arms tightened around her, and he kissed her forehead. “I don’t blame you.” Half carrying her, he slogged out of the water, pulling his foot from the sucking mud with each step. They were on land.
But that only revealed a new problem. The wind hadn’t abated and it sliced through their wet clothes like scythes. Penelope began a deep shuddering, and he searched for any shelter at all. There was a dark crevice at the boulder, and he steered her there. “We have to get dry,” he said, rubbing her arms roughly. “Then we’ll walk up the hill and see if your sister is receiving guests.”
“Are we close to Montrose Hill?” Her words were slurred.
