You are mistaken, my lord.
I doubt it. He stalked around his desk to sit in the imposing leather chair. Im no longer at leisure. Briefly Leaths tone had thawed to slightly above glacial. It was back to icy now.
Knowing hed made a fool of himself, knowing he might have made an irredeemable mistake in declaring his hand too early, Harry stared helplessly at the marquess. Is there nothing I can say to change your mind?
Nothing. Piercing dark eyes blasted him with antipathy. Now I suggestagainthat you leave.
Hed failed. Dear God, hed failed.
Now Leath would be more watchful than ever. Why the hell hadnt he listened to Sophie and ignored his masculine impulses to stake a claim? Hed said he cared about honor, but he now realized that self-importance had driven him to this ill-considered meeting.
Thank you for your time. He prayed that he concealed his turmoil. He dearly wanted to retain a scrap of dignity.
I cant say it was a pleasure.
Good day, my lord. Harry bowed, defeat settling sour and heavy in his belly. Hed made a complete mull of everything. He hoped like hell that Sophie forgave him. He hoped like hell that he had a chance to see her so that she could forgive him. Leath might exile her to Timbuctoo to keep her from unwelcome suitors.
Leath didnt do him the courtesy of standing for his departure. Instead, he drew a folder of papers closer and began to read.
He dismissed Harry like a tradesman. Keeping a rein on his temper, Harry turned on his heel and marched out, back straight as a ruler even as despair battered him.
Kent Coast, late March 1828
The small boat tossed like a cork in a whirlpool. Pen hunched in the stern, soaked and clinging to the gunwales with frozen hands. Cam and Captain MacGregor rowed like demons to steer the dory toward the dimly visible coast, a mere line on the horizon.
The wind whistled past, ripped at her hair and the cloak shed grabbed to save her modesty before Cam had rushed her on deck. It provided little defense against the thrashing waves and the horizontal rain. Her teeth chattered and after half an hour of this hell, she could no longer feel hands or feet.
She couldnt bear to look behind at the empty space where Cams magnificent Windhover had once commanded the sea. The ship had gone down with astonishing rapidity moments after Cam had flung Pen into the tiny craft they now shared. The fall had left her bruised, but grateful to be above the waves, not below. The sick chill that shed felt watching the graceful yacht sink like a stone still thickened her blood.
Two crewmen hadnt made it. Pen had hardly known one, but the other had been a cheerful presence. If she survived this ordeal, shed mourn his death. Of the two remaining sailors, one had been hit by the falling mast. Moaning and barely conscious, he huddled beside Pen. The other crewman Williams bailed madly in the bow. The strange dim light of the stormy afternoon revealed his losing battle. With every second, they wallowed deeper.
Bile flooded her mouth. Not sea sickness. Sheer terror.
Except that the Thornes were famous for courage, if not good sense. Stiffly Pen uncurled her cramped limbs and crouched at Cams feet. She began to bail with her hands.
Bile flooded her mouth. Not sea sickness. Sheer terror.
Except that the Thornes were famous for courage, if not good sense. Stiffly Pen uncurled her cramped limbs and crouched at Cams feet. She began to bail with her hands.
Pen! Cams voice was thin in the wind, although he sat so close. Shed thought the noise in the cabin was deafening. Here, she could hardly summon thought, it was so loud.
She met his eyes. Not long ago, theyd fired cruel words at one another. Through the driving rain, his expression defied their destruction. He reached down and produced a tin dish. For the first time since theyd met again, no shadows darkened his smile. Ridiculous as it was in the middle of a tempest and with drowning likely, she smiled back.
Good for you, he said.
Such simple praise. Hed said it so often when theyd been children and shed bowled a straight ball or taught one of her mongrel dogs a trick. The accolade warmed her heart, on a day cold enough to freeze lava. She stared into his eyes and realized that if fate decreed her death, she couldnt ask for a better companion.
Then she started to bail furiously. The boat climbed each wave, then descended with a nauseating thud. Thunder cracked again and again. She was soaked to the skin. Her hair clung to her face like sticky icicles. The air she inhaled was jagged ice. Her hands didnt seem to belong to her. Still they went on. Dip and throw, dip and throw, dip and throw.
She reached a point where anything more than rote movement was beyond her. Somewhere in her soul, she knew that Cam was here. With death breathing wet and cold down her neck, his nearness meant the world.
She didnt look up. There was little point. Visibility had worsened until it was like heading into a cloud. Still she kept going. Dip and throw. Dip and throw. Dip and
The boat crashed into something and the world turned topsy-turvy again. For an instant, Pen stared up at the lightning-riddled sky. Then choking darkness engulfed her as she sank beneath the waves.
Chapter Twelve
Cam surfaced to a wave smashing into his face. The capsizing boat had tossed Pen free. That had been the most terrifying experience in a day of terrifying experiences. Spluttering, he searched the wild seascape.
Nothing.
He dived, opening his eyes against stinging salt and cold, but saw only gray and black. Sand churning in the water abraded his skin. He stayed down until his lungs screamed with pain. Then he kicked toward the surface, gulped for air, and went under again.
He bobbed up, gasping, to watch the upturned boat shatter into jagged spears of wood against the rocks. The impact was loud enough to rise above the wail of the wind and the roar of the waves.
Cam couldnt see his crew. He had a sick feeling that Oates, the injured man, wouldnt make it.
Pen! he shouted, but the wind whipped the cry away.
The sea wouldnt take Pen. His thoughts extended no further than that. Nothing, not even natures fury, would gainsay his claim.
The current shoved him closer to the jagged rocks. Hed gone beyond the point where he cared about his safety.
Down he went into freezing darkness. Up through the swirl. A glimpse of sky. Coughing to clear the water splashing into his face. Snatching air. Down again. Hands closing on an empty universe of ocean.
No lithe female body. No obstinate woman who drove him to madness. And made him feel more alive than anyone else ever had.
His legs turned to rubber. His arms lost the strength to pull through the water. Still he dived. Still he searched.
So spent that even breathing tested him, he surfaced once more. A sensible man would save himself now that it was clear that she was lost.
Bugger sense.
He inhaled and ignoring the agonized protests from every sinew, he pushed down. Down. Down. Not sure if he could fight the suck of the water.
His lungs burned. The cold made him sluggish. He couldnt see. The idea of floating into oblivion beckoned.
He reached into the void. Praying like a madman. Stupid, mindless, incoherent pleas to the Almighty.
Please. Please. Dont let her die. Let me find her. Take me instead.
The only answer was the roar in his ears as he started to drown.
Still he reached. Still he struggled.
When long strands brushed his icy skin, he thought they must be seaweed. Debris filled the water. Wreckage from the Windhover. Nets threatening to entangle him.
In air-deprived stupidity, he delayed dangerously before he realized that no seaweed was this silky. With lunatic hope, his hands closed on Pens hair.
Triumph delivered one last spurt of power. With an ungainly kick, he shot forward, using her hair to guide him.
All the while, his heart hammered one word. Over and over. Penelope. Penelope. Penelope.
Something bumped his hands. Something that felt like a body. Numb fingers fumbled to catch her. She still wore the cloak. Its weight must have dragged her down.
He ripped at the strings around her neck. They resisted, but so close to saving her, he wasnt giving up for the sake of a few knots. Finally the strings parted and the cloak flowed away.
With one final push, he kicked toward the surface. Noting with dread the lack of movement in the body lashed in his aching arms.
He burst through the rough sea and wrenched Pen upward until she bobbed, facing the sky. Lightning revealed how pale and still she was. That seemed wrong for someone so vivid. Her eyes were closed and blue tinged her parted lips. Her features were so wan, she could be carved from marble.
Using a clumsy sidestroke, he battled the current to swim for the shore.
Then the miracle happened. On top of a wave about fifty yards off, he saw a light. The light turned into a boat with searchers sweeping lanterns across the turbulent water.
Over here! he shouted, but his voice emerged as a mere thread.
Beside him, Pen floated lifeless as a spar from the Windhover.
He summoned his last strength and raised one arm, waving wildly, praying that hed be visible over the choppy sea. Over here!
Even then, he wasnt sure it was enough. A towering wave hid the boat. Despair, fatal as the icy water, gripped him. Hed failed to save her.
Then the boat crested another wave and he saw that it headed toward him. Only when the boat was almost upon them did he hear the team of oilskin-clad men shouting encouragement.
Take her, he gasped, lifting Pen and getting a mouthful of dirty salt water.
Weve got her, laddie. A mans hands closed around Pen and hauled her up.
Here. Another man extended a hand to Cam, who grabbed it with a gasp. He was too weak to be more than dead weight, but eventually, he flopped into the rowboat. Beside him, one of his rescuers had turned Pen over and pressed rhythmically on her back.
For a terrifying interval, she didnt respond. Cam had prayed in the water. Hed never prayed as hard in his life as he did now.
Still no reaction.
Dear Lord in heaven, hed been too late.