Love in the Time of Scandal (25 page)

Without hesitation Benedict drew back his fist and drove it into Clary’s smug face. He didn’t wait to savor the view of the viscount going down on his knees, blood streaming from his nose, but stripped off his greatcoat as he rushed back to the rail. His hat had fallen off already. Feverishly he searched the river, tearing off his coat and waistcoat. There—was that a head, bobbing above the waves? Penelope’s dress was white, and there was something white in the water. He kept his gaze on it, not even daring to blink.

His father seized his arm as Benedict yanked off one boot, then the other. “What the devil are you doing?”

“I’m going after her. And when I come back, I’m going to put a bullet into your accomplice.” His eyes stung from staring at the point in the water where he thought—he hoped—a figure was struggling against the current.
Please God, let that be Penelope
, he prayed. How long since she’d left the deck? The wind was whisking the yacht along at a good pace. The river wasn’t very wide at this point but it could be dangerous, even on a clear, calm day. He’d swum across it more times than he could count as a boy, fleeing his father and escaping to the woods on Montrose Hill to pretend he was an orphan washed up on a wild and distant shore.

Stratford grabbed him again, this time forcing him around. “You will not go after her. I will deal with that idiot Clary—he knew I wanted to talk to her—”

“Yet instead he pushed her into the river.”

The earl brushed that aside with an impatient jerk of his head. “And in this water she’s lost. Don’t be a fool!” His gray hair was wild from the wind. “You are my son—my
heir
. How dare you risk yourself?”

Here at last was the paternal concern he’d always imagined Stratford must feel, somewhere deep inside, and it made Benedict want to kill him. Feeling it would be the last time they ever came face to face, one way or another, he threw off his father’s restraining hand. “I’d rather die trying to save her than live as your heir.” He stepped up onto the rail and dove over the side.

Chapter 24

T
he Thames was shockingly cold. Penelope almost gasped out her shallow breath as the frigid water closed over her head. For a paralyzed moment, everything—including her own heart—seemed to stop. She could see the
Diana
gliding past her, almost right over her, blotting out the gray light of the sky. She could see Lord Clary turn his back and disappear, without even a flicker of regret that he’d tossed her into the river. Then the wake of the boat went over her, and she felt herself falling deeper into the cold, dark water.

With a jerk she thrust out her arms. Jamie had taught her and Abigail to swim, long ago. It was the summer she was six or seven, and they’d gone for an extended visit to her grandparents’ home in Somerset. There was a pond where all three Weston children went to fish and wade, and their mother had charged Jamie with making sure his sisters didn’t fall in. After he had to pull Penelope out—twice—Jamie declared that either they would learn to swim or he wouldn’t take them to the pond. Penelope had loved swimming. Abigail didn’t want to put her head under water, but Penelope would strip off her dress and jump right in, reveling in the freedom of movement and the feeling of weightlessness.

But floating on her back, giggling with her sister and trying to surreptitiously splash her brother, was a very different thing than fighting the current in the Thames, fully dressed and several years out of practice. She managed to get her head above water, but only had time to take a single deep breath before another ripple of the wake submerged her.

Slowly, clumsily, her muscles began to remember. She kicked and circled her arms, trying to angle her body so it would naturally float. When she broke the surface again, she almost cried from the relief of it.

But now what? Her skirts were weighing her down. The current was dragging her farther and farther from the boat. She had no idea where she was, or how far away the shore was. When she flipped onto her stomach and began paddling, her heart sank at the realization that the riverbank looked very far away.

Then again, so was the yacht. As if nothing had happened,
Diana
was 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.

B
enedict 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. “He
pushed
me.”

“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.

“Very near,” he lied.

The crevice turned out to be more than it appeared. He pulled away some vines and dead branches and realized it went farther back than expected. In fact, as he pushed deeper into the relative warmth out of the wind, he had the sense of space. He put out one arm and touched nothing. It was almost like a cave—and then he kicked something that skidded along the ground with a metallic clang.

“Wait a moment.” He went down on his knee and groped around to discover a lantern and, a few fraught moments later, a flint and tinderbox. “Stay here,” he told Penelope, barely able to make out her pale, drooping figure. “I’m going to try to light this.”

It took several tries to find the right position that allowed enough protection from the wind yet enough light to see, but finally he coaxed a flame in the small, rusty lantern. Penelope was where he’d left her, slumped down against the rock. He lifted the lantern, and she raised her face greedily toward the light.

“We’ve got to get you dry.” He turned her around and began undoing buttons. The once-white wool of her walking dress was now gray and swollen with water. He finally just ripped the buttons away, desperate to get it off. It was only chilling her further. She clumsily helped as he peeled off the dress, leaving her in translucent undergarments. He tossed the dress aside and took her out of the rest of her clothes, wringing out each piece as much as possible before putting it back on her. Damp clothes were only marginally better than wet clothes, but everything counted.

“Now yours.” Her teeth chattered as she wrapped her arms around herself and sank back to the floor.

More to please her than for his own sake, he stripped off his shirt and wrung it out. There was a considerable pool of water on the floor now, and he looked toward the back of the crevice. The wavering light of the lantern pierced the darkness for only a few feet, and it wasn’t revealing an end to the narrow opening. “Wait here,” he said. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

“Where are you going?”

He went down on his knee for a quick embrace. “If there’s a lantern, there may be something else useful here. It looks like a small cave.”

“I can come with you . . .” She started to struggle to her feet but he stopped her.

“Rest,” he told her. “Catch your breath. We still have a stroll uphill. I swear I won’t leave you for long.”

After a moment she gave in. Benedict let out his breath in relief—if she’d pleaded with him to stay, he didn’t think he could have left her—and impulsively he kissed her. “Rest, love,” he whispered again, then caught up the lantern and picked his way into the gloom.

It really was a small cave. The passage was narrow, but only for a few feet. He marveled; how many times had he explored this shore, on his own and with Sebastian, and neither of them had ever discovered it? For a moment he wondered if this led to the elusive Hart House grotto, but quickly discarded the idea. It was too close to the water, and would probably flood from time to time. And Penelope had promised to show him the grotto. His mouth firmed and he lifted the lantern higher. Once they were safely at Montrose Hill House, he’d be sure to remind her of that.

He trailed one hand along the wall to keep his balance. The ground was coarse sand, and more than once a sharp rock bit into the bottom of his foot, clad only in stockings. The wall at his side curved away, opening into a cavity of some size. Benedict swung the lantern in a circle, but couldn’t make out much; the flame was too small, and the space too big. But there was something there . . . He raised the lantern over it. A stray piece of canvas. He shook it out, surprised by the size of it, and knocked something else over. A quick circuit of the space revealed a few discarded crates, broken open, and a pile of straw to one side. He stared at the odd collection, then scooped up the canvas and hurried back to Penelope.

“I d-don’t know which is more frightening,” she said, her voice shaking as he came back down the passage. “The wind, or the dark.”

“The wind.” He lifted her to her feet and wrapped the canvas around her. It was stiff and scratchy but it would break the wind. “There’s nothing to fear from the dark.”

Her blue eyes seemed to fill her face as she looked up at him. “There is. When I fell in the water, it was so dark. I’ve never felt so alone.”