Chapter 12

Bloody storms. Ben hated them. And there raged one on the far edges of the sky. On every edge of the sky, it seemed, threatening the end of the road he had planned to travel down in mere minutes as well as half of Norton's estate, the lawn, the garden, the lake. Threatening the calm inside, too.

He tugged at this cravat. Too tight. Too bloody tight. Especially now he'd tangled it.

"Hell." He spat the word. Where was Lady Prudence? She could set the linen right again. He remembered that well, the flirtation of her fingers against his skin as she'd tidied his neckcloth his first day here. The spark of her touch, the…

Or his valet could. Yes, the valet could tidy the damn cravat. The right man for the job. Not Lady P.

"Norton!" he cried out, stomping down the stairs. "Norton!"

"In here. Stop yelling!" Norton yelled.

Ben followed the voice to Norton's study. He sat at his desk, his back to a large window, and beyond the window gray clouds rolling in.

"Where are the ladies, Norton?"

Norton looked up from a pile of papers, shrugged. "I try to leave them alone as much as can be. It's what they want."

"Yes, but have you noticed the sky? These particular ladies could very well be holding rods to the heavens, inviting lightning. Where are they?"

Norton looked over his shoulder. "Oh. I doubt they're tempting lightning, Bailey. Surely, they're cozed up in the library."

Ben stomped toward the door.

"But Cora did say something about the lake today."

Midstride through the doorway, Ben snapped back toward the viscount. "The lake?"

Norton had dropped his attention back to the papers, and he spoke without looking up. "Hm. Yes. She wanted to take out several boats at once. But surely, they've not gone out now." He glanced over his shoulder again.

"Yes, surely." Ben left Norton and found the library quickly enough. The door handle gave way easily beneath his hand. "Where the hell…?" He stormed down the hall, tried the parlor where the ladies often gathered, whispering behind closed doors. Not closed today. Also empty. He stepped out into the garden beyond the double doors, and the day greeted him with the distinct sound of thunder rumbling a warning across the gray sky.

"Hell." Surely, they had not gone out to the lake. But the storm had risen so suddenly. Nowhere in sight one moment, gathering with dark speed the next. They could have set off in sunshine only to find themselves trapped in a storm later.

Just as he had been.

A shiver crept down his spine, and he took an involuntary step back toward the house. Maybe only half a step, and from instinct only, because he soon forced his body to move in the other direction, toward the lake, toward danger, and toward Prudence.

The sky seemed to darken as he ran, the previously thick clouds, differentiated by curved, overlapping shadows coalescing into a large sheet of gray, promising rain. Torrents of it. On the horizon he ran toward, lightning flashed—a single bolt, magnificent, bright, and brutal. His legs pumped faster, and he crested a small hill, saw the lake, saw the three boats gathered at its middle. A woman with black hair—Lady Norton—stood alone in one, her arms outstretched as if beckoning someone on the shore. The four other women occupied the remaining two boats.

The winds whipped harder, chopping across water that had been smooth as glass the day before.

He skidded to a stop just at the water's edge, the toes of his boots kicking up the roughly lapping water there.

He cupped his hands around his mouth. "Prudence!"

Five heads swung toward him.

"Prudence, return to shore right now or—"

Thunder rolled loud and long, and Lady Norton flinched, wobbled.

"Hell." Ben tore off his boots. "No one move!" he yelled, flinging the last boot to the dirt behind him and diving in. The water was warmer than a winter ocean, and he knew enough to know the difference. He almost stopped swimming to search his pockets. What would he lose this time? Nothing as dear as before, no mother's ring, no father's work. He kept swimming. Whatever he lost, worth it.

Each stroke and kick pushed him closer to the boats. Bloody big lake. Why had they gone out so far? What needed hiding so badly? A bit of education? He popped up his head to check the distance, found the boats, and corrected his angle just a bit, swam faster, dragged the water harder, his lungs burning. But if she fell, Prudence's skirts would weigh heavy as an anvil, would tangle her limbs, and marry her to the lake floor.

He swam faster.

And rammed his hand into something hard. The boat. One of them. Gasping for air and ignoring the ringing in his knuckles, he popped above the surface, treading water. Searching, counting. The three older ladies, Lady Norton… where…? There, peering at him with wide, blinking eyes from the farthest boat—Prudence.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

Mrs. Garrison glared. "Get out of the water, Mr. Bailey. Can't you see the storm?"

He looked to Lady Norton. "I saw you fall in. I was… coming to…"

"Save me?" Lady Norton provided. "As you see I did not fall."

He did see. And wanted to sink to the bottom of the lake. Stay there.

Thunder rumbled closer, and the women swung around to face it.

"Get swimming, boy," Mrs. Garrison barked. She sat up straight and pointed for the dock and the boathouse. "Ships for harbor, ladies."

They began to row, and Ben took slower strokes toward the boathouse than he had toward the boats earlier. He remained below the surface of the lake as much as possible, bobbing to the surface to let the rowboats pull beneath the darkness of the arched boathouse overhang and slot themselves between the narrow docks. He swam in behind them once the women had crawled out of them, and he could not pull himself dripping, sopping wet, up onto the dock fast enough. The ladies secured the boats, and he pulled sopping linen off his skin.

"It's about to rain," Lady Templeton said. "Should we stay here until—"

"No." Cora marched toward the door at the back of the boathouse. "I'm going to run to the house." She bolted into the gray-skied afternoon.

The ladies took off after her, and the boathouse door slammed closed behind them.

But Prudence remained at his side. She helped peel him out of his jacket and toss it to the dock as he yanked at his cravat, unwound it, freed his throat for breathing.

She mumbled all the while her hands flitted about his person. "What were you thinking? Silly man. To throw yourself into a lake with a storm coming." She tsked. "You know better. I'm certain you do. You're trembling. Why haven't you left yet? I thought you'd be on your way back to London by now."

The sky flashed yellow.

He flinched, closing his eyes. "I don't travel during storms."

Thunder roared beyond the arched brick portal to the water beyond.

"But you swim during them?" She placed her fists on her hips.

The sky opened up, and a sheet of rain fell to earth like a guillotine blade, then a whip of wild wind blew it sideways, beneath the arch, soaking them instantly. Soaking her. He was already quite waterlogged. He grabbed her arm and dragged her farther into the boathouse. She came willingly, and when they reached the deep shadows at the back, she gasped, wiping water from her face, pushing plastered tendrils of hair out of her eyes.

"We will have to wait until it passes." She shrugged out of her spencer. Tried to. Glued to her skin, it would not budge, and without thought, he stood before her, pulling the collar of the garment away from her collar bone.

She froze, and he slowly peeled one sleeve off her arm, revealing a damp puff of a sleeve at her shoulder, spotted dark from where the rain had soaked through the spencer. The other. He must free it, focus on freeing it, or do something he shouldn't.

A boom of thunder shook the roof.

He froze and swallowed. "Damn fool thing going out on the lake."

"It was sunny." Her voice a shiver.

"Could have been killed."

"We were fine. Why did you swim after us?"

"I should toss you over my knee." He slipped her sleeve well off her shoulder.

"You will do no such thing. Are you scared of storms?"

"And teach you how to better behave." The wet material clung to her elbow.

"You're not listening to me." She jerked the spencer out of his hand and whirled away from him.

Thunder boomed, and the archway glowed yellow for a blinding moment. The boats rocked on choppy water in their narrow ports.

And before the chaos ended, he held her in his arms.

As the next bolt of lightning split the sky, he kissed her.

Hard at first, his hands claiming the back of her head, tangling with her wet locks, holding her close, holding her so she could not leave. She breathed into the kiss, filling him with life. Her breath warm, warming him.

An unexpected chill trembled through the air. The storm had brought with it a biting wind.

"You're shivering." She spoke against his lips. "Mr. Bailey, you're shivering. Sit." She tugged at him, and his legs gave way. His arse met something, a bench or box. Who the hell knew?

Another boom of thunder crashed down onto the roof.

Tossed him overboard, dropped him heavy as a stone into the Atlantic. He clawed, he reached, he ached for the surface, for air, and when he popped above the freezing surface and into the buzzing air, he held on to the only solid bit of anything he could find. A board, splintered and tossed about like himself.

No. Not a board this time.

Prudence, clinging to him as he'd clung all those years ago. Her arms were chains of comfort around him, her lips moving swiftly and softly at his ear, whispering, "Ben, Ben, where have you gone? You're safe. We're safe, Ben." Her hands smoothed through his hair, brushed up and down his spine. "You're too cold." She left him.

He grabbed for her but caught only air.

She returned so quickly, though, with something warm she wrapped around his shoulders before climbing atop his lap and resting her little head on his shoulder. The sound she made next to his heart echoed the shushing of the ocean on a calm day, and soon the Atlantic drained away, and the storm outside quieted to nothing but steady, hard rain. And when she kissed the tip of his chin, then wrapped her arms around his neck to kiss him gently on the lips, he returned fully, called back to himself by Prudence, persistent and perfect.

One moment you had no idea.

The next moment you knew.

Irrevocably.

"Your heart is no longer racing. That is good." She patted his chest, laid her cheek against it.

Moving for the first time of his own accord in God only knew how many minutes, he grasped the edges of the blanket she'd wrapped round him and gathered her into it, rested his cheek on the top of her head. Highly irregular for a man to hold a woman he wasn't wed to like this, alone. But how could he care with Prudence cradled in his arms, the weight of her body relieving his panic as nothing else could? If she would let him, he'd hold her forever.

"I'm feeling quite foolish," he grumbled.

"You were scared. But I hear you in your voice once more. Quite good. Do you have a fear of storms?"

He swallowed, closed his eyes. "I fell overboard during a storm when I crossed the Atlantic. Thought I was going to die. Was able to find something to hold on to, a board tossed over with me. And I rode the waves until it all ended, and the sailors fished me out." Terrified the entire time. Convinced that, until the water calmed and the sun shone through the clouds, he'd not enjoy a next breath.

"Didn't they try to save you sooner? The others on the ship?"

"Why would they? More pressing matters to tend to."

"What about those you traveled with?"

"I was alone. I had nothing but a few clothes in a trunk aboard the ship. I'd lost everything else in Boston trying to keep the shop in business. Had a few things in my pockets when I fell overboard, but I lost those, too. Nothing valuable to anyone but me."

"But very valuable to you, I'd wager. And yet today, you jumped in to save me. When I did not need saving."

"I thought you did. Feared you did." Had been willing to lose more so he didn't lose her.

"I'm perfectly well." She straightened away from his chest, but he did not let her pull out of his lap. "See? Not even a scratch."

"Why were you out there?" He stroked his fingertips up and down her neck, hoping she might settle herself against his chest once more.

She did not, but she did not leave, either. "Cora. She wished to go out. Truthfully"—her gaze fluttered away from his, settled onto her lap—"I saw the dark edges of the sky. I wondered if there might be unhappy weather. But… Cora seemed so bright about going… boating. I even revised my schedule to make it happen."

"That is serious. You alerted everyone promptly, I hope."

She swatted his chest, swallowed hard, dared to meet his gaze once more. "It's my fault she's miserable, and I'll do anything to make it better for her."

"That old tune? I thought you'd recovered from such misplaced guilt."

"Not misplaced." Quiet words, their almost silent nature giving way to the truth of their weight. So damn heavy.

He held the blanket round them with one hand and used the other to tilt her chin up. "Tell me? When did you fall into the ocean?" Would she understand his question, his true meaning?

She gave a rough huff of a laugh. "Yes, it felt like that. Tossed overboard, sinking, floating in darkness. Terrified." She leaned her forehead against his chest, and her breath warmed the sodden linen separating his skin from her lips. "The day my parents died I wouldn't let them leave. They were traveling to Clearford Castle for something or other. But I kept pestering my mother. I wanted her to bring a particular bonnet back to London for me. Then a shawl I'd left in the country. Then a ribbon. Then stockings. The list grew every time they set foot out the door. They were a good half an hour off schedule by the time I was done."

"Practical Prudence concerned with such frippery?"

She nodded, the tiniest thing. "I thought I needed it. Lottie had every man in London salivating. A diamond. And Andromeda promised to be the same in her own quieter way. I would be hoisted upon the marriage mart next, but I knew I would not take. I needed every bit of frippery as you call it at my disposal. Silliness. I was only seventeen, and my mother was not entirely set on my coming out at eighteen. She didn't think me quite ready. I was not. I know now."

He stroked her hair, let her lapse into silence as long as she pleased while the rain roared a song against the boathouse roof.

"If they had passed through that particular intersection half an hour sooner, as they should have done, the mail coach would not have slammed into them."

"No, Prudence—"

"Yes, Mr. Bailey." She straightened, squared her shoulders, then stood. "Schedules must be maintained or… or we all fall overboard. And the water is dark. And it is cold. And there is no bottom. Cora is floating right now, and I'll not let her drown. Do you understand?"

He stood, letting the blanket fall to the bench he'd been sitting on, understanding rising with him. "Yes, Prudence."

"Lady Prudence, Mr. Bailey." She wrapped her arms around her body, hugging herself tight.

He lifted her chin, found her eyes, more green than blue in the gray light. "Time to call me Ben, love." He kissed her.

He kissed her because she was trembling, and he could warm her.

He kissed her because she was alive, and he must celebrate that.

He kissed her because she hurt, and he could soothe her.

He kissed her.

And he didn't stop.