Chapter Nine

T he rush of water grew louder, mingling with the voice of the wind tearing through the trees. Arabella shivered as she steered her mount along the path. The wind carried with it a bite of cold, even though summer had just begun.

“I’m glad you came for a ride, my dear,” her fiancé said. “I love a good, hard ride, myself.”

Arabella’s stomach churned at his voice, heavy with innuendo.

He steered his mount alongside, and she shuddered at the stench of cigars, stale brandy, and cheap perfume.

“Must you ride so close?” she snapped. “You’re crowding my horse. This path is too narrow—one of us could fall into the river.”

“A husband can ride as close to his wife as he likes.”

“You’re not my husband yet.”

He caught her wrist.

“Even a prospective wife must learn obedience.”

“Let me go,” she said, swallowing the ripple of fear. “Would you show such a lack of decorum toward your future duchess?”

For a moment, his gaze darkened. Then he smiled, his fleshy face puckering.

“Of course, my dear.” He patted her hand before releasing it. “This coquettish behavior of yours is quite charming—I like a filly with spirit.”

She rubbed her wrist, and he smiled. “The greater the challenge, the sweeter the reward, no? You’ll yield in the end.” His smile broadened. “But don’t yield too easily. A little resistance in a woman can increase the pleasure when the conquest is complete.”

“A man must earn his conquest,” she said. “No woman would yield to the undeserving.”

“How sweet you are in your innocence, my dear!” He laughed. “But affection will come in time. My affection for you remains as it ever was.”

Of that, she didn’t doubt. But Dunton’s affection began and ended with her dowry and her title. He certainly harbored no affection for her .

In fact, there wasn’t a single living soul who harbored any feeling for her other than a casual dislike.

Except perhaps one.

A secret thrill coursed through her at the thought of the burning hatred she’d seen in the eyes of the man in the garden…and the raw, masculine scent of him as he’d taken her in his arms and claimed her with a kiss—a kiss so savage and primal that her body had been driven almost wild with need.

He might have loathed her, but he’d wanted her also.

And, heaven help her, she wanted him .

She urged her mount forward.

“Eager to rid yourself of my company?” Dunton’s thick, nasal voice cut through her mind, dissipating the memory of the voice of another—the deep baritone roughened by a country accent.

“My horse is restless,” she replied.

“Another mare in need of a damned good riding,” he muttered, and she caught his words before the wind carried them away.

Ahead, the river curved around in a tight arc. The ground sloped downward, and the river narrowed and steepened, the water growing restless, forming a boiling, swirling mass, tumbling over rocks to form waterfalls, plunging ever forward.

She urged her mount into a trot, steering around the boulders in the path.

“Don’t stray too far, my dear,” Dunton said, and she glanced back to see him following her.

Was this what her life would be like—to be always at his beck and call? Why was it that he was permitted to disappear of an evening and return the next morning reeking of whores, yet she was denied a moment’s respite from his company during a ride?

Propelled on by a flash of rebellion, she leaned forward in the saddle, urging the animal into a canter.

“My dear!” Dunton cried. “You must remain by my side! Your aunt would have you obey me.”

Bugger Aunt Kathleen.

Arabella giggled to herself. What would her aunt think if she cursed in her presence? Lately, the urge to break free and behave like a guttersnipe was too strong to resist. In fact, the urge had only beset her since…

No! Don’t think of him. He hates you. He’d as soon see you dead in a ditch.

Or drowned in the river.

The path turned a corner, and Arabella’s mount slipped on a loose stone. The animal dipped its head and stumbled toward the river. She clung to the reins and squeezed her legs against the pommel but could not stop the momentum.

With a cry, she toppled forward and tumbled through the air toward the riverbank. Then she landed with a jolt that sent a shudder through her bones and began slipping toward the water. She tried to gain purchase on the side of the bank, and cried out as a spike of pain tore through her wrist. Gritting her teeth, she dug her fingers into the bank while the river boiled and swirled mere inches from her feet.

“Help me!”

She looked up. At the top of the bank, the grass grew in clumps, beyond which the trees swayed in the wind, silhouetted against the sky. Of her horse there was no sign.

“Dunton! Where are you?”

She almost sobbed with relief as her fiancé’s face appeared over the top of the bank.

She felt herself slipping once more and kicked out with her legs to steady herself, but to no avail.

“Dunton—help!” she screamed. “I can’t swim!”

But he merely stared at her.

“Don’t just stand there!” she cried. “ Do something!”

The bank shifted beneath her, mud and stones loosening under her grip. She scrambled to maintain her hold, but continued to fall. Then the bite of cold assaulted her body as she slid into the water. She drew in a sharp breath, and the world disappeared as the water swallowed her completely. She kicked out against the assault and surfaced, gasping for air, before the water claimed her again. The current swirled around her legs, entangling them with her gown and binding them together to prevent her escape.

Fighting for her life, she kicked out and resurfaced, her lungs bursting with pain. She sucked in the blessed air, looking around, seeking something—anything—to cling to.

The river pulled her along, then widened out. Ahead, a low branch stretched across the surface. If she could reach it, she’d be safe. Then she would deal with Dunton and his cowardice. Reputation and propriety—and Aunt Kathleen—be damned. She would never marry him.

“You hear that, Dunton?” she screamed. “I’ll never marry you!”

But there was no answer.

She raised her arms. The branch—and safety—was only a few feet away.

Then she saw it—a rock jutting out from the surface. Sharp and angular, like the blade of a flint knife, it filled her vision as the current pulled her toward it. She opened her mouth to scream but choked as water poured into her mouth. Then the water dashed her against the rock as if she were a rag doll. Pain exploded in the side of her head and plunged her into oblivion.