by Julia Quinn
Victoria dashed back downstairs and out the front door. To her left she could see a path leading down the steep hill to the rocky beach. The path was very narrow, so she took careful steps as she began her descent, using one hand to hold the blanket around her shoulders and the other for balance. After several minutes of careful footwork, she reached the bottom and scanned the horizon for Robert.
Where was he?
She cupped her hands to her lips and bellowed his name. She heard no response save the swishing sound of the surf. She hadn't really expected him to yell back, but a wave or a motion to show that he was still alive would have been nice.
She clutched the blanket closer to her body, then arranged it so it would protect her clothing as she sat down.
The wind grew more fierce, and the salt air stung her cheeks. Her hair was beginning to grow stiff, her toes were freezing, and damn it, where was Robert? It couldn't be safe to be out swimming in this weather. She stood again, scanned the horizon, and yelled his name. Then, just when she decided that her situation could not get any worse, a sharp raindrop stabbed her cheek.
Victoria looked down, saw that her arms were shaking, and then realized that it wasn't because of the cold. She was terrified. If Robert drowned…
She couldn't even complete the thought. She was still angry with him for his high-handed behavior this past week, and she wasn't at all certain that she wanted to marry him, but the thought of him forever gone from this world was beyond comprehension.
The rain grew thicker. Victoria continued to yell Robert's name, but the wind refused to carry her words to sea. She felt helpless and impotent. There was absolutely no point in venturing into the water to save him—he was a much stronger swimmer than she was, and besides, she hadn't a clue where he was. So she just bellowed his name yet again. Not that he could hear her, but it was the only thing she could do.
And doing nothing was pure agony.
She watched as the sky darkened ominously, listened as the wind's shrieks grew more ferocious—and told herself to breathe evenly as her heart raced with panic. And then, just when she was sure she would explode with frustration, she saw a flash of pink on the horizon.
She ran to the water's edge. “Robert!” she screamed. A minute passed, and then she could finally make out that the object in the water was indeed a man.
“Oh, thank God, Robert,” she breathed, running into the calf-deep water. He was still much too far away for her to be of any use, but she couldn't stop herself from moving toward him. Besides, it seemed silly to worry about her wet ankles when the rain had already soaked through her clothing.
She waded out farther until the waves smacked her knees. The current was strong, pulling her out toward the horizon, and she shook with fear. Robert was fighting that same current. She could see him more closely now; his strokes were still strong, but they were growing uneven. He was getting tired.
She yelled his name yet again, and this time he stopped and looked up while treading water. His mouth moved, and in her heart Victoria knew that he had said her name.
He put his head back down and swam forward. It might have been Victoria's imagination, but it looked as if he was moving a little faster now. She reached her arms out and took another step forward. Only ten yards or so separated them now. “You're almost there!” she shouted. “You can do it, Robert!”
The water was at her waist and then suddenly it was over her head, a giant wave crashing above her. She tumbled into a somersault, and for a moment she had no idea which way was up. And then, miraculously, her feet touched the ground, and her face found the air. She blinked, realized that she was now facing the shore, and turned around just in time to see Robert staggering into her. His chest was bare, and his breeches were plastered to his thighs.
He practically fell against her. “My God, Victoria,” he gasped. “When I saw you go down…” Clearly unable to finish his sentence, he bent at the waist, gasping for air.
Victoria grabbed his arm and began to pull. “We've got to get to the shore,” she pleaded.
“Are you—are you all right?”
She gaped at him through the driving rain. “You're asking that of me? Robert, you were miles from shore! I couldn't see you. I was terrified. I—” She stopped. “Why am I discussing this now?”
They stumbled to shore. Victoria was cold and weak, but she knew that he was weaker, so she forced her legs to pull them along. He clung to her, and she could feel his legs wobbling beneath him.
“Victoria,” he gasped.
“Don't say anything.” She concentrated on the shore, and when she reached it she concentrated on the path.
He ground to a halt, though, forcing her to stop. He took her face into his hands, ignoring the rain and the wind, and looked into her eyes. “Are you all right?” he repeated.
Victoria stared at him, unable to believe that he would pause in the middle of the storm to ask her that. She covered one of his hands with her own and said, “Robert, I'm fine. I'm cold, but I'm fine. We have to get you inside.”
How they made it up the steep path, Victoria would never know. The wind and rain had loosened the earth, and more than once one of them stumbled and slipped, only to be pulled back upright by the other. Finally, her hands raw and scraped, Victoria pulled herself over the edge of the hill and landed on the green grass of the cottage's lawn. A second later Robert joined her.
The rain was torrential now, and the wind howled like a hundred furies. Together they staggered to the cottage's front door. Robert grabbed the knob and ripped the door open, shoving Victoria into the warmth of the interior. Once they were both inside, they stood stock still, momentarily paralyzed with relief.
Robert was the first to recover, and he reached out and grabbed Victoria, crushing her to him. His arms were shaking uncontrollably, but they held her firm. “I thought I'd lost you,” he whispered, pressing his lips to her temple. “I thought I'd lost you.”
“Don't be silly, I—”
“I thought I'd lost you,” he repeated, his grip on her remaining strong. “First I thought I was going to—that I wouldn't make it back, and I didn't want to—God, I didn't want to die, not when we were so close to—” His hands moved to her face, holding her still while he memorized every feature, every freckle, and every eyelash. “Then when you went under—”
“Robert, it was only for a moment.”
“I didn't know if you could swim. You never told me if you could swim.”
“I can swim. Not as well as you, but I can—It doesn't matter. I'm fine.” She pried his hands from her face and tried to pull him toward the staircase. “We must get you into bed. You'll catch the death of you if we don't get you dry.”
“You, too,” he mumbled, letting her lead the way.
“I wasn't submerged in the Strait of Dover for God only knows how long. Once we take care of you, I promise I will change into dry garments.” She practically pushed him up the stairs. He stumbled repeatedly, never seeming to lift his leg high enough to reach the next step. Once they reached the second story, she nudged him forward.
“I assume this is your room,” she said, leading him inside.
He nodded briefly.
“Take off your clothes,” she ordered.
Robert had just enough strength to laugh. “If you knew how many times I have dreamed of you saying that…” He looked down at his hands, which were shaking violently from the cold. His fingernails were purplish blue.
“Don't be silly,” Victoria said sternly, running around the room to light the candles. It was only early evening, but the storm had taken away much of the sunlight. She turned around and saw that he hadn't made much headway on his clothing. “What is wrong with you?” she scolded. “I told you to undress.”
He shrugged helplessly. “I can't. My fingers…”
Victoria's eyes fell to his hands, which were fumbling over the fastenings to his breeches. His fingers were shaking violently, and he couldn't seem to make them close around his
buttons. With brisk determination reminiscent of her not so distant days as a governess, she closed the space between them and unfastened his breeches, trying not to look when she pulled them down.
“I'm usually a bit more impressive,” Robert joked.
Victoria couldn't keep her eyes to herself after that comment. “Oh!” she said, startled. “That's not what I expected at all.”
“It certainly isn't what I like to see, myself,” he muttered.
She blushed and turned away. “Into the bed with you,” she said, trying for a normal voice but not quite succeeding.
He tried to explain as she herded him into the bed. “When a man gets cold, he—”
“That's quite enough, thank you. More than I need to know, I'm sure.”
He smiled, but the chattering of his teeth marred the effect. “You're embarrassed.”
“You noticed,” she said, crossing to the wardrobe. “Have you any extra blankets?”
“There is one in your room.”
“I took that down with me to the beach. I must have lost it in the water.” She shut the wardrobe door and turned around. “What are you doing?” she nearly shrieked. He was sitting up in bed, having made no attempt to pull the quilts over him. He'd crossed his arms and was clutching himself.
He just stared at her, unblinking. “I don't think I've ever been this cold.”
She yanked the covers up to his chin. “Well, you're not going to get any warmer if you don't use these blankets.”
He nodded, still shivering uncontrollably. “Your hands are freezing.”
“They're not nearly as bad as yours.”
“Go change,” he ordered.
“I want to make sure you—”
“Go.” His voice was quiet, but it did not lack authority.
She paused, and then gave a brief nod. “Don't move.”
“Wild horses couldn't—”
“I mean it!” she warned.
“Victoria,” he said, sounding infinitely weary. “I couldn't move even if I wanted to, which, incidentally, I don't.”
“Good.”
“Go!”
She threw up her arms. “I'm going, I'm going.”
Robert allowed himself to sink farther under the bed sheets once she left. Good Lord, he was cold. When he'd left for a swim, he'd never dreamed that the sky would whip up into such a ferocious storm. He clamped his teeth together, but they clattered anyway. He hated being so dependent on Victoria, especially when she had to be freezing cold herself. He'd always loved being her knight in shining armor—strong, brave, and true. Now he was wet, cold, and pathetic. And to add insult to injury, she'd finally seen him naked, and he did not have much to show for himself.
“Are you still under the covers?” Victoria yelled from the next room. “If you get out of bed, I'll—”
“I haven't moved!”
He heard a grunt that sounded something like “Good.” He smiled. He might not like being dependent on Victoria, but there was something to be said for being fussed over.
He pulled the covers tighter around him and rubbed his feet against the sheets in a vain attempt to warm them up. He could barely feel his hands, so he shoved them under his buttocks, but as his rear was equally cold, this didn't do much to help. He pulled the blankets up over his head and breathed heavily on his hands. This brought some momentary relief.
Footsteps pattered in the hall for a moment before he heard Victoria say, “What are you doing under there?”
He poked his head out just far enough to see her. “It's warmer under her.” Then he looked a little more closely. “What are you wearing?”
She made a face. “You might recall that I neglected to bring a change of clothing.”
He wished his face was warm enough to smile.
“All I had,” she continued, “was this nightgown you gave to me. And this quilt I pulled off the other bed, for the sake of decency.” With a rather matronly sniff, she pulled the aforementioned quilt more closely around her body.
Robert's eyes rolled heavenward as he moaned, “I must be even more ill than I thought.”
“What do you mean?” Victoria rushed to his side, perched on the edge of the bed, and brushed his hair aside as she placed her hand on his brow. “Are you feverish?”
He shook his head, his expression beyond pained.
“Then what is the matter?”
“It's you,” he croaked.
Her eyes widened. “Me?”
“You. In that gown.”
She frowned. “It's all I had.”
“I know,” he moaned. “It's my wildest fantasy come true. And I'm too damned miserable to even want you.”
She leaned back and crossed her arms. “It serves you right, in my opinion.”
“I had a feeling that would be your opinion,” he muttered.
“Are you any warmer?” she asked, assessing him rather unsympathetically.
He shook his head.
Victoria stood. “I am going downstairs to prepare you some broth. I assume there is food in the kitchen?”
He looked at her blankly.
“Food?” she repeated. “In the kitchen?”
“I think so,” he said, not sounding at all certain of himself.
She stared at him in disbelief. “You abducted me and forgot to stock the cottage with provisions?”
His lips stretched into a decidedly weak smile. “I might have.”
“Robert, this is so stunningly unlike you, I don't know what to think. You've never forgotten a detail in your life.”
“I sent word to the caretaker that I would be arriving, asking him to prepare the cottage. I'm sure he brought food.” He paused and swallowed. “At least I hope he did.”
Victoria stood, a stern, governess-worthy expression firmly in place on her face.
“Do you know how to cook?” Robert asked hopefully.
“I'm a wonder when I have food.”
“You'll have food.”
She didn't say another word as she left the room.
Robert remained in bed, shivering and feeling altogether sick. It hadn't been so bad when Victoria was there. She—and that devilish nightgown he was beginning to wish he hadn't purchased—took his mind off the fact that ten little icicles were attached to his feet and that he used to call them toes.
A few minutes later Victoria reappeared in his doorway, two steaming mugs in her hands. Robert's entire face lit up. “Broth?” he said. He couldn't remember a time when broth sounded so good.
Victoria smiled sweetly. A little too sweetly. “This is your lucky day, Robert.”
Robert sniffed the air, searching for an aroma. “Thank you, Victoria, for—” He stopped when she handed him a mug. “What is this?”
“Hot water.”
“You brought me hot water? Isn't one supposed to receive some sort of nourishment when one is ill?”
“You're not ill, just cold. And hot water is, by definition, hot. I'm sure it will warm you up.”
He sighed. “There wasn't any food, was there?”
“Not even a biscuit.”
He took a sip of the water, shuddering with delight as the heat traveled down his insides. Then, his mouth never leaving the rim of his mug, he looked up. “No tea?”
“Nary a leaf.”
He drank some more, then said, “I never thought I'd see the day when an English household would be out of tea.”
Victoria smiled. “Now do you feel warmer?”
He nodded and held out his empty mug. “I don't suppose there is more?”
She picked up his mug and stood, motioning to the window. Rain was still pelting the house furiously. “I don't think we're in any danger of running out of water. I have some heating on the stove and a bucket outside catching more.”
He looked up sharply. “Surely you don't intend to go outside in this weather. I want you to stay dry.”
She smiled and waved away his concern. “There is no need to worry about me. The overhang will keep me
dry. Only my hand will get wet.” She started to leave.
“Victoria, wait!”
She turned around.
“Are you still cold? You have done nothing but take care of me. I don't want to see you catch a chill.”
“The water has helped. I—”
“Your hands are still shaking.” It sounded almost like an accusation.
“No, I'm fine. Really. It just takes a bit of time for me to warm through and through.”
He frowned, but before he could say anything more, she had darted from the room. She reappeared a few minutes later. The blanket around her shoulders slipped, and Robert tried to ignore the way the blue silk nightgown clung to her curves. It was the oddest thing he had ever encountered. His mind was racing with every sort of erotic fantasy, and his body refused to respond.
Robert cursed the cold with remarkable fluency.
As Victoria handed him his hot water, she asked, “Did you say something?”
“Nothing fit for your ears,” he muttered.
She raised her brows, but other than that did not question him further. They sat in companionable silence for several minutes, Victoria perched on the opposite side of the bed from Robert.
Suddenly she sat up straight with such abruptness that Robert nearly dropped his mug. “Where is MacDougal?” she asked, tightening the blanket around her.
“I sent him back to London.”
She relaxed visibly. “Oh. Good. I shouldn't like anyone to see me in this state.”
“Mmm, yes. Of course, if MacDougal were here we could send him out for food.”
Victoria's stomach growled loudly in response.
Robert shot her a sideways glance. “Hungry?”
“Oh, just a little,” she said, patently lying.
“Still angry with me?”
“Oh, just a little,” she said in the same tone.
He laughed. “I never intended to starve you, you know.”
“No, I'm sure ravishment was at the top of your agenda.”
“Marriage was my primary goal, as you well know.”
“Hmmph.”
“What is that supposed to mean? Surely you don't doubt my intentions.”