by Deborah Hale
“I beg your …” She stopped herself from giving him another opportunity to insult her. “That’s impossible. We cannot—”
He raised his hand and pointed. Claire glanced over her shoulder. The Marlet was passing very close to an island off the southern coast.
“Tell the captain to put in there,” said Ewan, “and let me off.”
So he could catch the first train to London and compare notes with Tessa? Her sister would elope with him on the spot and probably never speak to her again.
And what might Ewan Geddes do to revenge himself upon her? The Brancaster shares Tessa had inherited from their father were few, but in the hands of a man more clever than scrupulous …
“No.”
“What are ye saying, woman?”
“I believe my meaning is plain enough, sir. You will remain on the Marlet until we reach Scotland. After that, you may go where you wish.”
Was she mad? her better judgment protested. What good would a few more days do? At this rate, it would be a wonder if they managed to reach Strathandrew without killing one another!
Indignation and desperation drowned out the quiet voice of reason. She would not allow Ewan Geddes to dictate to her. Without even trying, he made her say and do too many things against her will.
For a moment she feared he might strike her … or take some other equally shocking action. Then he appeared to master his passion by a fierce act of will.
“Fine, then.” He strode past her. “I’ll swim to shore.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” The words had scarcely left her lips before Claire realized they were the worst possible ones she could have uttered.
Ewan pried off his boots and stockings, tossing them onto the deck. “Just ye watch me.”
Suddenly she was aware of the unnatural hush on deck, and the crew of the Marlet watching them both.
“Are you just going to stand there?” she cried. “Someone stop him!”
No one moved, but from the helm Captain MacLeod called, “We can’t hold the man against his will, miss. That’d be kidnapping.”
Dear heaven! Might he have her charged with attempted abduction? Claire could just imagine the newspaper accounts.
“You could drown!” she warned him.
Ewan clawed at his neck linen and collar buttons as he struggled out of his coat, waistcoat and shirt. The sight of his broad, naked shoulders and muscular bare chest took Claire’s breath away.
“I’d rather take my chances with the sea than with ye!”
He was bluffing. He must be.
“Please.” She would have to order the captain to head for shore. “Don’t be a fool.”
“I’ll be and do what I want, woman. I’m not yer servant anymore!”
Before she could relent, Ewan scrambled over the deck railing and dived into the ocean.
Chapter Eight
Had he lost his mind?
The question tumbled over and over in Ewan’s thoughts as his body tumbled through the air on its plunge from the deck of the Marlet.
It was a far longer drop to the water than he’d realized. Or perhaps it just seemed that way.
He slammed into the waves, knocking the wind out of him. When he finally came up, sputtering, the Marlet had already moved some distance away. There could be no question of swimming back to it. Not that he’d give Claire Talbot the satisfaction, anyway.
So he struck out for shore, which looked much farther off than it had from the deck of the yacht. He swam hard for a while, propelled by the power of his outrage.
But outrage, he soon discovered, did not make an ideal fuel. True, it blazed hot. But that only made it burn itself out faster. Soon cold ocean water quenched even the embers.
After swimming hard for what seemed like a long time, but coming only a little closer to shore, Ewan once again began asking himself if he’d lost his mind. A simple yes would have troubled him less than the answer he got from his conscience.
It informed him, in no uncertain terms, that he’d been an ass. And not just for diving off the ship just now.
He hadn’t given Claire Talbot a fair chance. He’d wanted to and tried to for a while, but the first sign of coolness on her part had set him on the offensive again. Being late for dinner had soured his mood. He never should have downed that first whiskey so fast, let alone two more.
Perhaps the lady hadn’t meant to offend him with all her glittering jewelry and rich food. In some awkward fashion, might she have been trying to do him an honor—showing him that he was worth dressing up and putting out the best victuals for? More than possible, Ewan acknowledged as a large wave broke over him, setting him coughing and struggling to stay afloat.
Things looked different depending on your vantage point. He’d learned that long ago during his gillie days. The water and shore had both looked closer from the deck of the Marlet, perhaps because he’d wanted them to. Claire Talbot’s actions had appeared haughty and hostile because that was how he’d wanted to see them. And if his uncouth behavior had made her lash out at him, who could blame her?
His arms felt as weak and limp as two long bladders full of suet. But when he tried to rest, the water’s coldness began to seep into his bones. Mustering his strength, he kept on swimming.
The chill of fear snaking through him made the Channel waves feel positively warm by comparison. What if he did not make it to shore? What if he had thrown his life away over foolish, misplaced pride? Considering his actions, what grounds did he have for pride, anyway? Damn few. But plenty of grounds for shame.
His bewildering feelings of lust for Claire Talbot foremost. She was not to blame for those, no matter how he’d tried to excuse himself by pretending so.
Would he ever get the chance to tell her he was sorry?
As she watched Ewan Geddes dive into the Channel, Claire feared she would drown … in guilt.
She had been wrong about him. The man was no fortune hunter. After she’d flaunted her wealth in front of him, he had jumped into the ocean to get away from her. What more compelling evidence did she need?
She should have seen the truth for herself, last night at dinner. Perhaps she would have seen it if she had not let her feelings toward him blind her.
“Man overboard!” She scarcely needed to add her cry to the others. The crew had been watching. They would be witnesses that she had all but pushed him into the water with her own two hands. “Captain, bring the ship around!”
“It’s no good, miss.” Captain MacLeod shook his grizzled head. “If we try to get any closer to shore, we’ll founder on the shoals.”
“The boats, then!” Claire jumped into the nearest one, a tiny affair that would not hold more than half a dozen people in a pinch. She and Tessa had often rowed around the shore of Loch Liath in it.
The captain bellowed a warning, but Claire ordered the two nearest crewmen, “Let it down, now!”
They were too well trained to hesitate, let alone refuse. Or perhaps they were anxious on Ewan’s behalf and eager to do what they could. The little boat had barely hit the water when Claire realized she should have ordered one of the crew to jump in with her to man the oars.
“No help for it now,” she muttered, taking them in her own hands and pulling for all she was worth. “Please … don’t let him drown … before I get a chance … to tell him I’m sorry!”
It wasn’t exactly a prayer. Her experience with earthly fathers had not predisposed her to put much trust in a heavenly one. At the moment, though, she felt a need to call on some source of strength beyond her own.
After several minutes of strenuous rowing, she rested at the oars and tried to take her bearings. Seeing no sign of Ewan, she grew anxious. Could he have drowned so quickly? Surely he would not have jumped overboard unless he’d been confident he could swim to shore.
Then she spotted a dark, round object low in the water. His head? As she peered closer, an arm rose out of the sea, pale against the murky waves.
Her own limbs went qu
ite weak with relief for a moment, but she could not afford to let them stay that way. Keeping her left oar at rest, she rowed a few strokes with the right one to adjust her course. Then she struck out in his direction, silently begging him to stay afloat until she could reach him.
Her palms began to sting from rubbing against the wet wood. She would soon have a wicked crop of blisters, no doubt. How she wished she had put on a more serviceable dress this morning, rather than this bit of pink frippery that hampered her movements. It would be a wreck after this escapade, but that was the least of Claire’s worries.
As she rowed toward Ewan, an appalling thought struck her. What if he refused her help once she reached him? After the way she’d treated him and the things she’d said, she could hardly blame him if he did.
Then she spotted him, only a little way off. The waves would soon bring the lifeboat abreast of him.
“Ewan!” She held one oar out to him. “Grab on to it! Please!”
He seemed dazed by the sight of her. For a moment, Claire feared the waves would sweep her past him before he understood what she wanted him to do.
“Here!” She bent as far out of the lifeboat as she dared. “Grab the oar … now!”
When his hands suddenly thrust out of the water to do so, a ragged sob escaped Claire’s lips. With renewed strength, she pulled on the oar, towing Ewan closer to the boat, until at last he was able to throw an arm over the stern and hang there, gasping. She tossed the oar back into the boat, then bent to hoist him aboard.
She could feel the flush burning in her cheeks and the sweat prickling her brow. Rivulets of water trailed down Ewan’s face from his sodden hair, but he looked too exhausted to wipe them away.
Though she had little spare breath for speech, there was something she must say now, before pride froze her tongue. “Ewan … ?”
“Claire …”
In the same breath, they both gasped, “I’m sorry.”
His words surprised her so, Claire nearly lost her grip on him. Ewan started, too, and almost let go of the boat.
The fear that he might fall back into the water roused them both to one final effort. Claire pulled with all her might at the same instant Ewan gathered the last of his strength and hauled himself up. For an instant, the bow of the lifeboat rose dangerously into the air. Then Claire tumbled backward, while Ewan fell on top, pinning her beneath him.
All the air gushed out of her lungs. As fast and hard as she gasped, she could not seem to recover it. Her head spun and her back protested painfully where she had slammed onto the bench. If not for the sturdy whalebone frame of her corset, she might have broken a rib.
Ewan sprawled on top of her, panting and shivering, his head resting against her bosom. With the tattered remnants of strength in her arms, Claire raised them to wrap around his bare shoulders. How often had she dreamed of lying beneath him, cradling him in her arms? She’d never imagined it quite like this, though.
And she must stop imagining such things! She was no longer a calf-eyed girl, hankering after a handsome young man who scarcely noticed her. She had responsibilities now, and obligations. Chief of which was the debt of affection she owed her sister.
If Ewan Geddes cared nothing for Tessa’s fortune, but truly loved her, and she him, Claire owed it to her sister to promote the match. Especially after going to such unscrupulous lengths to prevent it. She owed it to Tessa and Ewan, and most of all to herself, to weed out the foolish infatuation that had begun to take root in her heart again after lying fallow for so many years.
Just for that moment, though, she forgot those obligations, and her discomfort, to soak up the satisfying sensation of Ewan’s half-naked body pressed against hers. She would have given every penny of her fortune for him to raise his head and press his lips to hers.
He should get off the poor lass before he squashed her flat! If only he could get his stubborn body to cooperate.
Perhaps he could find the strength to roll off her if he really tried, but she wasn’t complaining, and it felt so good to lie there pressed against her. It took all the willpower Ewan could muster to keep from lifting his head and kissing her.
Last night he had wanted to kiss her, too. For the worst reasons a man could have. To shock her, to overpower her and to vent the primitive urges she provoked in him. He would have been ashamed to use his lips on any woman that way.
Now he wanted to kiss her in a far different way, for far different reasons. To say he was sorry. To say he was grateful. To acknowledge some bewildering bond that pulled them together no matter how hard they fought to deny it and keep their distance.
That kind of kiss was much harder to hold back.
Perhaps because he’d just escaped the cold, killing jaws of the sea, his veins pulsed with life and heat. He could not imagine a sweeter sensation than the slender softness of a woman beneath him.
He knew he must restrain himself, but at that moment, he could not remember why. He scavenged just enough energy to tilt his head. His gaze met hers and held for a long, breathless, searching moment.
“Hullo!” A distant, urgent cry shattered the wordless connection between them. “Miss Talbot, are you there? Are you all right?”
Claire stirred beneath him, and Ewan discovered he did have the strength to roll off her, after all.
She grabbed the edge of the boat and pulled herself upright. “We’re here!” she called back, though Ewan doubted her breathless voice carried far. “And we’re safe.”
Wrapping his arms about his wet, bare chest, Ewan dragged himself onto the narrow bench in the bow of the lifeboat. From there, he could see a larger craft speeding toward them, three pairs of oars moving together in a swift rhythm. He knew he should welcome their arrival.
His thoughts grew muddled for a time, until he heard Claire’s voice, as warm as the coarse wool blanket she wrapped around him. “We’ll be back on the Marlet soon. I’ll order Captain MacLeod to dock at Portsmouth.”
Ewan opened his mouth to ask why, then he remembered. He shook his head. “N-n-not unless ye want to be rid of me, d-d-damn fool that I am.”
He dragged his eyes open and forced them to focus. Their tiny lifeboat was being towed back toward the ship by the larger one. Claire sat on the middle bench, a gray wool blanket covering the wreck of her pretty gown. Her hair hung in wet, limp strands around her face and she looked altogether miserable. But she answered him with a trace of her usual spark. “You were a damn fool to dive off that boat, but so was I for making you do it.”
“Ye were a damn fool to come after me.” Ewan wiped away a drop of water that had slid down to the tip of his nose. “But I thank ye just the same. I don’t know how much longer I could have kept afloat out there.”
“Did you mean it?” Claire pulled the blanket tighter around her. “About staying aboard the Marlet? Are you willing to chance the rest of the voyage with me? I’m not keen to fish you out of the Irish Sea.”
Ewan felt his lip curl into a grin. The lass had a lot of spirit, to poke fun after what had just happened.
“If I’m fool enough to jump into the Irish Sea,” he advised her, not entirely in jest, “do us both a favor and let me drown.”
For an instant, she looked a trifle shocked by his quip, but a hiccup of laughter gushed out of her, followed by another and another, in which Ewan joined. They were still laughing when they were pulled aboard the Marlet.
Captain MacLeod looked at them as if they were a pair of escaped lunatics. “See here, I’ll have no more goings-on like that on my ship, do ye ken?”
Claire did not remind him that the Marlet belonged to her. Instead, like a naughty child being scolded, she stared at her feet and muttered something that sounded apologetic. Unfortunately, she ruined the penitent effect by bursting into another fit of giggles.
“Away with ye!” The captain scowled, though Ewan detected a twinkle in his deep-set eyes. “Go get yerselves into dry gear before ye catch yer deaths.”
As Ewan stumbled toward th
e galley way, he heard Claire’s voice behind him. “Jock, will you tend to Mr. Geddes, like a good fellow. I’m not certain how much strength he has in his arms just now.”
An hour ago, he would have resented such a gesture from her. Now he turned and offered her a warm smile. “Have ye got someone to tend to ye, lass? Rowing’s as hard on the arms as swimming, I’ll be bound.”
His concern appeared to fluster her. She pushed the drooping strands of hair away from her face. “I’m certain my maid will take very good care of me, thank you.”
“See that she does.” Ewan watched Claire make her way below deck, then he turned to Jockie. “And why are ye grinning like a fool?”
“Don’t ye mean grinning at a fool?”
“Aye,” Ewan admitted. He’d called himself that and worse too often of late to take offense when somebody else did. “Why are ye grinning like a fool at a fool?”
Jockie winked. “Because I just won a fiver, mate. With a wee bit of help from ye and Miss Talbot.”
“Always glad to oblige.” Ewan headed below. “What did I do?”
“Ye didn’t drown,” said Jock, “but ye didn’t make it to shore, either. The crew had a bit of a wager on the whole thing, ye see.”
“A wager? On whether I’d drown?”
“That was only part of it,” explained Jock, as if that made it all right. “There were bets on ye drowning and some on ye getting to shore. I almost put my money on that, for the odds were long.”
Ewan held tight to the rail as he staggered down the stairs. “I’m touched by yer faith in me.”
Jock chuckled. “A lot of the crew bet on the other boat reaching ye first, but I put my money on Miss Talbot. If she set her mind to it, I knew there’d be no stopping her.”
“She’s quite a lass, isn’t she?” Ewan murmured, more to himself than to Jock, as he entered his cabin, then slipped behind the dressing screen to peel off his wet trousers.
“To tell ye the truth …” Jock closed the cabin door behind him and lowered his voice. “I never had much use for the rest of the family. But Miss Talbot, she’s a good sort. They say she has a lot of Old Man Brancaster in her. Tell me, did she make ye grovel very long before she let ye climb in that lifeboat?”