Page 32 of Prince of Scandal

“A prince. A prince among men.”

“Stop talking, Georgiana,” he growled, gruffer than ever before. “I’m going to take you inside. Get you warm.”

“V-very w-well.”

Holding her closer, Ashton practically ran inside the dwelling. Then he gently set her down beside the chaise. “Don’t move. Damnation. There is a fire striker, but no fresh wood. I can’t start a fire. What else, what else…a blanket! There’s a woolen blanket in the cupboard. I’ll fetch that. And some rainwater from the barrel to rinse us both off. Yes. That’s what I’ll do,” he finished, running a hand through his hair which was plastered to his skull.

Just like his shirt and breeches were plastered to his body.

My oh my, he really was a fine figure of a man.

Georgiana smiled dreamily, then her legs buckled and darkness rushed to meet her.

And she knew no more.

* * *

Ashton near-flew the few steps to catch Georgiana when she swooned.

Cradling her against him, he gingerly perched on the edge of the chaise. In truth, he was still reeling from the terror of watching her fall from that sturdy branch into the river. When she’d gone underwater and not come back up…Christ. His heart had actually stopped beating. He’d swiftly leaped into the chilly, murky depths, his arms swirling around as he attempted to find her in the sluggish gloom without bashing his head against tree debris or severely aggravating the eels that called the Yare home. Every second had seemed like an eternity, especially knowing how easy it was to become disorientated underwater, and that her clothing would make it even harder for her to kick free if she was conscious.

The relief when his hands closed around her shoulders had been immense. In truth, he wasn’t exactly sure how he’d managed to haul her out of the water with the strength of a strongman in a circus troupe. When she’d spoken, his thundering heart had started to slow. Until she’d said you’re a prince. A minute later, she’d buckled and his heart felt like it would never slow again. Georgiana needed to have a bloody care for his bloody nerves.

Ignoring the awful clamminess of his sodden, muddy clothing, Ashton willed himself to calm down. His only priority was attending to Georgiana. Her face had turned starkly pale, her lips a similar hue to her blue gown. Warm. He needed to get her warm. But he couldn’t tear or cut her clothing, as there were no replacement garments in the dwelling.

Gently leaning her forward, he unfastened the three mother-of-pearl buttons at her nape. They were damned stubborn, but he was eventually able to peel the gown away from her upper body. Her stays took even longer; by the time he’d tugged the cord loose enough to free her, he’d used up every Prussian and English curse he knew.

Suddenly, Georgiana opened her eyes and coughed weakly. “Ashton?”

“Shhh, now little one, I’m getting you out of these wet clothes so you don’t catch a chill. River swimming is not at all recommended in March.”

“I didn’t mean to,” she whispered, her tone alarmingly docile.

“I know. Can you lift your hips for me? Good girl. I need to get your gown and petticoat off.”

In minutes, she lay on the chaise wrapped in a thick woolen blanket. Her face remained pale, but thankfully her lips had turned pink again.

Georgiana made a sound of protest when he moved toward the door. “Where are you going?”

“To fetch the rainwater barrel. I’ll give you a sponge bath then rinse your clothes. Some things might be salvageable. Can’t have you losing another gown to a mud mishap.”

She nodded and burrowed further under the blanket. “Hurry back.”

His heart clenched at the forlorn words. But they needed fresh water at once. After marching outside, he lifted the half-barrel, grunting at the weight and awkward shape as he brought it back indoors and set it down. The water temperature was acceptable, cool but not cold. First, he wrapped one arm around Georgiana’s waist to support her, then Ashton carefully sponged her entire body and rinsed her hair. In other circumstances it might have been a sensual act as she arched her back and leaned into his touch, causing water to drip from her nipples and trickle down her belly and thighs, but he was too intent on getting her clean and warm. Once she was snugly wrapped in the blanket once more, he stripped off his own clothing and gave himself a brisk sponge bath. After rinsing each item of discarded clothing, he returned outside and draped them over the line of rope usually used to secure his fishing poles. Hopefully everything would dry in the reasonable breeze. While naked laundryman was not a job he’d ever thought to undertake, and he had no idea if his efforts would help, at least he’d done something.

“There,” Ashton said as he returned inside. “All done. How are you feeling? Any warmer?”

Her cheeks pinkened as she stared at his naked body. “Isn’t body heat supposed to be best?”

Ashton might have scowled at such lighthearted flirtation in the circumstances, but this was actually fact. Sitting down on the chaise, he gathered Georgiana up onto his lap and covered them both with the blanket. She plastered herself against him, her luscious breasts pressed against his chest, one plump thigh either side of his, her bush tickling his groin. Then she tucked her head against his shoulder with a contented sigh.

For an entire hour he just sat there quietly, holding her close and stroking her back. But now the danger had passed, his ire was rising. Did the stubborn, willful minx understand how close she’d come to real peril? What if she’d hurt herself?

What if she’d died?

When Georgiana kissed his neck and rubbed her taut nipples against his wiry chest hair, he grew even angrier. “Don’t.”

She halted and leaned back slightly, her eyes wide and impossibly green against her creamy skin. “Is something wrong?”