Page 64 of Vanquishing the Viscount

“I shan’t lose any sleep over it,” Charles said sourly. He smoothed down his jacket and ran a hand through his hair before marching down the steps of the temple and off in the direction of the house.

James felt a brief moment of regret over the lost friendship. True, Charles had always had his flaws. It was just a shame he hadn’t been able to overcome them as he matured. Perhaps one day he would.

James then turned to face Emma, his heart kicking up to a rapid tattoo in his chest. Apart from looking a little pale, she appeared relatively unruffled.

“Bravo, Emma,” he said lightly. “You were making a good defense of yourself.”

She grimaced. “I’m mortified! I wish you hadn’t witnessed that. Nonetheless, I’m so grateful you came along.”

That sounded promising. Did it mean the crisis was over?

He stared up at the oculus, all emotion suspended. “Did he propose to you?” he asked.

She cleared her throat. “He did, much to my surprise—and alarm. But without any enthusiasm. That didn’t come until after I refused him.”

The oculus misted, but James blinked it back into clarity and allowed himself to breathe again. “The dog!” he muttered. “I wish I had planted him a facer. But it would be wicked to draw blood in the presence of a lady.”

“You forget,” she said, gazing up at him with a growing smile, “I have no fear of blood. My brother is studying to be a doctor.”

She was teasing him.

Which gave him hope.

Looking down at her smiling rosebud mouth, he ached to feel it beneath his. But she’d already been mauled by one gentleman in the last few minutes and wouldn’t welcome the experience again so soon. Remembering his vow to woo her slowly, he offered her his arm.

“There’s boating on the lake,” he said. “I’ll row you out later if you like. Do you feel up to returning to the picnic?”

Her fingers tightened on the sleeve of his coat and a look of disappointment swept over her face, making him want to take her in his arms and kiss her senseless.

But this was neither the time nor the place.

Keeping his expression neutral, he helped her carefully down the steps and back onto the path, but his thoughts were in turmoil. There was so much he needed to say, so much he wanted to ask, but he didn’t know where to begin. It was probably best they make their way back to the picnic in companionable silence, rather than risk making a mull of things.

He was so thrilled by the success of his plan and the renewal of his hopes, he couldn’t eat a thing. The need to speak to Emma privately, to begin the task of fixing her heart on him, was gnawing at his insides. Sitting next to her, trying to make normal conversation with her brother and Jemima, taxed him to the point of nervous exhaustion.

After no more than a few minutes, he could take no more. “Miss d’Ibert, would you like me to take you out on the—”

He got no further. A warning shout from behind him was followed by a splash and a piercing scream.

Spinning around, he saw a little boat rocking wildly on the lake with a small child clinging inside it. Someone else was splashing madly about in the water. People leaped to their feet, uttering gasps of horror as they took in the situation.

With reflexes honed by his boxing bouts, James reacted before the company could draw its next breath. Shrugging out of his jacket, he flung it into Emma’s arms and ran swiftly to the water’s edge. There was no time to take off his boots—a child could drown in that time. He waded through the sucking mud and the shallows, and when he deemed it deep enough, he thrust forward and swam to the still-rocking boat.

A few strokes brought him to the struggling child. Treading water, he heaved her sodden weight up and managed to get her back into the boat without capsizing it. The blood thrummed in his ears so loudly he could barely hear the other child screaming. His only thought was to get the two of them safely to the bank.

Rather than risk tipping the boat over by climbing in himself, he took a few deep breaths and heaved the boat around so the prow was facing the shore. Then he set his shoulder to it and started to swim, pushing it before him. When his feet struck the bottom, he stood up and waded, pulling the boat along.

He was immediately surrounded by other gentlemen helping to beach the craft. His body ached from his efforts, but he ignored the pain. Though his vision was blurred by water and shock, he was able to see the two girls carried to safety. When he saw George bending over the child who’d fallen in, he knew he was no longer needed and collapsed onto the lawn, his chest heaving.

Emma was beside him instantly, pale and shaken. She tried to return his jacket but he waved it away— There was no point in getting that soaked, as well. He looked across at the group huddled around the child, heard some spluttering coughs, then saw a ripple of relief flow through the onlookers.

“She’s all right,” Emma told him. “George has got her breathing normally. She’ll be better in no time—children are built tough. Now, we need to get you out of these wet clothes.”

“No matter. They’ll dry soon enough in this heat.”

His breath was starting to ease, his heartbeat settling back to a more regular rhythm. But his mind was still in shock—such an ugly, frightening thing to happen so soon after the euphoria of his victory over Charles. The accident could so easily have become a tragedy.

Gazing over at Emma, he attempted a smile. “While everyone’s attention is focused elsewhere, could you please help me out of my boots? The leather will swell, and I won’t be able to get my feet out of them for days, just as at Waterloo. Though I fear it will undermine your dignity, and you may get muddy.”