Chapter 21
Twenty-One
Ambrose watched Miss Susanna walking away with an equal mixture of confusion, irritation, and contrition. Her pink dress contrasted with the green and grey of the landscape as she made her way down the hill. She would be completely soaked long before she reached the house.
It took a good deal of effort not to follow her, not to stop her and drag her back to shelter. But he could hardly do that when he had already behaved like a blackguard. No gentleman would chase down a lady that was fleeing from him.
Why had he behaved so harshly? Since the start of their ride, he had lost possession of his wits.
When they entered the temple, he had nearly kissed her.
But when she boldly declared her expectation of a proposal, all sense had left him.
She had spoken of love! Of marriage! Of evidences of affection!
It sounded like some jest, a new way to tease him.
Yet, strangely, he believed her to be serious.
He sighed and ran a hand through his damp hair. It was inconceivable that Miss Susanna Fenton cared about his good opinion. Yet she must care, because his words had injured her. She had tried to hide it, but he was well acquainted with her smiles and laughs and he knew when they were false.
In the moment, listing her faults had seemed necessary to convince her of the truth. He realized his mistake almost immediately and would have apologized if she had not fled into the rain.
She had called him Mr. Hartley. The formal address was like a slap to the face.
As he watched, her speed increased.
“Good heavens,” he muttered as she began to run down the hill.
She was like a wild animal—willful, reckless, and unreasonable. Being her husband would be a tormented existence. He would never escape her teasing, or her dimple. It was lunacy to even contemplate.
A flash of lightning cut through the gloom. She looked up as the thunder boomed overhead. In that moment she stumbled.
Involuntarily, Ambrose took a step forward, as if he could catch her despite the distance between them. Susanna did not fall—her steps stuttered and then she steadied. He breathed a sigh of relief just as her feet flew out from under her and she fell on her back.
Cursing loudly, Ambrose sprinted into the rain, racing down the hill, hoping his boots would fair better than hers and he would not become a Jack to her Jill. The rain seemed to increase, but he did not care.
She had not moved. Her face was to the sky, bonnet to her side, and she was not moving.
His heart forgot to beat and all sounds ceased as he ran. Had she hit her head? Would he arrive only to find her unconscious or worse? He would not think it.
She had to be safe. He could not live in a world where she was not whole and smiling. Panic gripped his heart like a vise and refused to let go.
When he was only a few yards away, she moved. He let out a rush of breath, his heartbeat in his ears. He did not slow his pace. She rose to her elbows, oblivious to his approach.
Ambrose was nearly to her side when his feet slipped. He looked down and realized why she had fallen—fresh horse manure on the path. There was no time to curse the horse as he careened forward.
Wheeling his arms, he tried to regain his balance. Susanna, heedless of his approach, was sitting up. He called out.
She turned to him but could do nothing to avoid the collision. Determined not to crash into her, Ambrose acted on instinct and attempted to jump. It was as graceless as a foal taking its first steps, but he vaulted over her.
Landing with a jolt, he stumbled forward. He might have regained his balance if the ground had not suddenly sloped downward. With a spectacular splash, Ambrose fell head first into the lake.
Cold and wet enveloped him. Before, he was merely damp; now he was truly soaked. He struggled to get to his hands and knees. The mud squelched and held fast to him as he attempted to stand. After two wobbly, splashy attempts, he managed to stand and face the shore.
Miss Susanna stood, six feet away, staring at him with wide eyes. Though wet and dirty, she appeared uninjured. Relief flooded through him like the rain pouring down.
“Why in heaven’s name did you do that?” Susanna cried angrily.
“To avoid crashing into you!”
“If you had stayed at the temple, there would have been no need to jump into the lake.” She folded her arms over her chest.
He scowled at her. “Forgive me for racing to your aid.”
“I did not need your help.” She pushed at the wet strands of hair that had escaped and become plastered to her face. Then she spun around and began to walk away.
Ambrose tried to follow, but the muddy lakebed had taken a firm hold of his boots. He glared down at the water and tried again to no avail. Growling, he looked up at Susanna’s retreating form.
“Wait,” he called out. “I need your help.”
She did not heed him. Surely she would not leave him in the lake, in the middle of a storm?
“Susanna, please!”
She paused and slowly turned around.
“I am stuck.” He gestured to his feet.
She began to walk toward him. “You could try crawling out.”
“I fear the mud would make that difficult. If you get an oar from one of the boats, then you might pull me out.”
She shook her head. “Nonsense, that will take too long.”
“Must you always argue?”
Her lips twitched. “Yes, because I have a better idea. Take off your coat.”
In an instant he understood her thoughts. She was correct, it was a better idea. He obediently removed his coat.
Now in his wet white shirt and waistcoat, he waited for her to get in position.
She slowed as she reached the grassy shore and stared at him.
From her raised eyebrows, he was sure he looked a fright.
His pants, hands, and coat were all muddy, his shirt soaked through.
He did not wait for her instruction and, while holding onto a sleeve, threw his coat toward her.
It flopped awkwardly in the air before hitting the water.
“I was not ready,” she said with a frown.
He pulled the coat back. It was nearly soaked through.
Susanna leaned out over the water, stretching out her hands. “Now,” she said.
He leaned forward and threw the coat again. It did not go far, too waterlogged for their purposes. With a wet slap, it hit the lake.
Ambrose growled in frustration and tried to pull his feet free again.
“Try your cravat, that should be longer,” Susanna said.
“Oh, excellent thought,” he replied.
He untied the long, wet piece of fabric and began to unwind it from his neck. His shirt collar lay wet on his shoulders, exposing several inches of skin. If he had stopped to think, he might have been embarrassed about his state of undress. But he was too intent on getting free.
“Ready?” he called.
Susanna nodded slowly, seeming a little distracted.
He threw the balled-up fabric. It arched toward her, unraveling as it flew. She caught it easily.
He gave a small cheer and she smiled briefly at him.
“On my say,” Susanna said as she tightened her grip on the cravat and widened her stance. “And, go!”
As Susanna pulled, Ambrose bent forward at the waist, twisting and yanking at his right foot. The mud gave way, and he took a step forward. The sudden release of tension made Susanna stumble backward and release the cravat.
“Sorry,” he said.
She nodded, retrieved the linen from the ground, and prepared for a second attempt.
This time he used his right leg and her pulling to help him free his left foot. It did not immediately release. He pulled harder. With a great squelch, his foot came loose and sent him staggering forward, water splashing before him.
Susanna held up her hands as he half stumbled, half fell toward her. They were thrown together, his muddy hands on her waist, her soft hands on his upper arms. They teetered on the edge of the lake, but he did not release her.
Swallowing thickly, he looked down, transfixed by her nearness, by the gentle curl of her eyelashes and the softness of her lips.
The drops of rain clung to her skin like his hands clung to her waist. The flecks of green in her eyes seemed to beckon him closer.
There was a tenderness in her expression that was undeniable.
“Curse you,” she murmured.
Before he could register her words, her hands grasped his wet shirt and heaved him toward her. Their lips crashed together, rough and surprising and delicious. All sense left him. The cold rain ceased to exist, his entire body was on fire with her touch. She pulled away, their lips parting briefly.
He pressed forward, unwilling to break the glorious contact.
His hand slipped to her neck, his thumb anchored near her ear so he could keep her close.
She hummed in approval. The sound sent a jolt through him.
He needed to hear it again. Needed her to love kissing him as much as he loved kissing her.
Every part of him ached to keep her in his arms and never let her go.
She wrenched her lips from his. He chased them, but she did not want to be caught.
“Enough,” she murmured, her breath hot on his wet cheek.
He blinked rapidly. “What?”
She pulled farther away. “Add that to your list.”
Before he could reply, she pushed at his chest and spun away.
It was not a hard push, but his legs were weak and his surprise strong. Instead of keeping his feet, he teetered backward, slipped, and fell onto his backside into the lake.
Susanna did not turn around. She strode away on unsteady steps, leaving Ambrose wet, stuck, and utterly confused.