Chapter 57
Lucy coughed and spluttered.
Something thumped her back and she coughed once more, this time throwing up a mouthful of sea water that burned her throat; the salt and bile stinging.
She sucked in air voraciously then coughed and choked again.
‘Easy. Try to take shallow breaths,’ said a voice.
There was a fire. She could see the light of it for the first time. It was some distance away, down the rocks; the remains of the St Martins’ coach and lanterns now a blazing bonfire.
She rolled onto her back. The rocks were only slightly less uncomfortable than on her knees. As suggested she drew small breaths.
By the light of the fire she saw James Dashwood seated beside her, looking down at her, a mix of relief and concern on his face.
‘You’re not wearing a shirt,’ she thought out loud.
‘I’m trying a new look.’
‘I like it.’
Was that a blush on his cheek or just firelight?
She drew herself up, finding a spot on the rocks where she could sit with only mild discomfort.
‘Are you cold?’ she asked.
‘Yes.’ He chuckled after a brief hesitation.
She reached an arm around his waist, turning to face him, wrapping her arms around him as he did the same for her, their heads resting on each other’s shoulder.
She felt the heat of his body, of his breath against her neck. The cold, the damp, the rocks, all seemed to melt away.
They sat that way until help arrived.
It was entirely inappropriate but, given the circumstances, Lucy didn’t mind in the slightest.