Chapter Eight
Elizabeth gasped, desperate for air, then choked and spluttered as salt water entered her mouth.
“Hold on, if you can,” the deep, masculine voice said. “I’m going to swim, and it will be faster if I have both hands.”
Somehow, she was maneuvered onto his back, and she clung to his neck, trying to keep her head above water, unable to control the chattering of her teeth.
The path between the two beaches had not seemed so large before, but when covered by such an expanse of water, it stretched on forever.
And then the water seemed to drop away from her neck, so it was no longer an effort to keep her mouth out of the waves.
The motion beneath her changed as the man—her brain hadn’t even managed to register who it was—stopped swimming and began to walk, with her still clinging to his neck like a limpet.
When they were finally out of the water, he reached around and took her into his arms before lowering her to the sand.
*
When Freddie had gone out to find Miss Trowbridge, he had not thought it would end like this. He had spotted her from one of the windows, disappearing in the dusk toward the beach, and he had been intrigued.
Later, when he had been about to go to bed, he had been unable to ignore the nagging feeling that he had not seen her return.
She probably had, he told himself. He had probably just not noticed.
But it had seemed sensible to quickly check that she hadn’t got into any mischief.
He felt rather guilty for teasing her so much the previous night, and he hoped he wasn’t the reason she had disappeared so soon after dinner.
But when he had finally spotted her, about to go under as she made her way back to the beach, fear had shot through him, and he had had no choice but to pull off the heavier layers of his clothing and jump in after her.
For a moment, he thought he was too late; she had gone still, and he was scared she had taken in too much water.
But then she had gasped and coughed, and he had known that he had a chance of getting her back to shore.
What on earth had she been thinking, going swimming alone in the dark? Did she want to be killed?
She was shivering, and he grabbed his cloak, which he was glad he had brought with him and had thought to take off before diving into the water. He wrapped it around her. Her eyes met his, and she seemed to freeze in shock. Had she not realized who her rescuer was?
As he put the cloak around her, he could not help but notice the way the white chemise clung to her curves, how translucent it had become from the water, and yet he forced himself to tear his eyes away, for it was not the moment to think such thoughts.
“Are you all right?” he asked, as she pulled the cloak tightly around her.
“I didn’t think I was going to make it,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Neither did I,” he admitted.
“Thank you. For rescuing me.”
“Of course. But what the hell were you doing out there at night anyway, on your own—and when it seems like you can’t swim?”
She bit her bottom lip and looked down at the sand. “I just wanted to know what it was like, to cool off in the sea. Like…like you did.”
Freddie tipped his head to the side and gave her a soft smile. “But I can swim. And it was daylight, and the tide had just gone out, and I wasn’t alone…”
“I know,” Miss Trowbridge said softly, a tear rolling down her cheek. “I’ve been so foolish. I just didn’t want anyone to see. I didn’t want to cause a scandal.”
“But instead you’ve seen a duke swimming naked, and now you’re barely clothed with the very same duke.”
“I’m ruined then,” she said, her bottom lip trembling.
“Don’t worry,” he said, putting an arm around her as she shivered. “It can be our little secret.” She smiled slightly at that. “Now come on, let’s get back before anyone notices we’re gone, or you freeze to death.”
*
She nodded and stood a little shakily, still feeling rather traumatized by her ordeal. His arm dropped from around her shoulder, but when they took the stone stairs up to the cliff path, he took her hand to support her, and he didn’t let go all the way home.
It felt rather strange walking along holding onto a man’s hand, but also rather comforting. After nearly drowning, she really didn’t want to be alone.
When they got within view of the house, they kept to the shadows, and the duke immediately led them to the servants’ entrance, where Elizabeth had slipped out earlier.
“Do you think you can make it into your room without your mother seeing you?”
“I haven’t got a clue what time it is,” she said, glancing up at the moon as though it might give her some answers. “She doesn’t stay up that late, but if she’s gone to bed, she’s probably checked on me already…”
“It was about nine when I left,” the duke said. “And everyone was still up then. I reckon it’s about ten now.”
“Where did you tell them you were going?” she asked.
“I didn’t,” the duke said, a twinkle in his eye visible from the light of the moon. “That’s the beauty of being a man—and a duke. You don’t really have to explain yourself.”
“I think you’d find you’d have to explain yourself if they saw you coming in soaking wet, with me wrapped in your cloak,” she said, blushing at how little she was wearing beneath said garments. She was, however, finding it rather easier to speak to him than she had before.
“Well, come on then. There’s no use dallying around here hoping not to be seen. We need to get in and upstairs as quickly as possible.”
Elizabeth nodded and reluctantly let go of his hand, knowing no good could come from being seen holding it. The door was still open, and she pushed it, wincing when it creaked on its hinges.
They padded up the stone spiral staircase—Elizabeth in front—and mercifully didn’t see anyone.
They paused on the long gallery on the top floor, listening out for anyone coming up the main staircase.
But there was still lively conversation downstairs, and Elizabeth very much hoped that her mother was still down there enjoying herself and had not come up to check on her.
They walked along the gallery, trying to look nonchalant, but both very aware that if they were seen like this, it would look extremely suspicious.
And then, just as Elizabeth reached her bedchamber door and was about to turn to thank the duke again, there was the sound of a door opening.
Elizabeth didn’t even think—she just grabbed his hand and pulled him into her room, closing the door quickly behind her.
He opened his mouth to speak, but she put a finger to her lips, unsure how he had missed the sound of the door opening.
She listened intently, her heart racing, and then there was a knock on her own door. She thought she might be sick. Someone must have seen them. She didn’t answer for a moment, and then there was another knock and a call of, “Elizabeth? Are you feeling well? I just wanted to say goodnight.”
So her mother had not checked on her before, it seemed—but now, if she pushed the door open, she would find her daughter soaking wet and half-dressed, and the duke in her bedchamber. It really did not bear thinking about.
“All’s well, I’m just tired,” she called, in a voice she hoped sounded like she had just been woken up.
There was a pause, during which she wondered if it would be possible to hide the duke somewhere in her bedchamber, and then she heard her mother’s footsteps receding as she called, “Goodnight,” and Elizabeth was able to breathe a sigh of relief.
“That was close,” the duke said, not looking particularly disturbed by the incident at all. “Imagine, to get all the way here and then be caught at the last moment.”
“We’ve still got to get you out of here without being seen,” she whispered with a sigh.
“I suppose I could climb out of the window,” he said jovially. “Climb along the drainpipes outside, grab a tree perhaps?”
“I don’t think it’ll do either of us any good if you fall to your death,” she said. “No, just give it a moment, and I’m sure you can get back to your room unseen. Thank you again. You saved my life—I shan’t forget it.”
“Any time, my lady,” he said, with a sweeping bow.
They both reached for the door at the same time, and their hands touched, sending a jolt of warmth through Elizabeth’s cold and shivering body.
“You need to get out of those wet clothes before you get ill,” the duke said, his eyes suddenly seeming to burn as she looked up into them, her heart racing.
“You should really call for a bath, but I suppose that would draw suspicion…”
Because it had been so warm, the fires had not been lit, and the duke frowned at the empty grate. “You can at least call for a fire to be lit once I’m gone.”
“I don’t want to be any trouble,” Elizabeth said. “I’m sure I’ll be fine once I get dry. Oh, and your cloak—”
Without thinking about what she was doing, she pulled off the borrowed cloak and handed it to him, before realizing that it left her in a sheer, wet chemise, which clung to her body and hid precisely nothing.