Chapter Eight
Water closed in over Gwen’s head. Shocking cold washed over her, sinking through to her bones. Her lungs burned, air expelled by her scream.
Canterbury continued to sink, his hand locked around her wrist, dragging her under, under, under.
Panic shrieked at her to do something, to move, to swim, to reach the surface, but her coat felt just as heavy as Canterbury’s hold. The light spiraled above her, farther and farther away as she descended.
A dark shape above her. A splash.
Hands grabbing her nightgown, dragging her upwards.
Lucas.
Gwen glimpsed a hard face tight with determination as he hurtled them both toward the light.
Her head broke the surface, and she dragged in a ragged breath.
Lucas swam to the shore with sure, strong strokes, and Gwen splashed helplessly after him.
The drop-off was so extreme that he only found his footing right beside the rocky shoreline.
His boots squelched against the pebbles as he swung her into his arms and carried her up the bank to the path.
Only when they were back on solid ground did he put her back down, his hands moving to her cheeks and tilting her face to meet his.
“Are you all right?” he demanded, voice harsh with worry. His brows drew together as he searched her face. “Can you not swim?”
What a foolish question. Of course she could not swim; where would she have had occasion to learn?
She blinked up at him, both dazzled and uncertain.
He had thrown off his coat to dive in after her—it lay abandoned in a crumpled heap on the ground—and his shirt stuck almost indecently to his arms. Water slid down the column of his throat.
“Gwen?” Warm fingers slid across her chin, and his thumb brushed her lower lip. Heat spiraled through her, battling the chill. “Look at me, sweetheart. Are you all right?”
Distantly, behind her, she heard Canterbury splutter as he surfaced. So he hadn’t drowned, after all.
Gwen found herself a little disappointed.
But although a leaping muscle in his jaw betrayed his awareness of Canterbury’s survival, Lucas didn’t look away from her. His gaze, all his intensity, locked in on her.
“You came for me,” she whispered.
“What did you think I would do? Let you drown?” His voice was tight, snapping, but she didn’t flinch. When it mattered, he had come for her.
“No, I mean…” She shivered, and he wrapped his arms around her.
“We should get you inside before you catch your death.”
His hair was almost jet black from the water, sitting across his forehead like ink.
She reached up and brushed her fingers through it, pushing the heavy locks back.
His eyes were the same inky shade, eyelashes spiky above.
Despite his largeness, that predatory nature, something about him always seemed so elegant.
There could be no questioning he was a gentleman.
He watched her now as though compelled, as though he could never look away, as though she were the only thing that existed in his world.
She wanted to be the only thing that existed in his world.
Canterbury staggered to the shore, dripping but not nearly as romantic a figure as Lucas. He blew a mouthful of water into the air and spat on the ground.
“Whore.”
Lucas tensed, but she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Don’t. He will be ruined in a few days, anyway. What does it matter?”
“It matters because of you.” Lucas’s jaw was so tight, she worried for his teeth. His eyes were flinty.
“I’ll be all right, Lucas.”
“If I’m going down, I’ll bring her with me,” Canterbury called, then he laughed, the sound almost deranged. “You won’t ruin me alone, Lucas.”
Moving deliberately, Lucas turned away, found his coat, and slid it over Gwen’s shoulders. And then, without so much as glancing in Canterbury’s direction, as though it were nothing, he said, “Marry me, Gwen?”
Gwen’s mouth opened, but no sound came out.
She closed it again. He didn’t sound as though he were joking, and his coat was deliciously warm over her shoulders, replacing some of her long-lost heat.
His eyes were still on hers, waiting for her answer as though his entire body were primed to receive it.
Canterbury scoffed. “You can’t mean that, Lucas. She’s a nobody.”
“Another word from you,” Lucas said, still in that easy tone, “and I will break all the fingers in your right hand.”
Canterbury lapsed into silence, and Gwen stared into Lucas’s face.
This was the man she would be marrying—one who did not shy away from threats and violence.
He was a man of his word, and he would not renege.
For the sake of revenge, he had systematically ruined Canterbury in a way that would send gossip streaming through London.
And to save her, maybe even because he liked her, certainly because he wanted her, he was offering to marry her.
Softness split his face at her silence, and he stroked her jaw.
“I am not the husband you deserve, but I would be good to you, as far as I am able. I will even love you.” His thumb reached the center of her mouth, and perhaps out of instinct, she opened her lips, licking the pad.
Heat sparked in his eyes. “Perhaps I am already on the way there.”
Love. That was more than she could ever have hoped for from a man like this.
“I have no dowry,” she said.
“I’m aware.” His expression was perfectly neutral. “I made inquiries about your family the day after you arrived, and I believe I hold all the pertinent information.”
“Why?”
“So I could make an informed decision. For all I swore I would never marry, I have found the only woman who could shake that resolution, if you could bear to have me. I think, perhaps, I knew that from the start, even if I refused to admit it to myself.” He held her still closer, his heat pressing into hers. “So, sweetheart? What do you say?”
“My family would want to meet you.” She winced, trying to find the words. “And they would like you to be…”
“I can be a gentleman when the occasion requires.” Amusement replaced the heat. “Even charming.”
Anyone who wasn’t charming could not have compelled her to feel so much in such a short space of time. But he was so much more than that. He was complicated and difficult and easily roused to temper. Stubborn and dangerous and kind and not merely a man and not merely a duke.
She wanted all of him.
“When?” she asked.
He bent to kiss her, his mouth demanding and possessive, and her nipples pinched in the cold air. This arousal was stronger than anything she could ever have imagined. “I should be able to procure a special license by the time I get you back to your father to ask permission,” he murmured.
Two days, then.
Gwen forgot about the cold, or that her nightgown was translucent, or that Canterbury was storming back to the house, perhaps to put forth his own version of the story before they could reveal the engagement. All she knew was Lucas’s mouth on hers, and the passion that ignited in her core.
He would marry her. This would be the rest of her life.
She drew back and looked into his handsome face, sinful and wicked and tender all at once. She would not need the rest of her life to fall in love with him.
No, not at all.
His fingers slid through hers. “Come on. I think it’s time to scandalize the rest of the party.”
“I do love a scandal.”
“Excellent,” he said, leading her back to the house. “A life with me will contain a lot of it.”
“I can’t wait.”
He squeezed her hand, looking almost surprised as he said, “Neither can I.”
The End