Chapter 8
The hunting party had trailed out of the house, taking their boots and gloves and picnic baskets with them. In the end, it seemed as if almost everyone at the house party had gone along. Even Mrs. Pembroke had decided to join her daughter at the last minute, riding beside her in the carriage as a spectator.
Only Sir Montague had declined to come along. He said he would find his way to the library instead and do some reading.
That was all well and good to the duke. As long as the baronet stayed out of his way.
Eventually Cameron was the last guest at the breakfast table, June having excused herself a little earlier.
He had kept an eye on things and knew the countess had not left with the hunting party. Likely, she had retired to her room and was looking forward to having some quiet in the house.
Perhaps she would read in her own set of rooms or take a walk. June had always been an avid reader and he recalled her taking long walks almost every day. It was something they had enjoyed doing together, chaperoned by her maiden aunt.
Her father had not objected then. At least, not outright. But neither had he granted Cameron outright permission to court his daughter. June’s father had high hopes for his daughter. She was to come into a great deal of money, whereas Cameron had hardly a cent to his name.
Cameron still had no idea if Robert Spencer would have strongly objected to his marrying his daughter in the end. He and June had handfasted themselves before anyone could object, seeing it as a matter relevant only to the two of them.
Ironic, in hindsight.
Now the duke rose from the table and approached a footman. “I wish to speak to the countess.”
The young man looked slightly taken aback. “I believe she has retired to her rooms, Your Grace.”
“Then ye will please deliver the message to her there. Tell her I will be waiting for her in the drawing room.”
The footman nodded stiffly and the duke turned away.
Cameron doubted the servants were used to their mistress being summoned in such a way. But ‘twas no matter. He was a guest. And if he came across as a somewhat peculiar or demanding one, the servants would put it down no doubt to his being a duke and a Scot and thus understandably rude and a tad eccentric.
He was standing near the windows overlooking the park when June entered the room. Windermere was a beautiful estate and it was a bonny, fine day, albeit a little too hot for his liking. The weather in the Highlands was much more mild in the summer.
“You asked for me?” She sounded apprehensive.
“I did. I’m going fishing on the lake. I’d like ye to come with me.”
He turned to face her.
She was staring at him, her eyes blue and wide. “I don’t know the first thing about fishing.”
He smiled a little. “That’s nay true. Ye used to watch me fish on the pond all the time.”
She looked startled for a moment, then nodded. “Oh, that’s right. I’d forgotten. On the little pond near the mill.” She bit her lip. “Still, I am not sure it is a good idea…”
“I am yer guest. I require yer guidance on finding the lake.” He was phrasing it as a polite request, but they both knew it was not one. “Is it yer husband ye’re worried about?”
She hesitated, then nodded.
“Well, the mon wished for ye to charm me, no? To convince me to invest in his blasted enterprise? What better way for ye to do so than by showing me about? Ye can say that’s why ye came.”
When she still hesitated, he grew impatient. “Ye can also say I insisted upon it. Which is no less than the truth.”
She nodded slowly. “Very well. Just let me have a few minutes to change into something more suitable.”
“Aye. I’ll wait for ye on the lawn.”
Cameron had already spoken to the groundskeeper the day before while he was out walking. He knew very well where the lake lay. There was no reason June had to know that though.
He realized June had paused near the door.
“I will come with you, Your Grace, on one condition,” she said, turning back to him. Her cheeks were a little pinker than they had been before.
“Aye, and what is that?”
“That you will permit me to speak.
His lips twitched. “Aye, and isna that what I’ve been doing?”
“You must promise you will let me say what I need to say to you,” she clarified. “All of it. Fully and without interruption.” Belatedly, she added, “Please.”
“I can deny ye nothing, milady,” Cameron said, with false humility. “Aye. I agree.”
Even the thought of the lies she might tell was not enough to dampen the feeling of anticipation brimming in his chest.
He stepped out of the manor. Though it was only eleven o’clock the day was already warm. By mid-afternoon, he expected there would be blazing heat.
After walking back and forth on the gravel in front of the house for a few minutes, a sound from behind him made him turn. Suddenly the warmth of the sun was nothing compared to the radiant heat spreading inside of him.
June had changed, as she had said she would, into something more fitting for a walk out in the sun and a row on the lake. The dress she had chosen was plainer and even showed some signs of age.
But on her it was a vision.
Crafted from white muslin, its bodice seemed as if it had been tailored to perfection. The gown hugged her curves in all of the right places, accentuating her slender waist and skimming over her long legs, hinting at the shapely thighs beneath. The neckline was modest yet alluring, dipping gracefully to reveal the curve of her collarbones. Delicate lace trim lined the edges of the gown”s short sleeves, which fluttered gently in the warm summer breeze. The skirt fell in soft folds at her ankles, swaying with each step she took as she approached him, holding a parasol in one hand and a small picnic basket in the other.
If Botticelli’s Venus had been clothed, she would have looked as June did now.
“Is it all right?” June asked dubiously, looking up at him.
“All right?”
She flushed. “You’re looking at me so strangely. I thought perhaps you might think I should change again.”
The duke shook his head. “No,” he said gruffly. “It’s perfect. Dinna fash.” Then he looked at the gown again, more carefully this time. “The dress. It’s verra familiar.”
“It’s an old one.” June looked down at her feet. “One I’ve kept for a very long time. I have newer gowns, of course, but I thought perhaps this might be better for fishing.”
Cameron scowled. “How old?”
Her blush deepened. “Oh, at least ten years old, I should say. I brought it here when… When I married John.”
“And you wore it when we were handfasted. That verra night. Did ye not?”
He glowered at her as she nodded reluctantly.
“Why? Why keep the dress, June?”
She bit her lip. It was a particular habit of hers. He knew it was a sign of her nervousness. Yet it also unintentionally drew the eye right to her wet, ripe red lips. “I thought you would understand why.”
“I dinna understand,” he said shortly. “Not a wee bit. Come. Let”s go.”
He felt furious at her. Furious for making him look at her in that dress.
Nay, he was not going to ask the woman to go and change. He was not a tyrant like her husband, was he? But what had she been thinking in putting it on and parading herself about in it? Why had she kept it? Had she worn it to torment him?
Stepping out from the cool shadows of the manor”s grand facade, the heat hit him like a brick. He hoped the lake had shade. Otherwise the day would be a sweltering one for them both. He glanced back at June. She had her parasol up and was walking a little ways behind him.
He had looked forward to conversing with her as they walked. Now he felt too upset to do anything but stride ahead.
The gravel crunched beneath their feet as they made their way down the path towards the lake, passing by meticulously manicured lawns and cultivated gardens, their vibrant blooms bursting with color in the midday sun.
Finally, as they rounded a bend in the path, the lake came into full view, its sparkling waters glistening in the sunshine.
Framed by a verdant border of trees, the lake promised relief from the oppressive heat. A small rowboat was tethered to a wooden dock. The duke was pleased to see the fishing equipment he had requested had been carefully laid out on a nearby bench. He strode over and began looking over the equipment, noting the basket below the bench in which some flasks of cool water had been stowed for refreshment.
Still brooding silently, he helped June into the rowboat. Seated across from one another, their knees touching–his legs were too long to avoid it–he tried to ignore the scent of her, the sight of her in that dress. But it was impossible.
He thought of their close proximity the night before. The way her body had felt so soft beneath his hands as he teased her, skimming his hands over the curves of her hips.
Did she know it had tortured him as much as it may have tortured her?
Was that why she had worn the dress? To show him what he might never have a chance of possessing? Her body and her soul?
Her voice broke the silence. “I’m sorry. Truly, I am. I don’t know what I was thinking, Your Grace.”
He rowed for a moment before responding. “I dinna believe that. Ye ken verra well. So then, tell me. What was on yer mind when ye put the dress on?”
He looked across at her. She was gazing out over the lake. She had set the parasol aside, not being overly concerned, he supposed, as most ladies were, with becoming too brown. She had never been one to preen over her looks. He would be the first to admit that. She was lovely and she must have known it, but she was a woman intent on cultivating her mind and soul, not simply using her beauty to get what she wanted.
At least, that was how he had believed her to be her ten years ago.
“I kept the dress out of sentimentality, I suppose.” She stumbled. “I couldn’t bear to part with it.”
“Yer husband,” he said roughly. “Does he know its significance?’
“John? Of course not.” For a moment she looked frightened. “He would be exceedingly angry.” She shook her head. “No, John doesn’t know much about me or my life before we married. He doesn’t care to.”
He doesn’t care. Full stop.
The statement hung in the air between them, not needing to be said aloud.
“I wore it… because it seemed right. Being with you again. Especially out of doors. And because, well, for the most part, I think of our days together… before… with fondness,” she said.
For the most part, she had said. Cameron’s frown deepened.
“But now I see how wrong it was,” she finished. “To remind you of something so painful.”
“I should have thought it would be painful to ye as well,” he said savagely. “Should ye have a beating heart in yer breast.”
“I suppose I’ve learned to live with the pain,” she said. “To accept it. Embrace it, even.”
“A strange way to view it.” He rowed harder. They were almost in the center of the lake now.
“Is it? I don’t think so. I had no other choice.”
“And is that how ye view all the pain in yer life? As if ye have no other choice? As if ye must simply accept it?” He was genuinely curious.
June sat in profile and suddenly he was reminded of Guinevere. A queen who had been torn apart by her love for two men and, in the end, had retired to a nunnery to live out the rest of her days.
But June did not belong in a nunnery.
And Cameron sincerely doubted she bore any real love for her husband. Nay, the earl’s cruelty would have destroyed any chance of that.
She did not reply.
He had seen how her husband had touched her at breakfast. The earl had known just where to place his hands to maximize the pain she would feel. Pain from a prior injury.
He looked across the boat at her, sitting there in the simple white dress she had worn as his girl-bride, and he imagined the bruises and welts that might lay beneath it. His rage simmered… and he let it. Stoking it like one might stoke a fire.
There would be a reckoning for the earl and soon, he decided then and there. It was as inevitable as the rising of the sun.
“Ye wished to speak with me,” he reminded her. “Well, here we are. Speak.” The words came out more roughly than he’d intended. As he watched her, he saw how ill at ease he’d made her.
She still did not speak. Not even when he dropped anchor and brought the boat to a halt.
He had spooked her. She was a hurt and broken thing.
The question was how much he cared. Did he wish for her to speak? To hear what she had to say? What excuses would she make for her conduct? For her grievous betrayal?
Up until now, he had been quite convinced there was no excuse she could make that he would ever care to hear–or that would convince him.
But now that he sat there, he was no longer so sure.
If he wished for her to speak, however, he now saw it would take some gentleness. More than he had shown up until this point today.
He sighed. “If I were to be truthful with ye, it hurts to see ye wear the dress. Aye, even now. I’m sorry I was so rough with ye when ye came out of the house. It was… a shock.”
She looked up at him, almost hopefully. “I understand. I apologize. I really do.”
“Aye. I accept yer apology.” He spoke very formally and there was a shift in the air. As if the words might be applied to more than one thing.
He retrieved the fishing gear from the compartment he had stowed it within the rowboat, his hands moving with familiarity over the equipment. Selecting a slender fishing rod fashioned from bamboo with a carved handle of polished wood, he impaled bait onto the hook and cast his line.
As he waited patiently for a fish to bite, he began to relax a little. What could he speak to her about that would draw her out, he wondered? Then she saved him the trouble of coming up with something.
“Do you fish often in Scotland?” she asked tentatively. “Since you arrived here, I have often wondered what your life is like there.”
As he had only arrived the day before, he was left feeling rather stunned that she had been thinking of him “often.”
“Aye, there are many beautiful lochs on my land,” he replied. “I do fish when I can. Not that there is much time for it.”
“Of course,” she said hastily. “You always were very hard-working. You must have a great deal to do.”
“I do. ‘Tis a working estate. I spend my days speaking to people from, oh, all about. From chimney sweeps to tenants to the parish priest. There is always something to be managed.”
“You must enjoy that,” she mused. “You were always good at talking to people.”
“Was I?” He was surprised. “I always thought I was rather bad at it.”
“Oh no,” she assured him. “You have a commanding air to you that can be intimidating, yes.”
It rather pleased him to hear that.
“But you’re compassionate, too,” she continued. “I’m sure you are a good landlord to your tenants.”
“A laird,” he corrected. “But aye, perhaps.” He ran a hand over his face consideringly. “I do try to be fair.”
“And you have never married, is that right?” She put a hand to her mouth. “I’m so sorry. I should not have asked. It’s only that…”
“Nay. I’ve never wed,” he said tightly.
A tumult of feelings were rising in him. Memories of shouting matches with his uncle as the man demanded his nephew take a bride only to be refused again and again.
“I should have wed. By rights, I should have wed long ago.”
“Yes. I’m sure your family wished for you to do so. A duke needs heirs, does he not?” She hesitated. “When I was not imagining you dead, I would sometimes imagine you happy and married with children. You would have made such a wonderful father.”
“I have a cousin who would inherit should I die with no heirs. The line would not end,” he said, his voice returning to a certain roughness again.
“That must be a great relief. Of course, I’m sure you have not been without companionship. I did not mean to suggest that. Or to pry.”
“I supposed ye must have heard of me, before now,” he said, still a little stunned by her revelations. She had imagined him dead then, truly? “For a time, I wondered that ye did not write to me. Contact me. And then, later, did ye not hear of me?”
“Oh, I would sometimes hear in passing of a Duke of Tulloch, yes. And of his… reputation with women.” She blushed a little.
Good. She had heard of him then. He felt a cruel satisfaction.
“But ye didn’t put two and two together?”
She shook her head.
“I dinna understand,” he said, feeling the familiar frustration. “Ye act as if it was some surprise. But ye were informed all along…”
“Informed? How can you possibly say I was informed?” Her voice, for once, was strong and firm. “Informed of what and by whom?”
He stared. “Informed by me. By my letter.”
“I received no letter. You disappeared like a thief in the night, Cameron, just as I’ve said. Your Grace, I mean.” Her voice had risen.
“Leave off with the titles. Ye and I know each other,” he said impatiently. “What do ye mean there was no letter? Do ye mean to tell me ye had no idea what had happened to me after I left ye that night?”
“I had no word from you for days. It was most unusual. Especially after… how we had left each other.”
That was an understatement, Cameron thought drily.
“When I was finally brave enough to inquire, I walked past your house only to find that you and your mother were gone. You and all of your servants.”
“We only had but two, but aye, Mother insisted we bring them with us to Scotland. To help tend to me.”
“Tend to you? What do you mean to tend to you?” June’s eyes were wide.
“When I left ye that night, I was riding my horse over the fields as I always did when an animal dashed out into our path. The blasted mare reared and threw me.” He was fairly certain it had been a fox. But it had been dark. The mare had lived. She had not even broken a leg.
“Threw you?” She had a hand to her mouth again. “I had no idea. Why did you not send me word at once?”
“I wasna in a state to do so,” he admitted. “Not at first. I was out of sorts with fever. And then the letter from my uncle arrived.”
“The letter?”
“Aye, from my uncle in Scotland. The Duke of Tulloch.”
“You never spoke of being related to any dukes.”
“He was my mother’s brother, you see. She married a poor man her family didn’t approve of and when I was five, he moved us all to England. You’ll recall that part of things?”
She nodded.
He glanced over at his rod. Still no bites. The lake was quiet and calm.
“Well, my uncle wrote to us. He wrote to me but my mother had to read the letter as I wasna in a state to do so. He was very ill, ye see. And he wished for us to return to Tulloch at once so I might become his heir. He had no children of his own.”
The damned man had lived another year before kicking the bucket. Long enough to show Cameron the way things were done on the estate and to scold him repeatedly about his single state. Long enough to die with a measure of peace, Cameron begrudgingly hoped. He had done his best by his uncle, in the ways he was able to. Marriage to a woman who was not June… not being one of them. In his heart, he was still wed to another and to do so would have been the greatest breach of faith.
“A splendid opportunity,” June whispered. Her hands, he saw, were white and she was clutching her skirt.
“Aye, and I would have brought ye with me,” he pointed out. “Except I was lying abed, without my wits about me. Unable to move or to speak. For a while my mother believed I might be in such a state all my life.”
“And yet, she moved you? To Scotland?” June guessed.
“Aye.” Cameron nodded. “To the Highlands. The Tulloch seat lies near Dingwall. When they thought I could survive the trip, they moved me there by carriage, she and the servants. My uncle had sent money, ye see, so she needn’t scrimp. It was a rough journey and I scared her half to death more than once along the way, but I survived.”
“And walked again,” June said quietly. “I had… no idea. No idea at all, Cameron.”
“As soon as I was up,” he said, ignoring the plea in her tone. “I wrote to ye. I told ye all of what had occurred. I thought you would rejoice.”
“I would have rejoiced to be your wife even if you had not been made a duke,” she said softly. “Or inherited a fine estate.”
“Aye? Then why didna ye? Why did ye wed another as soon as ye could?” He made a sound of derision. “And a wealthy, titled man, too, aye?”
“Not so rich as you might think,” she said quietly. “I had no letter. I had no word from you. I did not know where you had gone. I had no way to find out. I even beseeched my father. He had always tolerated my friendship with you, but…” She shook her head. “I made the mistake of telling him the truth. That you and I had wed. That we were handfasted.”
“And?” Cameron leaned forward.
“He laughed in my face. He said it was not a real marriage. That you must not have believed it to be either for you had left. I begged him to make inquiries. He claimed that he would, for the love he bore me. He could see I was heartbroken. But…”
“Let me guess,” Cameron interrupted. “The inquiries never turned up anything?”
“Precisely. And I believed him. I thought… I thought he only had my best interests at heart.”
Cameron gave a bitter snort. “Aye. I knew yer father thought I was merely a mercenary. Seeking ye for yer wealth.” Nothing could have been further from the truth. And yet if June’s father really had made inquiries, surely he would have found out about Cameron’s inheritance.
Had the man secretly harbored more prejudice against the Scottish than either he or June had ever realized? Or had he truly not been able to track down Cameron and his mother? He supposed they would never know.
June was quiet for a moment. “Yes. I suppose you were right, in the end. But I didn’t know that at the time.”
“And so he persuaded ye? To wed the earl? Someone of nobler blood and money?”
“John had very little money, even then, but a title, yes. The title was what drew my father in, I believe. He had known the earl’s family for a long time, you see. He knew the Windermere estate was quite desperate for funds.”
“So he sold ye to him?” Cameron shook his head in disgust. “Ye might have refused though. Ye had a say.”
“Yes, I did. But not as much of one as you might think.” She took a deep breath and put her hands on the sides of the rowboat, as if to steady herself. “I was with child you see.”
The world stood still. Cameron found he could not breathe.
Time passed. He lost track of how much.
When he could form words again, the first one to pass his lips was, “Impossible.”
“Impossible? That is what you say to me?” June was not prone to angry outbursts but now her eyes flashed. “How dare you. How bloody dare you.”
“‘Twas only the once between us. Once was not enough,” Cameron protested weakly.
“What rubbish. Perhaps that is what your mother taught you, not knowing any better herself. Or what you deduced from God knows where. But I assure you, it was enough. Once was very much enough.” Her lips trembled. “I was with child. Your child. And you were nowhere to be found. Can you not stop for a moment and imagine how utterly terrified I was?”
He did. He made himself stop, really stop, and think about what it must have been like.
June, a mere slip of a lass, feeling completely alone with the burden of that knowledge.
Cameron had not abandoned her. But she had no way of knowing that. All she knew was that no one would take her marriage to him seriously. Apparently not even her own father.
In England, handfasting was not legally recognized. Cameron had always vaguely known this. But then, it wasn’t meant to be a permanent solution. They would have wed in a kirk, of course, as soon as they were of age.
And if they had been in Scotland, things would have been different. Which was why Cameron had planned to bring June there immediately, by any means possible–even if he’d had to come and steal her away himself in the dead of the night and carry her away to Gretna Green.
Though he had expected that when he returned and spoke with her father and explained things, her father would have given his consent for the marriage to be formalized.
But things had not turned out that way.
And to learn she had been with child…
“Where is it? Where is the child?” he demanded, beginning to rise to his feet before the memory of the rowboat stopped him. “Ye gave it away? To whom? Oh, cruel, June. So cruel! To never seek me out after all these years. To never even try again to find me. I would have cared for the child. I would have claimed it.”
Their child. Their child together.
“Do you think so very little of me?” she exclaimed in disbelief, letting go of the rowboat sides. “Do you truly think I would give away my child?” She shook her head stubbornly. “No, not even when my father threatened me would I consent to do so. Never in a hundred years. It was all I had left of you.”
He stared. Was that really how she had seen things?
“I believed you were dead, Cameron,” she clarified. “Do you not understand that? I could think of no other reason for you to abandon me in the way you did. Though my father… He could think of plenty.”
Her cheeks were very pink. He knew it was not merely from the sun. Still, he lifted his rod back into the boat, then the anchor, and rowed them into the shade of some trees overhanging the lake.
After casting his rod again, he spoke. “So, yer father made a devil’s bargain, did he?”
She nodded slowly. “He told John the truth. That I was carrying another man’s child. He used it to prove… Well, to prove my fruitfulness, I suppose. At least, I assume that is how he positioned it.”
“That and your wealth,” Cameron said bitterly. “What an excellent bargain for the earl.”
“I believed John thought so,” she said. “At least, I did at first.”
He frowned. “What do ye mean?”
She took a deep breath and then touched her lips with a trembling hand. “I mean, things never go as you think they will. Do they?”
He opened his mouth to ask her to explain when the line gave a jerk. Tensing, he gripped the fishing rod.
“Oh, you’ve caught something,” June exclaimed, leaning forward with the excitement of a child.
With a deft flick of his wrist, he endeavored to set the hook firmly in the fish”s mouth but encountered a burst of resistance that set the rod shaking.
As the fish thrashed beneath the surface of the lake, the duke”s muscles strained. He doubted the fish would be more than moderately-sized. Still, it was putting up a spirited fight.
The surface of the water broke as the fish leaped upwards, trying to wrench the hook from its mouth.
Cameron held firm, and with the finesse of an experienced angler, flicked his wrist so that the fish dangled over the boat.
“You’ve got it now,” June cried, as he heaved the rod upwards then cast it down.
The fish wriggled and flopped at the bottom of the rowboat between them. June quickly moved her feet up onto the bench and out of the way.
It was a fine trout. The fish’s iridescent scales shimmered in the sunlight as Cameron gently removed the hook and cradled it in his hands.
“Beautiful,” June observed. “Those shimmering scales are lovely. Shall I tell Cook to serve it tonight?”
Cameron lay the fish back down on the bottom of the rowboat where it gasped for air and began to thrash again. He reached for the mallet, preparing to end its life.
Then he looked up at her. “We could eat it. Or we could set it free.”
Her eyes met his.
“Which would you prefer?”
“Set it free,” she said at once. “Will it live?”
He was already lifting the fish for a second time. Holding it out over the lake, he dropped it in. For a moment, the fish hovered there just below the water’s surface. Then it darted off.
“None the worse for wear. It should be fine,” he told her. “It’s mouth will be sore for a while, but it should heal.”
She nodded, looking at the ripples on the lake. “Good. I’m glad it will heal. A second chance at life then.”
“A second chance,” he agreed.
He let the moment last a few more seconds, then asked, “What happened to the child, June?”
She twisted her hands in her lap. “It died.”
“Ah.” He had not even known of the child’s existence until today. It should not have stung to hear her speak the words. And yet, it did.
They’d had a child together and he had not even known. How painful it must have been for her–and to go through it all alone.
“Perhaps my father intercepted your letter,” she said, still staring off across the lake. “If so, then he deliberately kept us apart. How different things might have been otherwise.”
Her father had seemed like a genial man who cared very much for his daughter. It was terrible how little you really understood of another person sometimes, Cameron thought. If June’s father had been able to see ahead and glimpse how torturous his daughter’s existence with the earl would be, would he have done what he did?
Something had changed in the rowboat.
Hearing her side of things–it did make a difference. An incredible one.
He could not see her the same way. Not now that he knew.
She was the mother of his child, no matter how briefly their child had lived.
He could not help but suddenly see her as his wife all along. She should have been by his side from the moment he inherited his title. It was what they both had wanted, he knew that now.
Now, as he looked at her, he could feel no malice. No rage. No desire for revenge.
He stared at her profile, beautiful and sad, and he felt only sorrow and regret.
And the desire to somehow make things right in her life. Even if only in a small way.
“Look,” she said, abruptly, pointing a finger upwards. “You’ve anchored us beneath an apple tree.”
“So I have.” He looked up to see the bright red fruit hanging over their heads, almost close enough to pluck.
“If I stand up, I should be able to pick some. Two for you and one for me?”
Cameron opened his mouth to tell her it wasn’t a good idea. The floor of the little rowboat was slippery and wet from the trout.
But it was too late. She had already risen, her eyes entirely focused on the gleaming red fruit overhead.
He reached his hands out towards her waist to steady her but as he did so she gave a little gasp and pitched forward. She reached for his shoulder and, for a moment, she actually grasped it.
Then a breeze rocked the boat.
With another breathless gasp, June was toppling over the side and into the still waters of the lake.