“Hmm, that tells me you have no nefarious plans to do away with me.”
“I was uncertain about what I shall do with you outside of my dastardly plans, Miss Danvers. Wickedness can take up only so much time.”
“You tease me, Your Grace?” She laughed lightly, and the cold retreated and warmth filled his bones. How fascinating.
The carriage suddenly careened wildly.
“What the devil—?”
An ominous groan was the only warning before they became weightless, the bridge caving and dumping them into the raging waters of the river.
…
Kitty suppressed her panic as the duke shoved at the carriage door. The equipage was rapidly sinking, and the pressure of the water made it difficult to pry the door open. She scrabbled to his side, lending him her strength. They pushed, the door blessedly sprang open, and they spilled into the swollen waters.
The icy cold shocked the breath from her body and she wheezed. She grabbed onto a piece of the coach, very aware that it was submerging, and it was the only thing keeping her above water. The sleeting rain stung her eyes, and Kitty futilely swiped the rivulets from her face. The coachman was shouting something and pointing toward the banking, but Kitty could not discern his words over the roaring water and the intermittent thunder.
“Can you swim?” the duke demanded, coming to her side.
Fear iced through her heart. “No,” she gasped. “Can you?”
His reply was lost in the wind. With grace and speed, he spun in the water, wrapping his arms across her waist from behind. The banking of the river was close by, but it felt like it took forever as he pulled against the churning waters to get her to safety.
Wanting to help him, she kicked her legs.
“For God’s sake, do not move,” he roared.
They sank briefly, and everything muted as water rushed over her head and the weight of her dress and petticoats pulled her down. Yet panic did not rush in, for Kitty sensed he would not let her drown. Another surge and they were once more above water, and thank God, the banking was there.
She giggled, possibly from hysteria, when he planted his firm hands on her buttocks and pushed her up the slippery slope. She gripped the lush, thick moss that grew along the embankment, hauling herself up.
Once she was safe from the churning waters, she turned around to help him. But he was swimming back toward the carriage that was almost submerged.
“Alexander!”
He did not turn at her cry. George, still in the water, was busily unhooking the animals, and the duke headed for his stallion hitched to the back. The animals were screaming, their cries lost in the ripping wind. A trembling seized her limbs, and she could only watch helplessly as they unhitched the horses from the rapidly sinking carriage. The duke slapped their rumps and the horses instinctively, thank God, lunged and swam toward the banking, then mounted the riverbank to safety.
The carriage sank, and the exhausted coachman slipped beneath the rushing waters.
Oh dear God!
The man did not surface, and the duke went under, disappearing for several moments. Kitty’s heart was a drum in her ears, and she trembled violently as she prayed for the duke and the coachman to reappear. Helplessness surged through her, and she watched the frothing waters, furiously wiping the rivulets from her face.
A sob of relief tore from her when she saw him with George clasped in his hand. The duke tried to swim over, but she could see that he struggled. Her heart pounded with fear, and grabbing at a nearby tree branch, she held onto it and slipped it into the churning water. The cold once again shocked her, and her breath exploded on a gasp. But her feet touched the bed of the river, and that mattered more than anything. With her death grip on the branch, which bent as if it would break at any moment, she inched her way toward the duke.
He glanced back as if to assess the shores and spied her. He shouted something to her, but the wind ripped it away. The duke seemed to double his effort. Kitty kept inching closer, carefully bracing against the waters and ensuring her feet could touch the ground. She paused when the water finally reached her chin, and she held out a hand. The duke reached her, and she grasped one of the shoulders of the coachman.
With a groan, the duke slipped from beneath him and stood in the river, supporting the man under his arms. Kitty helped him by lifting George’s face above the water, and they painstakingly made it to the banking. Then she rested the weight of the coachman on the duke and, using the branch, hauled them from the waters. It took several attempts amid much sliding and grunting, but she made it. Kitty turned around, panting, reached down, and helped drag the man out of the river while the duke pushed. With a grunt, Thornton heaved himself from the churning waters.
He lay back on the muddied grass, breathing heavily. With a deep groan that spoke of agony, the duke pushed to his feet, staring at her.
“Thank you,” he said, his eyes intent, a grove of pain bracketing his mouth. “Not many people who cannot swim would dare to brave these waters to help rescue a servant.”
“It is a kindness I would do for anyone,” she whispered. Then she lifted a hand to his brow. “You are in pain. I can see torment in your eyes.”
“It is nothing,” he said gruffly, his expression shuttering.
She lowered her hand and shockingly, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. Unexpectedly, a beguiling jolt of ice and fire lanced through her. Kitty had no time to respond before the duke turned away and looked at his man lying on the muddied earth.