The group of skaters she’d tried to avoid had already stopped, far enough away that they should not be in any danger themselves, or to Nicolas. “Move back all of you, now.”
Nicolas and the others grudgingly skated back a yard. “I won’t leave you,” he promised her.
“You must,” she pleaded as her teeth began to chatter. She glanced at the shore and saw servants gathering. “I’m safe for now. Only very cold. Get off the ice. Please don’t worry for me. Help is already coming. See?”
Gillian turned her head farther toward the shoreline. There was a large body of ice between her and landfall and she wasn’t sure how to get herself out of the water, but she had faith that she’d be rescued soon. Lord Stapleton’s men were approaching the edge of the ice, two carrying ice picks.
“We’re coming, Mrs. Thorpe,” the steward called. “Just stay where you are.”
Gillian couldn’t be entirely still. She was afraid her body would grow numb, s
o she flexed her legs to keep her circulation going. The little waves she stirred sent splashes of cold higher up her body, and she had to hold her hand to her stomach to survive the discomfort.
Nicolas was on land when she looked around next and surrounded by a crowd. “That’s it. Stay calm,” he called.
Gillian shivered as her gown slowly became saturated with water and sank down around her legs and tangled about them. The weight of them would pull her under if she slipped and lost her footing. Stapleton’s men started to chip at the ice in earnest, wading out to her very slowly.
She was shaking violently when one strong arm wrapped around her waist and towed her through the icy slush. Jessica stood restrained in her father’s arms, a blanket clutched to her chest, her expression terrified.
“I’m fine,” Gillian promised the girl as, at last, she stepped onto solid ground.
“You’re not fine. You’re turning blue,” Stapleton complained as she reached them.
Stapleton wrapped her upper body in the blanket while his daughter fell to her knees to squeeze water from her skirts. Stapleton pulled her into his arms, into the very coat he wore so well too. The heat of his body was almost painful. She tried to push him away, but she was shaking too badly to affect him.
The steward pushed a bottle of spirits under her nose and made her drink a bitter mouthful. Gillian struggled with the first, but since it would help her ward off the chill, she swallowed a second mouthful. A second blanket was wrapped tightly around her lower portions and she was forced to walk a few painful steps with Stapleton’s aid after her skates were removed.
“Can you feel your feet?” he asked when she stumbled.
“Yes, but they are very painful.”
“Better get her into a warm bed as soon as you can, your grace,” Fenton advised. He pushed his bottle against her lips once more and, already feeling the affects, Gillian took a third mouthful. “Get her into bed and keep an eye on her toes.”
“I intend to.” Stapleton swept her up into his arms suddenly and started back toward home without another word to anyone.
Jessica and Whitfield hurried ahead with the promise to warn the household.
Alone with Nicolas, Gillian shivered against his chest violently. “I didn’t do that just to have you hold me.”
“You don’t know how lucky you are.” His jaw tightened, and then he hugged her so tight she could feel his fingers digging into her thigh. “Another yard in my direction and you would have been in water well over your head. You scared me half to death, woman.”
“Sorry.” Gillian turned her face into his chest to warm her skin. Miserable and freezing, she closed her eyes and concentrated on breathing and the pain of her limbs as his steps jarred her body. She’d never felt so cold in her entire life. “I promise not to do that again.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Nicolas said as he brushed his lips against her brow. “It was mine for not being more observant.”
“Shh,” she whispered. “It was an accident.”
Nicolas fell silent, holding her closer, and he hurried toward warmth. She didn’t lift her head again until they were deep inside the house and heard Jessica issuing orders to everyone. Nicolas carried her all the way into her bedchamber.
“We must get her out of those wet things,” Jessica suggested, stripping away the wet blankets and her outerwear as Nicolas slowly lowered her to her feet.
Gillian hobbled a few steps and grabbed a bedpost as she started to shake. “I think that’s a fine idea.”
“I’ll build up the fire while you change,” Nicolas promised.
Too numb to protest she could look after herself, or that the servants could, Gillian allowed her gown to be removed. But she was acutely aware that Nicolas was still in the room, working at the fire with his back turned for modesty’s sake. Maids rushed into the room carrying all manner of things. She was too cold to care about such trivial details as propriety or the likely gossip they would spread later though the house.
When she was bundled in a fresh nightgown and the only robe she owned, she was helped into her bed, warmed by bricks placed about her feet and smothered in blankets.