Turning in a circle revealed nothing new.
The boat still bobbed upside-down on the waves. Beyond the sheltered inlet, the storm appeared to be gathering force. He could no longer see theSS Statesmanthrough the sheets of rain.
But . . . Isolde?
Where had she gone?
She was too strong, too full of life, too fiery . . .
A wave pushed him under.
Gasping, he surfaced again.
“Isolde!”
Treading hopelessly, he spun around once more but saw no gleam that might be her head.
No!
He simply couldn’t lose her!
Diving again, he scanned the water, desperation a hammer punishing his ribs.
No flash of white.
No red hair.
He surfaced, drew a breath, and dove again.
Find her! Find her!pulsed through his brain.
She had to be caught, her long skirts snagged on some treachery underneath the waves.
He ignored the thoughts that whispered horror . . . she should have surfaced by now . . . she has been underwater too long . . .
Kicking upward, he gasped for air once more. A terrifying mixture ofpanicdespairgriefbanded his chest and rendered breathing more difficult.
You are panicking, a dispassionate part of him noted.
A Duke of Kendall never panicked.
And yet—
How could henotpanic?
“Isolde!!” he screamed into the wind.
The surging sea answered.
He ducked under the swell of a wave.
“Isolde!” he cried again upon surfacing.
Nothing.
No!
No!
