His fury didn’t surprise her. He was a man long accustomed to getting what he wanted. No one denied him.
“Maxim,” she began, struggling to find the words to explain herself.
He held up a silencing hand. “I would speak to you in privacy.”
Her fellow passengers were gathered everywhere around them. She doubted anyone knew it was the King of Varros among them, and yet she well understood the need for discretion.
She nodded. “Very well, but I can only spare a few minutes. We are preparing to board the ship.”
His nostrils flared in displeasure, but he offered her his arm. “Come with me.”
Reluctantly, she accepted his escort, wrapping her hand around his elbow. “I don’t have much time,” she cautioned again.
“Are you so eager to leave me, then? Did this morning mean nothing to you?”
A flush crept over her cheeks as they walked a few paces, drawing nearer to the water, separating themselves from the gathering of travelers. “Of course it did.”
“And yet, you left me without a single word.” His voice was harsh, his face impassive. “You told my brother of your plans, enlisted his aid, but you said nothing of your decision to me.”
How to explain?
Tansy took a fortifying breath. “I didn’t want you to?—”
The rest of her words were swallowed up by the unmistakable report of a gunshot echoing through the air. A searing pain stung Tansy’s arm, making her lose her balance. She stumbled and fell from the docks, splashing into the cold, murky depths of the sea.
“Tansy!”Maxim reached for her as she stumbled, but he was too slow, his motions impeded by shock. She slipped through his fingers, falling into the churning waves below.
Good, sweet God. He didn’t know if she could swim. Without thought, he dove into the water after her.
Fuck, the water was frigid. Where was Tansy? Frantically, he reached for her, trying to find her, his arms empty. He swam to the surface, desperation making his heart pound and his mouth go dry. When he emerged, she wasn’t anywhere in sight. He had a vague impression of horrified bystanders on the dock above, women swooning and men calling out. Keeping himself afloat, he searched the waves for a sign of her and thought he saw a shadow.
Maxim dipped below the surface, swimming in the direction he thought he’d spied her. Mercifully, he found fabric. Clutching it tight, he hauled her to him, pulling her to the surface with the force of his kicks and one arm alone.
When they reached the top, she sputtered, coughing out water, eyes wide with fear, choking out his name. “Maxim.”
“I’ve got you, love,” he said in as soothing a tone as he could manage, keeping her anchored to him even as the weight of her sodden skirts threatened to pull them asunder.
“My arm…hurts,” she managed, her lips trembling, pale from the cold.
And that was when he noticed blood.
Blood on her. Blood in the water, swirling around them.
“My God, you’ve been shot,” he murmured, heart hammering as he made the discovery.
She’d been wounded. Hit in the arm.
Fucking hell, he had to get her out of this blasted water.
“Someone help us!” he shouted to the men and women watching in horror above. “The lady has been wounded.”
He was keeping them afloat, but weighed down by his boots and her garments, he didn’t know how much longer he’d be able to keep their heads above water. And he needed to stop the loss of her blood, to determine the extent of her injuries.
A flurry of movement caught Maxim’s eye—a skiff rowing toward them. He called out, desperate to get Tansy into the boat and safely onto shore. The man at the oars nodded, rowing swiftly to them.
“She’s been wounded,” he told the two men in the skiff. “Be gentle with her arm.”
“Lift her up to me if you’re able,” said the fellow at the front of the boat. “I’ll take care.”
