Chapter Nine
Cold.
The first thought that went through Miranda’s mind wasn’t the need for air, or the inclination to swim. It was the idea that her body was going to freeze into a block of ice, like the Serpentine in winter. At least she’d had the good sense to take a deep breath and close her mouth as she fell.
Good Lord. He’d scared the wits out of her!
Her hands found the bottom of the rocky pond, and she pushed herself up into a sitting position, taking a lungful of air. Thankfully, the pond was only a few feet deep, just enough to give her a proper soaking. Immediately her teeth started chattering while she wiped the water from her eyes.
“Good God, are you all right?” a deep baritone asked with a rich brogue.
Miranda glanced up to see the man who had ignited her fright, the man who was also her employer, reaching out a hand toward her.
Reaching up, she was all but flung from the water and onto the shore by his powerful grip. Warm hands grasped her shoulders, and she wanted to melt into their comfort. Quickly, too quickly, the touch was removed as she gained her balance. “Thank you,” she spoke between teeth chatters.
Even though she really didn’t feel thankful in the slightest. She turned to him then, waiting for an apology.
She blinked.
He tilted his head.
Was the man daft? Didn’t people apologize? Wasn’t she owed one?
“We should get you indoors.” He nodded once, as if his idea were brilliant rather than simple common sense.
While she, on the other hand, still waited for an apology.
She wasn’t sure why it mattered so much; it just did.
Maybe it was because her father never apologized for anything.
Maybe because she wanted to be treated well.
Regardless, as she waited one moment more, something inside her snapped.
She. Was. Done. With. Waiting.
“Aren’t you going to apologize?” she bit out, trying to make her tone serious even while her teeth chattered.
The irritating man tilted his head, as if the thought had never occurred to him.
Perfect. From one arse of a man—her father—to another.
Well, this time she refused to stand by and allow it to happen.
Not when she knew Liliah would arrive soon.
Not when sheknewher rank, her worth—regardless whether anyone else knew.
She. Did.
“Do you need coaching? I’ll help. ‘I’m sorry I snuck up on you and—’”
“I know how to frame a proper apology,” he interrupted, his caramel eyes dancing with . . . amusement?
What part of this was amusing? Miranda began to seethe.
“You simply are miserly in handing them out, even when they are grossly necessary?” she asked, her tone clipped. This time the chattering of her teeth added emphasis.
