Suddenly, she was reversing direction. Something dragged her upward, throwing off the darkness, exposing her to brightness, harsh and cold. She blinked up into a halo of light. Was she dead? The glowing ring seemed to be summoning her, and she felt herself floating toward it…but hands pushed her down. Pressed on her belly with painful force.
“Don’t you let go,” a deep voice commanded. “Youfight.”
Someone was telling her to fight. Which was strange, because people were usually telling her to belesstenacious. She tried to reply, but water gargled out instead. Exhaustion made her weightless, and she drifted up toward the heavens…
The voice anchored her to the earth. “Not you too. Bloodyhold on, do you hear me?”
The mix of authority and anguish in those words halted her flight. Yet she couldn’t make her lips or body move, as if she were trapped beneath ice still. Then a mouth sealed over hers, warm and firm, forcing air into her. Breaths billowed her lungs again and again until the halo above her vanished, and she surfaced with a gasp.
“Easy there, little one. Take a breath now. Slow and easy.”
Blinking, she saw that she lay on the bank, a man kneeling beside her. Water dripped from the chiseled contours of his face, frost tipping his thick eyelashes and mink-brown hair. Stormy blue eyes bore into her.
“Are you all right, Olivia?” he gritted out.
He knew her name. As the haze lifted, she realized that she knew his too.
“I-I am fine, Your Grace,” she said.
Her rescuer was Benedict Wodehouse, the Duke of Hadleigh, one of the party guests. Until that moment, she had thought of him the way children generally think of adults: as old and not terribly interesting. It didn’t help that he had an air of detached boredom which grown-ups calledennuiand which Livy did not understand. What was there to be bored about when there was an entire world to explore?
At present, however, he didn’t seem indifferent. Emotion blazed from him, with an intensity that was painful to witness…like staring into the sun. He quickly turned away, but not before she glimpsed the sheen in his eyes. He shuddered, exhaling raggedly as he shoved his hands through his wet hair.
He muttered something to himself. It sounded like,Thank Christ.
Managing to sit up, she tugged on the sleeve of his coat. “Are you all right?”
He faced her again. She noticed the curious hollows beneath his eyes and cheekbones. Lines etched on his brow and around his mouth suggested a habit of frowning. Although he was tall and broad of shoulder, he lacked the brawn of, say, Livy’s papa. This duke was as lanky as a scarecrow.
“You nearly drowned,” he said grimly. “And you are askingmeif I am all right?”
“You seem shaken,” she returned.
His brows slanted together. “And you seem self-possessed for a chit of ten.”
“I am twelve,” she informed him. “As I said, I’m perfectly well.”
“Let us not tempt Fate.” He bundled her in his greatcoat, which he’d apparently shed before diving into the water because it was dry and warm, smelling of leather and woodsy spice. He rose, scooping her up with surprising strength.
“Why are you carrying me?” she asked. “I can walk.”
“I can walk faster.” His ground-eating strides proved he was no liar. “You’re trembling, little one.”
He was right. She hadn’t noticed how chilled she was. Her teeth were chattering.
“A c-cup of tea will put me to rights,” she said. “Mama says I have the c-constitution of an ox.”
“Even so.” He gave her a stern look. “What in the devil made you do such a foolish thing?”
His words jolted her…the crown. Her hands flew to the satchel which, miracle of miracles, was still strapped to her. She reached in and took out her prize.
“The crown survived the dunking,” she said with a relieved sigh. “I will still be queen for the day.”
“Bloody hell. You risked your neck for that trifle?”
At his scathing look, she clutched the crown to her chest. “It isnota trifle.”
“It’s a child’s plaything. A piece of tin. You believe that it is worth dying over?”
