“I don’t think Cleveland is a good hand with a firearm. I saw him hunting once, and he couldn’t strike a pheasant to save his life.”
“Let’s hope you’re right. I want that money, but it’s not worth risking your life.”
“I know what I’m doing.”
The rowboat approached the shore, and Cleveland hoisted the box onto his shoulder, keeping the pistol trained on them. “No sudden moves, either of you.”
Luckily the man rowing didn’t appear to be armed.
“One, two,” Dane muttered. When Cleveland turned to clamber into the rowboat, Dane launched himself at his back, catching him around the waist and knocking the pistol from his hand.
The cashbox flew free and landed with a thud on the ground. Cleveland dove for it, but Sandrine was suddenly there, throwing herself atop the box.
“Get off, you daft woman!” Cleveland shouted, grabbing the leather handle of the box. Sandrine grabbed the other handle, and the two of them labored back and forth in a tug-of-war.
Dane punched Cleveland’s nose and he staggered backward, falling into the water and dragging Sandrine with him.
“Let go of the box, Sandrine,” Dane shouted, but it was too late. She entered the water with a splash and a scream. Dane had no choice but to dive in after her.
Dimly, Dane was aware that Cleveland had made it to the rowboat, and it was moving toward the ship, but all he cared about was rescuing Sandrine.
He caught her by the waist and hauled her above water. She coughed and sputtered, flinging one arm around his neck. Where was the other arm?
And then he saw it. She was still clutching the cashbox, thrashing her legs to remain above water as its heavy weight threatened to drag her down.
He caught the box in one arm and lifted Sandrine with the other, throwing her over his shoulder and, with a mighty effort, climbing up the muddy bank to dry land.
“We did it, Dane.” Sandrine laughed and kissed him full on the lips. “We have the money.”
“Sandrine, I told you to hide behind that rock.”
“And I knew that if you attacked Cleveland, the donation box would be ready for the grabbing. We make such an excellent team, do we not?”
Dane wiped river water and mud from his eyes. “You’re mad, you know that?” He clasped her close to his chest, so relieved that she hadn’t been injured. “Your teeth are chattering.”
“A-are you going to r-rip off my gown like in my dream?”
“I think I’ll leave the bodice-ripping for later.” He set the box in the curricle and then lifted Sandrine into the seat. He found a dry wool blanket in the curricle and wrapped it around her. “You need a hot bath and some brandy. Let’s get you home.”
When they arrived back, all the guests had departed, but Warburton and Miss Hodwell were waiting by the door.
“Oh, your lordship, we were that worried,”Miss Hodwell said when Dane carried Sandrine into the house.
“Dudley and Somersby went after you, but I told them you’d be home soon enough,” Warburton said. “I had faith in you.”
“The funds raised are in the curricle,” Dane told Warburton. “Though, the notes will be waterlogged. And Sandrine’s had a soaking as well. I don’t want her to catch cold.”
“I’m all right. Put me down,” Sandrine said. But it did feel lovely to be held in his arms, to be the subject of so much concern and care.
“Come along,” Miss Hodwell said. “Carry her to her room, and we’ll soon have her warm.”
“I still can’t believe you lunged for that box, Sandrine,” Dane said much later when they’d both had hot baths and Miss Hodwell had retired for the evening. “What were you thinking? You could have been shot. Or your gown could have become tangled with the box and you could have been dragged down into the water and drowned.”
“But I wasn’t.”
“Don’t ever do something like that again.”
“Says the man who races flimsy curricles.”
