“Put your arms around my neck,” he demanded.
Thankfully, the woman complied and he swam back to the bank with her clinging to him, her nose pressed to his shoulder. By the time they reached the shore, a sizable crowd had formed and in it stood Lady Sarah and the marquess. A quick glance told Christian that Lady Claire was still sitting in his curricle, though she was craning her neck to see what had happened.
Christian ensured the young lady he’d saved was delivered safely to her mother. The woman cried and both of them thanked him profusely.
“No thanks are necessary,” Christian said. “I’m only glad I was able to help.”
“Yes, yes,” came the marquess’s booming voice. “I certainly would have rescued her myself, but you’ve no idea how costly these boots are. Not to mention my coat.” He lovingly brushed a hand against the velvet blue.
Everyone looked at Christian’s obviously expensive and obviously ruined clothing.
“That was kind of you,” Sarah said quietly. She glanced at him and looked away. Christian looked down to see that his shirtfront was plastered against his wet chest. He plucked at it, trying to separate it from his body.
“Yes,” Branford said, oblivious to Sarah’s reaction at the sight of Christian’s muscled chest. “Kind indeed. Berkeley, you must come to my house tonight for a dinner party I’m hosting. God knows once the talk of your heroics here today reaches the rest ofton,you’ll be the most highly sought-after dinner guest in London, and I pride myself on having the most sought-after guests at my parties.”
Christian slicked back his wet hair with his fingers. “I don’t think—”
“Nonsense,” the marquess interrupted. “Of course you will. Bring that delightful Lady Claire with you. Ten o’clock. See you then.”
Sarah had apparently retrieved his hat and coat from the bank on the way over. He hadn’t noticed her holding them before. She took a step forward and pressed them into his hands.
“See you tonight,” she whispered.
CHAPTER THIRTY
“Did you hear that LordBerkeleyis coming tonight?”
Sarah smiled to herself. She must have heard that same question from every single woman milling around Lord Branford’s drawing room waiting to go in to dinner. All anyone could talk about was Lord Christian Berkeley. And it wasn’t because of his heroics in the park this afternoon. No. That act had merelyaddedto his appeal. Viscount Berkeley, it seemed, had somehow been egregiously overlooked in years past, but now he was in London, sporting a new wardrobe, new boots, a new haircut, and a new curricle and looking quite fine. And did you see the expert tie of his cravat? Why, the viscount had always been rich and handsome, but now he was somehow looking evenmorerich andmorehandsome than ever before. Rumor had it that he was consideredthe catchof the Season.
They’d done it. The two of them. Christian was as popular as he could want to be. Sarah had fulfilled her end of the bargain and was inordinately pleased with herself.
But there was one highly unexpected side effect of their success. It had been excruciating watching Christian in the park today sitting in his curricle next to Lady Claire. Jealousy had clawed at Sarah. Unwelcome, unwanted jealousy. How could she make it go away? She hadn’t the faintest idea. It was so like Christian to leap into a lake to help a woman in need. It hadn’t helped anything to see him emerge from the water with his shirt plastered to the front of him. It reminded her of how very…muscledthe man was. She’d seen his chest briefly in Scotland, but now it was all she could think about. That ninny Branford had said he hadn’t tried to rescue the poor young woman because of the price of his boots. Yes, heaven forfend he should risk a pair of expensive shoes to save someone’s life.
Sarah had dressed for the dinner party tonight with infinite care. A week ago, she hadn’t given a toss about Lord Branford’s party, but as soon as she knew Christian would be there she’d asked her maid to twine her hair around her head in an especially fetching fashion. She chose to wear her favorite gown, a sparkling silvery-white one with a wide red bow, and matching silver shoes. A ruby necklace finished the ensemble, and she’d felt quite smart standing in front of the looking glass before she’d left for the party.
Now she was standing next to the marquess, getting ready to be escorted in to dinner, when Christian entered the room. He was accompanied by Lady Claire and her mother. That lady was looking quite pleased with herself for her daughter’s arrival with the most talked-about bachelor of the Season. Not to mention that she was attending the dinner party of theformermost popular bachelor. Butwhydid it bother Sarah? She’d wanted this for him. For goodness’ sake, she’drecommendedLady Claire to him. Sarah should be nothing but pleased to see him making headway in his suit with the young woman.
Sarah barely had time to nod a greeting to Christian from across the room before they all were trotted in to dinner, but she soon realized that Branford had seen to it that Christian was seated directly across from them.
“Didn’t catch a cold from your adventure earlier, did you, Berkeley?” Branford said as soon as they’d sat and the wine was being poured.
“Not yet. However, I did ruin an excellent pair of boots.”
“Egad.” Branford shook his head sadly. “A pity.”
“I don’t know how you could have possibly been so brave, my lord,” Lady Claire offered from Christian’s right side. Her mother was sitting farther down the table. “It wasquiteharrowing to watch, I assure you.”
“Nothing brave about it at all,” Christian replied, taking a healthy sip of wine.
“I beg to differ, my lord,” Lady Claire replied, her eyes downcast. “You were terribly brave. Why, I nearly swooned.”
Christian glanced up to see Sarah unmistakably roll her eyes.
“Yes, well, I nearly saved someone once…,” Branford was saying, and Christian rolled his eyes at that. Sarah kicked him lightly under the table, and he kicked her back.
Lady Claire looked back and forth between Christian and Sarah and redoubled her efforts to engage Christian in conversation.
“Lord Berkeley, will you be attending the Rutherfords’ ball tomorrow evening?” Lady Claire asked.
