“A shock? It’s alie. How foolish I have been—I see it now. To take you at your word about an arranged marriage, and Eastwell Park, to allow you to lead me about. And my poor parents—they are easily deceived, it’s been years since they lived in London. We were carried away by your heroism and the promise of a fine home. But strange men do not appear on doorsteps and bestow royal identities on random women. Itdoesn’t happen.”
Her wild protestations rocked the boat, and he slowly stood, trying to balance them. “Can you please sit, Miss—Dani—Princess. It is possible to capsize this thing.”
“I will not sit. I will not be trapped on this boat... with you... and lied to—”
“Look,” he cut in, “I’ve acknowledged that, of all the people to reveal this news to you, I am the least likely—and the least welcome. But it cannot be helped. Your parents have kept this from you. You’ve admitted their willful concealment again and again. Perhaps they’ve been selfish, or perhaps there was no easy way to explain. Perhaps they thought it was safer if you did not know. The Terror in France was a deadly rampage that destroyed the lives of so many. Even now, nearly fifteen years on, the French aristocracy is an uncertain hodgepodge of exiles; their ranks are riddled with pretenders and opportunists and hangers-on who make claims on property and power. You were always safest and had the most peaceful life here, with the Dinwiddies.”
“And so what are you saying?”
“I’m saying that many in your family werekilled. You have survived, and this is better than... not surviving. You are shocked, I know, but there are worse things.”
“If any of this is true, I am alive—yes. But I’m also forgotten. By this family. What did you say they’re called?”
“The Orleans. You father was the Prince d’Orleans.”
“Right. The surviving members of theOrleanslot fled the Revolution, were scattered to the winds, and forgot to recover a missing... missing...”
She’d been gesturing wildly with her hands, but now she dropped them to her sides.
She finished in a whisper, “I cannot say the word.”
“Princess,” he provided simply.
She made an anguished face, threw out her arms like the conductor leading a symphony, and let out a little scream. The wind blew, carrying the sound away. Her skirts swung and she grabbed them, but not before the hem caught on the hook that held the pole to the side of the boat. The unexpected snag yanked her back, and she lost her balance. She yelped, hands swimming through the air, arms flailing. Luke lunged but not in time. She pitched over the side and hit the green water with a splash.
One moment she’d been ranting and making grand gestures, the next she was a blur of purple, arcing through the air. The water enveloped her with a splash, and droplets slapped Luke across the face.
Luke tore off his jacket and yanked off his boots. Muttering a curse, he dove into the center ripple where she’d disappeared. The water was cold, but it barely registered. He felt the shock of panic instead, as unfamiliar as it was motivating. He was a strong swimmer, as comfortable moving through water as he was walking on land, and he’d fished dozens of men from the roiling sea. This was a serene pond on a dry day, but he thrashed about, blinking against the burn of murk in his eyes, desperate to find her.
The underwater world was aquatic green, hung with floating blobs—none of which were the princess. He came up for air, bent at the waist, and dove under again, kicking deeper. Could she swim? He had no idea. Would her wet petticoats pull her down? He’d never been in the water with a fully clothed woman. Fear rose like water in the hull of a boat. He kicked harder, lashed his hands out wilder, and spun in every direction, trying to see through thick algae and sediment.
From the corner of his eye, he saw a graceful sort of flutter, as slow and weightless as smoke. He spun. It was a ribbon suspended in the depths. He kicked to it, but his lungs were burning and he was forced to emerge, gulp air, and kick down again. The green water burned his eyes but he barely blinked, searching for the ribbon. He saw nothing and he cursed, spun, saw more of nothing.
Then something nudged his foot. Luke flipped upside down and saw a vague, woman-shaped lightness floundering eight feet below. Arms and legs thrashed and skirts floated out like the petals of a flower.Thank God.Luke stroked downward.
It was too murky to tell which was her top and which was her bottom, but he could distinguish her middle. He wrapped an arm around her waist and kicked toward the light.
Gasping, he yanked her to the surface. Miraculously, she was right-side-up; long black curls floated to the top and fanned out. Her face came next, surging in a cacophony of sputters and coughs and gasps and spitting.
“That’s it,” he said, speaking between pants, “breathe, breathe, breathe, Danielle.Don’t force it, slow and steady. Good girl. That’s it.”
“I can swim,” she panted between coughs. But she wasn’t swimming, she was slapping hair from her face, kicking, clinging to his forearm.
He dodged her thrashing and paddled to keep them afloat. “We’re in luck, then. We’re both swimmers. At the moment, why don’t you allow me to do the swimming while you concentrate on catching your breath? I’ve got you—there you are. Breathe.” He jostled her, getting a better grip, trying not to squeeze her lungs.
Luke whipped his head, flinging his wet hair from his eyes, and scanned the pond for the boat. It was twenty yards away, blown by the wind into the lilies.
“You can let me go,” she huffed. “I can swim.”
“Not in shoes and a dress. You’ll sink like a wet mattress.”
The little island in the center of the pond was the closest dry land, and he tucked her against him, leaned on his side, and began to kick.
“The boat,” she called.
“Lie still, Danielle. You’re harder to buoy when you strain. Allow your legs to float. That’s it. Kick if you like—ouch, not me. Kick to the side. Relax your grip on my forearm so I can stroke. You need breath more than you need to hold on. I have you.”
“Sorry,” she said, sniffing. “I can’t believe I fell.”
