Page 47

The dance ended at last.

Helena curtsied to her partner, exchanged a few words with him, and made her way toward the ballroom doors. George was on her heels before he had made a decision to follow her.

"Helena. I find that I need air."

Her delicate eyebrows rose. "Is that not something commonly reserved for fainting maidens?"

"Come with me," was all he said.

Outside, the evening air was pleasantly cool after the heat of the ballroom.

Lanterns hung among the trees, casting pools of golden light across the gravel paths. Beyond the terrace, the lawns sloped gently toward the lake, whose dark surface reflected the illuminated windows of the house. The scent of roses drifted from the nearby gardens.

Somewhere behind them, a servant called for the guests to gather at the lakeside for the fireworks.

Helena turned toward the sound.

"Fireworks! I had nearly forgotten."

It was a foolish display. But Helena's eyes were bright with anticipation, and he could not bear to dim that light. They followed the path toward the water, moving more slowly than the other guests. Helena was recounting some particularly absurd remark she had overheard during the dance, and George, to his considerable surprise, was enjoying himself.

It had been a long time since he had enjoyed anything so easily.

They reached the small landing near the lake, where a low stone wall bordered the water and a few steps descended toward the mooring place for the pleasure boats.

Helena turned toward him, still smiling. Fireworks burst in the air, their colors caressing Helena's cheeks and reflecting in her eyes. All this control, all the ways she struggles, and she can still find joy, he thought.

Helena's foot caught in the trailing lace of her gown, and she gasped. She stumbled. For one precarious instant she teetered at the edge of the landing.

Then she disappeared into the lake with a startled cry and an enormous splash.

"Helena!"

George plunged into the water after her.

The cold struck him like a blow. He surfaced amid a confusion of silk, bubbles, and flailing arms, seized Helena around the waist, and pulled her upright. "Helena! Can you hear me?"

She coughed, pushed wet hair from her face, and stared at him in astonishment.

"George?"

"Are you hurt?"

"I - no, I don't believe so."

"Can you stand?"

She found her footing on the submerged steps and clutched his shoulders.

For a moment they stared at one another.

Water streamed from George's hair, down his face, and into the collar of his ruined evening coat. His heart pounded. For a moment, none of the eyes he feared to find on their marriage mattered. Nothing except Helena, warm and wet and… smiling with a mischievous curve to her lips.

"Well, Your Grace," she murmured. "No one can say you have not proven your devotion tonight."

He hadn't meant to prove anything. He'd simply heard her cry of alarm, seen her vanish beneath the water, and acted. He did not want a society, a moment, without Helena in it.

The fire Caspian's servants had hastily built was insufficient for two people who had just come from a chilly lake. Helena stood shivering before it in her bedchamber, water still dripping from her hair onto the carpet, her sodden gown clinging to her arms like a second skin.