CAMERON DOVE in after Clarice, snatching her to him when she came up sputtering.
“Lud!” She laughed, a sound of pure delight that shocked him to his core. He’d expected outrage. “You’re turning my life upside down, Cameron Leslie,” she said, swiping water from her eyes.
The river was frigid, and her teeth were already chattering, her lips tinged blue in a stark-white face. There was only one thing to do.
Kiss the warmth right back into them.
Deftly treading water, he managed to swing her into his arms and find her lips. She shocked him a second time by responding in kind. Deepening the kiss, she curled herself around him like a wet, willowy stole, and he was certain he’d never felt anything so glorious. His very heart seemed to swell within his chest.
And they might have gone on kissing until his heart burst, except Cameron gradually became aware they were drifting downstream—and the boat was drifting far ahead.
“Crivvens,” he whispered against Clarice’s lips. They would soon be down the river without a boat. He wouldn’t mind walking back, but he would mind having to pay the rowboat’s owner for its loss. Leslie Castle was bonnie, but the estate itself was cash poor.
“Wh-what?” Her voice sounded distant and dreamy. “What is it, Cam?”
Cam. He had to reward her for that with another kiss.
“Crivvens,” he said again a couple of minutes later.
“What on earth does that mean?”
“It means our boat is floating away.”
“Lud!” She looked around wildly. And then, “I cannot swim!”
She clung to him as he struck out for the boat. Not too long afterward, he hauled himself aboard and pulled her in after him. She sprawled on the bench, laughing. Until she looked down at her pale, wet gown plastered against her front.
With a gasp, she crossed her arms over herself. “Tell me you didn’t see that.”
“I didn’t see that.” But he had. She was beautiful. Everything about her was beautiful. Not only the way she looked, but her soul. And the way she felt in his arms.
She shivered. “I…I don’t know what came over me.”
“It was the cold,” he said, offering her an out. “And the wet.”
But they both knew that something had changed in the water.
“Yes, it must have been,” she said. Her hair had come undone and hung in long, wet tendrils down her back. He wanted to wrap his hands in it. Her arms were still crossed over her chest. “I’m sorry,” she added.
“For what?”
“For making you get wet. Ruining your clothes and boots. I hope…” She froze, and her face went white—whiter even than when she’d been submerged in the icy river. “Please don’t be vexed with me.”
“Why would I be vexed with you, Clarice?”
She looked like she expected him to be furious, and the truth was, that expectation in itself rekindled his anger. His hands itched to throttle the man who had taught her to be so wary.
Lucky for him, the scum was out of reach.
“You didn’t do it on purpose,” he said. “And truth be told, I would happily ruin my boots to hold you again.” He moved closer. “May I kiss you again, Clarice?”
She bit her lip, for all the world looking like she didn’t believe him.
He wouldn’t press her, not now when she looked so cold and miserable. Moving to the other bench, he sighed and picked up the oars. With strokes made powerful by frustration, the boat was soon slicing through the water toward the docks.
“Tell me, Clarice,” he asked presently, “if you cannot swim, why weren’t you frightened when you fell?”
Her words were long in coming, and when they finally did, it was with a kind of wonder, as though she surprised herself with her answer. “I knew you would come after me,” she said simply.
Progress, he decided. It would have to do for now.