Dane threw his traveling bag into a wretched little room under the eaves, inspected Gladiator’s injured hoof and gave him some soothing ointment, and set off to view Squalton Manor.
One hour later, he understood why his disapproving father had bequeathed him the Squalton properties. It hadn’t been a gift, it had been a curse. The manor house was a rambling, derelict eyesore that any buyer would have to tear down completely. No quick profit to be made here. Though, the view from the manor house was stunning.
He shaded his eyes with his hat brim and looked out across the bright blue sea. The house sat on a cliff overlooking a small, sheltered cove. He started down the overgrown wooden stairs to the sea, thinking to have a closer look at theboundaries of the property. He was halfway down when he saw something yellow and pink out in the water. An escaped parasol bobbing about on the waves?
Not a parasol. A girl. Knocked back and forth by a sudden wave. Flailing her arms about in distress. She was going to drown.
He raced down the rest of the stairs two at a time, flung his hat to the sand, and ripped off his coat. “Hold fast, miss. I’ll save you!”
Chapter Two
When conversing with gentlemen keep your gaze modestly lowered and your ankles crossed.
—Mrs. Oliver’s Rules for Young Ladies
The voice was low-pitched and male, bellowing something about saving her. Sandrine paddled her hands and kicked her feet until she was facing shore.
“I’m quite all right,” she called to the man on the shore. “Please go away,” she added, conscious that she was clad only in her shift—her bonnet, gown, and boots a heap of white and blue on the sparkling sand. So far away.
Her mother was going to murder her. She’d been caught swimming in the sea by a stranger. A tall, well-built stranger. She couldn’t see his features clearly, but he looked young. And maybe he was... handsome?
Sandrine was absolutely forbidden from speaking to strange men. But this one appeared to believe that she needed rescuing.
He performed an awkward dance to divest himself of his boots and loped toward the sea.
“I’ll save you!” he shouted again, crashing into the water.
“I don’t need saving, my feet reach the bottom,” she shouted back. “See?” She righted herself, walking toward him, but he paid her no heed, diving into the waves and heading straight toward her.
Goodness! The huge dark shape of him bore down upon her. Did he mean to run her right over? She scrambled about, attempting to flee the impending collision. She reached a deeper spot, and suddenly her feet had nowhere to land.
A wave splashed over her head and she sputtered, flailing her arms a little, only because she was surprised, not because she was drowning. She was nearly back to the shallower part when he was upon her in a great churning of powerful arms and a rearing of broad shoulders.
He clasped hold of her waist with one strong arm, his face looming in front of her. She could only see parts of him through the wet hair plastered to her brow and cheeks. An angular jaw. A deep cleft in the middle of his chin. Dark eyebrows over deep blue eyes.
“I’ve got you now, don’t panic. We’ll be on shore in no time,” he said in a husky growl.
“I wasn’t panicking at all until you—” she attempted to explain, but her words turned into gurgles as he hauled her through the water by her waist where she bobbed up and down, tucked under his arm like a piece of driftwood. She struggled to free herself but only succeeded in swallowing more seawater, which made her cough, only adding credence to his misguided belief that he was rescuing a helpless, drowning damsel.
There was no reasoning with or stopping him. Rescue her he would. She was obliged to twist out from under his arm and clamp her legs around his waist like a limpet clinging to a rock so that her head remained above water. She was finally able to draw enough breath to speak.
“I wasn’t drowning,” she sputtered, the erratic motion of his striding jostling her tighter against his hard body.
“Stay calm,” he instructed. “We’re nearly there.”
He half dragged, half carried her up the beach and deposited her beside the heap of her clothing, dripping water onto her book.
He was breathing heavily, his chest heaving, the sodden fabric of his dark-colored shirt clinging to his wide chest and muscular shoulders. She could see the outlines of his body through his wet clothing. His leather riding breeches were plastered to his thick, powerful thighs, and the visible bulge between.
He loomed over her, blocking out the sun.
The sight made her feel light-headed. Or maybe it was all the seawater she’d swallowed.
And if she could see his every outline... she glanced down. Her shift was transparent. He could seeeverything.
She heard her mother’s voice ringing in her mind.Keep your gaze modestly lowered and your ankles crossed.But really, was there any point in attempting modesty when one was already so thoroughly exposed? Everything about this encounter was completely forbidden. She squeezed her eyes shut, trembling a little from the breezeon her wet flesh, but mostly because of the handsome stranger still looming over her.
He dropped to his knees and wiped hair out of her eyes. “Don’t die on me now.” His fingers closed around her wrist, feeling for a pulse. “You’re shaking, poor thing,” he muttered. He rubbed her hands with his, blowing on them with hot breath. “We’ll have you warm in no time. The sun is high.” Gently, he rolled her over until she lay on her back. She kept her eyes squeezed shut. His fingers hovered over her mouth, his thumb brushing her lower lip.