“Let us not tempt Fate.” He bundled her in his greatcoat, which he’d apparently shed before diving into the water because it was dry and warm, smelling of leather and woodsy spice. He rose, scooping her up with surprising strength.
“Why are you carrying me?” she asked. “I can walk.”
“I can walk faster.” His ground-eating strides proved he was no liar. “You’re trembling, little one.”
He was right. She hadn’t noticed how chilled she was. Her teeth were chattering.
“A c-cup of tea will put me to rights,” she said. “Mama says I have the c-constitution of an ox.”
“Even so.” He gave her a stern look. “What in the devil made you do such a foolish thing?”
His words jolted her…the crown. Her hands flew to the satchel which, miracle of miracles, was still strapped to her. She reached in and took out her prize.
“The crown survived the dunking,” she said with a relieved sigh. “I will still be queen for the day.”
“Bloody hell. You risked your neck for that trifle?”
At his scathing look, she clutched the crown to her chest. “It is not a trifle.”
“It’s a child’s plaything. A piece of tin. You believe that it is worth dying over?”
His blunt words shoved her back beneath the water. To the suffocating darkness, the fear of perishing there alone, of never seeing her family or friends again. She looked at the shiny object in her hands: the gilt was already wearing off, showing the dull tin beneath.
All of a sudden, she felt foolish. Immature.
“No,” she said in a small voice.
“Although I am a casual acquaintance of your family, even I can tell that they would be devastated if anything happened to you. Do you want to cause them pain?” he went on ruthlessly.
A lump formed in her throat as she realized how selfish she had been. Caught up in her single-minded pursuit, she’d thought of nothing but attaining her goal. How many times had Mama lectured her to consider the consequences before acting?
With deepening shame, Livy recognized that, in this instance, she was not the only one affected by her behavior. Her family would indeed be grieved if anything had happened to her…and she had also endangered the Duke of Hadleigh, who had braved the icy water to save her. Even though she was no watering pot, heat slid from her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbled.
“There is no need to cry,” he said gruffly. “Just don’t do it again.”
“But I c-could have hurt my family.” Once the tears started, she couldn’t seem to stop them. “And yours. You risked your l-life to save me. If you had died—”
“Don’t worry about me.” His mouth twisted. “I would not be mourned.”
She tilted her head, certain that she’d misheard. “P-Pardon?”
The duke could not have said that he wouldn’t be grieved. After all, he had a wife, whom Livy had been introduced to at the party. The Duchess of Hadleigh reminded Livy of a perfect porcelain doll with a painted-on smile that never faltered. The duke’s sister, Mrs. Beatrice Murray, was a sister-in-law to one of Livy’s aunts and in attendance as well. Livy adored Aunt Bea, as she called her, and was certain the lady would be heartbroken over the loss of her own brother.
“I know what it is like to make mistakes. Mistakes that one cannot come back from.” The duke’s gaze hardened. “Be wiser than me, little queen.”
Livy didn’t know what to make of his words. Of the curious contrast between his jaded expression and his aura of pain. Nevertheless, empathy expanded in her chest the way his breath had filled her lungs.
She tried to console him. “Mama says a mistake can be forgiven. As long as one makes proper amends.”
The lightning flash of hope in his eyes made her twelve-year-old heart stutter.
“I hope you will always believe that. In fact, promise me that you will.”
Although she was puzzled by his request, she did not hesitate to say, “I promise.”
Being a McLeod and a Kent, she believed in loyalty and honor. She owed the Duke of Hadleigh her life. Although she knew she was too young to repay such a debt, she would endeavor to return the favor in whatever way she could.
“Good,” he said softly.
“I also promise to fulfill my debt of honor to you,” she said.
“A debt of honor?”
Now he seemed amused. The crinkles fanning from his eyes and the slow curve of his smile made him look younger, less like an aloof adult and more like a roguish boy. Livy wasn’t certain of his exact age but knew that he was younger than Aunt Bea, whose twenty-seventh birthday celebration Livy had attended that summer. He was probably somewhere in his mid-twenties…old, but not quite ancient.
“You are a hero, Your Grace,” she said solemnly. “I owe you my life, and from this day forth, I pledge you my allegiance.”
“I am no hero,” he said with rough certainty. “And you owe me nothing, little queen.”
He was wrong. She owed him everything.
And one day, when she was old enough, she would repay him.
2
1848, London, England
Livy is 19; Ben is 31
Livy was enjoying the ball her parents had given to mark her nineteenth birthday. After dancing most of the evening, she took a respite with her best friends, Lady Glory Cavendish and Miss Fiona Garrity. The trio was in a ballroom alcove shielded by a row of palms and a rosewood screen. Livy’s parents were chatting with guests a few feet away on the other side…and Livy heard a deep, distinctive voice enter their conversation.
Although she couldn’t make out the words, she would recognize that gravelly male voice anywhere. And if her mind knew who it was, then her body corroborated it: awareness tickled her nape like a feather. Her heart thumped as eagerly as the tail of a dog greeting its master. The warm tug at her center tightened every inch of her skin, its heady grip surpassing that of her corset. The tips of her breasts budded and throbbed against her
