Reckless. Shannon Drake

shouted back.

      “Child, my craft is but a hundred yards south!”

      A wave crested and washed over her. She had not been prepared, and she chocked in water, coughing, gasping.

      And he was there, a wall of steel, an arm coming beneath her breasts, sliding most immodestly against her. She struggled.

      “Damn you, be still! How on earth will I save you?”

      “I don’t need to be saved!”

      “Indeed, you do!”

      “If you’d cease trying to drown me, I’d be doing quite well!”

      But she was lying, she realized. She was truly spent. Staying on the surface and fighting the waves was becoming ever more difficult.

      Naturally, however, as she cried out her accusation, he released her.

      And just as naturally, another wave smacked over her just as she was still recovering from the last. And she went under.

      A mighty kick brought her back to the surface and into his arms.

      “Be still!” he snapped. “Else I shall slap you into unconsciousness so that I can save your wretched life!” The sting of his words was far worse than a slap.

      “I’m telling you—”

      “Don’t tell me!”

      “But—”

      “Dear God, woman, will you shut up!”

      She had to then, for once again her mouth filled with river water, and she choked. She felt that steely power wind around her again, and despite the cold, his arms were warm, and despite her fury, exhaustion was winning. She felt a blackness creeping over the gray and brown of the day and the river, and suddenly it seemed right to close her eyes, give in….

      His strength was great, for she was no longer moving on her own, yet felt as if she had been lifted, as if she were skimming over the water. Her head and nose remained above the surface.

      Then there were voices, men’s voices, and she realized that they had come to a sailing vessel, a very fine one.

      “Ethan!”

      The shout startled her and she jerked violently away. Her head slammed against the bow of the yacht, making her gasp with pain.

      Stars burst brilliantly before her eyes.

      And then…blackness.

      

      “SWEET MARY!” ETHAN exclaimed, his powerful arms capturing the slender being Hunter had salvaged from the sea, lifting her as if she were no more than a toy. And holding her tenderly, he stared at Hunter for the briefest moment before hurrying with his bundle down to the cabin.

      The yacht yawed, and Hunter stumbled to the helm, grasping control as the wind ripped around them. Ignoring the fact that he was soaking wet and chilled to the bone, he swore as he struggled with a wicked shift in the wind, furled the sails on his own and brought the craft around. Ah, well, he was a sportsman, was he not? Still, he had not intended such sport today.

      Ethan returned topside bringing a blanket and a cup of warm brandy. With a nod of thanks, Hunter took the latter first, drained it and felt the heat seep back into his body. He took the blanket, wrapping it around his shoulders, while Ethan took the helm.

      “She’s all right?” Hunter asked, shouting to be heard.

      “Nasty crack on her head!” Ethan shouted back. “But she opened her eyes. I’ve wrapped her in several blankets and given her a sip of brandy. She’ll be warm enough, and well enough, I imagine, while we make for shore. Where do we take her? To hospital?”

      Hunter frowned and shook his head. “They say such places are improving, but I’d not take even a dog there. We’ll go to the town house. You’re sure she’s all right? She fought me like an insane woman….”

      “Begging your pardon, Sir Hunter, but when you reached the yacht, I believe her head might have struck the hull.”

      Ethan had seen a number of injuries, since he’d served alongside Hunter in battle and across several continents. He was a fine man when it came to setting bones, and he was equally adept at dispensing medications. He knew a mortal injury when he saw one, and this one certainly didn’t qualify.

      “Who is she?” he demanded.

      “I haven’t the faintest notion,” Hunter replied. “She apparently dived in to save young David, but from where, I do not know.” He paused, thinking. Had he seen her before? She was not among last season’s display of coming-of-age young society beauties, of that he was certain. He would have remembered her. Even wet and bedraggled, she was striking.

      She had the abilities of a fish in water, so it seemed, and had been quite positive she didn’t need rescuing. Her hair…what color! Even wet, it was like fire. And her eyes, when opened, flashed fire to match that hair.

      Then, of course, only a blind man could miss the perfection of her form. She was no hothouse flower, but all lean muscle and sinew, long legs, trim hips and…beautiful breasts. Firm, full, straining against the taut fabric.

      He winced at his lascivious thoughts. But he wasn’t a blind man. He couldn’t have missed them.

      “Brave little thing!” Ethan said. “Diving in when none of his fine, hearty companions could manage to do so.”

      That, too, was true.

      But then again, Hunter had seen the way she had looked at David on the embankment. Utterly rapt. She hadn’t dived in for someone who was a stranger to her. There had been something about that look, something that any man or woman living seldom achieved, yet might crave with all the heart. Indeed, she would have gladly given her life for David.

      She’s in love, he thought.

      “You think she’s a friend of the chap?” Ethan asked now.

      “I’ve never seen her before,” Hunter said. “But then, I’m certainly not privy to all of young David’s acquaintances. Indeed, I’ve only come to know him because he is due to take part in the upcoming excavations along the Nile. And because, of course, his father is interested in financing such work.”

      “Good Lord! You don’t think she’s a…”

      “Doxy?” Hunter cocked his head, musing. “No,” he said after a moment. “She hasn’t the look. No hardness in her eyes. Not yet, anyway. But whoever she is, she will be a bit richer than she was, for Lord Avery is determined she be rewarded. Meanwhile, let’s just see to her welfare, eh?”

      In another thirty minutes, the yacht was in and duly berthed. Hunter held the girl in his arms, wrapped warmly in the blankets Ethan had provided her, while Ethan brought round the carriage. Though the area at the docks had been much busier early in the day, the fair-weather sailors had come to realize that such a day was not for sport. Now there was no one about.

      Certainly not young David, or any of his party. Though Hunter knew that Lord Avery would be true to his word and reward the girl, the man would not be overly concerned about her welfare. David would be his first concern.

      And, of course, Margaret.

      Ethan reined in the handsome carriage horses, and the two stood still, awaiting their burden. Hunter entered the carriage with the girl in his arms, needing little assistance.

      “Home then, and quickly,” Ethan said, closing the doors and climbing up top to take the reins.

      And as they rode, Hunter looked down at her face. It was truly beautiful. Skin, though ever so slightly tanned, as smooth as alabaster. Straight nose, lips perhaps a bit too wide and full for the current accepted state of fashion. Her cheekbones were high, her eyes large, lashes long and dark.

      She stirred. Frowned.

      A smile creased her lips, so sweetly.