The Countess' Lucky Charm (17 page)

“Will it be safe so far away from shore?” But even as she asked the question, she could see the lake resembled a looking glass, with nary a ripple to mar its surface. There would be no danger in traversing that water. Besides, she was with Temple. He would keep her safe.

“As long as you sit still,” he teased. “You almost swamped us once already.”

“Well, you didn’t warn me how easy it was to tip,” she retorted.

“True,” he acknowledged. “But now I have.”

“Having no desire to get wet,” she said loftily, “I shall sit as still as can be. If we tip, it shall be on your conscience.” Simone squared her shoulders to the bow of the canoe and shifted to a more comfortable position.

Even with a short cut, she surmised it would still be at least an hour before they were back at the outpost and her back was already stiff thanks to the hours spent earlier in the garden.

Behind her, she could hear an occasional grunt from Temple and the peaceful, cadenced slap of the paddle. The late afternoon sun warmed her shoulders and content, she began to drowse.
 

* * *

Temple
cast a worried glance forward past the sleeping Simone, to the ruffle of wind speeding across the surface of the lake, tipping the water with white foam. The cheerful sunlight of a scant few minutes before had disappeared, and an ominous shadow chased the ripples.

“Bloody hell,” he snarled. Cursing his lack of attention, for in truth, the calm waters and late afternoon heat had lulled him too, he tried to manoeuvre the canoe to hit the onslaught head on. “Simone, wake up! Hold on!” He watched her just long enough to see her head jerk before turning his attention back to the stormy lake.

Regrettably, his lacked prowess with the paddle and the first waves hit them broadside, rocking them with ferocious intensity.

An idyllic afternoon outing had turned into a fight against nature. That grim thought had no sooner crossed his mind than the canoe tipped in the heavy waves, sending a sprawling Temple into the lake. The water, chilled by undercurrents whipped up by the storm, fair took his breath away.

He surfaced, gasping for air, treading water frantically. He twisted his head, first one way, then the other, searching the waves for Simone. Dread clutched at him with bony fingers, sending shivers through him that had nothing to do with the icy water.

“Simone!” No sooner did he open his mouth to shout than a wave slammed into his face, filling his nostrils, shoving him down.

He struggled to the surface again, in the process kicking off first one boot, then the other. He burst through and sucked in precious air, one heaving breath, another one, life-giving breaths that cleared his mind and focused his thoughts.

Simone, where is Simone?
Cursing the waves, he heaved himself out of the water as far as he could, scissoring his legs in an attempt to give himself as much leverage as he could. “Simone! Simone!”

She was nowhere to be seen.

Taking a desperate gulp of air, he dove beneath the waves, searching the watery depths.

Nothing.

Panic chilled his heart much as the water chilled his body. He must find her, had to find her, for he couldn’t bear to lose her. He surfaced only long enough to grab another desperate breath then dove again.

There.

There, directly below him.

Blue skirts billowed, golden hair glinted, bright against the murk. Kicking strong and hard, he swam down toward her, grabbing her by the hair to pull her up. Her eyes were closed, her body limp. Dragging his precious cargo, he kicked hard, hard, up toward the light. Lungs bursting, he broke through the surface.

“Simone! Can you hear me?” Turning her on her back, he slapped her face once, twice, before cradling her chin in one elbow. No response. He had to get her to dry land, had to start pumping her lungs.

Fighting the waves, he swam toward shore, towing her lifeless form behind him. His progress was agonizingly slow, every second that passed adding to the mounting fear. His feet touched the rocky bottom and he waded toward the shore, throwing her before him on the sandy strip of beach.

“Simone, breathe,” he pleaded, thumping her chest then pausing to listen for breaths. Raw, naked fear gripped him, a terror so total, so complete, it drove all else from his mind. He couldn’t lose her, not now. She meant too much to him.

“Simone, Simone!” He began to shout, willing his voice to rouse her. He pounded on her chest again.

She coughed, and water splashed out of her mouth. When she coughed again, he turned her head so she wouldn’t choke.

“Thank god, Simone, can you hear me,” he demanded.

“Papa?” Her voice was weak, childlike. “Papa, what happened?” Her eyelids fluttered briefly, but her eyes remained closed.

“No, not your papa, Simone, it’s me. Temple.” He grabbed her chin. “Look at me, Simone, it’s Temple.” Still, her eyes remained shut.

“Papa, where are you? Where’s Mama?”

Bloody hell, she’d lost her wits.

“Simone! Open your eyes, it’s Temple.” He leaned forward and gathered her into his arms, pulling her into his lap before brushing wet tendrils away from her forehead to plant a kiss there. “Simone, look at me, I’m not your papa, I’m Temple.”

Your man
, he thought. For an instant, Lisette’s face rose before him. Your man. That’s what Lisette always said to Simone when talking about him.

Simone coughed one more time, retching hard to expel the last of the water before her eyes opened fully. With relief he saw recognition flood through them.

“Temple. What happened? Why are you wet?”

“I dare say you’re wet too, Simone. The canoe tipped. You almost drowned but I was able to snag you before you sank to the bottom of the lake.”

“Oh.” Her eyes closed and she sagged against him. A second later, her eyes shot open. “It’s happened before, Temple. In my dream. Only in my dream, no one saves me.” Sorrow passed across her features, a brief shadow clouded her sapphire eyes then she smiled at him. “But you did. Thank you, Temple.”

“No need to thank me.” He brushed it off. “I’m not really the hero type.”

“You are to me,” she whispered, looking up at him, blatant adoration pouring from her eyes. “This is the second time you’ve saved me. First from a dreary life in London and now this.”

“Yes, yes, I know.” Bloody hell, now he knew for certain her wits were addled—she thought him heroic. Embarrassed, he changed the subject.

“I can’t possibly fathom what your dream means.” He looked at her, eyes narrowed. “Dreams are, I believe, one’s mind clearing out memories and thoughts. Is it possible you almost drowned before?”

“I don’t know.” She shook her head. “I don’t see how. We always stayed away from the river. I can’t swim,” she added.

“I know,” Temple said wryly.

“I never thought it was something I needed to know,” she blurted out, defensive. “Don’t tell me ladies of quality need to know how to swim, too.”

“No, no, of course not.” He rubbed his finger along her jaw. “You’re an orphan, aren’t you? Isn’t that why you grew up in the workhouse? Do you know anything of your life before then?”

“No.” She shook her head. “No. The only thing I know is that Gentry Ted brought me to the workhouse. I only have this chain.” She pulled it out of her blouse to show him.

“Yes, I’ve noticed it before. Simone.” He leaned forward to gaze into her eyes. “Do you think it’s happened to you before? Do you think that’s why you keep having the dream?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I never thought about it at all. But I always wanted to find out about the chain. See, it has a medallion with a crest on it. I just never knew how to go about it.”

“Let me see.”

Obedient, she pulled the chain off over her head and handed it to him.

He inspected the medallion carefully.

It was the size of her thumb nail. Although worn, it apparently held a family crest—a
 
boar’s head and a stag rampant facing each other with a fleur de
lis
below. The fleur de
lis
intrigued him—it would imply French ancestry. Simone was a French name, so it was plausible.

Fool, he chided himself. Why didn’t he think to ask to see it before? It definitely offered a clue as to her identity.

“Were you named by Mrs Dougherty?” He handed back the medallion.

“No.” She shook her head before slipping the chain back over her head. “Mrs Dougherty told me I knew my name and that I was this old.” She held up three fingers.

He nodded thoughtfully. “When we get back to London, we can make some inquiries.”

“Of course.” Simone didn’t want to remind him she couldn’t go back to London. She would be doing the dance upon nothing if Constable Carstairs saw her face again.

“In the meantime, it appears as if we’ll be spending the night here. It’ll be dark soon, too dark too travel for it is new moon.” He looked behind them to the wild jumble of trees crowding the little beach and then out to the lake. “We may as well stay where we are. We’re more visible here.” He gestured toward the sky. “The storm seems to have passed us by so we won’t need shelter.”

“Shall we have a fire?” Simone’s voice quavered a little. Still chilled from the fall in the lake, fear from her recent ordeal had not left her yet.

“I can try, Simone, but my flint’s wet.”

“Let me help you.” She pulled herself out of his grasp. “I need to move about before I collapse with cold. Surely if we can find dry moss, it won’t need much of a spark.” She picked her way into the forest and returned in a matter of minutes with hands full of moss and twigs to add to the pile of dead branches Temple had gathered in her absence.

“Put it here.” Temple pointed down at the rough fire ring he had cobbled together with a few larger rocks picked from the edge of the beach. He broke a few branches over his knee and placed them beside him within easy reach. “Let’s have a go, shall we?”

With a nod, she set the moss and twigs in the centre of the rocks and he began to strike the flint.

Luck smiled on them for with a tap or two, sparks flew. In no time, the smouldering moss turned into a cheerful blaze that brightened the evening.

They sat close to each other, close to the flames, savouring the warmth now that the air had turned cool with the sun’s disappearance.

“Your socks are steaming,” Simone said suddenly. “Where are your boots?”

“I lost them in the lake.”

“It will be difficult to walk back to the outpost.”

“Difficult,” he shrugged. “Not impossible.”

“Lisette and Daniel will be worried for us.”

“Aye,” Temple agreed. “But perhaps they will see our little fire and know we are safe.”

I am safe
, Simone thought.
I am with you
. She kept those thoughts to herself for to voice them would only make him uncomfortable, she was sure. “Yes, the fire will keep us safe,” she said instead.

“You sleep, Simone, you’ve had quite the ordeal. I’ll keep watch.”

The offer was gallant but then, she wouldn’t expect anything else from him. She said nothing, just collapsed against him as he pulled her close. The shelter of his arm calmed her, the fire warmed her and soon her head tipped sideways against his chest.

After she fell asleep, Temple shifted carefully, placing her head on his lap so he could better see her face.

Simone’s face, the face of the woman he loved.

The events of the afternoon had opened his eyes to that outrageous realization. Somehow she, with her cocky bravado and optimistic outlook on life and outrageous comments, had wormed her way into his very soul. And more, she belonged there.

How absurd, for he had never expected to find love and now that he had, he had no idea if she reciprocated his feelings.

Throughout the night, Temple threw wood on the fire. He couldn’t tear his eyes from her, glad every time he added a stick or two for the flames would leap up and he could see her more clearly. She had drawn her clenched fists up beneath her chin and her knuckles were sharp against her jaw line. With coal dark lashes fanned over her cheeks, and face slack with repose, innocence radiated from her.

A protective urge swelled through him.
I’ll see you safe through the night, Simone. I’ll see you safe back to the outpost.

And, when the time came, he would see her safe to London.

The question remained: what the devil would he do with her then?

Chapter Fourteen

“Ahoy!”

Hoarse shouts roused Simone. She opened her eyes to see Temple standing on the shoreline, waving at Daniel and Baptiste gliding in by canoe, paddles upraised in salutation. She sat up and waved back.

“How did you know where to look for us?” Temple asked, face scored with relief as the two men crunched into the beach, pulling their craft behind them.