Of course Isolde, if she ever existed, was long dead, but Miss Murray was…
He paused. She was so…still. And she wasn’t completely undressed. She had a corset and drawers, and weren’t corsets heavy? Maybe she’d somehow hit her head on a rock, or had a sudden fit of whatever brings normal, healthy people to their knees. When he had his fishing business, he’d pulled a man out of the Miramichi after he’d slipped and hit his head on the rocks. If Beau hadn’t been there, Hugh Evans, one of his first and wealthiest clients, would have drowned.
Beau’s stomach dropped and he went flying into the water.
Chapter Sixteen
Bliss.
The rush of the waterfall and the gently churning water mixed with the sound of her own heartbeat. Maddy floated for what seemed like forever and yet no time at all, her body freed from layers of clothing. While Maddy rarely wore any of the more stylish trappings her fellow spinsters did, she did use a corset to support her chest and back. She’d briefly considered leaving that on the bank along with her skirts, but changed her mind. After all, she had no idea if Teddy Chandler might come by to rescue an errant sheep, never mind the challenge of putting herself back into it with a sopping wet shift underneath.
It was so easy to imagine herself as a character from one of those Arthurian Legends—Isolde, maybe—pining for her lost Tristan. Or maybe Maid Marian, off in the woods, hiding from the sheriff, waiting for Robin Hood. It was silly, really, to want those things. For years she’d been looking over her shoulder, alone, waiting for the day she’d be discovered and taken back to face her punishment. Having someone else rescue her felt like a fantasy. It didn’t hurt to indulge in it, even for a brief moment… did it?
Maybe The Grove’s beauty was playing with her imagination. The place awakened something inside her that not even Everwell had. She wanted to think it was the pretty rolling hills and the possibility in the overgrown kitchen garden, or even the beautiful berry patch. But there was something else, too—something she absolutely needed to guard herself against. It was the expression on Beau’s face when he looked at her. Because it wasn’t like Dominic or Jeremy. They certainly respected her, even liked her. But Beau was different. She’d caught his lingering stare in the small mirror that hung by the front door. The vulnerability he betrayed. It made this golden man a little less shiny. But far more attractive.
Madeline.
The muffled sound of her name caught her attention, pulling her away from her disjointed feelings. Her attention sharpened, and through the woosh of rushing water, she sensed a change. Her body went on alert, but before she could react, something gripped her shoulders. Alarmed, she opened her eyes only to see another set of panicked eyes staring back at her and her upper body being pulled from the water.
“Madeline!”
Propelled by fear, she came into her strength, pushing whoever this was away from her. She stepped back, her feet skittering over the rocks, trying to find her footing. She wiped the water from her eyes with the back of her forearm and raised her fists ready to fight, instantly regretting the fact she’d left her knife in her boot on shore.
“Thank Jesus you’re alive.”
The sound of Beau’s voice, along with that damnable beautiful face of his, cut through the haze of confusion. Wet hair plastered to her face like a web, obscuring her vision. He stood an arm’s length away in his trousers and shirtsleeves, hands up, a line of worry on his normally placid face.
She, on the other hand, was utterly mortified. Once the excitement subsided, she pulled her arms across her chest, then dunked down into the water in some vain attempt at preserving her modesty.
“Of course I’m alive,” she said, trying and failing to keep her voice steady, even though she was only a few feet away from Beau with nothing between them but some very clear water and her underthings, which, save for her corset, were utterly transparent. “Why were you sneaking up on me?”
“I called out but you didn’t answer,” he said. “You were just very… still. I thought you might be drowning.”
There was something in his looks—something urgent. He’d been afraid. Afraid for her.
“I’m not some fairy tale princess,” she grumbled, ignoring the fact that before he arrived, she’d allowed herself to imagine it. “You don’t need to save me.”
“You don’t know how many times I saw people who loved to fish but couldn’t swim. They got in over their head. Some of them didn’t make it.” He locked eyes with her, and Maddy was struck by the earnestness she saw there. It occurred to her, with something approaching genuine shock, that Beau da Silva never told her anything but the truth.
“Well, you can plainly see I’m fine,” she said, trying to brush off the warring sense of delight and mortification at being in front of him so completely vulnerable. “I have to get to shore.”
He nodded in recognition that this meeting of theirs, unintended as it was, was now incredibly awkward. He put his back to her, then called over his shoulder.
“Do you need help?”
“No.”
She lifted herself out of the water. She hadn’t taken more than a few lumbering steps toward the shore when she landed on a sharp rock. Wincing, she pulled her foot away and stumbled. Choosing between her modesty and having rocks embedded in her face from a fall, she decided the later would be more painful, and flung her arms out in front of her.
Her actions were unnecessary. Beau was there, one arm around her back, his hands on her arms, steadying her before she fell forward.
“I’ve got you.”
It should have been awkward. It should have been mortifying. Here she was, practically naked and soaking wet, her drawers clinging to her body. For a moment she was struck by the very real urge to sink into him, let him bear the weight of her. Rely on him to get her safely to shore. To let him do for her what he had no doubt done for countless other women—be gallant and charming.
To rescue her.
She was afraid to look him in the eye, fearful she would be lost in the hypnotic spell he weaved without even trying. Her gaze trailed down his body. His shirt was wet from his midsection down, clinging to his body. Before they’d taken more than a few steps however, an old fear rose inside. She shrugged, a halfhearted attempt to push him away, but it appeared that Beau da Silva was not having it.
