Page 52 of The Governess’s Carnal Temptation

“Lydia!” He screamed and handed Charlotte off to Mrs. Funny.

“Rescue her,” Charlotte cried, her voice choked with tears. He skittered across the lake as quickly as he could, hearing it precariously creaking beneath him as if it could take him down into the darkness at any moment too. He ignored the nagging fear; his focus was on one thing only: Lydia.

When he got to the hole where she’d gone in, his heart sank. She wasn’t there. She’d been wearing a brilliant white coat that should have been visible, but it was not.

“Lydia?” Frantically he hurried over the ice, scraping away at the frost that had formed, obscuring the view of what lay beneath. Snow was once again falling, covering the lake with a fresh layer. There was nothing. she was gone. “Lydia!” His voice echoed over the frozen lake that had turned from a beautiful landscape to a horrible deathtrap.

Then, to his right, a pounding came to his ear, and he moved over, feeling the ice wanting to give under his weight. he ran his arm across the surface, and when he cleared the freshly fallen snow, he saw her face, trapped beneath a layer of ice.

Lydia pounded against it with her fist, her eyes wild with fear. She stopped when she saw his face. It was a split second, and then, as if seeing his hand invigorated her, she banged as he did the same, desperate to break it though he knew it might swallow him down too. He had to break it or lose her to the eternal grips of death.

* * *

Lydia saw Nicolas’s face through the ice that had entombed her. At first, she thought she’d already died and looked into the eyes of an angel. Then, she saw the terror written across his face and realized she was not yet dead. He was no angel. He was her last hope.

She pounded against the ice, desperate to break it. How had she gotten this far from the hole she’d fallen into? How had she become trapped? She didn’t know. All she knew was that she needed to get out.

And the only way out was up. She banged her fist, then her elbows as the current’s pull threatened to yank her way from this spot, the only one that provided a glimmer of hope.

Alas, the water pulled at her harder and harder, and her eyes grew heavy.

“Lydia,” a soft voice came from the darkness, and her eyes fluttered shut when, out of nowhere, her mother’s sweet rose scent mixed with the aromas of the teashop. It made no sense to smell this here, but she did. Lydia’s arm dropped as her strength waned. Nicholas’s voice faded as she felt her body float away under the loving guidance of her beloved mother.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Nicholas sat, his head between his hands. Hours had passed since his encounter with the ice, but he still shivered even though he was beside the fire. But, alas, it wasn’t only the cold that had him shivering but the dreadful sight before him.

Lydia was lying on her bed, covered with a dozen blankets and a steaming pot of tea beside her. He knew that her being there was a miracle. She’d already slipped beneath the water when he broke through and got her. Just how he found her, he didn’t know. One moment, he’d desperately flung his arm around the dark waters; the next, he’d had her by the collar and pulled her out. Everything else was even more of a blur.

Mr. Jones, the town physician, rose to his full height and clicked his tongue. “She has a high fever, and infection is settling in her lungs. However, I’m mostly worried about the cold's effects on her.”

“What can be done?” Nicholas asked, still feeling the cold in his bones even if he’d changed his wet clothes.

“Hot wraps for the next few hours and a poultice of oatmeal and vinegar for the infection. Laudanum for pain and sleep. And prayer, Your Grace. Prayer.”

Prayer... Nicholas gulped. He’d received the same counsel from the midwives who tended to his late wife in her final hours. He grabbed onto the wooden post and stared at Lydia, who lay with her eyes closed and a face as pale as death before him.

An image impressed itself on him of Louisa in the same position with almost the same expression of hopelessness. He’d stood at the end of her bed and watched her life drain away, and here he was again, doing it all over, only this time, he knew the woman leaving him would take his heart with her.

How was he supposed to live without her? Yes, he'd done it for years, but he'd known she was still alive. He'd known she was out there somewhere. He could dream about her, but if she died? Then what? Even the smallest glimmer of hope would vanish. Gone for good.

Lydia appeared frail and small; her bright radiance, which shone even when she was angry or upset, faded like a candle blown out. Memories of their lives flashed through his mind, and the sensation of her breath against his cheek as they stood at the lake, lost in each other, grazed his neck. He yearned to hold her, to caress her soft breasts against his chest while running one hand through her soft hair. He wished to kiss her and fall asleep in her arms. Wanted to wake beside her and greet the morning as they lay naked under the sheets, their bodies warm against each other as they had once been.

Now, this would never happen. Their union would remain a fantasy. A dream that could have come true if he hadn't been so foolish. His eyes pricked with unshed tears, and he excused himself, hurrying out of the chamber and into the hall before racing down the stairs as fast as his legs would allow. He rushed past servants and maids, who all stared at him with wide eyes, waiting for word on Lydia's health. He could give them no comfort, for he had none left to give.

Nicholas slammed the back door open and collapsed onto the freezing stone floor, his palms pressed against the cold stone. He barely felt the chill. He didn't notice the wind whipping through his hair or the snow gently falling on his head. Everything he’d ever wanted was gone.

“Your Grace?” Mrs. Funny’s voice sounded behind him, full of concern. He looked over his shoulder.

“Leave me,” he orders in a stern tone he never used with her.

“I think I shall not.” Her footsteps echoed on the stone, and then the tips of her black shoes came into view, and he sat back on his heels as she squatted. “Your Grace, you must pull yourself together. You cannot fall apart now.”

“This is an excellent time to fall apart, Mrs. Funny.” He replied and sniffed his nose. The housekeeper grimaced and handed him a handkerchief.

“It is the worst time to do so. Miss Haddington needs you, as does Lady Charlotte. She adores her and knows her current condition was caused for her wanting to save Lady Charlotte.”

“How is she?” he asked eagerly. He’d seen to Charlotte while Mrs. Funny and the maids changed Lydia out of her wet clothing and put her in a warm bath. Charlotte, likewise, had been bathed, dried, and put to bed. When he went to see her, she’d been inconsolable with guilt, as though she’d somehow made the ice cave in as part of an elaborate prank. To his surprise, he’d soothed her and convinced her it was not her fault. Then, he’d done something he swore he’d never do. He’d lied. He’d told her Lydia would be just fine and now he’d have to tell her this wasn’t so. That Lydia, his Lydia, would die. And all because of him.