Page 57 of Nature of the Crime
“You should be aware that I know how to swim,” she lied.
“That matters not. You will freeze and drown long before you can make it to shore,” he replied. “Especially in these choppy waters.”
“You will never get what you want,” she said swiftly. “My death will not draw Philip home!”
“Well then, I will just have to be satisfied with the fact that you are at least dead, won’t I?”
St. John got to his feet, his knees bent to keep from stumbling with the rocking boat. With his knife still in hand, he moved toward her. Instinct to get away from him overrode her much braver plan to reach for the metal push pole, and she jerked back. But then, St. John stopped. He appeared to be lookingpasther, at the water behind them—giving her a second chance to be brave.
Fighting instinct this time, Audrey threw herself to the floor of the skiff and closed her hands around the metal pole. The motion severed St. John’s distraction, and he lunged for her. Without the time or space to swing the pole, she propped it outward like a battle spear and shoved with all the strength she had left in her quivering arms. The end burrowed into St. John’s chest and must have caught him by surprise. He staggered backward, his heel catching on the lantern that he’d left unlit.His arms wheeled, the skiff rolled on another swell, and St. John tumbled backward, into the ocean.
Audrey stared in shock, her fingers still clenched around the pole. The sounds of the surf and wind was suddenly thunderous. She got to her knees, fighting the pitching of the skiff, her eyes peeled on the water where St. John had disappeared. There was no light now, only blue shadow and the barest glimmer of silver rippling on the waves.
With a ball of tension locked in her chest, she slowly stood on quaking knees. In the direction that St. John had been staring, allowing her a moment’s distraction to lunge for the pole, was the black stamp of a larger boat. It was too far away for her to make out anything else about it. Two masts, perhaps, and a few lanterns glowing to announce its presence through the dark.
“Help!” she cried, though her throat was hoarse, her voice a raspy squawk.
Audrey cleared her throat to try again—and the skiff juddered and rocked violently. A pair of hands clamped onto the side of the boat, and St. John’s sopping head appeared next, his arm hooking a cleat for purchase. The sudden toss of the boat sent Audrey to the floor, but though it disoriented her, she hadn’t released the push pole. With a burst of vigor flooding her limbs, she got to her feet again and swung the pole in a wide arc, smashing it into St. John as he attempted to haul himself back into the skiff. An awful, gut-wrenchingcrackfollowed, his arms went slack, and he flopped back into the water.
Bile rose in her throat as she realized the cracking noise could have very well been his skull. Audrey released a pent-up scream, and the push pole clattered to the bilge of the skiff. She covered her mouth and sunk to her knees. Had shekilledhim? A small sliver of her mind shouted for her to get up and search the angry pewter water. But a much larger part of her mind forbadeher from doing so. Lord St. John had wanted to killher. Drownher. It was that part of her mind that she ultimately obeyed.
As the warmth from her spate of energy began to fade, she began to shake again, from the cold, her clothing, now wet from sea spray, and the knowledge that she’d just likely sent a man to a watery grave. Remembering the nearby boat, she forced herself to her feet. Though her legs felt gelatinous, she managed to stay upright and wave her arms. But it was so dark, the odds of anyone aboard the boat seeing her were slim. She tossed all dignity aside and screamed at the top of her lungs.
Then, in a moment of realization that froze her solid, her arms still high in the air, she recalled St. John’s promise of smugglers due that very night. They would be going to the cave, where they would find Becky, tied and gagged…
Audrey sucked in air, refilling her lungs, and sat down upon the bench St. John had been on earlier. She picked up the handles of the oars, still resting in their brackets, and began to row. At first, she moved the oars in the wrong direction, but quickly corrected it. Ignoring the cold ache of her skin and her stiffened muscles, she gritted her teeth and propelled the skiff toward the blackened outline of the cliffs, visible now only by the silhouette of the very crest against the sky. She didn’t seem to be moving at all, and the waves were coming from all directions. But Becky was alone in that cave, and if that boat was manned by the sort of traders St. John had described, Audrey had to make it back to her first.
She threw herself into rowing, her palms stinging with icy pain. She wanted to laugh at the past memory of discomforting friction she’d felt while rowing in the little regatta at Greenbriar last summer. The discomfort and exhaustion she’d felt after that was a mere fraction of this. Despair began to sink in as the other vessel grew larger, its guiding lanterns brighter. It was nearly upon her now.
A faint voice traveled on the wind, rising above the incessant rush of the surf. Audrey stilled the oars. Her body ached, but she had worked up a small sweat to keep herself marginally warm. The sound came again, this time with more form. Her ears pricked. It wasn’t…
Could it be?
Again, she inspected the approaching boat. It wasn’t large enough to be called a ship, exactly. It was more like a fishing vessel. And now that it was nearly upon her, she realized that if she could see it, the occupants of the boat could certainly see her. A handful of darkened figures moved along the gunwale. Again, that same sound carried toward her. This time, clearly.
“Audrey!”
His voice was faint. So faint, she almost thought the cold had made her insensible and she was imagining it. But when she saw the silhouette of a pair of arms held high and waving broadly, she cried out in relief. This was no smugglers vessel! Audrey dropped the handles of the oars and with tears pricking her eyes, she stood and waved her arms furiously in return.
“Here! I’m here!”
It was Hugh, and he had come for her.
Chapter
Twenty-Three
Mr. Leeds and Ethan deftly pulled alongside the skiff before either vessel could become too close to the shallows and the rocks rimming the base of the cliffs. Hugh could barely see the cliffs at all, but the father and son knew these waters well. They lowered a grappling hook to secure the smaller boat, and then Hugh, Thornton, and Edmunds all leaned down to reach for Audrey’s upstretched arms. The hooker was low enough in the water to allow the three of them to pull her up and over the gunwale, onto deck. She collapsed against Hugh, half-frozen and trembling.
“Audrey, my god.” He was lost for words as he removed his greatcoat and wrapped it around her. But it wasn’t enough. She needed to be indoors, dry, and warm.Now.
“It was h-him,” she whispered against his chest as he rubbed her back and arms vigorously.
“St. John?” Two figures had been within the small boat earlier, but when theSea Wolfhad hooked it, only Audrey remained.
“Y-yes.” It was little more than a shaking whisper.
“And now? Where is he?”
