Page 70 of Bargaining for the Barrister
Louisa tore at the waterwith her arms and legs, climbing to the surface for a desperate and fleeting taste of air. Was she going to die? Even though she longed to be with her parents again, her mind repelled the idea of death. Every fiber of her fought for a chance to live. To breathe. To try again. Her face lifted long enough for another gulp, and then she was drowning again, sinking lower and lower. Her hopes flashed through her with every painful second. Paul. Marriage. Children. Would she have none of them?
She saw a blurry figure jump off the dock before she felt the crash of his body landing next to her. She knew in an instant it was Paul, and renewed fear seized her. He couldn’t swim either. Was it their fate to die together? Was it punishment for not figuring things out between them? Arms wrapped around her middle, and she was powered to the surface. Her head was soon above water, along with the tops of her shoulders.
A saving gasp freed her burning lungs from their previous prison. Her eyes locked on Paul’s frantic ones, but he was focused on the dock, not her. He released her with one arm, and she threw both of hers around his neck to keep from submerging again. With a strong arm stroke, he brought them both to the dock.
“Pull yourself up!” he instructed.
Louisa couldn’t bring herself to let go of him. “I can’t do it.”
“I won’t let go of you until you’re up, I promise. On the count of three. One. Two. Three.”
He left her no time to think. On three, he lifted her and she lunged for the dock. The rough wood scraped the insides of her palms, but she gripped it all the tighter. Paul had both arms around her again, and he forced her out of the water. Her upper body fell on top of the deck, and with her forearms, she dragged herself the rest of the way out. She didn’t stop to breathe but whirled around and reached for Paul.
“I’m all right.” He bypassed her hand and pulled himself up, his sleeves clinging to his strong arms and water dripping in rivulets down his face. He paused on his hands and knees, with head bent over, breathing hard.
Her body sank against the damp dock in exhaustion, her hip against the hard wood and her hands shaking so badly, they barely held her face up. Racking sobs filled the air, and it was a moment before Louisa realized they were coming from her. She wasn’t strong enough to keep them in and no longer cared to do so. She was alive; her parents were not. Paul was safe, but things were still the same. Logan was here, and it was time to go home. The hurtful truths combined with the traumatic circumstance of hers and Paul’s near drowning shook her harder than her sobs. Paul’s hand went to her back, but she couldn’t respond to him. The floodgates were open, and an entire year’s worth of emotions poured out of her.
Paul was patient, but he would soon realize that she wasn’t planning to stop crying for some time. Her tears needed to come out just as desperately as she’d needed air only moments before. The fear of dying had taken a toll on her, resurfacing the memory of parting with her parents. If only they had been spared. If only they’d had more time together. How she ached for them. She ached for Paul, too, and mourned another ending she would carry with her. The heartbreak felt too heavy for her shattered soul to bear.
Paul’s hand finally pulled away, and she was aware of him pulling on his boots. Good. He should leave her here to her misery. She buried her head in her sleeve. She needed to be alone. To wallow.To forget.
Two arms encircled her waist and tugged her into a sitting position. Then, in a quick motion, Paul scooped her into his arms.
She resisted, pushing against his chest. “Just go away and leave me here.”
But his grip around her tightened, and he strode the length of the dock toward the bank. He shouldn’t be holding her. She’d warned him not to touch her. When he reached the grass, he didn’t set her down but kept walking toward their horses. Her tears lessened as frustration took hold. Was he planning on setting her on Misty and slapping the mare’s flank to rush Louisa away from him?
“If you are so desperate to be rid of me, you shouldn’t have saved my life.”
Paul’s step faltered, and she dared look at him. His face was white, the color completely drained from it, and every muscle and line taut. “I am desperate for only one thing, and that is to make you understand that I care for you.” He surprised her by setting her at the base of an elm several feet from where their horses were tied. Abruptly, he stalked away from her.
She huffed. She couldn’t understand him at all. She didn’t doubt he cared for her, but she didn’t want a friend. She wanted love. His love. When he reached his horse, he did not untie him like she thought he would but instead grabbed his jacket and brought it to her. He whipped it open and slid it over her trembling shoulders.
He hadn’t sent her away again. That thought combined with the weight of the jacket warmed her and slowed her body’s outward convulsions. Breathing better too, her head started to work its way through the fog of grief. Her fingers found the lapels of his jacket and wrapped it closer around her. She caught Paul’s faint scent on the fabric, and two silent tears streamed down her cheeks.
“I will see your jacket is returned,” she muttered. “You need not stay here any longer.”
He ignored her, sitting down next to her, mimicking her posture and pulling his legs up to his chest. “I am in no hurry to go anywhere. If you’re here, that is where I will be.”
Why couldn’t he just leave? His presence tortured her. “You lied to me. You said you couldn’t swim.” Her voice wobbled, and she hated herself for her weakness.
“I never said I couldn’t swim. I said I was afraid of water. I’ve spent years trying to overcome it, which is why I make myself come here and swim often in the summer.”
Her forehead pinched in disbelief until she remembered something. “Is that why Mr. Harwood calls you Fisher?”
Paul nodded. “It’s certainly not because I’m an excellent fisherman.”
Louisa poked her hand out of the jacket long enough to wipe her eyes dry. “But that day when you pulled me away from the bank, you seemed anxious.”
“Yes, because I was worried you’d slip and twist your ankle.”
She shook her head. “I thought you were going to die next to me when you jumped in.” She reviewed in her mind the story he’d told her that day in the attic, and other pieces fell into place. “Was the relative who put you in the water... was it... ?”
“Mrs. Hammond? Yes. Thankfully, I have only a handful of memories I wrestle with, but that is one of them. She’s also the reason I’ve struggled with physical affection.” He sighed. “Well, touch in general. You might have noticed, though you seem to be the one exception. It started when I was a young boy. There were only ever a few inches of me not covered in bruises, and it was not because I was clumsy, as Mrs. Hammond told anyone who listened. I knew she was angry about my father dying, but I took the brunt of it. Sometimes it was a simple slap, other times it was the broom or whatever was nearest. I was sure she would kill me.”
Louisa’s chest tightened as she imagined the cruelties he had endured. “Oh, Paul. I had no idea.”
He shrugged. “No one knows the extent of it. Not even the Sheldons. To think, I, in my weakness, used to crave the moments of affection Mrs. Hammond extended in public settings. I was convinced she loved me. However, after she left me with the Sheldons, it dawned on me that it was all for show, and the hypocrisy destroyed my desire to touch anyone ever again.” He looked at her. “Until you.”
