Page 13 of The Proposition
Mrs. Barnes would have ample fruit to make compote for their morning rolls, and then, later, when the apples were ready for harvest, William might visit of a Sunday and fetch out the old presses and make them all a spiced cider to drink over cards. Clemency smiled but then worried the brim of her bonnet with both hands. By the time those apples were picked and squashed, she would be married.
“Oh dear,” she murmured, stunned at the realization that her wedding was swiftly approaching, and that she would be locked into a life of ill-suppressed passion and anger, protecting her family’s future by giving up her own. Soon she would be Boyle’s entirely, unless this Ferrand character provided ample proof of villainy. Then she might make a choice…No, her mind was already made up! Of course it was. Only…
Clemency stopped at the bottom of the hill, blinking rapidly into the sunshine, her vision unaccountably blurry. The river came into sharp focus, sparkling and enticingly chilled,and in a daze, she moved toward it. A bit of energizing water on her face would bring her around, she thought. As she hurried toward the river, she couldn’t help but break her own rules and think of Turner. Where was he in that moment? Was he thinking of her? Was he devising some way to escape her? Could he be with another woman?
Kneeling, she laughed. That was a ridiculous thought. Hysterical. She sighed and set down her bonnet, then carefully leaned over the water, pulling off her right glove and cupping her hand, dipping it into the river and shivering at the bracing temperature.
Thus precariously posed, Clemency heard the thunder of approaching horse hooves and jerked her head up. The noise was so overwhelming, she thought perhaps she was in imminent danger of being trampled. The sun blinded her for a moment, and she gasped, sensing, in a panic, that the sudden movement of her head had doomed her to fall.
She saw the black mare charging toward the opposite bank of the river, and then Clemency screamed, plunging into the freezing water.
6
And it had been such a promising morning too.
Audric leaped from the saddle the instant his horse could be halted, almost tumbling into the river with Miss Fry’s same clumsiness. It could be examined later, when she was not actively drowning, whether he played some small part in startling her, and subsequently upsetting her balance. Regardless of how the thing had been done, Audric resigned himself to fixing it.
He cast off his green velvet riding coat and waded into the shallows, finding the water quickly rose to his midthigh and went no farther. Thrashing in the weeds not far from him, Miss Fry appeared, popping above the surface like a jostled buoy. Her simple muslin dress had been soaked through, then darkened with river mud, her hair a reddish-blond snarl falling over her face as she sought blindly for safety. Only the dark shawl twisted around her form offered modesty, and, he thought slyly, he was almost sorry for its presence.
Among the sundry plant matter and mud coloring her gown was a concerning blossom of red near her elbow, large and growing larger.
“Do not fret about so,” he chided her, reachingconfidently and pulling her to the bank where his horse waited. “You are quite safe now.”
“I do notfeelsafe. Oh, but my arm…” She began to fall over again and Audric intervened before she could sink back into the river, scooping her up into his arms and hoisting her onto dry land.
“Let me see,” he said, trying to examine her elbow when she was standing steadily once more.
“I cannot see anything!” At last she managed to toss the sodden hair out of her face, then slicked the moisture off her cheeks with the flat of her palm. “You.”
“Accusations and unpleasantries may begin shortly; allow me to examine your arm.”
With great reluctance, Miss Fry grew still, then began to shiver violently as he tore open the thin fabric of her sleeve. At that, she yelped, then shuddered more, her teeth rattling like a military snare. She tried to wrap the unfolded shawl around herself, blanching.
One thing at a time. Her chill could be addressed next. Audric clamped his hand around her wrist, leaning down to take a closer look at her elbow. A gash had opened up, running jaggedly up her forearm. Tearing away the already shredded lower half of her sleeve, he twisted the fabric and wrapped it tightly around the wound, tying it off to stem the bleeding.
“That will have to suffice for now,” he muttered.
“Is it terribly gory?”
Audric frowned, then glanced down at her, noticing a faint smile on her pale, damp face. “I am afraid so, madam. Fit, in fact, for only the most macabre novel. Undoubtedly we shall have to amputate.”
Snorting, she stomped away from him and back to the edge of the river.
“I wouldn’t suggest a second go,” he called after her. “You were soundly beaten the first time.”
“My bonnet,” she said, pointing across the offending strip of water. “And my glove.”
Audric opened and closed his mouth a few times in shock and annoyance. But Miss Fry simply twisted at the waist, and while he was confident her look of bewildered innocence was entirely fake, it was also profoundly affecting.
“You are bleeding profusely, Miss Fry,” he pointed out, coming to join her. “I do not think youraccoutrementsare of the highest priority at present.”
“But I love that bonnet,” she said with a sigh. Then, naturally, she did what any precocious, clever girl would do and turned those sparkling gray eyes on him, using them like a torch to burn his protestations to ash. “And you are the reason, sir, that I am now parted from myaccoutrements. You startled me, then took me to this side of the river. The whole debacle is obviously your fault.”
Audric bristled, but his irritated looming did not move her in the slightest. It was tempting to climb on his horse and ride away, and let her sort out the bonnet, glove, and flesh wound, but he remembered himself—he needed this brazen young idiot to help him. Without her cooperation, the full beauty of his revenge could not be realized.
Puffing out a breath, Audric stormed to the river, waded back into the icy water, and sloshed his way to the far side, retrieving her bonnet and glove, and gallantly returning without dragging them spitefully through the mud.
“Your items, madam,” he said with a theatrical bow andsarcastic tone. “Now, may we please retire to some place warm before my legs grow so brittle they break?”
