Page 214

H ECTOR COULDN’T THINK, breathe, or move without thinking of Maddie.

He’d tasted her only once, but her scent and the feeling of her soft skin would forever be imprinted in his memory.

Too many emotions overwhelmed him from his desire to be alone with her again to his sense of duty and worry about his family’s legacy.

It was out of sheer determination he attended an afternoon tea at the Serpentine that day just because he’d promised Ernest he’d do his best to fight Quentin’s allegations.

As he sat at a table surrounded—thank goodness—by trees, his cock twitched when the vision of Maddie touching him flashed unbidden across his mind.

Yes, Robert had been right about gentlemen’s reactions being the worst affair possible.

Hector couldn’t find a comfortable position and was terrified that one of the other attendees might see what happened in his breeches.

If it weren’t for his intimate discomfort, he would appreciate the sunny corner of Hyde Park where they had luncheon.

Tall sycamores and Scottish pine trees waved their branches in the breeze, carrying the fresh scent of moss.

Ladies promenaded along the path, twirling their parasols.

The view was lovely but for Mrs. Landon, who hadn’t yet forgiven him for his outburst, judging by the way she ignored him.

Maddie sat next to him, laughing about something Verity had said, but he’d be damned if he followed the conversation.

Maddie’s laughter was too distracting on top of everything else.

Quentin and Annabelle chatted at the other side of the table, but he didn’t pay attention to them either.

Ernest had insisted that keeping a civil relationship with Quentin and his peers would make things easier for him.

He wasn’t sure. Mrs. Landon looked like she wanted to stab him with her parasol.

The winter frost had left room for an unseasonable warmth.

Saint Martin’s summer, they called it. The ice had melted on the Serpentine, and the gentle breeze caused the water to quiver.

He fiddled with his teaspoon but perked up when Ernest mentioned the unrest in the streets due to new protest marches.

Even Maddie stopped chatting with Verity and turned towards Ernest.

“The reasons for the protests are always the same. The labourers demand better wages, better work conditions, and more hours of rest,” Ernest said. “If we don’t do something, we’re going to face a revolution, mark my words.”

“If we yield to their absurd requests, they’ll demand more privileges until they want to be paid without doing any work,” Quentin said. “Then we’d face a more disturbing revolution.”

Annabelle nodded seriously as if Quentin had said something wise.

“The parliament repeatedly failed to keep its promise to the Irish,” Ernest said in a hard tone.

“The majority of workers in our factories are Irish. Conceding to their demands wouldn’t be a sign of weakness, but of wisdom and human compassion.

A massive riot is brewing, and the whole kingdom will plunge into a financial depression if we don’t intervene. ”

“A riot is always brewing when the Irish are involved.” Quentin sounded harsh. “Lazy and whiny. That’s what they are.”

“Honest people who know the meaning of hard work and an empty stomach,” Ernest said, baring his teeth.

The others fell silent, turning their heads right and left between Quentin and Ernest like at a tennis match.

“The empire will go to the dogs with your compassionate philosophy.” Quentin shook his head. “We should preserve the establishment of the British Empire because it guarantees order.”

Ernest thumped a fist against the table. “This isn’t order, but slavery.”

Quentin propped his elbow on the table. “You’re just like the other Irish.”

Ernest opened his mouth but was cut off by Annabelle.

“Enough talking about politics.” She waved a hand.

“This beautiful weather will not last. Soon the cold will return, and I have no intention of wasting time discussing boring subjects with you. I want to take a boat across the Serpentine. What do you think, Verity?”

“Yes.” Verity shoved up to her feet so quickly her napkin dropped to the ground, avoiding Annabelle’s gaze. “It’s a wonderful idea. Shall we go?”

“A boat trip?” Ernest wrinkled his nose.

“Why not, darling?” Verity took his hand.

“Not for me.” Mrs. Landon opened her parasol. “I’m prefer to stay here on firm ground.”

The gentlemen rose as well. Hector was a moment late. Sailing? He wasn’t sure he wanted to. He’d had his share of sailing, thank you.

It took a matter of minutes for Ernest to organise the tour, urged by Verity’s impatience. Too quickly for Hector’s liking, but the ladies were excited about the idea of sailing across the Serpentine.

Maddie beamed, her cheeks glowing, and watched the sunlight glinting off the calm water. “What a wonderful idea.”

He hated being a spoilsport. He scrubbed the back of his neck as an itch started there. Perhaps he should stay with Mrs. Landon. No, she’d probably murder him.

“I’ve never been on a boat on the Serpentine.” Maddie clung to his arm. “It should be fun.”

Not really. He conjured up a smile for her sake only because he didn’t share her enthusiasm.

Amidst laughter and squeals of delight from the others, he sat on the boat with Maddie, Ernest, and Verity while Quentin and Annabelle took another boat.

He suppressed a groan as the boat rocked right and left after Ernest dropped himself onto the bench.

Maddie and Verity laughed, and Ernest made the boat roll again on purpose.

Hector’s chest tightened. He almost lost his grip on the oars.

“The duke’s boat is going faster than ours.” Maddie pointed at the other boat cutting smoothly along the Serpentine.

“His boat is lighter.” Verity shrugged. “But I don’t care. I want to enjoy the view. Isn’t it lovely, Lord Wentworth?”

Hector gave a curt nod, too focused on the water’s movements to speak.

The rhythmic sound of the oars dipping in and out of the water triggered a buzz in his ears.

There had been a time when he’d found the patter or slosh of the water soothing.

Not anymore. Snow was great, but anything water related sent goosebumps down his back.

For a moment, the dark water of the Serpentine turned into the blue sea around the island. The vision disappeared as soon as he blinked.

“Is something the matter?” Maddie touched his arm. Not even her touch could calm the odd pricking on the back of his neck.

“I’m all right.” But he wasn’t. Something, a sharp sensation he couldn’t define, burned at the back of his throat.

He and Ernest rowed the boat deeper into the lake where a few slabs of ice floated.

If he weren’t so anxious, he’d appreciate the weeping willows, oak trees, and evergreen bushes around the lake.

Even without leaves, the trees formed a thick wall around the shores.

One could almost believe to be somewhere else wilder than London.

It was ironic that he’d searched for such a spot for weeks, only to find it now when he didn’t need it.

“I want to go faster than Blachburn,” Ernest said, clenching his teeth. “So, the Irish are whiny and lazy? I’ll show him.”

“Oh, please, don’t.” Verity huffed. “I don’t want a competition. Can’t we simply enjoy the warm day and forget about the duke?”

“No. The way he treated Hector was despicable.” Ernest rowed harder, and Hector had to match his strength. “And he insulted my people.”

“He’s despicable to everyone,” Maddie said. “Don’t take it personally.”

“It is personal.” Ernest nodded. “One more reason to row faster.”

The boat rolled. Maddie and Verity laughed, but Hector’s stomach clenched with a cold feeling.

Rising anxiety caused him to breathe harder and his sight to become blurred.

He was on a boat, not on the raft. He was in London, not on the island.

..he blinked. The view changed. Tall waves threatened to devour him.

No, he wasn’t in London. It’d all been a lie, a cruel dream.

He’d never been rescued. He was still on the raft at the mercy of the sea.

Or lack thereof. The waves would swallow him.

The wind hissed in his ears. Salty water stung his lips.

The scent of the sea choked him. He’d sink into the bottom of the ocean.

He’d drown. He’d never see England again.

He couldn’t fight the waves. They were too big for him.

All he could do was grab the raft and hope the sea wouldn’t kill him.

His supply of fresh water and food ran low.

If the sea didn’t kill him, he’d die of starvation.

He was tired of holding on and hoping to be found.

He was exhausted. The sea would eat him alive.

“I don’t want to die,” he whispered or maybe shouted.

Something touched him, but he swatted the thing away.

He needed to leave the raft. He shouldn’t be here.

He stood up. The raft rocked with the strength of the waves.

Someone screamed. Hands touched him. Then a face swept into view and became sharp as he focused. Maddie. What was she doing on the raft?

“Hector?” Her voice sounded distant and muffled. “Stop moving.”

Another dream? No, he couldn’t stop. He had to move.

The sea was going to get him and—icy cold water shocked him.

Splashes and the sound of bodies diving resounded around him.

He blinked as the wave of panic receded, leaving him shaking.

The raft disappeared, and his memory returned.

He was in London, taking a trip across the Serpentine.

He’d been rescued. It was real. Maddie had found him.

The boat had capsized, likely his fault, and Maddie, Verity, and Ernest struggled to keep their heads above the water.