Page 3 of Match Made in Heaven (The Cricket Club #5)

“W here are you going?” Cordelia screamed.

Ella stopped. She blinked down at her feet, realizing that she’d taken off the moment she heard the wheel break off the phaeton.

That had been the splintering noise. The duke had hugged the turn too closely.

His wheel had skirted against the large rocks on the side of the path, causing it to skip into the air, smashing off as it hit the ground on impact.

Another scream—this time a man’s—whipped Ella’s attention back to the bridge. The horses were spooked and couldn’t be contained. The vehicle swerved from side to side, smacking into the low brick wall on each end.

Panic fueled Ella as the phaeton tipped too far over the edge. She wanted to close her eyes to the monstrous event, but something inside her forced them open, needing to bear witness.

And then Lord Oliver fell. Or jumped. Ella couldn’t be sure from so far away.

“Go!” she screamed, whipping back to Cordelia. “Get help! Quickly! Now!”

Cordelia’s face was leached of color. “What? Where are you going?”

Again, Ella’s feet were moving without her command. They gained momentum, and soon she was running at full speed toward the bridge. “Get help!” she cried over her shoulder.

Her eyes stayed on the water, and she pleaded with the Lord that soon she would see the duke’s head pop through the surface, where he would take a massive breath.

But it didn’t come.

Ella’s lungs burned; her leather boots ate into the path eventually veering off to the grassy area bordering the lake. Scattered bits of the phaeton bobbed in the murky water, and Ella froze at the edge, unsure of what she could do.

When she saw a portion of his torso through the nebulous depths, she stopped thinking and threw herself into the cold water.

Swimming had always come easy to Ella, but she’d never done it with this many layers of clothing on.

She called up all her muscles to fight her dress and petticoats, which bloomed around her like she was a type of wayward jellyfish.

The lake wasn’t deep at first, and she was able to trudge along the muddy bottom, though the silty ground made it feel like tiny hands were grabbing her, forcing her under.

How long can a man stay underwater? Seconds? Maybe minutes? Ella had no idea how long it had been. Hours, in her frazzled mind.

The ground dropped out from underneath her, forcing Ella to swim the last bit. She stretched out her freezing hand and found his shoulder. Cupping underneath the duke’s armpit, she tugged the rest of his body to the surface.

Instantly, Ella rearranged him so that his face was facing up.

She forced herself not to panic. The duke’s color was off; he looked the same, placid shade as the foul water he’d just been pulled from.

They weren’t far from the bank, but it took all of Ella’s reserves to yank his body to the grass.

She searched around for help, but no one was there. It was up to her. Only her.

When they were close enough to the grassy edge, Ella climbed out of the lake and attempted to pull him out.

Again and again she yanked and tugged, but the man was simply too large.

She could barely feel her hands now. Her feet were like icicles.

Disregarding the pinpricks of heat searing her toes into life, she ground her boots into the soft grass and pulled until she thought the tendons would snap from her neck.

Ella screamed and cried, losing all hope that everything she’d just done might have amounted to something.

She managed to pull his torso over the edge of the lake, but his legs and feet still bobbed precariously in the water. Ella decided that would have to be good enough. She changed tactics.

Maneuvering herself on the slope, she placed his head in her wet lap, smoothing the duke’s inky hair off his high forehead. She caressed his high cheekbones, pressed her shaking fingers over his pale, puffy lips.

She wondered if she’d lost her mind. Something insane inside her wanted to kiss those lips. Kiss life back into him, just like the fairytales promised.

His eyelid twitched, and Ella startled. She started at the thin, bluish pieces of skin, hoping that it would happen again. But nothing.

Breathless, shivering, she waited. And waited. But nothing more happened.

She’d read once that people blew into the mouths of drowning victims, inflating oxygen into their lungs. Could she do it? Ella bent over his torso, which seemed to turn more and more into a block of ice the longer he lay there.

Ella licked her lips, trying for warmth, trying to encourage life to flow from her into the duke. She’d never kissed a man before.

She leaned to him, feeling the heat of her breath ricochet off his pallid skin back to her. She closed her eyes, opening her mouth the tiniest bit.

And then it went dark.

Ella’s head snapped up, but she was covered in… scratchy wool.

A blanket. Someone had thrown a blanket over her head.

Two hands took her shoulders from behind and launched her farther onto the grass.

She tore the wool from her eyes and sat stunned as an older gentleman reached under the duke’s arms and, with one great lunge, hauled his entire body from the water.

The man wasted little time, beating against Lord Oliver’s chest, slapping his face with a startling lack of care until the duke began to cough.

Water sprayed from his mouth and ran down the side of his cheeks. But still, his eyes remained closed.

“Are you all right, miss?”

Ella jumped at the voice behind her. She covered her face with her hands as heady, uncontrollable emotions bombarded her. He was alive. He was alive! Because of her.

“Miss?” A hand was on her shoulder now, and that small bit of kindness proved to be too much.

Ella broke as swiftly as the phaeton’s wheel had done, and she began to sob.

Large, ugly cries escaped her chilled chest as a crowd gathered around the scene.

She could only sit there in her tears as two men shepherded in a cart from down the path.

With steady hands, they picked up the duke and placed him in the back as if he were just an ordinary man.

Ella got to her feet. “Where are they taking him?” she shrieked, running to the wagon. Arms held her back as she fought to climb on. Leaving him seemed impossible. How could they just take him away from her? Why were they holding her back? “Please,” she sobbed.

“It’s all right, miss.” It was the older gentleman who’d hauled the duke out of the lake.

Through her tears and confusion, Ella could see his face was softened by age and kindness.

He whispered to her as if she were a hysterical child.

Perhaps she was. “He’ll be all right. But he needs help.

You’ve saved his life, but you can’t do any more. You need to help yourself now.”

Ella’s face contorted in disbelief. “Me? I’m fine.”

“Ella!” She turned to see Cordelia running toward her. She only had a second to brace herself before her sister threw her arms around her. “Are you all right?”

Ella couldn’t take her eyes off the cart. It was already hurrying down the path. The duke was getting farther and farther away from her.

“Ella? Ella?”

Words. So many words pounded along the periphery of her mind. People kept trying to talk to her, touch her, guide her away, but Ella couldn’t move. Her body felt stuck to this spot like a ghost who couldn’t leave the place they’d been killed, doomed to haunt it forever.

The cart was getting away. Soon it would be out of the park. Soon the duke’s life would be in somebody else’s hands.

No longer hers.

“I was going to marry him,” Ella said to herself. Her vision blurred. Everything started to spin. “I was going to be his wife.”

And then she hit the ground.