Page 20 of One Night in Vauxhall Gardens (Singular Sensation #11)

Panic filled Harry’s chest as they all went into the water, but he’d been far too well-trained during his time in the military to let that carry him away.

As glad as he had been to see Theresa and know she was instrumental in rescuing him and St. Vincent, he didn’t have the luxury of time to think about that miracle. When the river closed over his head and the world went temporarily muffled, he took a second to calm himself before the soothing beat of his pulse in his ears reminded him that he was still alive and that he had much to live for.

Because of her.

Once his head broke the surface of the Thames, he immediately scanned the area for both Theresa and St. Vincent. “Theresa!” The sound of the rapids that were formed beneath London Bridge snatched at the cry, but he repeated it anyway. “Theresa!”

About ten feet away from him while he treaded water, two dark heads broke the surface. Gratitude flooded him, but there was no time for rejoicing, not while they were still in danger. Quickly, he swam toward their location. “Theresa?”

“I’m here, and I have Leo, but he’s not doing well.” Fear threaded through her voice, yet she was doing amazingly well, and he couldn’t be more proud of her.

“We’ll make do between us.” He slipped an arm about St. Vincent’s chest. “Stay with us, man. We’re in the thick of it, but it’s almost over.” Whether that was in the form of rescue or death, he couldn’t—wouldn’t—say, for it didn’t matter in this moment.

“Leave me,” the earl begged him. “Use your strength… Get Theresa to safety…”

“If you think I’ll leave you out here, you’re daft. It didn’t happen on the battlefield, and it won’t happen now.” When a wave smacked him in the face, he spat foul water out of his mouth. “We need to move. Sweeting, go toward the arch. If the current pushes us against the structure, it will help us conserve strength. After the rapids and the whirlpools beneath the bridge, we should be shot out the other side and can pull to the bank.”

He hoped. Perhaps it was disingenuous to give her that hope, but that boost in confidence was needed, and it was a tactic used often on the battlefields.

“All right.” She bobbed in the water. “See you on the other side. And Harry?”

“Yes?”

“We have much to discuss to make sure you bring both yourself and my brother to safety. Do you hear me?”

Despite the gravity of the situation, he grinned. She was a darling brick of a woman, and he loved her all the more. “It seems I have my orders. Let’s go.”

“God, the two of you…” Consternation and amusement mixed in St. Vincent’s voice.

“If you have the strength to joke, I know you’ll survive.” Harry shoved his worries to the back of his mind. Now was not the time for distraction.

Theresa set off first, and he followed as best he could with keeping St. Vincent’s head above the water and using his left arm to pull them both through the angry currents around them.

The structure of London Bridge loomed large ahead of them. A few boats and other vessels navigated through the current at least twenty feet away from them. The faint lantern lights onboard helped to guide them, but Theresa swam for the wall formed by the nearest arch. If the waves didn’t bash them against the wall, they could save their strength for the rapids.

“That’s it, Theresa. Keep going,” he murmured, mostly so she could listen to the sound of his voice as well as him reaffirming they were alive and needed to remain so. “Nearly there, sweeting.”

Eventually, the almost dead weight of the earl taxed Harry’s strength, but he couldn’t flag now. He owed it to them both to see the mission through, and if their very survival managed to vex the hell out of Lady Stover, all the better. For no other reason, he needed to live, for he intended to beat Viscount Dovington bloody, perhaps even toss him into the river as well.

That rage of seeing the man, of meeting him and knowing he wasn’t a bit remorseful about what he’d done to Theresa eight years ago kept Harry fueled as they slowly swam toward the wall of the arch. The realization that the man would do it again to her if given the chance kept hot anger coursing through his veins, and he renewed his hold on St. Vincent.

“That’s it. Reach the wall and you can rest for a few seconds.”

Then they were at the brick wall, pushed there by the relentless waves and current of the water. Theresa spat water from her mouth as she bobbed there. Harry put his free hand on the rough bricks to allow him to gather the remainder of his strength. The cold water and the power of the waves would rapidly take the rest as soon as they entered the vortex not ten feet away.

“Still with me, St. Vincent?” He brushed the hair from his friend’s eyes, which fluttered open at the touch.

“Barely.” A cough came from the earl. “So much pain,” he managed to whisper. “So cold.”

“I know, but we’ll have you home soon enough. Hang on. Think of Rachel.” Harry found Theresa’s gaze with his. “We must hurry.”

“I’m afraid, Harry.” Her teeth chattered, for even in nearly mid-May, the Thames was deep and cold. “What if we can’t reach the bank?”

He moved close to her enough to cup her wet cheek. “We will. I promise. In ten years, we’ll all look back on this moment in awe of how we managed to beat the odds. Agreed?”

With her eyes rounded and dark with fear, she nodded. “We must go before the cold saps our energy.”

“Hold your breath, keep your wits about you, and know I’m right behind you with your brother.” He patted her cheek. “Go!”

Then they both pushed off from the wall of the arch. Immediately, the frantic current tugged them toward the rapids and churning water formed by the high tide and the design flaws in the structure itself that prevented unobstructed flow of the river beneath the bridge.

His world became buffeted by waves, foam, and water that crashed into him from seemingly all sides. Holding tight to St. Vincent, he used his other arm and hand to keep clawing his way above the surface, urging his friend to breathe as best he could.

In the darkness ahead, he would catch sight every once in a while of Theresa’s head as she was tossed about in the current like a doll. But from the looks of it, she took it all in stride and continued to push forward.

There was a harrowing string of seconds when the churning rapids nearly tore the earl from his hold, but he clamped his arm all the tighter about St. Vincent’s chest, striving to keep his friend’s head above the water, his fingers clawing at the earl’s clothes.

His chest heaved from the effort of trying to swim with one arm while dragging the nearly dead weight of the earl with him and staying afloat, but somehow, he managed it. As the cold sapped at his strength and his lungs burned each time he was forced to swallow river water, he continued because that was the mission. The rush of water pounded in his ears while the muscles in his arms and legs ached from activity.

A moment of doubt came into his head when he was caught in the swirling churn of the rapids, but then, seemingly in the blink of an eye, he was through it, and the current spit him out on the other side of the bridge, well past the arches and piers.

“St. Vincent, still with me?” he asked of the man in his hold. When there was no answer, he risked a glance at the earl’s face. “Leo, say something.” Yet his friend was far too still. “Damn.” They had to get to land. With a tight chest, he cast about, searching for the head of the one person who was dearer to him than anyone. “Theresa?”

There was nothing there except waves and ripples in the dark water.

Panic rose once more in his chest. “Theresa!” The cry must have penetrated St. Vincent’s unconscious state, for he stirred, coughed, and then flailed about in the water. “Theresa!”

Finally, thank God, her head broke the surface, and she gasped for breath. Tears welled in his eyes to drop to his cheeks and mix with the river water. In the next second, she shouted for him.

“I’m here.” With flagging strength, Harry swam to her location, and when she clung to him for an instant, he almost went under, but that touch was the sweetest thing he could ever experience. “We’re through the worst,” he said to her. “Use the current to help propel you to the bank. We’ll be safe there.”

And he could finally rest.

“I’m so tired,” she admitted as she rested a hand on his shoulder and treaded water with the other.

“I know, but we’re nearly out of it. Then we can all go home.”

“Right.” She nodded and even with her hair plastered to her head, she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. “Come on, then.”

With his heart in his throat and his chest tight with worry for his friend, Harry set off after her, moving crosswise with the current toward the dark grass of the riverbank. The closer they came, the more he could discern shadowy shapes that waved their arms. Shouts were still unintelligible over the slapping waves, but someone on the bank lit a lantern and it was the most joyous beacon of hope he could have ever asked for. In the illumination as he swam steadily onward, he recognized Viscount Aldren and his wife as they went down the bank with a rope. Viscount Winteringham held the lantern aloft.

Harry uttered a glad cry. How much did he love his brothers-in-arms?

“Hurry, Theresa. We’re almost there.” Damn, but his muscles ached like the devil, yet he pushed on, swimming against the current, and little by little he drew closer to the bank. “We’ll have you tucked in bed at home soon, St. Vincent. Hang on a tiny bit longer for me.”

He would be beside himself with grief and guilt if the earl died, but he couldn’t think of that now. Not with the end in sight. Using the remainder of his strength, Harry swam hard, found a second wind he didn’t know he had, and when his fingers touched the grass at the river’s edge, he wanted to break down in tears and reaction.

Shoving that urge deep into his gut, he grabbed at the end of the rope that Aldren offered and wound it about his hand. “Damned glad to see you,” he gasped out even as the viscount and his wife pulled him, inch by inch, out of the water. “St. Vincent is in a bad state.”

“We’ll take him straight on to his house,” Caroline assured him as she grabbed a handful of his jacket and tugged him onto the bank the rest of the way while Aldren wrestled the earl’s form onto dry land. Sounds of a struggle reached his ears, and the lantern light wavered, but he couldn’t give extra attention to whatever Winteringham dealt with.

Once he was stable, Harry turned back to the water. He held out a hand to Theresa. “Hold onto me, sweeting. I’ll have you out in a jiffy.” When she tried twice to connect her fingers with his, the relentless current tore her away, but he wouldn’t give up. Sitting on his arse with his boot heels digging into the mud, he once more thrust out his hand. “Now!”

Finally, she grabbed onto him. “Don’t let go.”

“I’ve no intention of ever doing that,” he said with a grunt as he tugged her out of the water and into his arms. Thankfulness poured over his exhausted form as he held her to him, and they clung to each other as their lungs heaved and hearts pounded. Eventually, he stood and brought her up with him but didn’t let her go. “It’s over,” he whispered into her ear and counted himself as the world’s most fortunate of men. Aldren and his wife were busy tending to St. Vincent, who was coughing up water, but at least he lived.

“Oh, it’s quite over for you, Hedgecomb.”

With a tired sigh, he turned his head only to see Viscount Dovington standing there with a pistol trained on his chest. Before he could do or say anything, Theresa gasped and went stiff in his hold.

When she pushed out of Harry’s arms, she stared at the other man in horror. “You.” So much emotion rode on that one word that it chilled his blood. “I never thought to see you again, yet why am I not surprised your black heart has cast its lot with the likes of Lady Stover?”

“Imagine my surprise when I saw you going about society with a broken castoff like Hedgecomb the other day.” He moved the nose of his pistol from Harry to her chest. “He doesn’t deserve a wife, and you certainly don’t deserve to elevate your position in society above mine. Not after what you did years ago.”

“Leave her alone, Dovington, else you’ll square with me.” And he would kill the man, cold blood or not.

“This doesn’t concern you.” The viscount came closer to Theresa, who drew him away from Harry and St. Vincent. “I have eyes everywhere in London and very will know what she did with the child she carried years ago. My child. For that she must face the consequences.”

A strangled sort of sound left Theresa’s throat. “A child conceived from being raped? You thought I would welcome that and have my reputation ruined after the horrors you enacted upon me ?” She laughed but there was absolutely no mirth in the utterance. “I am not here for you to use and abuse; no woman is. Right here, in this moment, I’m going to put a stop to it. We are not objects to be owned or thrown out like rubbish when you’re through.”

“Ha.” The viscount snickered as he prowled toward her. “Women are nothing in society except property or vehicles to elevate position or acquire property. Your only purpose in this life is to do what men want and desire.”

When Harry would have stepped in, Theresa shook her head. Perhaps she needed this fight to finally lay her demons to rest, so he let her have the lead.

“At the expense of our reputations, our lives, our own desires?” She narrowed her eyes then bent and collected the abandoned rope used to haul them out of the river. “Think again, Dovington. Having motherhood forced upon us but being shunned by society because of that with no resources to raise a child is no life at all. Men certainly won’t take in their by blows and raise them up. I’m quite certain you wouldn’t have, you selfish reprobate.” Then she struck out with the rope, and the end slapped against the viscount’s face.

“Bloody hell!” He stumbled back a few steps. “Bitch! I knew I should have left you for dead in that garden eight years ago.”

“You did. My life essentially ended that night.” Though her breathing was heavy, she didn’t back down. “For eight long years, I stopped living, hid myself away because I was ashamed of what happened, of what I did because of that, didn’t think I was worthy of anything.” She dropped the rope. “Until Hedgecomb came ‘round. He taught me that my thinking was flawed, that none of it was my fault, that I’m worthy of love and life despite my past.”

“That is nothing but pretty words, and a lie to be sure so you would let him bed you.” He lunged at her. “Women like you are worth nothing more than that.”

With a cry of rage unlike anything he’d ever heard before, Theresa rushed at him with enough force that she crashed into him, and they both toppled to the ground. The pistol flew from Dovington’s hand to land near St. Vincent’s location.

“That is not true! None of it is. Women are worth much more in this life than that.” She landed a fist into his gut, then before Harry could do much more than take a few steps toward them, she crawled over the grass to grasp up the lantern that was on the grass by Winteringham’s prone form. “It’s time women made a stand because we have much to offer this world beyond the whims of men.”

As Harry watched in horrified fascination, she threw the lantern at the viscount the moment he gained his feet. Immediately, the lantern glass broke. Flames caught at Dovington’s clothing.

“You’re insane!” Frantically, he beat at the flames with his gloved hands. “You’ll die for that, and then I’ll go after Hedgecomb. No wonder Lady Stover hates the lot of you. Damned fools with White Knight tendencies.” He sprang at her, managed to get his hands around her neck as she clawed at his face.

“Theresa!” Harry had only taken two steps when the report of a pistol rent the air.

Bang!

Dovington teetered. Seconds later, he fell to the grass and didn’t move again.

“What the devil?” When Harry glanced about, he was just in time to see St. Vincent lying there with the dropped pistol in his hand and a curl of smoke coming from the nose. “You shot him?”

“He was trying to kill my sister,” the earl wheezed as he tossed the weapon away. “We can’t the both of us die, now can we? Who would bedevil you?”

“It would appear that I have missed much of the action.”

With another shock, Harry turned around to see the Duke of Edenthorpe joining their little gathering with a man at his side guiding his steps. “Your Grace. Fancy seeing you here.”

“Indeed, Hedgecomb. I couldn’t let you and St. Vincent have all the fun, now could I?” Though pain sounded in his voice, he grinned as the earl collapsed once more on the ground. “However, I spooked the hell out of Lady Stover, and because she is ultimately a coward, she fled with Hallerston in tow. Next time we meet, I want her either dead or in Newgate.”

With a groan, Winteringham joined them. “Sorry, chaps. Dovington got the drop on me and I missed everything.” He put a hand to his head. “I am not a surgeon by any means, but shouldn’t we get everyone home? St. Vincent needs medical attention and Edenthorpe should return to bed to continue convalescing. To say nothing of Hedgecomb and Lady Theresa nearly dead on their feet there.”

“I couldn’t agree more, Winteringham. If St. Vincent perishes, Rachel will haunt me until I’m dead.” In short order, Edenthorpe issued a set of commands to the group. “I am not a duke for nothing, though, and have arranged it so that our carriages are parked on the street at the start of the bridge.”

Aldren nodded. He glanced at Winteringham. “Help me with St. Vincent. The ladies can assist Hedgecomb should he need support.”

Harry ignored them all in favor of taking Theresa into his arms despite their audience. “I love you. There is nothing more to say, and nothing else matters, but I’ll be damned if I let another minute pass without telling you.”

“I quite agree, and frankly, it needed to be said.” She held his head between her palms and gave him an exhausted smile. “I love you too, Harry. Nothing will change that.”

With a tired cry of victory and an abundance of emotion, for he never thought he would mean so much to a woman, he bundled her tightly in his arms and claimed her lips over and over again until he was satisfied that she believed him.

Eventually, the viscountess put a hand on his shoulder. “Come on, you lovebirds. You’ll catch your death standing around in wet clothes.”

Theresa nodded. “She’s right. Let’s go home.”

Home.

The word rang with such comfort and promise and hope that he could barely contain his excitement of having all of it to look forward to.