Until he tears away, and jerks me off the dock. I fall backwards, watching the incoming firework shriek like a missile as it heads straight for us.
Chapter 8
Benedict
The river in high summer isn't cold, but it’s still a shock. I keep hold of Frankie. There was no time to explain why I launched us off the dock. The least I can do is keep her from drowning.
There’s a low boom as a firework explodes close to the water. I grab Frankie, pushing us under to protect us from the bright sparks.
We come up gasping.
I kick madly, treading water, fighting to keep our heads up. We're not far from shore, but a wool tux and dress shoes aren't ideal swimwear. And in her ballgown, Frankie is worse off than I am. I haul her along, swimming until I can touch the bottom.
Then I drag us out of the water. The fireworks are still bursting merrily overhead. If anyone saw us nearly get decapitated by an aerial, they don’t come running to see if we survived.
“Oh my god,” Frankie gasps. My tux jacket is long gone, but she’s still in sodden gloves and two hundred pounds of wet tulle. She lolls on the grass, coughing. I pound her back until she weakly waves me away. “It’s okay, I’m okay. What just happened?”
“A firework. It came right at us.”
“I saw that. Were they aiming for us?”
“An accident. A trick of the wind. Are you all right?”
“Fine. Help me.” She tears at her gloves. I roll them off and discard them. They're ruined anyway. Then I make short work of her skirts, tearing the dress clean off.
Underneath she's wearing a merry widow and a bloomer petticoat thing made of fabric so thin and fine, it’s now translucent.
My adrenaline’s pumping, and in an instant, all that vigor rushes straight to my groin. I stagger, staring at my fiancée. She’s a goddess in the moonlight, her wet skin luminous and her hair black as the velvet sky. My brunette Venus, emerging from the river instead of the Cyprian sea. Soaking wet instead of surfing sea foam.
It hurts, how much I want her.
“My god.” I gather her into my arms. She seems smaller when she’s soaking wet, without fashionable armor. I kiss her forehead and wrap my arms around her. She clings to me. The only thing that keeps me from ravishing her on the lawn is the knowledge that eventually, someone is bound to see. And if the wind picks up again, she might catch a chill.
This is a disaster. We can’t go back into the ball. My only hope is to get her across the lawn with no one noticing, and signal someone to find our car.
“Come on.” I help her up the bank and lift her past the gravel path. She’s barefoot, her body shivering violently.
But then I realize she’s not shivering—she’s laughing. Of course she is. Only Frankie would find this funny.
“Karma,” she says, pointing to her ruined undergarments. “For all the Miss Carrot contestants.”
“Your Grace.” A man in livery rushes up. “Are you all right?” He gapes at us, Frankie in particular.
“What the hell was that?” I tighten my hold on Frankie to keep from tearing him apart. His mouth hangs open as he drinks in her dishabille.
“We had a little problem with—”
“Never mind. Give me your jacket.” I snap my fingers when the man is too slow. I drape Frankie in the red livery, and block her bodily from his view. “Go inside and find a man named Daniel Fitzroy. Tell him to call the car and meet us out front. Now.”
“I guess I'd call my first ball a success,” Frankie says as we trudge up the hill, sneaking around the building and giving a wide berth to the light thrown from the great windows. “Not great, but I survived.”
“Forgive me.”
“Ah, no.” She brushes off my apology. “If anything, it was my fault. I wanted to go outside.”
We’re almost at the front of the building. Ahead is the long line of cars waiting for their owners. And I curse myself because I should have been more specific. Our limo is waiting—directly in front of the steps. Steps that are thronged in a thicket of reporters.
“Damn. Damn, damn, damn.” I grip Frankie’s hand. “We’ll have to make a run for it.”
“Ready when you are.”
It’s no use. As soon as we get close, the light falls on us. A reporter starts out of his skin. He nudges his buddy, who almost drops his camera. Almost. Another two seconds, and their cameras swing up and start clicking.
“Out of our way,” I order. “Now.”
They back away, only to be joined by fifteen more. I throw up a hand and shield Frankie as best I can, gritting my teeth to keep from cursing the lot of them.
“Your Grace!” Daniel shouts, pushing to the front of the fray. He sees us, and horror streaks across his face. “This way.” He rips off his own tux jacket, holding it over our heads as we run for the car.
“Your Grace, what happened?” shout the reporters. “A moment for questions? Did you decide to go swimming? Was it your fiancée’s idea? Is this an American tradition?”
Frankie dives into the car with me on her bare heels.
“Go,” Daniel gasps to the driver. “I’ll run interference.” He slams the door, and the driver speeds us off into the night.
“Well,” Frankie says, collapsing back onto the car seat. “That was fucked.”
“My foul-mouthed Beatrice.” I scoot closer so I can run my hands over her arms, checking to see if she’s really okay. When I’m satisfied, I cup her cheek. “You’re sure you’re all right?”
“I’m sure. Wet and full of adrenaline. There are worse things to be.” Her eyes sparkle, and I can’t hold back anymore. I draw her face to mine and kiss her. Her chilled skin warms to my touch. She sips at my lips, her tongue tasting me. I’m so stiff, I’m dizzy.
I draw back for a breath. “Where were we?”
“You were about to make love to my eyebrows. We kept getting interrupted.”
“Ah, yes.” I stroke said eyebrow, and kiss it for good measure. When I sit back, Frankie looks tired, pleased, but a little guarded.
“Come to bed with me,” I whisper.
“That’s a bad idea.” Her gaze sidles from mine and she scoots back on the seat, away from me.
“Why?” I battle my arousal, gripping the seat to keep from reaching for her.
Her good mood slips away entirely. “Don’t you remember? This is all fake.”
Frankie
As soon as the car slows in front of the house, I hop out. It takes me a moment to realize it’s not my house. Daniel didn’t think we needed to move in together, but he did recommend we overnight in the same house once in a while. He even had me pack a small bag of my things to stow at Benedict’s for this express purpose. But planning is one thing. Actually doing it might be dangerous.
Before I can back away, the duke is behind me. He reaches past me to unlock the door.
“After you, Lady Beatrice.” He steps back and sweeps his arm to indicate I should go first. I stare at the dark square of the doorway like it’s the gates of hell.