So here she was, one week before Christmas, doing her best to keep her balance while Caroline held her hand and pulled her along.
“That’s it,” her friend told her encouragingly. “You are doing so much better now than you were five minute ago. It is almost as if you’re a natural.”
Nothing about this experience felt natural to Arabella, but she was too busy doing her best to stay upright to say so. Her mouth was firmly set, her brain fighting her body in order to make it do things it was not meant to do.
“We ought to be shopping for gifts instead of making a spectacle of ourselves,” she grumbled.
“Oh my goodness,” Caroline exclaimed, as if they were merely taking a stroll and she’d caught sight of something intriguing. “Is that not the Marquess of Linwick?”
It had to be. Caroline was besotted by the handsome aristocrat and wasted no time running into him by ‘accident’ whenever the chance to do so arose.
“I should have known,” Arabella said, keeping her eyes firmly trained on her feet in case an obstacle suddenly popped out of nowhere.
“Shall we skate over there?” Caroline was already pulling Arabella toward the left, which would require turning. “It looks as though he is with the Duke of Hollyoak.”
Oh God!
Just one more reason for Arabella to wish she was anywhere else. The last time she’d seen the duke had been at a ball during the summer when she’d spilled champagne all over the front of his jacket. Prior to that, she had accidentally tripped and fallen into him at a garden party, pushing him backward with such force, the man had ended up knee deep in a pond.
She deliberately resisted the pull of Caroline’s hand. “I do not want to see either of them.” Especially not the duke. Because the truth was she liked him. A lot. But she was well aware he had no reason to think of her as anything other than an addlepated fool. Besides, a man of his stature would likely want to marry a Lady, not a mere Miss.
“Come on,” Caroline insisted as she so often did. “You know I am trying to convince the marquess to court me. What better place to continue this plan than here?”
Arabella could think of at least a thousand. “I would like to go home, Caroline, and if I break my neck before I get there, I shall never forgive you.”
“But–”
“We can hunt down Linwick in the park or at the next soiree or anywhere else for that matter, but I would really like to…” A creaking sound – the sort one really did not want to hear when one was out in the middle of a frozen lake – made Arabella’s heart slam against her breast. “Oh no.”
“Don’t move.” Caroline’s voice was suddenly uncharacteristically firm.
“I don’t think I can stop.” Deliberately, so as not to risk her friend’s safety, Arabella twisted her hand out of Caroline’s grasp. Terrified, Arabella continued onward alone, heading toward only God knew where while Caroline shouted after her and the creaking became a cracking that splintered until it gave way. The ice opened and Arabella fell with a squeal and a splash into the freezing water.
Flynn Roderick Warren, Duke of Hollyoak, was in the middle of arranging a skating race with Linwick and two other friends who’d come to join them when a quick succession of screams cut him off. He turned in the direction from which they’d come and immediately saw the cause. Someone had fallen through the ice and was frantically thrashing about while onlookers yelled all sorts of useless instructions.
“Come on,” he told his friends as he set off to help the poor victim.
Whoever it was, they were lucky the hole in the ice was so big they were able to come back up through it. The idea of being stuck underneath unable to find a way out made him shudder.
“Try to pull off your skates,” someone yelled.
As Flynn got closer, he recognized the speaker as Lady Caroline Henshaw, the lady Linwick hoped to one day marry if he could muster up enough courage to speak with her. But that was a problem for another day. Right now, Flynn had a very wet and, according to the panicked arm–waving, petrified woman to save. It was hard for him to make out her identity because the soaked brim of her bonnet had fallen over most of her face.
Lowering onto his knees and then onto his belly, he edged his way forward. “I’m coming to get you,” he called. Somebody grabbed his feet – one of his friends no doubt – allowing him to proceed with greater confidence while spreading his weight across the ice.
“Oh no,” the woman sputtered. She slapped her hands against the water, sending a spray of freezing wetness into his face.
Flynn coughed. “Try to stay calm,” he advised, not only for her sake but his as well.
She spluttered something he failed to understand while he, in turn, made an effort to grab hold of one of her hands, which was no simple feat. He actually lost track of how many attempts it took before he met with success. She was cold, he noted, which she obviously would be, but his brain seemed to focus on that fact anyway as he latched on more firmly and pulled her toward him.
Knowing he’d have to get a better grip in order to pull her out of the water, he reached his free hand into the frigid depths of the lake and grabbed on to something. The woman squealed and sputtered some more, whether from cold discomfort or fear or because the entire palm of his hand was now pushing her up by her bottom, he could not be certain. But up she had to come, and up she eventually came, flapping about like a fish, which wasn’t the least bit helpful.
“You’re safe now,” he felt compelled to say in case she hadn’t realized the fact.
Indeed she might not have for she went instantly still – or as still as one could go while shivering from head to toe. A blanket materialized and it was hastily wrapped about her shoulders while Flynn stood and tried to help her up as well.
“Thank God you’re all right,” Lady Caroline said as she approached with Linwick by her side.
And that was when the woman Flynn had rescued looked up and pushed her drooping bonnet from her face. He almost laughed when he recognized her as Miss Starling. The very same woman who’d gotten him wet on two other occasions.
She opened her mouth as if to speak but coughed instead.
“Oh dear,” Lady Caroline said. “I do believe she’s in danger of catching a chill.” She turned to Linwick. “Can you help her get off the ice please?”
“Of course,” Linwick said.
“No need,” Flynn told him. He still wore his skates, which he quickly removed and handed to Linwick. “Here. There’s no sense in you getting wet as well.” As he would do once he picked Miss Starling up in his arms. Flynn bent to do precisely that, which was when he noticed the hesitant look in Miss Starling’s eyes. No, not hesitation, but something closer to extreme mortification.
“I am so sorry,” she whispered while biting her lip and looking as soggy as an un–wrung rag.
In that instant, Flynn experienced two overwhelming sensations. The first was compassion, because he understood how she must feel to have gotten him wet for the third time in the course of their brief acquaintance. The second, however, was the most surprising, for it was the realization that Miss Starling was not only pretty but that her eyes were the sort that could tempt a man to do dastardly things.