wind. Worry growled in his gut. He hoped that Nathaniel wasn’t about to do something foolhardy. But wasn’t his brother’s life a string of foolhardy ventures, with scant regard for the danger in which he seemed permanently embroiled?
Nathaniel’s jaw set firm as he directed the gelding to the swollen river. Now that he had drawn closer, he could see that the boy had lost consciousness and was being dragged within the grip of the sweeping current. The slight body tossed and tumbled down the central line of the river beyond all hope of reach. Even as he weighed the situation, Nathaniel knew what he must do. Not once did he flinch from his purpose. He bellowed the words at Freddie’s blurred image, ‘I’ll meet you at the bridge. Be ready to haul us out!’ Urging the horse on, he raced alongside the river for some distance.
Just short of the muddied bank he leapt from his horse, snaring the reins over a bush as he ran. First his boots were discarded. Then his superfine coat. Just as the boy swept past Nathaniel plunged into the fast-flowing water. Icy shock bit deep and he schooled himself not to gasp. ‘Hell’s teeth!’ The curse escaped him, but there was no one to hear him over the river’s roar. With immense strength of will he forced his legs to kick and swam like he had never swum before in the direction of the poor battered body. The writhing water, pounding in his ears, stinging his eyes, transported him to his quarry.
He felt the slim arm before his saw it, and his fingers closed firm. Not far to Holeham’s Hook. Hold on. Kick hard. Steer towards the right-hand side. The thoughts came with deliberate logic even as fatigue and pain assailed his body. The lad’s heavy, so heavy. Arms growing numb. Determination focused as he fought. Hold fast. Keep his head up. Nearly there. Through the blinding water he saw the bridge coming up fast and braced himself. He turned his body to absorb the worst of the impact and grunted as it hit hard. His right hand shot up and grasped the sodden wood, striving for anchorage, pulling for safety. But the river would not relinquish her prize so readily, raging against his legs and the limp body he gripped so keenly. Slowly his fingers moved against the post, a minuscule motion, barely noted, but a portent of what was to come. ‘No!’ he cried out as his palm slid against the wood. And just as it seemed that the river had won, something warm and strong grabbed his wrist. Freddie.
After he had dragged them both out, she lay on the muddied grass beneath Nathaniel. Not a lad at all, but a young woman, her face deathly pale, her sodden clothes revealing a slim but shapely form, long dark hair splayed in the mud around her head. Working with a speed that belied his growing exhaustion, Nathaniel pressed his fingers to the side of the girl’s throat and touched his cheek to her mouth. ‘Her heart’s weak, but she’s alive.’ He looked up to meet Freddie’s concerned gaze. ‘She isn’t breathing. Help me lift her up.’ Once she was cradled in his arms, Nathaniel let her head and chest drop back low towards the ground. ‘Slap her hard on the back,’ he instructed his brother.
Freddie looked dubious.
‘Just do it, man!’
Freddie shrugged and did as he was told.
Water spilled from the girl’s mouth as she coughed and spluttered.
‘Thank God!’ Nathaniel hoisted the slim body back up into his arms and looked down into the girl’s face.
A pair of grey-blue eyes stared up into his, and in them he saw the mirror of his own surprise, before the fear closed in.
‘Don’t be afraid, miss. You’re quite safe.’ Water dripped in rivulets down his face, splashing on to her cheeks.
She tried to speak, her words but a hoarse croak.
Nathaniel’s arms tightened around her. ‘Your throat will be sore for a few days yet, but there should be no lasting damage. Don’t speak until you’re able.’
Her blue-tinged lips tightened and she nodded.
He stared down at her for a moment longer, then sprang into action. ‘Freddie, take the girl up on your horse and transport her to Mirabelle. Whoever she is, we cannot leave her here, and the sooner she’s dried and warmed, the better. Wrap your coat around her for the journey.’
His brother nodded, clambered on to his horse and reached down for the woman.
‘I’ll be right behind you.’ And so saying, a shivering Nathaniel Hawke set off across the grass in his wet-stockinged feet to retrieve his boots, his coat and his trusty steed.
It was just as his toes squelched down inside the highly polished leather that he heard the shout.
‘Excuse me, sir. You over there!’
Nathaniel looked up to see a robust grey-haired gentleman waving from the opposite bank. Two well-dressed men hovered at his side.
‘Young man!’ Mr Raithwaite shouted louder still.
‘How may I help you, sir?’ Nathaniel stood tall and, oblivious to his sodden state, executed a small bow in the man’s direction.
Edward Raithwaite peered through the spectacles perched on the end of his nose. ‘Your appearance suggests that you have just suffered an encounter with the river.’
Nathaniel resisted the reply poised so readily upon his tongue. Rather, he pushed his weary shoulders back and affected to be polite. ‘That is indeed the case, sir. Have you an interest in the matter?’
‘Yes, sir,’ the corpulent man replied. ‘I’ve lost my daughter. Silly chit walked too close to the river.’ He glanced towards the young man behind him with blatant irritation. ‘Mr Praxton here tried to help, but unfortunately the water took her before he could pull her out.’
Nathaniel’s gaze sharpened with interest.
The young man pushed forward. ‘Mr Raithwaite’s daughter fell into the river about a mile upstream. Considering your appearance, we wondered if you might have tried to assist the young lady.’ He gripped the older man’s arm. ‘Her father is most distressed.’ Belatedly adding, ‘This is Mr Edward Raithwaite of Andover.’
‘I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, sir, and can put your mind at ease. I pulled a girl from the river not fifteen minutes ago.’ Nathaniel shrugged into his coat. ‘Suffering from cold and shock, but no worse hurts that I could see.’
Mr Raithwaite’s elderly head sagged and he pressed his hand to his brow. ‘Thank the Lord!’
The handsome man spoke again. ‘We must be sure that it is Miss Raithwaite. Was she dark-haired and slender, wearing a yellow walking dress?’
Something in the tone grated against Nathaniel’s ear. ‘I believe the lady matched your description.’ He eyed the man with disdain and turned to address his further comments to Mr Raithwaite. ‘My brother has taken Miss Raithwaite to Farleigh Hall. It’s situated nearby and she’ll be well tended.’ He climbed upon his horse and looked directly over at the small group of gentlemen. ‘You’re welcome to attend your daughter there, sir.’
Mr Raithwaite nodded and mumbled a reply. ‘Got to see to the ladies first, then I’ll come over.’
‘You sent her to Viscount Farleigh’s residence?’ The voice was curt and heavy with suspicion.
Even Mr Raithwaite turned to look at the man by his side.
‘Indeed.’ Nathaniel raised an enquiring eyebrow.
‘Why?’
