The Dangerous Mr. Ryder

Ignoring traffic and obstacles and shouted abuse, he galloped downstream towards the place where he could recall the newly joined rivers’ turbulence wearing itself out in a tangle of sandbanks and islands before resuming its long smooth passage towards the sea. If he was going to snatch her out, that was the place. If she made it so far, if he could get there first, if he was strong enough to reach her.

The stolen horse baulked and shied as he forced it through the shallows to the first sandbank. He flung the reins over the branch of a spindly willow and tore off his boots. His coat followed as he ran over the sand and shingle, vaulted a pile of driftwood and plunged into the first channel.

Even here the current was strong. He clawed his way out the far side and ran to the edge of the main stream, his eyes straining upstream for a sight of Eva. The light was surprisingly good; a glow still hung in the sky from the sunset, lights from boats and cottages laid ribbons of visibility across the water.

He did not have long to wait. The leafy branch was still afloat, the glimmer of white cloth still tangled within it as it swirled down towards him. But the figure that lay in its cradle was unmoving. Jack entered the water in a long, shallow dive and struck out to intercept it, refusing to feel the cold water biting into muscles, the enervating pull of the current, the clutch of fear at his heart.

The river was so strong it was trying to drag her out of her branch, so savage she could swear it had hands. Eva clung on, her fingers numb. She should just give in and die, this hurt so much and was so hopeless. Yet she could not—would not—surrender.

‘Eva,’ the river gasped in her ear. ‘Eva, let go.’

‘No!’

‘Yes! Look at me!’

Jack’s voice? Jack? With an effort that seemed to take her last ounce of strength, Eva turned her face from the rough bark it had been pressed to and saw him.

‘You came for me?’

‘Always.’ It sounded like a vow. ‘Always.’ The world went black.

‘Eva!’ Someone was shouting at her, slapping her face, her hands.

‘Stop it,’ she protested feebly, then rolled on her side, retching violently as what seemed like most of the river came up.

‘Good girl, that’s right.’ Someone was praising her for being sick? Eva let herself be lifted and found she was bundled into some strange, bulky garment far too big for her. ‘Come on, up you come.’ Jack. Jack was lifting her. She forced herself to full consciousness, her body unwilling to make the effort, her will screaming that she could not just leave him to cope. He must be cold, exhausted, perhaps wounded.

r /> For a moment she indulged herself in weakness and lay against his chest. Cold, wet cloth clung to his chilled skin, his body heat fighting to warm them both. He was plodding through shingle and underbrush, she could hear. Hard going, he was stumbling slightly, but his grip did not waver.

‘Put me down.’ She cleared her throat and said it again, more clearly. She couldn’t bear to burden him, like a sack of stones on an exhausted pack animal that somehow kept going despite everything.

‘When we get to the horse.’ With her ear against Jack’s chest she could hear the effort to control his voice, the way he steadied it like a singer so she wouldn’t hear the fatigue.

‘No. Now.’ She put every ounce of authority she possessed into the command.

To her amazement he gave a snort of amusement and trudged on. ‘Remember what I said?’ he asked. ‘Do what I tell you, always, at once and without question.’

‘This doesn’t count.’

‘Why not?’ Jack stopped, she felt him brace himself, then plough on up the steep edge of the bank on to shingle.

‘Because you are being a stubborn idiot! Put me down this minute before you fall down!’

‘Yes, your Serene Highness.’ Eva found herself set on her feet.

‘There. You see? That’s better.’ Her legs buckled and she swayed against him, surrendering to the support of his arm around her waist. ‘Oh, bl…bother.’ They stood there, locked together and dripping. Jack must have wrapped her in his coat, she realised, trying to get her arms, and the flaps of the coat, around him. Her face was pressed into his chest and his heartbeat was slowing even as she stood there. Very fit, the logical part of her mind, the part she always thought of as the Grand Duchess observed, while the other, entirely feminine, entirely private, part just revelled in his strength and courage and wanted him. You do chose your moments, Eva, she thought ruefully.

‘Were you wounded?’

‘No. I don’t think so.’

‘Don’t think so?’ Eva arched back against Jack’s arm to see his face, which was almost impossible now.

‘I’m sure so,’ he amended. There was a flash of white; she thought he was smiling. ‘I had other things to think about. Come on, the horse I stole is just over here; if we stand still much longer we’ll freeze.’

‘Which would save us from being hanged for horse stealing,’ Eva observed, as they picked their way back to the horse standing patiently by the willow tree. Jack boosted her up into the saddle and swung up behind her, settling her so she sat across his thighs.

‘Hold tight.’ The horse scrambled down into the shallow channel, then up the other side and on to the road. ‘Henry can “find” it wandering tomorrow and hand it over to the authorities,’ Jack added. ‘I want to get you back and into a hot bath.’