The Scandalous Lady Sandford (Lost Ladies of London 3)

Vane watched intently.

Lillian had seen the same look once before, on the night he caught up with Lord Martin and called him out. Regardless of whether Doyle attempted to ride the giant waves, he was a dead man.

“Well, I’d like to say it’s a pleasure doing business with you.” Contempt dripped from Doyle’s words. “But me and her ladyship here are off on a little journey.”

Fabian stepped forward. “You have the money and a boat, now release her.”

“I’ll not let her go until I’m clear of the shore.”

“Och, you’ve the Devil in you, Jim Doyle, that’s for sure.”

“But how do you propose—” Fabian stopped abruptly, recognition dawning. “Good God, man! You don’t expect her to swim in this.”

The wind whined its objection, too. The crashing waves crept ever closer, and she could sense Doyle’s urgency to depart.

Vane looked out to sea. He came to stand beside Fabian and spoke quietly in his ear. Fabian shook his head. A frown marred his brow, and he dragged his hand down his face. Vane put a reassuring hand on Fabian’s shoulder. Her heart softened at the sight.

“Very well,” Fabian eventually said. Gesturing for everyone to step away from the boat, he added, “Leave now while luck is still on your side.”

Doyle edged towards the boat. “Ursula? Are you coming? I’ll not ask you again.”

Shivering and soaked to the skin, Ursula looked up at him. “Why would I come with you when you have ruined my life?”

Doyle shrugged. “So be it.” He threw the bag of coins into the rowboat, forced Lillian to climb in and sit on the bench next to him. “We’ll need a push.”

Fabian stepped forward. He gripped the head of the boat and with a strenuous groan pushed it into the water. “Two hundred yards and then you will release her else I’m coming in after you.”

“Push us further out.”

With his jaw clenched, Fabian came into the water up to his knees. Waves surged towards the shore almost knocking him off his feet. He stood so close and yet it felt as if he were miles away. Tears threatened to fall. A deep sense of foreboding gripped her. What if this was the last time she saw him? Grief tore through her body.

“Fabian!”

“Be brave,” he shouted above the roar of the wind. “I love you.”

A rush of heat filled her chest despite her dire circumstances.

Doyle picked up an oar and rowed against the tide.

“I love you,” she called back, but her voice lacked the strength needed to rise above the din.

Doyle cursed when the current seemed to take them nearer to the shore. He released the oar, cut the ropes binding Lillian’s wrists, waved the knife at her and told her to row.

Fighting the urge to rub the tender skin, she did as he asked.

“One, two, three, heave,” Doyle repeated over again.

Lillian stared at the dejected figures on the beach. Mackenzie clutched Mary to his chest. Vane entered the water and stood shoulder to shoulder with Fabian. Ursula stood alone.

“Heave, damn it!” Doyle cried as they hit a huge wave and water flooded the boat.

The spray hindered her vision. She lost her timing. But then it suddenly occurred to her that Doyle had dropped the knife. The further out to sea they went, the harder it would be to make it back. She needed to jump from the boat now before the next wave hit.

Wasting no time, she stood and scrambled over the seat in front.

“Sit down! You’ll tip the boat.”

Did he think she lacked the courage to swim?