Gail Eastwood by An Unlikely Hero Page B

hat.
    The sight of her fanned Gilbey’s disapproval into anger. How could she be so unbearably beautiful and yet so cold, so self-serving?
    “I know Nicholas can be manipulative at times, but I have never known him to be so utterly calculating and heartless,” he said, venting his feelings without the slightest preamble. “I overheard what you are planning to do and I’ll be damned if I’ll stand by and say nothing while you trick your own guests into a cold bath for your own amusement.”
    “Oh, please, Lord Cranford, it is not quite as you think!”
    “Never mind, Vivi. I shall do it anyway.” Venetia looked at Gilbey defiantly.
    In the split second before she drew back her arm and sailed the hat through the air to land in the river, Gilbey realized several things. One was that he had been unpardonably rude to his hostess. It did not matter how justified he might have been. Another was that it had felt good to speak his mind honestly for once, even if he was rude. A third was a sudden revelation that his anger was out of proportion to her mischief and that he would do well to examine it further when he calmed down. But the fourth thing overpowered all the others in that instant, and it was a flash of
déjà-vu
that took him all the way back to Devonshire.
    The defiant look. The hat sailing through the air. It was as if his sister Gillian stood there on the riverbank. Gillian, who always got into mischief. Gillian, who so often needed to be bailed out of trouble.
    Only it was Venetia who needed to be bailed out of trouble now. Intent on defiance and mischief, she had not paid attention to her footing. At the moment she released the hat she slipped and with a genuine cry of distress tumbled into the river.

Chapter Six
    Venetia was not in the water for more than a minute, but to her those seconds seemed like a lifetime. The shock of the cold water quite took her breath away. She struggled to find air and panicked when she discovered that she could barely move. One of her hands was tangled in the tendrils of the crowfoot weeds and her feet could not seem to get clear of the weight of her soaked skirts.
    What a horribly embarrassing way to die,
she thought just before she felt strong arms close around her. As her head emerged from the water, she gulped in a huge breath. Relief and gratitude surged through her. For a moment she just savored the secure, wonderful feeling of being held. It hardly mattered that the body she rested against was just as wet as she was or that water from her hair was still streaming down her face and neck. Then she opened her eyes.
    Blue-green eyes stared down into hers, the anger she had seen in them just before she slipped now replaced by concern. Lord Cranford. Of course.
    “Are you all right?” he asked. His voice was deep and had a rough edge to it that she did not remember.
    He helped her to stand, keeping one strong arm around her waist to steady her. The water was still swirling around them, knee-deep, tugging gently at her skirts. She opened her mouth to reply, but what came out was a gurgling, spluttering cough. Gracious! She had not realized she had swallowed half the river.
    “Best get it up, if you can,” he said gently, turning her away from him.
    She coughed out what she could. Then she began to shiver, and she felt him slip an arm behind her knees and scoop her up into his arms. He carried her out of the river as if she weighed nothing.
    There was a crowd awaiting them on the bank, drawn there by Vivian’s cries of alarm, but Venetia had only one thought in the moment before she and Cranford arrived there.
How can he be so warm when he has been in the cold river?
Instinctively she huddled against him, pressing closer to the heat that radiated through his wet clothes and hers.
    “What happened?”
    “Yes, what happened?”
    “By Joseph! Is she all right?”
    She heard all the questions, and she heard Cranford answer. “She slipped and fell into the water. She is all