Page 28 of Bane Bloom

The net.

Then fingers closed around my forearm and hauled me toward the surface. As my head broke free of the water, an arm scooped around my middle. The next thing I knew, I was coughing and sputtering, a sodden heap in the bottom of the boat.

“You’re all right, now, Miss Gray.” Thomas’s voice was a low, soothing murmur, very close to my ear.

I felt his fingers working against my wrist, untangling me from the net. I continued to cough, reaching out my free hand to grip the side of the boat. A few more moments, and Thomas tossed the net back into the water. He was crouched beside me such that I was practically sitting between his thighs—which seemed to be almost as big around as I was.

Tears stung my eyes, and not just from the coughing. I’d had perhaps the biggest scare of my life, but I was also burning with shame. Climbing uninvited into his boat and then going over the side and forcing him to rescue me!

It was all entirely my doing, and I was not going to cry about it.

“How stupid of me, Thomas,” I muttered, a tremor in my voice because I was shivering.

Despite the heat of my embarrassment, I was chilled to the bone, and my body made an involuntary movement toward his. He was mostly dry, and thanks to the sun and his exertions, I could feel the warmth coming off his skin, even though we weren’t really touching.

As if reading all this, he bent over me and draped an arm across my back.

“Nay, lass,” he said. “The fault is mine.”

Gaze still lowered, I shook my head. “I let you think I knew boats, but the truth is I was only a child when we went out on the Thames.”

His hand rubbed a circle against my back, and the warmth of him spread to my belly. “It was plain enough you weren’t used to them. I should have watched you more closely.”

Finally I managed to look up, and my heart jumped at how close we were. “Thank you for pulling me out.”

His brows lifted, and the blue of his eyes was like a sun-bleached version of the April sky above him. I could feel the low rumble of his voice in my chest as he said, “Did you think I would let you drown, then?”

“I . . .” I shook my head. His eyes crinkled, and I knew he was laughing at me, though not unkindly.

He moved slowly back to the oars. “You stay where you are,” he said. “You’re not much bigger than a pike, but I don’t know if I can fish you out twice.”

There was no doubt in my mind he could fish me out five times if need be, but I knew he was still laughing at me, and I deserved it, so I kept quiet.

Then I remembered the fish I’d seen while I was under.

“I saw a great pike,” I said, shivering harder now. “Right before you pulled me up.” I frowned. “Though perhaps I only thought I did. We were talking of them before, and through the water it was only a kind of blurry, glinting thing.”

But Thomas didn’t seem to be listening; he was rowing and eyeing the sky. The golden light bathing the woods and fells suddenly dimmed, and I glanced up, too. Dark clouds were crowding in, blotting out the blue.

“A storm is coming up quick,” he muttered, rowing harder.

No sooner had he spoken than I felt drops against my hands and cheeks.

By the time we reached our beach, rain was drumming the rowboat’s wooden planks and pebbling the surface of the lake. Thomas jumped out, splashing into a foot or so of water, and dragged the boat onto the beach.

I rose unsteadily, my legs tingling awake after sitting in the cramped position. As I was lifting my sodden skirt to step over the side, Thomas’s hands suddenly came round my waist, and he plucked me right out of the boat, the noise of the rain helpfully covering my gasp of surprise.

I didn’t have time to really examine the way this unexpected maneuver made me feel—the press of his fingers and the heat of his hands—because as soon as my feet touched the stones, lightning forked across the sky, followed by a boom of thunder so loud and so close I let out a yelp.

“Go,” said Thomas, a hand at my back propelling me toward his hut.

Though I wanted more than anything to flee to the house and take my wounded pride with me, I was clearly out of my element in every possible way, so I did my best to match his stride and not lose my footing on the wet stones.

Another close thunderclap sounded as we reached the door. Thomas flung it open and pushed me inside, saying, “Stay here. I’ll be back.”

I wiped rain from my face, took a slow breath, and glanced around; with the darkened sky, not much light came through the windows and open door. I smelled smoke, lamp oil, and grease from cooking. The floor was roughly planked, with the midsection covered by a coarse mat made of some straw-like fiber.

Thomas returned with an armload of wood, and I stepped away from the door to let him pass. He dumped the logs next to a stove against the back wall, and then he moved to a table, hands quickly finding a box of matches. He removed the lamp’s glass chimney and lit the wick, then turned it up until soft yellow light brightened the room.