Page 32 of Much Ado about a Widow

“Captain!” The welcome shout sounded closer than he expected. The light had truly begun to go, the rowboat a huge black shape closing on them fast. He pushed himself to overtake Lulu. He’d have to lift her into the boat, then try to pull himself in as well. An arduous operation that was going to be, given his frozen and exhausted state.

Finally close enough, Rob grabbed Lulu’s collar and took a moment to tuck her under his arm securely. The boat was heading straight for them. Cartwright had begun to slow its progress. This would be the agonizing part, simply waiting in the frigid water for help to arrive.

Shivering violently, Rob began to pray.

* * *

“Get down from that railing, my lady, or you’ll end up in the water too.” Clara’s no-nonsense tone penetrated Georgie’s fear-laden brain and she grasped the rope tighter and jumped to the deck.

“I’m quite all right, Clara.” She swung back around, her gaze going directly to the boat, thankfully now almost to Lord St. Just.

“Who went into the water?” Peering over the railing, Clara gasped. “That’s not his lordship?”

“Yes, it is. He went in to save Lulu.”

“Lulu!” The color drained from Clara’s face, leaving it a pasty white.

“She got washed overboard. But it looks as though he’s got to her. And the boat is almost to them now.” Georgie grasped the rail, pushing at it as though she had oars and could help speed the little boat.

“Cartwright’s a good man with a strong back.” Beside her, Ayers spoke up, his gaze on her hands. “He’ll have the captain and your dog back here before you know it.” He narrowed his eyes. “That water’s powerful cold, though.”

The pit of Georgie’s stomach churned.

As though he’d suddenly thought of something, the sailor bolted past her for the passageway, calling, “Mr. Barnes!”

Shaking off her fear, Georgie hurried to the farthest part of the stern to catch a better glimpse of the boat in the deepening twilight. “Do you see him?” she asked the only crew member remaining on deck.

“Aye.” The lad pointed. “There. Mr. Cartwright’s on him now.”

“Oh, thank God!” Georgie flew to the railing, Clara right behind her. “Where is he? Oh, there. There.”

Muffled barking ensued as Lord St. Just clasped Lulu around her middle like a huge wriggling sausage and heaved her over into the boat. With Cartwright’s assistance, St. Just crawled into the boat as well and sat huddled in the bottom, Lulu in his arms, as the sailor reversed their course and headed back to the Justine, the boat fairly flying toward the ship. After pulling alongside, Cartwright swarmed up the ladder, and he and the others slowly raised the boat until Lord St. Just and an excitedly barking Lulu came into sight.

Crying with a fierce joy, Georgie scrambled toward them, slipping on the wet planking and ignoring everything but the sight of the two drenched and shivering creatures crouched on the bottom of the boat. “Lulu! Oh, Lulu.” She snatched the shaking animal up out of St. Just’s arms, clutching her wet little body to her chest.

Lulu whimpered and buried her very cold nose into Georgie’s neck. Goose flesh rose all along her spine, but cold had never felt so good to her. She ripped open her pelisse and shoved the dog against her gown, wrapping her in the warm woolen folds of the coat, totally disregarding the ruin of both garments. What did she care about that? Lulu was safe.

And cold. The water that had streamed off Lulu now soaked into Georgie, and she shivered. “Goodness, you are like a block of ice, Lulu.” Perhaps the deck, even colder now the sun had all but set, was not the best place for her to make a fuss over the little dog. They should retire to the cabin where she could dry Lulu off and make certain she had taken no other hurt. But first she must thank their champion. “I want to thank you, my lord—”

The sight of St. Just, slumped in the bottom of the boat, unmoving, sent a pang of fear coursing through Georgie. Dear God, don’t let him die. She thrust Lulu into Clara’s arms. “Take her below.”

Clara nodded, grasping the wiggling Lulu, and hurried toward the passageway.

“Is he dead?” Georgie sent a frantic glance at Ayers, who had run up with a blanket that he was now tucking around his captain. She bent swiftly over St. Just’s still form, dread in her heart.

“I don’t think so, my lady.” The doubt, both in Ayers’s voice and eyes, sent Georgie into a panic. Almost afraid to touch St. Just, she laid her hand lightly on his shoulder. His thin shirt was plastered to shockingly cold flesh, face glowing ghostly pale in the early twilight. She choked back a sob. “My lord?”

No response at all.

Blinking away tears, Georgie shook him gently at first, then harder until finally he groaned and opened his eyes.

“Lulu?” His hoarse voice cracked, and he coughed deep in his chest.

“Thank God, Captain.” Ayers staggered in relief as St. Just sat up in the boat.

“She’s fine. Here, let me help you.” Georgie put her hand under St. Just’s arm, and between them she and Ayers got him out of the boat, steered him to a bench and sat him down.

Shaking his head, he waved her away. “Tired. Just need a rest.”