Dorothea tensed, fear pressing heavily on her chest. Her lips began moving in silent prayer. Oh, please, dear God, let the child be found. The marquess dove under a third time. Everyone seemed to be holding their collective breath as they waited for him to emerge, and then finally he broke through the water.

There was a sputtering sound and then a lusty cry as the child he held began to shriek. Dorothea, along with the servants and bystanders who had gathered on the shore, let out a loud cheer. Slowly, they all began to swim toward shore, the men assisting the children and Lady Meredith.

It was a tearful, relieved reunion as Dorothea and the servants gathered around the drenched group. Dorothea snatched a picnic blanket from the ground and wrapped it around Lady Meredith’s shoulders, giving her a fierce hug. She then hugged each of the girls, who were also wrapped in blankets, huddled close to their mother.

“Gracious, we shall have quite a tale to tell Papa, won’t we, girls?” Lady Meredith smiled shakily down at her daughters, who regarded her with wide, solemn eyes.

“I think he shall be very angry with us,” Stephanie replied as her teeth began to chatter.

“Perhaps.” Lady Meredith vigorously rubbed her daughter’s arm. “That’s why we must smile and laugh when we tell him of our adventure, to let him know that we were not afraid. All right, girls?”

Three soggy heads nodded in unison. Dorothea lifted her gaze from Lady Meredith and the children and turned to regard the three men who had risked their lives to save the females.

They were equally wet, though seemingly unconcerned as murky water steadily dripped from their hair and clothing. Caught in the jubilation of the moment, they were joking and laughing with each other, a trait Dorothea had observed was common among men after victoriously escaping peril.

“Christ, Roddy, it seems as if danger likes to follow you around,” Viscount Benton declared.

“Truly,” Lord Atwood agreed. “’Tis hard to believe you survived the war.”

Major Roddington grinned sheepishly, then pushed a lock of wet hair off his forehead. “It must be this English soil. I too am starting to feel as though it is safer for me to be battling the French.”

After taking Miss Ellingham home, a still damp Major Roddington entered his bachelor apartment. His servant, Parker, emerged from the small sitting room, took one look at his master, and smiled.

“By the looks of you, it seems that things went as planned,” Parker said, his grin widening.

“Hardly.” The major gritted his teeth in frustration. He shrugged out of his damp coat and flung it on the floor, then nearly groaned when he caught a glimpse of his best boots. They were stiff and waterlogged, ruined, most likely beyond salvation, and he certainly did not have the necessary funds to replace them. “What the hell did you do to that damn boat, Parker?”

The servant’s face turned ashen at the major’s rare show of temper. “Exactly what you asked, sir.”

“I think not,” Roddy snapped. “The boat was supposed to spring a sizable leak almost immediately when it was put in the water, so it would not be taken too far from shore. Instead, it was rowed to nearly the center of the lake before it splintered into dozens of pieces.”

Parker’s brow knit together with worry. “Was Miss Ellingham injured?”

Roddy slapped his hand down on the table. Hard. “No, you bloody idiot, she wasn’t injured. She wasn’t even in the damn boat.”

“What happened?”

“Lady Meredith and her daughters took the boat out on the lake. I was too far away to even notice. It broke apart when they were far from shore.” Roddy raked his fingers through his hair. “Christ Almighty, they could have easily drowned. The girls are so young, I swear the oldest can’t be more than nine or ten.”

Parker’s face lost any remaining bits of color. “Were they badly hurt?” he asked.

Roddy let out a ragged breath. “Not really. More frightened, I think. The two younger ones were wailing something awful when they were pulled from the water, but their mother managed to calm them down.”

“You were able to save them.” Parker’s tense face collapsed with relief. “Then you’re still a hero.”

“Atwood saved them,” he replied with great resentment, antagonism flowing through his veins. Truly, could it have been any worse? All this careful planning and in the end it was Atwood who garnered all the glory. Fate really was a harsh, unkind master.

I will make my own fate, Roddy vowed to himself. I will not allow myself to be pushed away from everything that should be mine by rights. Especially by Atwood, of all people.

“The marquess pulled all four females from the water?” Parker asked.

The edge of admiration in Parker’s voice made Roddy want to scream in frustration. “No. He rescued the two youngest girls, the ones who actually needed the most help. The older daughter managed to keep her head above the water and while frightened, was not in any real danger. Benton assisted her.”

“And the marchioness?”

Roddy grunted. “She swims like a fish. I made a grand show of lending her assistance, but clearly it was unnecessary.”

Roddy pulled out a chair from his small dining table and sat as a sudden exhaustion overtook his agitation. In his mind he could hear the frightened cries of those innocent young girls, could see the panic and terror on their mother’s face. Maybe he should just give up and walk away. Before some other innocent bystanders were truly injured.

But how could he? This was the closest he had ever come to his prey. If he did not strike now, the opportunity would be lost, possibly forever. ’Twould be foolish indeed to back off when victory was within his grasp.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Parker said contritely. “I did my best. I bored holes in several places on the bottom and sides of the rowboat, just as you told me. I assumed the vessel would start taking on water immediately. I never expected the wood to be so weak that it would splinter.”

Roddy drew in a steadying breath. There was no cause to blame Parker. “Serves us right for trying to stage a rescue on the water. We are cavalry men, Parker, not sailors.”

“Yes, sir.”

Roddy sighed. It was not Parker’s fault that things had gone awry. He, and he alone, must bear the burden of this afternoon’s near disaster. Once again, he thought of abandoning his mission. He was young, capable, and now, thanks to his war record, a man with a few influential friends.

Opportunities for financial gain abounded in India. Even in the American colonies. Perhaps it was time for him to make a move, to go somewhere far away, where he could have a fresh start, a new beginning. Yet as tempting as it seemed, Roddy knew himself too well. He was not ready. There was more to be done, more to accomplish. He could not look toward his future until he settled his past. Here, in England.

“From now on we must be especially diligent and careful,” Roddy told his servant. “We cannot afford any more mistakes. The stakes are simply too high, Parker. Too damn high.”

Chapter Seven

The dinner invitation from the Marquess and Marchioness of Dardington arrived later that evening, a few moments before Carter was set to leave for the Lancasters’ musical soiree. Written in Lady Dardington’s own hand, it was graciously and informally worded. Carter thought it totally unnecessary, but he understood the Dardingtons’ desire to tangibly express their gratitude for his assistance at the lake this afternoon. His only hope was that it would be, as the invitation promised, a small, family affair.

“The footman is waiting for an answer, my lord,” his valet, Dunsford, said.

“Tell him to inform Lady Dardington that I shall be delighted to attend,” Carter instructed.

The valet bowed and exited, but returned a few minutes later.

“Is there a problem, Dunsford?” he asked as the servant held out Carter’s evening jacket. “Does the footman require a written reply instead of a verbal one?”

“No, my lord. Lord Dardington’s servant has gone.” The valet adjusted the collar on the jacket, then stepped away, lifted his chin, and thrust his shoulders back. “His Grace, the Duke of Hansborough, has arrived. He wishes to speak with you.”

“My father is here?” Carter’s amusement at his valet’s stiff formality disappeared. His father never came to his bachelor apartments. Something must be wrong. “Does he appear upset?”

The valet shook his head. “His Grace maintained a proper, even temperament upon arrival and while being shown to the sitting room. He expressed no urgency in seeing you, but did however insist upon it.”

Of course. His father rarely displayed any sort of emotions in public, saving his anger and displeasure for those private moments between himself and his son.

“Very good, Dunsford. Please inform the duke that I shall be with him shortly.”

Carter picked up a brush and slowly applied it to his already groomed hair. He waited until he was sure his valet had enough time to deliver the message before striding across his bedchamber, through his dressing room, and into the spacious sitting area of his home.

His foot had barely stepped onto the Aubusson rug when a figure moved forward from the corner of the room. “Good evening, Carter.”

“Hello, sir.” Carter struggled to hide his surprise. The duke never came toward anyone. Much like a king with his subjects, the duke always waited for people to approach him. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

“Can’t a man stop in and say hello to his son?” the duke asked gruffly. “Does there have to be a reason?”

“When the two individuals in question are you and I, sir, there almost always is a specific reason.”