"No," he said, strain in his voice. "It would not be wise to go farther. This is not easy for me, Sylvia."

"Nor for me," she said, turning to him and clasping her hands. "Nigel, please. This may be our only remaining chance to be together-for just a short while."

He gazed at her out of tortured eyes. Then he caught her to him, holding her head against his chest, resting his cheek on her curls. "My love," he said shakily, "I cannot bear this."

He allowed her to take his arm again and they walked through the trees until they came to the edge of the lake. It took a little more persuasion to convince Nigel to take out one of the boats, but eventually they were out on the lake. Sylvia gazed happily at the moonlit water, rough and choppy in the wind. She ran her hand experimentally through the water. It felt disconcertingly cold. Her heart started to thump uncomfortably loud as she silently measured the distance to the island. Soon now!

"Nigel," she said, looking up to find his eyes fixed on her in an agony of longing, "'do you truly love me?"

"Don't ask me to say it," he said. "Please, Sylvia, I am trying not to think of it."

"I need to know," she pleaded.

"Yes, I love you," he said.

"And you would wish to marry me if I were free?"

"It is the dearest dream of my life," he said.

"Nigel," she cried, "hold me, hold me just once."

She leapt to her feet and almost launched herself at his chest. He had time only for a startled exclamation and a "Look out!" and they were both in the water, sputtering and coughing as their heads came above the surface. Nigel tried to grab for the overturned boat, but Sylvia clutched at his coat and he was forced to abandon the boat in order to save her from panic. The island was close by. Nigel swam for it, dragging Sylvia along with him. They lay on the bank for a few moments, coughing and gasping.

"Are you all right, love?" he asked finally, pulling her sodden form close to him and pushing the soaked strands of hair away from her face.

"Y-yes," she stammered, becoming more and more miserably aware of the icy coldness of the gown and cloak that clung to her and of the cold wet velvet of Nigel's coat, against which her cheek was pressed. "Are you?" She had thought of the wetness and cold, had tried to think of some way of landing them on the island in dry clothes, but there had seemed to be no other way.

"It has not floated too far away," he was saying. "I can swim to it, love, and bring it back here. I shall have you back at the house in a half-hour."

"No!" she shrieked, clutching at his sodden sleeve. "Don't leave me, Nigel. You will be drowned for sure and I should have to watch you. Please, please stay with me."

"It might be morning before they find us," he said. "You will have pneumonia by then, love. There is no other way."

"No," she said. "Stay here. We will keep each other warm as best we can."

If Sylvia had ever imagined that the situation would be romantic, she was to be rudely disillusioned. They moved to the pavilion, where at least they would be shielded from the worst force of the wind. Nigel wrung out as much water as he could from Sylvia's cloak and his own coat, and Sylvia squeezed the folds of her dress. They lay on the hard floor for the rest of the night, covered with dried leaves and the decidedly damp cloak, huddled together, but too miserable with cold to feel any spark of desire.

Sylvia had not planned to confess quite so soon, but she found that, loving Nigel as she did, she could not deceive him any longer. She told him that she had carefully plotted all the happenings of the last hour.

"Even the tipping of the boat?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes," she admitted, "even that. I could not think of any other way to get us stranded here, you see, Nigel."

"But why?" he asked. "Do you not realize that you will be hopelessly compromised, love?"

"Yes," she said against the curve of his neck.

"George will never marry you now," he said seriously. "I shall be forced to."

"Yes," she said.

There was a short silence.

"Sylvia," he said, "I shall be forced to marry you. I shall be forced to marry you! You little schemer!"

"I did ask you if you truly wished to before I tipped the boat," she said anxiously. "You do, Nigel, don't you?"

"Little schemer!" was all he would say in reply. "I can well see who will rule our household if I do not put my foot down very firmly right at the start."

"No, really, Nigel," she said, moving her cheek away from the thread of warmth she had found against his neck. "I shall be very good and very obedient. I was desperate on this occasion, you see."

He kissed her on the lips for the first time. Unfortunately, it was not the most auspicious occasion for a first kiss. They were soon desperately trying again to find some measure of warmth against each other and beneath the damp cover. Sylvia fell into a light doze just before dawn. Nigel, whose arm soon became badly cramped beneath her neck and whose velvet coat brought more discomfort than warmth, did not sleep at all.

Chapter 13

During supper Lord Standen had tried to find his brother and his fiancee, without alerting anyone to the fact that they were missing. He circulated among the tables, smiling graciously at all his guests, took a turn in the garden, walking completely around the house in the process, circulated among his guests again, and then searched all the rooms in the house except the bedrooms and the servants' quarters. There was no sign of them anywhere.

Finally, as the dancing began again, he thought it wise to consult Raymore. Perhaps two heads would be better than one. He strolled across the ballroom, nodding at acquaintances as he went, and joined Raymore, who was standing talking to the parson and his wife. Standen too talked with them for a few minutes until he had the opportunity to draw Raymore aside. The two men went to the library.

"Your ward has been missing for almost two hours," Standen said, coming straight to the point. "She left the ballroom to walk in the garden with my brother for a few minutes. Neither has returned."

"Yes, I saw them leave," Raymore replied, "and have been uneasy myself at their continued absence from the company. I assumed, since you did not seem concerned, that there was some simple explanation."

A few minutes later both men were outside, searching in different directions, rather more thoroughly than Standen had looked before. But there was no sign of the truants.

Back in the library they felt growing concern. Raymore was too worried to be angry, but he had a growing suspicion that Sylvia's disappearance had something to do with her talk with him the day before. Had she run away? But how would she have persuaded young Broome to go with her? He was a dull, sensible young man who would hardly allow himself to become a willing accomplice of a silly young girl. There was one person who was likely to know the truth. Lord Standen sent a footman to request Rosalind's presence in the library.

Rosalind did not immediately see Lord Standen as she entered the library. She was aware only of her guardian standing across from her, looking handsome and grim, his hands clasped behind his back. What now? she thought as she felt her heart begin to beat uncomfortably.

"What is it, my lord?" she asked coldly, and caught sight of Lord Standen at the same moment. She looked inquiringly at him.

"Rosalind," Raymore said sternly, "your cousin disappeared more than two hours ago. She is with Nigel Broome, we believe. Do you know anything of her whereabouts?"

Her eyes widened. "I noticed she had not returned," she said. "I have been worrying."

"But that does not answer the question," Raymore said. "If you know where she is, you must tell us."

"I do not know." she protested. "How should I?"

He strode across the room until he stood before her. He took her chin in his hand and raised it until she could not escape staring directly into his eyes. His touch was not gentle. "I know you resent my authority," he said. She noticed that his eyes were like blue ice chips. "But you must understand that Sylvia's reputation and perhaps her safety are very much at stake. You must tell me what you know. Now!"

"I am not a foolish girl, my lord," she blazed, grasping the wrist of the hand that held her chin. "Of course I do not know where Sylvia is. Do you imagine that I have helped her plan some escapade, perhaps even an elopement? You cannot know me very well."

His grip tightened. His lips became a thin line.

Lord Standen broke the tension. "Miss Dacey," he said, "I must believe you. I have the highest regard for your good sense. But please think. Perhaps you know something without realizing it. Does your cousin have a favorite place where she might have gone?"

Rosalind thought. "No, I know of none," she said. "Are you sure that she has not run away, perhaps returned to London or even Raymore Manor? She is a rather impulsive girl and can change her affections quite rapidly."

Standen flushed. "You mean she may be running from me?" he asked stiffly. "I think it hardly likely, ma'am. I can offer her all the worldly goods she can want and she has been well-received here by my mother. I can only believe that some accident has befallen them."

"Have you checked the stables, Standen, to see if any horses or carriages have been taken?" Raymore asked. "I cannot imagine how I did not think of doing so myself."

"Has anyone been down to the lake?" Rosalind asked. "Would they have gone there?"