Page 1 of To Have & To Hold

Prologue

June 1813

Some men found peace in a church pew; The Duke of Kenswick found his on the River Thames.

Nathaniel took in a deep breath and let the misty air fill his lungs. London had been unseasonably warm, even for June, but the early morning hour and steady rain lent an unusual chill to the air. Nathaniel welcomed the change, but even with a brisk breeze blowing against his back, he could still feel the sweat gathering on his brow.

His back and shoulders burned as he pushed and pulled the oars through the water. The river was calm, and the rowing was easy, but he had been out on the water for over an hour and had no desire to slow down. He closed his eyes, trying to quiet his mind to match his surroundings. Nothing could be heard but the light patter of rain on the surface of the river, theoccasional nearby bird, and his boat and oars cutting through the water.

Here on the Thames, the rest of the world disappeared. There were no overly crowded drawing rooms filled with ambitious mothers and overbearing fathers; no young unmarried women looking at him like a fine horse at a public auction house; no judgmental, pompous men of Parliament analyzing his every move; no crushing weight of title and responsibility.

But most importantly, out here on the water, Nathaniel didn’t have to watch the sparkling green eyes he had fallen in love with look adoringly at another man. The River Thames had never betrayed him or broken his heart. It was consistent and loyal. It was the only place he had ever truly felt he belonged.

As a boy, Nathaniel dreamed of a life on the sea. His father had joined the navy out of necessity—younger sons of near-destitute barons had few options when it came to providing for their families—but Nathaniel was born with salt in his veins, eager to follow in his father’s footsteps.

But life had a way of laughing at a man’s best-laid plans, and Nathaniel unexpectedly found himself with even larger shoes to fill—ones that needed to remain firmly planted on dry land.

Nathaniel slowed his rowing until the small boat bobbed gently in the water. He let the oars fall inside as he opened hiseyes to assess his surroundings. He was close to Blackfriars Bridge, but he could barely make out its silhouette through the fog. The rain made the sky deceivingly dark, so he knew it was later than it seemed, but the faint hues of pink and orange that the sun cast as it tried to break through the clouds proved that it was still too early for most of London to be awake. He closed his eyes again, letting his shoulders drop.

A sudden splash pulled him from his thoughts.

He turned and looked behind him. Perhaps his wishful thinking had caused all of the responsibilities and expectations to roll right off his shoulders and drown in the murky river below; but the water behind him was calm and still.

For a moment, the only sound he could hear was the rain and the beating of his own heart, pounding in his ears. He could barely see more than a few feet in front of him, but there was no movement or shadows to suggest the presence of another boat.

Another splash pulled his attention closer to the shore. As Nathaniel drew nearer, his eyes strained through the mist, barely making out a human form in the water.

Nathaniel’s father used to come home, filling his mind with stories and legends of creatures of the sea. Mermaids in particular had always held a special fascination for him—their beauty was as dangerous as it was alluring.

As Nathaniel grew older, he had grown wise enough to know the difference between truth and myth, but thatdidn’t stop the chill that moved down his spine at the unusual sight before him now.

He shook off the irrational thought and glanced around once more for a nearby boat. The sounds of splashing intensified, and Nathaniel turned to see that their strokes had become more desperate and irregular.

Without another moment of hesitation, he plunged into the river. It would have taken him twice as long to row than it would to swim, and a man in distress would certainly capsize the boat in a panic, leaving them in the same situation as if he had simply swam to their rescue to begin with.

The cool river was a shock, but his body cut through the water quickly. When he reached the flailing figure, he found a young woman barely gasping for air above the surface of the water. He could see that her eyes were set on the bank in determination, but despite her desperate flailing, her limbs refused to carry her in that direction.

Nathaniel wrapped one arm around her waist, pulling her towards him, just as her head slipped below the surface again.

“I’ve got you,” he shouted above her frantic splashing, hoping to calm her—but she only kicked harder.

Nathaniel shifted her in his arms in an attempt to shield himself. Either she was so panicked she hadn’t realized she had been rescued, or she didn’t care.

If there had been any inkling of doubt in his mind as to whether or not she was fully human, it was squelched by thefirst sharp kick of her foot against his leg as he swam them both to shore. She may not have been intentionally luring him to a watery grave, but if a weaker swimmer had found her, that is exactly where they would have ended up.

The moment Nathaniel’s feet touched the rocky bottom of the river, he scooped the woman up into his arms, holding her firmly against his chest. Her thrashing finally stopped, and her body went limp against him. The only assurance he had that she was still breathing was the warm, steady puffs of breath against his neck.

She was light—barely more than the weight of the soaked fabric of the dress she wore—but as Nathaniel pulled himself from the water, he took each step carefully, so as not to slip on the wet rocks of the bank and send them both tumbling back into the river.

He slowly lowered himself onto the ground, but before he could set her down, the woman shoved against his chest, forcing him to drop her on the sand with a soft thud. She turned away from him, her shoulders heaving as she coughed up remnants of river water.

Nathaniel knelt on the ground beside her, his hand bracing her back as she fought to regain her breath. The wet fabric of her dress clung to her frame. Nathaniel diverted his eyes from the curve of her hips and waist as she pushed herself up to sit.

She kept her eyes locked on the ground, so Nathaniel took the opportunity to study her—merely out of pure concern for her well-being.

His eyes were first drawn to her hair; even in the pale morning light, it was vibrant. The river had darkened it, but he could still see that the loose ringlets escaping their pins were a deep shade of red.

His gaze roamed the rest of her face. Her skin was pale and smooth, but under her pink, flushed cheeks, he could make out a constellation of faint freckles scattered across her nose. A few trailed down her neck, and his gaze followed them to the dip of her shoulder where her dress had shifted during her struggle.