Page 2 of To Have & To Hold

A sudden breeze swept over them, and the woman wrapped her arms tightly around herself, snapping Nathaniel back to his senses.

“Are you cold?” He asked, looking around for anything he could offer her. He was still unsure of where she had come from, but maybe she had left some sort of wrap or belongings on the shore before foolishly plunging into the water.

He had shed his jacket in the boat, and his thin linen shirt was completely soaked through and wouldn’t offer her any warmth. His eyes darted back out to the river to where his boat still bobbed in the water. Perhaps he could swim back to retrieve his jacket before she caught a chill.

As though sensing his thoughts, the woman rose unsteadily to her feet, shaking her head. “No, I am perfectly fine.”

Her voice was as soft as her skin looked, and the melodic tone stirred an unexpected warmth in him. She ran her hands down her dress, trying to shake out the folds, and Nathaniel averted his eyes to keep them from once again taking in the way it clung to every inch of her. He felt a slight blush creeping up his neck.

He pushed himself to his feet and cleared his throat in an attempt to clear his head. Never had a woman’s presence unsettled him so—not even Sarah.

Maybe it was the fact that he had been holding this strange woman so closely just a few moments ago—or the fact that she just barely escaped a watery grave—but Nathaniel couldn’t quite shake the overwhelming feeling to pull her back into his arms.

“Are you certain you are alright?” He asked once he was sure his voice was steady.

“I am perfectly fine.” Her tone sharpened. “There was no need to intervene.”

“Intervene?” The warmth drained from him at the unexpected icy edge in her voice. “I believe I saved your life.”

She looked away, folding her arms tightly across her chest. “I would havemade it to shore.”

“You most certainly wouldnothave.” The words came out harsher than he had intended, but standing there—soaked to the bone and muscles aching—his patience had been left somewhere on the bottom of the Thames.

The woman took a small step back, wrapping her arms even tighter around herself. “I did not ask to be saved.”

Nathaniel could do nothing but stare at her in confusion.

Without warning, the woman turned and ran towards the empty road above them, as quickly as she could manage in her soaked skirts.

“Wait!” Nathaniel called after her. “Are you going to tell me your name?”

She didn’t look back or slow down, and Nathaniel watched her wet, retreating form disappear into the early morning mist.

Nathaniel remained where he stood. The rain dripped steadily from his jaw, and his chest rose and fell in time with the river water lapping against the rocks on the bank. His eyes remained fixed on where the mysterious woman had disappeared.

He hadn’t considered how a woman would respond to being pulled from the river by a strange man, but a bit more gratitude would have made his return swim a little easier. He turned and looked back out at his boat, taking a deep breath to summon the strength to retrieve it.

Before he could plunge back into the water, his eye caught a glint of gold in the wet sand. He bent and uncovered a small locket, half-buried where the woman had been kneeling. Opening it carefully, he found it empty. It was as delicate and enigmatic as the woman who had left it behind.

Nathaniel wrapped the chain around his hand and squeezed the locket tightly in his grasp and waded back into the water.

He doubted he would ever see the woman again, but if he did, perhaps she would be more grateful for the return of her locket than she had been for thesaving of her life.

Chapter One

January 1815

“The neckline still is not right.”

Emilia stifled a sigh as she watched her cousin twirl before the modiste’s mirror, scrutinizing every stitch of her ball gown. Louisa had a habit of being demanding, overly particular, and generally difficult, but refusing a dress after six rounds of alterations was excessive even by her standards.

“The neckline is perfectly fine, Louisa,” Emilia offered gently, though it was too late. Her cousin had already begun rattling off a fresh list of complaints to the saintly French woman kneelingat her hem.

“What is your vision for the gown, Lady Louisa?” Madame Sorel cut the younger woman off mid-critique, her voice obviously straining to hold on to its usual sugary sweetness.

“For it to make me the wife of a very wealthy, very handsome gentleman,” Louisa tilted her head to the side. “Or a mistress—whichever will leave me more comfortably kept.”

Emilia squeezed her eyes shut in horror, thankful that her aunt had decided not to accompany them today. Before she could muster a reprimand, her cousin squealed and jerked her leg away from Madame Sorel.