November 1804
"Mr Praxton, you're mistaken in your assumption!"
Georgiana Raithwaite staggered back from the hard thin
lips pressed to hers. Her hand scrubbed at her bruised
mouth as she attempted to escape.
"Come now, Miss Raithwaite, don't play coy with me. We
both know the truth of your feelings on the matter."
Walter Praxton grasped Georgiana's wrist, the bones of his
fingers biting into her. Relentlessly he dragged her
closer until she was pressed fully against his frame.
"No! Let me go! I haven't encouraged your interest." The
dark green wool of his finely tailored coat scraped
against her cheek, releasing a rush of cologne. "We've
been gone for an age and our party will be here at any
moment." She struggled harder. "Leave me be!"
He sniggered, a harsh and petty sound against the rush of
the nearby river, and his ruthless mouth touched the locks
of her unbound hair. Her bonnet lay crushed amidst the
hawthorn bushes where he had thrown it just moments
before. "Indeed, they will, my dear. Let them come upon
our lovers' tryst." His handsome face cracked with a smile
that did not touch the coldness in his ice-blue eyes.
"How dare you! My papa won't believe your lies!" Georgiana
wrenched her face away from his. "Release me or I swear
I'll scream."
Even as she sucked the breath in to fulfil her threat, his
left hand snaked around the slim column of her throat,
crushing with a slow even pressure that ensured her
silence.
He stared into her eyes, eyes that were wide and round
with fear and loathing, and whispered softly against her
ear, "I won't brook such disobedience when we're married."
The sound of voices murmured in the distance. "Not long
now, my dear. To be caught in such a compromising
situation… You're fortunate indeed that I'm a gentleman
and can be relied upon to do the honourable thing." His
mouth contorted into a sweet smile.
It was then that Georgiana understood the exact nature of
the trap closing around her. Walter Praxton meant to have
her for his wife, despite all of her refusals. It did not
matter that he had callously engineered the situation for
his own ends. Once Mama, Papa, the Battersby-Browns and
Mrs Hoskin had witnessed her in this dishevelled state,
with Mr Praxton's mouth upon hers and his odious hand
kneading at her breast, nothing would save her. Her papa
had worked hard to achieve a standing in society and
nothing, but nothing, would be allowed to sully that, even
her claims of assault. And Mr Praxton was so very
suitable, the wealthy young owner of several paper mills
in the area, respectable, influential. No wonder her
family were irritated and incredulous that she saw fit to
decline the gentleman's addresses. But to be forced to wed
against her will, and to such a man… Georgiana felt the
sensation starting in her toes. It crept slowly up her
legs. Once it reached her head she knew that she would
pass into the black realms of oblivion…leaving Mr
Praxton's plan to successful fruition.
"Don't fight me, Georgiana." Mr Praxton's voice scratched
against her ear.
She knew she had but one chance, one hope of escaping this
vile man and a life at his mercy. And she must take it
now, if at all.
Her knee raised in a violent jerk, landing precisely in Mr
Praxton's closely situated groin.
"Damnation!'Walter Praxton's body convulsed and he bent
double, releasing his hold on Georgiana to clutch at the
front of his breeches. "Hell and damnation, you'll pay for
that, you little bitch!'His cheeks paled and a scowl
twisted his features.
Georgiana did not delay. Immediately his grip had
released, she pivoted and ran.
His voice rasped thick, tinged with malice and
pain. "There's nowhere to run to. Unless you can walk on
water, that is." He leaned heavily upon his thighs and
managed to straighten a little.
Georgiana looked beyond to the fast-flowing river, swollen
from the heavy November rains. He was right. Dear Lord
help her, but he was right. The small clearing was
surrounded on three sides by dense shrubs. The gap through
which Mr Praxton had coerced her was now firmly blocked by
his enraged form. Her heart beat fast and furious as her
skirts wrapped themselves around her fleeing legs.
"I fear that you've made a very grave error, my dear, and
one for which I'll exact full payment, unless you make
yourself amenable to me, Miss Raithwaite."
In that moment Georgiana made her choice. There could be
no other. Before her courage — or foolery, as her papa
would term it — deserted her, she leapt from the grass
banking straight into the river.
Walter Praxton's mouth gaped with incredulity. Even the
strongest swimmer would be hard pushed to survive such
conditions. "Stupid girl, you're going to drown
yourself!'The realisation of just what he stood to lose
loomed large in his greedy mind, not to mention Edward
Raithwaite's reaction when he discovered that his
stepdaughter had drowned whilst in Mr Praxton's
care. "Bloody hell!" he swore through clenched teeth, and
scrambled about to find a branch to hook Miss Raithwaite
back to safety.
The plan was not proceeding quite as Mr Praxton had
envisaged.
A scream shrilled behind him. Mrs Raithwaite collapsed
into a crumpled heap and Mrs Battersby-Brown appeared to
be in the throes of hysteria, not helped by Mrs Hoskin's
high-pitched screaming.
"Good God, man! What the…? Georgiana?'Mr Raithwaite looked
at Mr Praxton, confusion clear upon his face.
Walter Praxton turned to the older man. "Against my advice
Miss Raithwaite insisted on examining the river at close
quarters. Such a wilful girl! Sir, quickly pass me that
large stick, and I'll fish her out.'Mr Praxton's fingers
raked his perfect golden locks with ill-concealed
agitation.
Georgiana's body submerged beneath the river, its freezing
waters rushing to infiltrate the snug warmth of her
clothing. Already it clung like a dead weight. Ice-cold
water swirled all around, dragging at her skirts,
conspiring to pull her beneath its bubbling surface to the
dark unknown depths below. Her lungs constricted and would
not function save but to gasp for air when there was
nothing but water. She tried to scream, but could find no
voice. Cold terror prickled at her scalp and her head
ached where the freezing water beat her down. Her arms
flailed, wildly seeking something, anything, on which to
anchor, even as she sank lower. And, just as the darkness
closed in upon her so that she could but look up to the
lightness of the sky so very far above her head, her hand
found purchase. Her fingers closed upon it, clinging for
dear life to that saviour. With her heart pumping fit to
burst, she pulled herself up and broke the surface,
coughing while gasping in air that had never tasted so
sweet. She embraced the clump of reeds, unmindful of its
sharp-edged leaves lacerating the palms of her hands.
Still the river fought to keep her, tugging mercilessly at
her grip on that one small patch of vegetation.
"Catch hold of the end, Miss Raithwaite, and I'll pull you
to safety."
Fortunately, or as it now transpired, unfortunately, she
was some way beyond the reach of Mr Praxton or, indeed,
her step-father. Through the soaking hair plastered across
her eyes she saw Walter Praxton extend the branch towards
her. Heard his cruel voice turned velvet with concern.
Time stopped still. The river roared in silence, battering
her body into numbness. Mama lay motionless upon the
ground, and Mrs BattersbyBrown's and Mrs Hoskin's mouths
moved in the shape of screams. But for that single instant
Georgiana knew nothing, felt nothing, except the terrible
certainty that by her own rash actions she had just played
right into her unwanted suitor's hands. How well he
feigned the hero. And how well her papa would reward him
for saving her life. Walter Praxton knew it too. She could
see it in his narrow calculating focus.
"Miss Raithwaite, Georgiana!" His honeyed voice pulled her
back to consciousness. "The stick…"
For all that she despised the man and his cruelties, she
had not the courage, nor the folly, to sacrifice herself
to the river. Death was more fearsome than Walter Praxton.
Even as she reached to grasp the stick she saw the glimmer
of a smile flicker across his lips, and all the while
those cold pale eyes held hers, filled with the promise of
what was to come.
Slowly, painfully, he dragged her closer, inching her
towards the safety of the bank and the danger of what
stood with such concern upon it. "Nearly there. Just a
little more. Hold tight, my dear." Never once did she
shift her gaze, fixed so markedly upon her rescuer.
"Do as Mr Praxton bids. You're almost within reach.'Papa's
voice was relief edged with irritation. But then again,
did he not always say she was a vexation to his soul, an
inconsiderate stepdaughter with a selfish unruly streak?
"Georgiana!'The tips of Mr Praxton's long fingers reached
to hers.
She was his. Caught. Landed with all the skill of an
expert angler delivering a fine fat trout.
"Mr Praxton." Her hand stretched towards him. Reaching for
her captor. Her eyes closed in anticipation of the feel of
his clammy skin. She heard a scream, felt the force of the
rushing water pull her with a raging ferocity, saw Walter
Praxton recede with the distant bank.
The woman was still yelling. "Do something, Edward! Dear
God, somebody help us!" Her mother's white face twisted
with terror.
"Mama!" The word croaked from Georgiana's water-filled
mouth as the river swept her downstream with an urgent
insistence, ripping her away from the safety of her family
and the threat of Mr Praxton. Mercifully Georgiana
Raithwaite knew nothing more as the turbulent water
claimed her as its own, within the scenic setting of
Hurstborne Park. *** 'I dare say that you're right,
Freddie, I should spend more time at Collingborne.
Especially now, with all that's happened." Nathaniel
Hawke's grey gelding trotted contentedly next to the
smaller bay.
Lord Frederick eyed his brother speculatively. "Then
you'll stay?'The question was pointless. He already knew
the answer.
"I cannot, even if I wanted to. The Pallas sails in two
weeks' time under orders from the Admiralty. There's
nothing I can do to change that.'The reins tightened
beneath his fingers, but his face did not betray any hint
of the emotion that struggled within. "Both you and Henry
will be there to attend our father, and my presence is
sure only to…aggravate the situation."
"Perhaps you're right." Lord Frederick sighed. "But you'll
have to confront him over this blasted nonsense at some
point — he's threatening to disinherit you from all that
he can."
Nathaniel smiled grimly at the words. "Have no fear for
me, Freddie. I'm more than capable of making a success of
my life without the Earl of Porchester's help. And now we
should talk of more important matters."
"More important matters?" 'Indeed. Just how do you mean to
explain your friendship with Lady Sarah to Mirabelle! That
lady will eat you for breakfast, little brother."
Nathaniel raised an eyebrow in wry amusement, and revealed
his teeth in a broad grin, ready to hear the tale.
Freddie laughed, then suddenly stopped. "Nathaniel, what's
wrong?"
All traces of humour left his brother's face as he stared
in the direction of the river.
"Nathaniel?"
Dark eyes opened wide in shock. "There's someone in the
river!"
The younger man's brow furrowed. "But the water's too high
and too cold for swimming."
"I doubt that swimming is quite what he had in mind.
Quickly, Freddie, there's no time to lose, the fellow will
soon be drowned, if he isn't already dead." Nathaniel
spurred the gelding to a gallop and shouted, "Head towards
Holeham's Hook, wait for me on the bridge."
"But where are you going?" Freddie's words flitted weakly
into the wind. Worry growled in his gut. He hoped that
Nathaniel wasn't about to do something foolhardy. But
wasn't his brother's life a string of foolhardy ventures,
with scant regard for the danger in which he seemed
permanently embroiled?