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Book: And Then She Fell (Cynster 19 Cynster Sisters Duo #1) by Stephanie Laurens
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Authors: Stephanie Laurens
Tags: Regency Romance
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sign, the crowd quieted.
A brief flare broke the darkness, then the first rocket hissed and surged into the sky, trailing tongues of flame as it soared into the velvet blackness before exploding in a corona of golden light, throwing out a shower of bright red and gold sparks that slowly fell, winking out as they trailed back to earth.
A communal “ah” of appreciative delight welled from the watching crowd.
They all stood with their faces upturned, watching successive fireworks light up the sky. A particularly bright rocket had just exploded when someone in the crowd behind Henrietta slipped and staggered, causing others to jerk and turn, some crying out in surprise.
Henrietta glanced around, started to turn—
A sudden shove sent the lady and gentleman behind her cannoning into her.
Henrietta tipped—fought for balance.
Lost.
On a gasp, she fell—desperately, she reached for help. For James.
She saw his shocked face, saw him reach for her, but they were both too late.
On her back, she hit the water with a splash, and sank into the racing stream.
In the instant before the waters closed over her face, she managed to get her lungs to work enough to haul in a breath. She held it and struggled to right herself and regain the surface.
But the stream was running high—there’d been rain earlier in the week—and this close to the river, the streamlets had coalesced and were racing strongly for the Thames; the tumbling waters tossed her like flotsam and dragged at her limbs. Her skirts trapped her legs; her spangled shawl tangled her arms.
I can swim!
She screamed that at herself, fought desperately to push away the enveloping panic.
But—oh, God!—the currents were so strong, and she could already feel the cold sinking into her flesh, feel heat and strength leaching away.
Still she fought.
On the bridge, horrified beyond thought, James dallied only long enough to toe off his shoes and jerk off his coat before diving into the swiftly running stream. Henrietta had already disappeared, swallowed by the darkness and the rushing, tumbling waters. The stream might be only ten yards wide, but this close to the river it was deep.
James struck out strongly, swimming downstream as fast as he could, trusting that she would be flailing at least enough for him to find her in the dark.
He didn’t let himself think—couldn’t afford to let the myriad thoughts shrieking in his brain distract him . . . he only allowed one through. He couldn’t afford to lose Henrietta.
He didn’t fight the current but harnessed it and let it sweep him on. Panic was nibbling at the edge of his mind when he sensed movement in the water ahead—and then he was on her.
Reaching for her, he scooped an arm around her waist, caught her firmly to him, then surfaced, hauling her up before him.
Her face broke free of the water and she gasped and dragged in air, and he all but sagged with relief.
“Stop struggling!” He had to shout to be heard over the noise of the stream and the cacophony coming from the shocked guests, many of whom were now streaming along the banks.
She gasped again, then he felt her fight her own instincts, trying to ease back from her panic.
“That’s right,” he encouraged, gathering her even closer. “Just relax—go limp—and let me get us to the bank.”
She complied as best she could, but by the time he managed to angle them out of the raging currents and over to the bank, she was tense and shivering uncontrollably.
His feet finally found solid ground, but that wasn’t the end of the ordeal. Kneeling in the shallows, holding her close, trying to impart some of his own fading warmth to her while simultaneously shielding her with his body, he had to wait while Lady Marchmain and her staff shooed the onlookers back and away. The staff had brought flares, the light from which James and Henrietta would need to climb the bank safely, but the water had turned her gown all but transparent, and on top of
A brief flare broke the darkness, then the first rocket hissed and surged into the sky, trailing tongues of flame as it soared into the velvet blackness before exploding in a corona of golden light, throwing out a shower of bright red and gold sparks that slowly fell, winking out as they trailed back to earth.
A communal “ah” of appreciative delight welled from the watching crowd.
They all stood with their faces upturned, watching successive fireworks light up the sky. A particularly bright rocket had just exploded when someone in the crowd behind Henrietta slipped and staggered, causing others to jerk and turn, some crying out in surprise.
Henrietta glanced around, started to turn—
A sudden shove sent the lady and gentleman behind her cannoning into her.
Henrietta tipped—fought for balance.
Lost.
On a gasp, she fell—desperately, she reached for help. For James.
She saw his shocked face, saw him reach for her, but they were both too late.
On her back, she hit the water with a splash, and sank into the racing stream.
In the instant before the waters closed over her face, she managed to get her lungs to work enough to haul in a breath. She held it and struggled to right herself and regain the surface.
But the stream was running high—there’d been rain earlier in the week—and this close to the river, the streamlets had coalesced and were racing strongly for the Thames; the tumbling waters tossed her like flotsam and dragged at her limbs. Her skirts trapped her legs; her spangled shawl tangled her arms.
I can swim!
She screamed that at herself, fought desperately to push away the enveloping panic.
But—oh, God!—the currents were so strong, and she could already feel the cold sinking into her flesh, feel heat and strength leaching away.
Still she fought.
On the bridge, horrified beyond thought, James dallied only long enough to toe off his shoes and jerk off his coat before diving into the swiftly running stream. Henrietta had already disappeared, swallowed by the darkness and the rushing, tumbling waters. The stream might be only ten yards wide, but this close to the river it was deep.
James struck out strongly, swimming downstream as fast as he could, trusting that she would be flailing at least enough for him to find her in the dark.
He didn’t let himself think—couldn’t afford to let the myriad thoughts shrieking in his brain distract him . . . he only allowed one through. He couldn’t afford to lose Henrietta.
He didn’t fight the current but harnessed it and let it sweep him on. Panic was nibbling at the edge of his mind when he sensed movement in the water ahead—and then he was on her.
Reaching for her, he scooped an arm around her waist, caught her firmly to him, then surfaced, hauling her up before him.
Her face broke free of the water and she gasped and dragged in air, and he all but sagged with relief.
“Stop struggling!” He had to shout to be heard over the noise of the stream and the cacophony coming from the shocked guests, many of whom were now streaming along the banks.
She gasped again, then he felt her fight her own instincts, trying to ease back from her panic.
“That’s right,” he encouraged, gathering her even closer. “Just relax—go limp—and let me get us to the bank.”
She complied as best she could, but by the time he managed to angle them out of the raging currents and over to the bank, she was tense and shivering uncontrollably.
His feet finally found solid ground, but that wasn’t the end of the ordeal. Kneeling in the shallows, holding her close, trying to impart some of his own fading warmth to her while simultaneously shielding her with his body, he had to wait while Lady Marchmain and her staff shooed the onlookers back and away. The staff had brought flares, the light from which James and Henrietta would need to climb the bank safely, but the water had turned her gown all but transparent, and on top of
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