A Study In Seduction(57)

Clutching her rod, she inched her way to the end of the trunk. The fish flopped through the water again, spurring her determination. She reached the end of the trunk and straddled it, then ensured the bait was still attached before casting the line out again.

The rod bobbed almost instantly. Lydia gave a squeak of excitement and tried to pull the line in, but it slackened before she cranked two turns. She reeled in quickly and cast out again.

The hook caught. She gasped and tightened her hands on the rod. Reel! Reel!

She leaned forward, her heart hammering as she began to turn the spool. The fish yanked at the line.

She had it! She just had to—

Her weight shifted. She tried to stick her foot against a branch to steady herself, but it slipped on the moss. Horrified, she felt herself begin to slide.

The fish pulled on the line, hard. She clutched the rod with both hands. If she could—

Lydia shrieked. She tipped forward and fell off the branch like an otter sliding across the ice. Freezing water hit her, soaking through her clothing. Her breath stopped in her lungs and her throat constricted.

She heard the faint shout of her name before the water closed over her head. Slick weeds brushed across her face like tentacles. She opened her mouth to scream, and water choked her. She kicked toward the surface, struggling to find something to grab.

Oh, God, she could see it now—the police constable filling out a report: Mathematician drowned due to miscalculation.

She kicked harder, her right hand closing around an underwater branch before the current pulled her down again. Her lungs expanded, her chest feeling as if it were about to burst.

Suddenly two strong arms clamped around her waist and hauled her upward. Her head broke through the surface, her mouth opening on a huge, choking gasp that filled her lungs with blessed air.

After another push, she landed on the hard surface of the riverbank, the smell of grass pungent in her nose and the sun hot on her face.

“Lydia!” Alexander’s urgent voice cut through the pounding current still ringing in her ears.

She opened her eyes, swiping water off her face as she stared upward. Four faces crowded above her, their expressions lined with concern and anxiety.

“Are you all right?” Talia pushed Lydia’s wet hair away from her forehead. “I heard you scream, and we all came running—”

Lydia blinked and nodded, so grateful to be breathing air that she didn’t want to waste it by speaking.

Alexander frowned. “What the bloody hell did you think you were doing?”

Lydia tried to remember.

“Alex, don’t shout at her.” Talia pushed the men away and helped Lydia sit up. She wrapped her in the picnic blanket and tried to dry her hair off a bit.

“I was f-figuring just how far I could creep out onto that log,” Lydia said, her teeth rattling together. “I weigh nine stone, and… and that boulder there, see… that’s the pivot, but I m-miscalculated the moments of inertia.”

Everyone fell silent and looked at her with bewilderment. Except for Alexander, whose mouth appeared to be twitching.

“Well, we all make mistakes like that, don’t we?” Talia said brightly. “Were you—”

She looked at Lydia’s hands. Lydia looked too. She was still clutching the fishing rod in her left hand, and the line was still tight.

“Oh!” The word came out a croak. Her fingers shook with cold as she reeled the line. “There was a fish… a fat rainbow trout, five pounds if it weighed an ounce. It’ll be wonderful for dinner! Perhaps we can have it with melted butter. It put up such a fight, fairly pulled me right off the tree. You wouldn’t believe—”

She yanked the rest of the line out of the water and pulled the still-hooked fish onto the bank. Triumph surged through her. The misery of being wet and cold faded.

She’d done it! She’d caught the—

Northwood started laughing. A deep, booming laugh that made Lydia’s stomach flutter with something rich and pleasant and… Why was he laughing?

She stared at him—the sun sparkling off his wet hair, the water dripping off his face.

Then Castleford chuckled. Then Sebastian. Northwood bent to grasp the end of Lydia’s fishing line and held it up. A small silvery fish, no more than three inches, writhed on the end of the line.

“Behold, my dear fisherwoman,” Northwood said, “your whale of a catch.”

The men exploded with laughter.

“Perhaps it might serve as a nice appetizer,” Sebastian suggested.