Captured by Love (Michigan Brides #3)(93)

He couldn’t move. He was helpless to do anything but watch her.

She was obviously bathing, and he knew he should back away and give her privacy. But his heart ached too much to do anything but take in every detail about her, from the bare skin of her arms to the dainty toes poking out from under the fabric.

Oh, God, help, he pleaded. He wrenched his attention away and forced himself to look at the moss-covered stone by his knee. He needed to run. Run away as fast as he could.

He started to retreat, but at a splash he lifted his gaze again. She’d jumped into the water and disappeared below the surface.

He stood and waited for her to come up.

Long agonizing seconds ticked by, and when she still didn’t break through the water, he jolted forward, crashed through the thick brush, and sprinted toward the shadows of her sinking under the water.

He managed to shed his capote as he ran but didn’t take the time to slip out of his boots before he hit the pond at a running jump. He sank into the frigid depths. The biting cold took away his breath. Water filled his mouth and nose and dragged him down with the weight of his clothes and boots.

Arms and legs flailed near him, and he grasped her.

She fought him, squirming against his hold, pulling away from him. But he was quicker and stronger and was able to grab her arms, giving her no choice but to rise upward with him.

They broke through the surface, each gasping for air. She choked, spitting out the water she’d swallowed. When she could finally breathe again, she swiped the tangles from her face.

At the sight of him, the irritation in her eyes evaporated and was replaced with wide-eyed shock. “Pierre!” Her voice shook and her face paled.

“Are you all right, ma cherie?” He searched her face.

“Is it really you?” She lifted a hand, hesitated with her fingers outstretched before grazing his cheek. “You’re alive!”

He grinned. “Oui. Of course it’s me. Who else is this handsome and charming?”

She didn’t smile, but her eyes lit with wonder. “I don’t believe it. Lieutenant Steele told me you were dead. The Menominee found your paddle next to a pile of bones.”

His thoughts went back to the torturous weeks of avoiding capture and how he’d finally outsmarted the warriors who’d been trailing him. “I located the grave of a voyageur we’d buried the previous year, dug up the bones, and then smeared them with blood from a wild turkey I killed. I had to leave most of my belongings behind to deceive the Menominee, including my paddle.”

He’d hated to leave his papa’s paddle behind, knowing how much it must have cost Maman to give it to him. But the deception had worked. They’d finally stopped their relentless hunt after assuming he’d been devoured by a pack of wolves that had left a bloody heap of bones.

It was a good thing he’d lost the warriors when he did because he’d barely made it to the Chippewa winter camp before the lake had frozen. He didn’t want to think about how he’d nearly died during the canoe trip across the waters that were freezing even as he paddled.

Only the thought of seeing Angelique again had kept him going, when he’d been weak from hunger and cold, when the ice forming on the lake had begun to trap him, and his body had urged him to give up—to lay back in his canoe and fall asleep forever.

“Why did the lieutenant tell me you were dead?” she asked.

“That’s what I need him to believe.”

She touched his smooth-shaven cheek again as if unable to believe he was really there. “If Lieutenant Steele sees you and realizes you’re still alive, won’t he throw you back in the Hole?”

“I won’t let him see me,” he reassured her. He wouldn’t tell her that he was leaving in a couple of hours. That he’d hug and kiss Maman, make sure Jean was safe, and then he would leave the island for good.

Facing her now, he knew he’d have to leave sooner rather than later or he’d do something very foolish, like kiss her, and then he wouldn’t be able to tear himself away.

“I came back because I knew you’d need rescuing,” he teased, trying to lighten the moment.

“What do you mean?” Underneath the surface her feet and legs bumped his as she kicked them to stay afloat.

“You were drowning and I saved your life.”

“I was rinsing the soap out of my hair.”

“You disappeared under the water and didn’t resurface.” He couldn’t relinquish his hold on her arms.

She cocked her head, and a smile twitched her lips. “Do you really think I’d drown, Pierre? You know I can swim as well as a fish.”

“Oui. You’re right. What was I thinking?” He knew he hadn’t been thinking of anything but how beautiful she’d looked. But he couldn’t tell her that.

Treat her like a friend, he commanded himself, forcing his eyes not to look anywhere but at her face—her sweet, lovely face.

Her smile widened, and it was as welcoming as the blue sky overhead. Her eyes lit with joy and wonder and . . . desire. Water dripped from her hair and ran in rivulets down her face, meeting at her lips and drawing his attention there, irresistibly.

A sudden and powerful urge shot through him. He needed to kiss her more than anything, even more than taking another breath.

Treat her like a friend. The words shook him, breaking his thoughts and demanding he do the noble thing.