Everything and the Moon (The Lyndon Sisters #1)(70)

Victoria stared at him, unable to believe that he would pause in the middle of the storm to ask her that. She covered one of his hands with her own and said, “Robert, I'm fine. I'm cold, but I'm fine. We have to get you inside.”

How they made it up the steep path, Victoria would never know. The wind and rain had loosened the earth, and more than once one of them stumbled and slipped, only to be pulled back upright by the other. Finally, her hands raw and scraped, Victoria pulled herself over the edge of the hill and landed on the green grass of the cottage's lawn. A second later Robert joined her.

The rain was torrential now, and the wind howled like a hundred furies. Together they staggered to the cottage's front door. Robert grabbed the knob and ripped the door open, shoving Victoria into the warmth of the interior. Once they were both inside, they stood stock still, momentarily paralyzed with relief.

Robert was the first to recover, and he reached out and grabbed Victoria, crushing her to him. His arms were shaking uncontrollably, but they held her firm. “I thought I'd lost you,” he whispered, pressing his lips to her temple. “I thought I'd lost you.”

“Don't be silly, I—”

“I thought I'd lost you,” he repeated, his grip on her remaining strong. “First I thought I was going to—that I wouldn't make it back, and I didn't want to—God, I didn't want to die, not when we were so close to—” His hands moved to her face, holding her still while he memorized every feature, every freckle, and every eyelash. “Then when you went under—”

“Robert, it was only for a moment.”

“I didn't know if you could swim. You never told me if you could swim.”

“I can swim. Not as well as you, but I can—It doesn't matter. I'm fine.” She pried his hands from her face and tried to pull him toward the staircase. “We must get you into bed. You'll catch the death of you if we don't get you dry.”

“You, too,” he mumbled, letting her lead the way.

“I wasn't submerged in the Strait of Dover for God only knows how long. Once we take care of you, I promise I will change into dry garments.” She practically pushed him up the stairs. He stumbled repeatedly, never seeming to lift his leg high enough to reach the next step. Once they reached the second story, she nudged him forward.

“I assume this is your room,” she said, leading him inside.

He nodded briefly.

“Take off your clothes,” she ordered.

Robert had just enough strength to laugh. “If you knew how many times I have dreamed of you saying that…” He looked down at his hands, which were shaking violently from the cold. His fingernails were purplish blue.

“Don't be silly,” Victoria said sternly, running around the room to light the candles. It was only early evening, but the storm had taken away much of the sunlight. She turned around and saw that he hadn't made much headway on his clothing. “What is wrong with you?” she scolded. “I told you to undress.”

He shrugged helplessly. “I can't. My fingers…”

Victoria's eyes fell to his hands, which were fumbling over the fastenings to his breeches. His fingers were shaking violently, and he couldn't seem to make them close around his buttons. With brisk determination reminiscent of her not so distant days as a governess, she closed the space between them and unfastened his breeches, trying not to look when she pulled them down.

“I'm usually a bit more impressive,” Robert joked.

Victoria couldn't keep her eyes to herself after that comment. “Oh!” she said, startled. “That's not what I expected at all.”

“It certainly isn't what I like to see, myself,” he muttered.

She blushed and turned away. “Into the bed with you,” she said, trying for a normal voice but not quite succeeding.

He tried to explain as she herded him into the bed. “When a man gets cold, he—”

“That's quite enough, thank you. More than I need to know, I'm sure.”

He smiled, but the chattering of his teeth marred the effect. “You're embarrassed.”

“You noticed,” she said, crossing to the wardrobe. “Have you any extra blankets?”

“There is one in your room.”

“I took that down with me to the beach. I must have lost it in the water.” She shut the wardrobe door and turned around. “What are you doing?” she nearly shrieked. He was sitting up in bed, having made no attempt to pull the quilts over him. He'd crossed his arms and was clutching himself.

He just stared at her, unblinking. “I don't think I've ever been this cold.”

She yanked the covers up to his chin. “Well, you're not going to get any warmer if you don't use these blankets.”

He nodded, still shivering uncontrollably. “Your hands are freezing.”

“They're not nearly as bad as yours.”

“Go change,” he ordered.

“I want to make sure you—”

“Go.” His voice was quiet, but it did not lack authority.

She paused, and then gave a brief nod. “Don't move.”

“Wild horses couldn't—”

“I mean it!” she warned.