The Duchess of Love Read Free Page A

feet first. She plunged down, the water rushing over her skin. It felt wonderful—exciting and a bit sinful.
    But she needed to breathe. She kicked and pulled, stopping her descent and making her way back to the surface. Her hair wrapped around her like weeds. She fought through it, but by the time she popped up above the water, her lungs were screaming for air. She opened her mouth—
    â€œAa-urg!” And took in water. Something strong and hard had grabbed her waist. Her heart flashed into a wild, mad beating. She was going to be pulled back under. She clawed at the thing.
    It was an arm—a rock-hard, muscled, naked, male arm. It hauled her up against an equally hard, naked chest.
    Oh, God! If she didn’t drown, she’d be raped.
    She thrashed and kicked, but she couldn’t move. She was pinned to the villain as if by an iron band.
    â€œSteady,” an educated male voice, slightly breathless, said by her ear as they moved toward the shore. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.”
    Safe? Ha! She renewed her efforts to break free.
    â€œStop struggling,” he said, annoyance sharpening his words. “You’re making this harder.”
    She would make it very hard. She would struggle tooth and nail. He might have his wicked way with her, but she’d inflict as much damage on him as she could. She opened her mouth to tell him so and took in another wave of water.
    She was coughing and choking as he hauled her out of the pond. Archie ran toward him, barking, but he ignored the dog as he bent her over his arm and whacked her on the back. Water gushed out of her mouth.
    She should try to escape now, but she was too busy struggling to get air into her lungs.
    â€œBreathe, damn it,” he said.
    She’d be happy to. She attempted to tell him that, but apparently air was also necessary for speech. She couldn’t even croak.
    â€œBloody hell. I’m not going to let you die.” Suddenly she was flat on her back on the grass and his mouth was over hers. His warm breath forced itself into her lungs.
    She didn’t know much about rape, thank God, but this didn’t seem like a prelude to it.
    He lifted his head and air whooshed out of her.
    â€œAurgh.” She started to cough again.
    He turned her immediately to her side. “Breathe,” he ordered again, rubbing her back and shoulders.
    She breathed. Such a simple thing, automatic until one couldn’t do it. In and out. Her heart slowed to a normal cadence.
    The sun warmed her as the man’s hands moved over her … naked skin.
    She flipped onto her belly.
    â€œHey, I don’t think that will help.” He turned her to her side once more, handling her as if she weighed nothing, his hand on her shoulder and hip. Her naked hip.
    She might stop breathing again. And now she was facing him, looking at his knees and—
    She squeezed her eyes shut.
    â€œWhat’s the matter?” He pushed her hair back from her face. “Does something hurt? You didn’t hit your head when you fell, did you?”
    â€œN-no.”
    â€œLet me see.” His fingers combed through her hair, pressing on her scalp. His touch was gentle, but firm. “Does this hurt? Or this?”
    â€œNo.” She kept her eyes firmly closed.
    He tilted her face up. “Look at me.”
    â€œWhy?” But she felt a bit like an ostrich with its head in the sand, so she gave up and looked at him.
    She must have died. The man staring down at her could only be an archangel. He had eyes as blue as the pond on a cloudless summer day, fringed with long dark lashes any woman would die for. His dark blond hair—if he wore powder, it had been washed out in the water—had come loose from its tie and fell forward to frame his face—high cheekbones, straight nose, firm lips, strong chin.
    Who was he? She’d certainly never seen him before.
    â€œYour eyes look clear. I don’t think you hit your