The Bride (The Wedding Series) - By Christine Dorsey Page 0,13

too much about herself, Eleanor changed the subject. “Were you born in Montana?”

“No. New Orleans.”

“Really? I have some distant cousins who live in New Orleans.”

“I doubt I know them.” John realized his tone was harsh and smiled to soften the effect. “My father died... tragically. After that,” he lied, “my mother didn’t travel much in society.” She stayed in her crib, entertaining every man who came along, John wanted to say, but of course he didn’t. As sweet as she seemed, Eleanor Fiske, child of wealth and privilege, would never understand... or accept the life he’d led. Nor did he want her to. Wasn’t the entire purpose of marrying Eleanor to push himself as far away from his past as he could?

“I think the wind has picked up,” Eleanor said after a few moments of silence. She’d made him angry and she wasn’t sure how. But she was acting as bad as Alexandra Quince looking into his pedigree.

She stood and after excusing herself went to help her father and Sir Alfred with the sails. The afternoon wore on and Eleanor watched as John Bonner gamely spelled Sir Alfred. But she could tell he wasn’t well, and couldn’t help wondering why he came sailing if it affected him so.

Not that she’d been sorry to see him this morning on the dock. She heard snippets of an argument between her parents last evening and the occasional mention of Mr. Bonner’s name lead her to believe he was the cause.

But apparently her mother hadn’t succeeded in her campaign to have him banned. Eleanor was so deep in thought that she almost missed the first flash of lightning as it zigzagged across the sky. But no one could miss the booming roar of thunder. She looked up to see dark, fast-moving clouds pushing in from the south.

“We’ll head back to Oakgate,” her father yelled over the snap of the wind in the sails, as he began to tack the sloop around. But he hadn’t gone very far when he decided they should change course and try to make the closer peninsula of land to the west where the Yacht Club had its dock.

“Looks like we’ll be forced to ride out the storm over lobster at Hogat’s,” Sir Alfred added.

His smile wasn’t nearly so bright moments later when the rain began.

Hell and damnation. This wasn’t going at all as he planned. John helped Sir Alfred fight down the sail and Franklin wrestle the rudder, trying to keep them on course. But the small sailboat was bobbing around on the whitecaps, taking on water from the sky as well as the sea.

Eleanor was sitting in the bow gamely bailing and after the sails were furled, John sank onto his knees to do the same. Which was why he was beside her when the wave crashed over the hull.

She was leaning over the side, dumping a bucket of water one moment. The next she had disappeared.

“Eleanor!” The ocean seemed to swallow up his shout as completely as it had her. John didn’t waste time yelling again. He’d always been a man of action, and action was needed now. Without a backward glance he leaped over the side, plummeting into the churning water.

He’d learned to swim in the muddy waters of the Mississippi, but it hadn’t prepared him for this. Each movement was a struggle, a fight of will against a foe that hours ago had seemed friendly and benign. John jackknifed his body forcing himself beneath the boiling sea. The briny water stung his eyes as he searched for some sign of her. When he had to surface or burst, John gulped a deep breath of rain slashed air and tried to see above the cresting whitecaps.

That’s when he noticed her bobbing on the waves. As he called out she disappeared beneath the surface but he quickly thrust himself toward where he’d seen her. His arms felt like lead as he tried to force them to battle the swirling water.

And then she was there... in front of him. Gasping for breath. When she saw him her eyes opened wider.

“The boat,” he said motioning back over his shoulder. But when he grabbed her hand, then looked around, Franklin’s pride and joy was headed away from them, moving faster than they could possibly swim.

It was a flash of lightning that illuminated the coast, showing him there was a chance they wouldn’t drown. Still the waves buffeted then about, making their progress slow and hard fought. But he discovered that