a splash in the surging tide. A wave crashed around her, drenching her and leaving her gasping from the chill of the water.
She didn’t have time to react when a second wave hit her. The water had hardly pulled away before Mr. Cushman was there. As if she weighed nothing more than a sand dollar, he scooped her into his arms. His blue eyes were darker than she’d ever seen them—almost black. His forehead was creased, and his brows were furrowed into that irresistible slant.
“Are you hurt?” he asked.
She coughed past the slight bit of water she’d swallowed. “I’m perfectly alright.”
He hefted her higher against his chest and then waded out of the tide. The other party guests had stopped what they were doing and were now gathering in clusters to watch the spectacle. Samuel and Nathaniel had pulled away from each other and were staring at her, their expressions filled with both surprise and chagrin.
Nathaniel was the first to react. “I’m so sorry, darling.” He rushed toward her and reached out to take her from Mr. Cushman. But Mr. Cushman leveled a glare at Nathaniel that made him freeze. He dropped his hands and stepped aside, having been thoroughly reprimanded by just one look. Mr. Cushman turned the same glare upon Samuel, but he only jutted his chin out and glowered back.
“What happened?” Nathaniel asked, but without making another move toward her. Blood dribbled from his nose and his hair was mussed. He’d been so focused fighting Samuel that he hadn’t realized she’d been swept aside and dumped into the ocean. She couldn’t blame him for her predicament. Besides, she wasn’t in the least injured. Just startled. And wet.
“I’m fine,” she reassured him. But she made no move to free herself from Mr. Cushman’s hold.
“Please forgive me, darling,” Nathaniel said again earnestly. “I was entirely too careless.”
“Yes, you were,” Mr. Cushman agreed as he started up the sloping beach toward the house.
“You may take her inside to one of the guest rooms,” Nathaniel said.
Mr. Cushman didn’t respond. He tromped through the sand as steadily as if he were on solid ground. She rested her head against his shoulder, knowing she should tell him that she could walk. Instead she relished the feeling of safety, something she hadn’t experienced in a long time.
Through the thin wet layers of her garments, she felt the solidness of his chest and the muscles in his arm. She’d never been held by a man before. All her interactions with Nathaniel and past suitors had been chaste—holding the crook of an arm, a brief kiss to her hand, a simple pat on the shoulder. Samuel had kissed her once, on her cheek, but only quickly. It had really been more of a peck.
Now, in Mr. Cushman’s arms, she was keenly aware that not only was he her bodyguard, but he was also a very attractive man. His strong chin brushed against her hair, the hard thud of his heartbeat resounded between them, the heat of his body enveloped hers. Even though she was wet and chilled, strange warmth spread through her stomach.
She was just embarrassed at her awkward predicament, she told herself. That was all. She would have felt the same way had Nathaniel been holding her.
Once Mr. Cushman reached the manicured grass of the garden, he veered in the direction of the carriage house.
“We’re not leaving the party yet,” she said.
“I’m taking you home.”
She ought to protest. The Winthrops had servants who could divest her of her wet garments and help her dry off. She could send home for another fresh gown. Maybe the maids would have trouble re-fashioning her hair into dangling ringlets, but they could figure out something presentable.
But for a reason she couldn’t explain, she didn’t complain. When Mr. Cushman settled her onto the carriage bench, covered her with a wool blanket, and commanded the coachman to leave with all haste, she was surprised by the sense of relief that overcame her.
Within minutes, the carriage arrived at the Cole’s beach cottage. She was disappointed when Mr. Cushman didn’t pick her up again. Instead, he handed her over to the care of her servants, who ushered her to her dressing room and set to work, releasing her from her constrictive garments and tight corset.
An hour later she was in her boudoir, dry and warm and sitting in a lounge chair in front of a fire. She held a cup of tea between both hands and sipped the liquid slowly. The light chintz