“Lord Greystone,” Cecelia said, without taking her eyes from George. “Might I please borrow your coat?”
“I beg your pardon?” the viscount exclaimed, and instead of wasting any more time, Cecelia started to strip off her own coat.
As if he knew exactly what she was doing, George propped Catherine into a sitting position, and together, they wrapped her up in Cecelia's fur-lined coat.
“Your jacket, please, My Lord,” Cecelia said, finally turning to look up at the viscount.
He hurried to remove his coat, and Cecelia took it from him, offering it to George. “Here.”
George's gaze met hers, flitting to Lord Greystone for only a second before he took the coat and wrapped it around his shoulders.
“My gratitude, My Lord,” George said in a most clipped manner, and not for the first time, Cecelia came to realize the truth.
When her sister's life had hung in the balance, not one person had moved, not one save forhim.
Without a second thought, he had dived into the water to rescue her.
Was that truly the act of a man with a stone-cold heart?
She was certain that it wasn't.
“We need to get you both home,” Cecelia insisted, seeing how they continued to shiver. She worked hard to pull off Catherine's skates, her sopping socks, her sodden gloves. The lake watersoaked through her own gloves, icy cold, and she began to shiver too.
She couldn't even begin to imagine how much her sister and the duke were hurting now with the biting cold.
Without instruction, George placed his arm under Catherine and hoisted her up onto her feet.
He stood beside her, holding on tight until she stood firmly on her bare feet. And when she winced at the cold, he yanked her up into his arms.
“I'll carry you to the carriage.”
Luckily for them, it seemed that the coachman had some sense and was already pulling the carriage around to their side of the lake.
“Let me help you,” Cecelia insisted when she saw how much he was shivering with cold.
George looked at her, his gaze so strong as he said, “I've got her. I promise.”
Those words heated Cecelia's insides in a way she never would have been able to imagine.
“We must make haste,” Lord Greystone insisted, skirting around the two as if to make way for them, but only in fact doing the opposite.
Cecelia bit the inside of her lip, noting how flustered he appeared, seeing the way he looked between the two of them.
He was not, in fact, the man she had hoped him to be.
And when they made it to the carriage, her mother shaking, Catherine shivering, and Mary positively beside herself, there was nothing Cecelia wished to do more than thank George.
Instead, she found herself before Lord Greystone.
He held her hand, dipped his head, and said, “Please, do let me know if I might be of further help, My Lady.”
She had to bite her tongue to stop herself from pointing out that save for his coat, he himself had been of little help at all.
“Thank you, My Lord,” she forced herself to say, glancing over her shoulder to find that George was much preoccupied with Lady Elizabeth.
“Please, allow me to escort you all home,” Walter insisted, his eyes fixed on the carriage where Mary had disappeared to comfort their mother.
“Thank you, Walter,” Cecelia uttered the words she so longed to offer to his friend.
