Chapter 11
Deep Waters

The pavilion, its windows thrown open on all sides, commanded a sweeping view of river and forest. Breezes drifted freely through, keeping the air cool even in summer.

And yet today, it was hot. Far too hot for anyone to feel a chill—yet Layla shivered, shoulders curling as though an icy hand traced her spine. Eat quickly and leave, she told herself, but the food before her hardly dwindled.

She couldn’t swallow another bite. Lunch had been heavy, and she’d even had snacks. On top of that, the errand in the blazing sun had robbed her of her appetite entirely. Matthias sat with his head tilted, once again absorbed in his work, yet Layla still found it hard to breathe.

Is this a punishment? For the dreadful errand, for the pitiful flower arrangement?

Forcing down another bite of sandwich, she grimaced. If that was his goal, the duke had succeeded. She felt as if she were serving a penance.

To keep from gagging, she gulped lemonade, wiped the damp from her fingers onto her apron, and reached for another piece. She lowered her head further beneath the brim of her hat, hoping he wouldn’t notice the grimace carved on her face. That was when long fingers brushed her chin.

“A lady, Layla…”

With a flick, the fingers tugged loose the ribbon under her chin.

“Should know to remove her hat indoors.”

Before she could protest, Matthias lifted the straw hat from her head.

Startled, Layla leapt to her feet. The sandwich slipped to the floor. Matthias’s eyes narrowed, but Layla, her focus consumed by the hat, didn’t see.

“G-give it back!”

Her voice quivered—not from fear, but from anger.

“Please, return it at once, Your Grace. I… I want to go home. Give it back!”

Matthias’s grip on the stolen hat tightened. To him, it was almost comical—such a reaction over a hat, as though he had stripped her bare. Her flushed cheeks and reddened neck made it all the more amusing. Her skin was far too quick to betray her emotions.

“Eat.”

He gestured to the sandwich halves still on the plate.

“Eat, take your hat, and go. Simple, isn’t it?”

“No. I won’t.”

Layla shook her head and stepped closer.

“I don’t want to eat. I can’t. I refuse.”

Her eyes trembled, wild with fear—or perhaps she no longer knew what she was saying.

Matthias rose slowly, hat still in hand. His shadow fell over her.

“You refuse?”

“I’ll admit I was wrong. Just… please. Give it back. Please?”

She rose on her toes, reaching for it, her face on the verge of tears. For a long moment Matthias simply studied her, then leisurely lifted the hat higher—above his head, above her reach. Her gaze followed, desperate, locked on the hat.

The instant her eyes held his, he let go.

The hat sailed out the window, caught on the breeze, and drifted gently down to the river.

Layla’s eyes blazed. Without a word, she bolted from the room.

Matthias stepped to the window overlooking the dock and the glittering current. Soon, she appeared below, staring at the hat bobbing on the water. She stamped her feet, then hastily stripped off her apron and glasses.

Would she really throw herself in for that ridiculous thing?

He watched, intrigued. Layla shook like a leaf—terrified of the water, it seemed—yet still she moved with determination.

And yet…

The corner of his lips twisted in a sardonic smile as she waded in. Hesitant at first, then steady, she pressed forward—water rising past her knees, her waist, her chest—until she was nearly submerged. Still she did not stop.

By now, it must be deeper than her height.

She stretched desperately, reaching, but the hat drifted farther with the current. Still she trudged onward. At last, her fingers caught the ribbon trailing from it.

And at that very moment, Layla disappeared beneath the water.

“As expected,” Matthias muttered, brows drawing together. Exactly where he had predicted—the riverbed dropped suddenly into deep water. She flailed in panic, each frantic movement dragging her farther down. Yet still she clutched the hat as if it were her lifeline.

Releasing his folded arms, Matthias strode to the dock. He had been right about something else too: Layla Llewellyn, reckless as ever, couldn’t even swim.

She surfaced, gasped, sank again. Her cries weakened with each attempt.

Eat, take your hat, and go.

Such a simple task—yet this absurd spectacle was the result.

With a sigh, Matthias leapt into the water.

The dock planks burned against her cheek—sun-soaked, scorching. That sharp sensation told Layla she was alive. She had been pulled from the river. Relief came first—then pain, then terror.

She coughed violently, shaking, water pouring from her lungs. Yet even then, her fist clenched the sodden hat.

Matthias laughed softly. Short breaths and low chuckles tangled together. Layla looked up just as the water dripping from his body darkened the wood beneath him.

“How… could you… do something like this…”

Her voice cracked between gasps, but she forced out every word, her eyes blazing through the tears brimming there.

Brushing wet hair back from his forehead, Matthias only gazed down at her with wry amusement. His laughter grew louder as her breathing steadied.

Layla pushed herself up on trembling hands. Water streamed from her long hair like rain. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but she didn’t cry. Instead, she glared at him—the cruel man who found this all so entertaining.

Words withered on her tongue. She staggered to her feet. Matthias reclined lazily on the dock as though basking in the sun, watching her. Her soaked dress clung to every line of her body.

His gaze rose, brushing her quivering shoulders. Then—suddenly—she snapped the hat, scattering droplets across him.

Cool water struck his face, but he didn’t flinch. Layla shook harder, defiantly, then jammed the dripping hat back on her head and flicked her skirts. Her eyes sparkled with reckless defiance.

“Having fun?”

Matthias slowly dragged his hand over his face, as though washing away the amusement.

“Because I’m not.”

The smile vanished. His face, in that instant, was as cold and merciless as the river. Layla flinched, instinctively afraid—but she held his gaze.

“Why… why would you do this to me?”

“Start with gratitude, Layla.”

He rolled up his wet sleeves, unhurried, as though mocking her.

“A word of thanks to the man who saved your life.”

Layla’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“If Your Grace hadn’t thrown my hat into the river, none of this would have happened.”

“No.”

His brows drew together, his voice hardening.

“If you had simply eaten your sandwich and gone, none of this would have happened.”

Her breath caught. His tone was too flat to be a joke.

“Or if you hadn’t done something so foolish as jumping into the river when you can’t even swim.”

He flicked water from his fingertips with a tilt of his head.

“…Thank you for saving me, Your Grace.”

Her bow was stiff, her voice sharp with suppressed fury. Uncle Bill, Uncle Bill, Uncle Bill, she chanted in her head like a spell.

“Again,” Matthias said softly, his eyes appraising her like a critic.

“Like a lady, this time.”

He did not smile.

“I beg your pardon, Your Grace, but I am not a lady of noble birth.”

Her anger, even love for Bill couldn’t contain, finally burst forth. Matthias studied her, unshaken.

“But in front of me, you will be a lady, Layla.”

He flicked a droplet to her feet.

“Because whatever you are—I am a gentleman.”

At last, he smiled. His eyes were calm, his lips curved faintly, as though savoring the contradiction.

Layla’s fists clenched at her sodden skirts. Then, with all the poise she could muster, she gave him the curtsey he demanded. Water streamed from her hat, pattering against the dock like rain.

“Thank you ever so much for saving my life, Your Grace.”

Her body trembled so hard her teeth nearly chattered, but she enunciated each word with perfect clarity. Matthias gave the smallest tilt of his chin—a gesture of approval.

Don’t cry, Layla Llewellyn.

She bit her lip, eyes burning.

Don’t you dare cry. Not because of him.

Straightening, she said firmly, “Then I shall take my leave. Goodbye, Your Grace.”

Without waiting for an answer, she turned on her heel. Droplets trailed behind her, marking every step.

Her knees buckled, nearly giving out, but she caught herself each time. She ground her teeth. Not today. I will not fall. I will not give him that satisfaction.

Once she was out of his sight, she broke into a run. Her eyes burned red, beyond the shade of her hat. Hating that, she ran faster.

Once—she remembered—she had seen him walking with Claudine. The picture of grace: a nobleman escorting a beautiful young lady. It had been like something from a fairy tale.

Claudine’s hat had blown away in the breeze. Matthias had strolled to retrieve it, elegant and unhurried, returning it to her hands with effortless charm. She’d thought it beautiful. She realized now: that same beauty had been used to humiliate her.

The memory struck her like a stone.

Pale, trembling, Layla stumbled into the underbrush and retched. Tears welled, but she refused to let them fall.

When the sickness passed, she rinsed her mouth in a shallow forest brook. Sitting under the trees until her breath steadied, she rose and trudged back toward the cottage.

Too drained to run, she dragged her feet, dust clinging to damp stockings and skirt. She no longer cared.

When the cottage finally came into view, she kicked a hazelnut across the path. Only as it rolled away did she realize her mistake.

“My glasses…”

Reaching up to her bare face, Layla froze. Her eyes blurred with dismay. The road back stretched long, impossibly long.