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energy. As Grant opened his mouth to spew a stinging insult, Christian took a step closer and stared him in the eye.
    “Don’t,” Christian snarled through clenched teeth.
    He bumped his shoulder against Grant’s as he passed and stalked to the main gate. No sound came from behind. With his head high, Christian strode to his grazing Friesian, took up the reins and leaped into the saddle. He resisted the urge to look back. The thought of returning home to Cole and Alicia’s love nest, complete with cooing and kissing in corners, left Christian faintly ill. And envious of their happiness.
    As dawn broke, sending golden rays through the clouds, Chrisitan turned his horse to follow the river. The heavy overgrowth would provide a protective cover where he could continue his solitude. The roar of the rain-swollen, muddy river drowned out all sound. He rode along the river, his artistic mind nudging aside his grief enough to mentally mix colors he’d need if he were to paint the scenery. Silver and charcoal clouds billowed at the horizon of a rare, cobalt blue sky soaring above verdant green foliage. The first traces of autumn reds and gold tipped some of the leaves as if a great artist had begun gilding them with master strokes. Whitecaps topped the muddy rushing waves as the river leaped along its course and ducked underneath a weathered bridge.
    A shimmer of white caught his eye on the old bridge. Christian narrowed his gaze and blinked in disbelief. Surely he was mistaken, but it appeared as though a woman sat on the railing. He blinked again, straining his eyes. He was not mistaken.
    A woman sat with her legs dangling over the edge, the whiteness of her scant gown glowing against the weathered wood. Her head was lowered as if she contemplated the river, her abundant auburn hair concealing most of her face and upper body. He’d only seen hair that color once and its texture had put silk to shame. But that was a lifetime ago.
    As he continued trotting toward her, she shifted her legs until she sat dangerously close to the edge. 
    He let out a gasp. “What the devil...?”
    The woman jumped into the water.
    Christian’s heart leaped into his throat. He spurred his horse closer to the bridge, his gaze fixed on the water’s surface. The woman vanished into the murky depths.
    He didn’t think; he simply acted. Before reaching the bridge, he leaped from his horse, threw off his frockcoat, and dove in. The freezing water hit him like a blow. His strength ebbed until he was little more than a leaf tossed on the savage current. The water tugged him down lower and lower. Summoning all his strength, he fought the weakness, pushing upward. As his head broke through the surface, he took a breath. He scanned for the woman. No sign of her.
    Christian floundered in the numbing cold as rapids overcame him, pulling him down into a world of brown-green water. Shafts of light glimmered over his head. He battled toward the surface, only to be dragged under again before he got a breath. His lungs screamed for air as mortal terror threatened to swallow him. He could die. Here. Now. He would never atone for his transgressions.
    No. He would not die. Not today. Not for a long, long time.
    With renewed determination, Christian forced stiffened muscles into smooth strokes and shot upward. As his head broke through, he drew air into starved lungs. With the roar of the river deafening him, he looked wildly around for the woman. Nothing. He refused to give up. He had to save her. The river widened and slowed, no longer lethal in its current. Still treading water, he continued searching the surface.
    There. A bit of cloth. He launched himself toward it and reached out. His fingers closed over something, but they were too numb to identify what, exactly, he’d caught. As he made a fist and pulled, a solid form sailed toward him. Towing the mass behind him, he ordered his numbed limbs to move him toward the riverbank. The moment his feet gained