Yet her gaze followed Rourke forward. Time had not changed him. His dark hair was still drawn back at the nape. He still cut an impressive figure, tall and strong. His rich baritone still reached deep into her soul. Four years had not changed him, but it had changed her.
Elizabeth clung to the door frame as a large wave doused the shipwreck. After wiping the seawater from her eyes, she looked for Rourke and her aunt. They had survived the deluge, Rourke balancing Aunt’s weight like a cotton bale. After two more steps, he assisted her into the arms of two waiting seamen.
Now someone would come for her. Perhaps Rourke.
The thought sent a hum of conflicting emotion through her tired limbs. Father had made the marriage requirements clear. She must choose a husband from her own class or higher. Mother had seconded that. Rourke O’Malley did not qualify unless his fortunes had risen dramatically since she left.
Rourke made his way toward her, moving quickly along the rescue line.
Her pulse accelerated. Soon he would reach her. They would be alone together. No chaperone. No hovering relatives. Not even another crew member. Only the two of them were left on the wreck.
She drew in a shaky breath. He’d passed the midpoint of the rope. Soon he would take her in his arms. Soon she would feel his heartbeat and hear his whisper in her ear. Would he speak of love or blame? His emotional cry for her suggested it would be the former. She gripped the door frame until her fingers hurt. How dreadful to receive the one thing she wanted most, knowing that she must cast it away.
He slung an arm around a winch and yelled something in her direction.
The wind snatched his words away.
She shook her head.
He pointed to larboard.
A towering wave loomed above the wreck. She ducked into the passage and grabbed the railing just as the wave hit. It knocked her feet out from under her. She slammed into the wall but held on. With eyes squeezed shut, she dared not breathe as the water gushed around her, first in and then out. The force ripped her fingers from the railing. She grabbed for anything as the ocean sucked her down into its bowels.
Her knees hit solid wood when the wash of the wave subsided. Cloth slapped her hands, and she grabbed hold. With a yank, her downward progress came to a halt. She gulped for air and opened her eyes to the sting of salt water.
“Take my hand, Elizabeth.”
Rourke’s voice brought hope. Though her arms ached and a terrible weight was pulling her down, she might yet survive. After blinking away the tears, she spotted his hand far above her. He was hanging upside down, one leg hooked on the rescue line and the other braced against the great cabin. His hand was beyond reach. The distance between them was too great. He could never reach her. She must somehow get to him.
She was hanging on a remnant of the sail, her feet dangling into the sea. The heaving waves spun her around. Her arms ached. Her fingers slipped. The weight of her skirts dragged her down. If she let go with one hand, she would fall.
“Climb, Elizabeth!”
“I can’t.”
“Yes you can. I’ve seen you swim in pounding seas. You rowed around the island.”
“That was years ago.”
“You still have it in you.” A trace of desperation colored his pleas. “You are strong, Elizabeth Benjamin. Hold on a little longer, and I’ll come to you.”
Help me, Lord. The prayer came from desperation and with little hope, yet when Elizabeth looked up, she saw Rourke moving down the line, a short rope between his teeth. He stopped and slung his legs over the rescue line. It bowed under his weight, but it held. He reached for the dangling spar. Then he began to lift. His face contorted with effort, but she felt herself move upward.
He was attempting to pull her up.
His effort opened a well of strength she didn’t know she possessed. She inched upward, gaining some ground.
His fingertips brushed her hand. “A little more.”
Her hands ached. She hadn’t any more to give.
“Come to me, Elizabeth,” he urged, his fingertips trying to coax her hands off the sail. “Let go with one hand, and I will lift you to safety.”
Oh, his touch! It resurrected feelings and memories and hopes that couldn’t be. The feel of his arms would shatter every vow. Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut.
“I can’t!” she cried.
“You must.”
Rourke or death. The choice was simple, but in her fevered mind Elizabeth could not save her life simply to propel it into the risk of Rourke’s embrace.
“Better to suffer with grace than to unequally yoke oneself,” Mother had counseled before Elizabeth boarded the ship to Charleston. Her letters had expressed disappointment that Elizabeth had turned away every suitor, explaining that no man was perfect.
Mother hadn’t understood. Rourke was perfect for her. No other suitor had ever come close.
“I’m sorry.” She needed to say more, to explain what a coward she had been four years ago and beg his forgiveness, but even with death knocking she could not find the words.
“Hold on!”