Christine Must Be Protected
“Madame Giry!” Raoul seized the ballet mistress’s arm, his face lined with worry but gratitude still evident in his gaze. “Thank you.” They regarded the other with a nod, and then she was gone, and he was alone, looking out from the bridge over the dismal subterranean lake that she had led him to. He could just barely make out the darkened shore on the other side, if he squinted. It was a distance, that was for certain, but he was a strong swimmer—he’d had to have been, as a naval officer, and though he had not swum under such conditions in quite some time, the urgency of the situation was motivation enough.
He needed to save her, to apologize for being the fool he was and getting her into this mess in the first place with his ill-conceived plan. He slid the tailored tailcoat from his back and left it on a post, and then untied his bowtie. The pique vest came off next, and then he rolled up his sleeves, stepping over the bridge’s railing. It was quite a drop, but if he landed correctly, it wouldn’t be much of a problem. The viscount held his foot over the the side and then swallowed, letting go of the bridge and falling into the lake with a loud splash. It was freezing, but that mattered not as powerful arms cut through the water, long legs kicking evenly to propel himself through the water.