TWICE A HERO By Susan Krinard

But it wasn’t Mac he was holding, and the light within Caroline was not bright enough, not strong enough to pierce the darkness, to make him feel…

The wrongness of it shocked him back to himself as surely as the sound of purposeful footsteps rounding the corner into the hall.

Mac stopped in a swirl of skirts, her ears red as summer roses. Liam released Caroline; she put her hands to her lips and backed away to lean against the wall, trembling and mute.

The darkness in Liam spilled over, a bedlam in his mind that left him numb to any feeling. He took Caroline’s hand and pulled her out of the hall and across the dining room to the door. The fresh ocean air let him breathe again; he paused on the steps and searched the line of carriages waiting at the hitching racks.

A respectable-looking hack driver was leaning against his brougham, smoking a cigarette and blowing smoke circles lazily into the air. Liam strode up to him, Caroline in tow.

“Are you for hire?” he demanded.

The driver dropped his cigarette and crushed it under his heel. “I’m waiting for my fare…”

“I’ll double what they’re paying if you take this lady home directly and see that she is put into the keeping of her chaperon. Tell Mrs. Hunter that no one is to see the young lady until I return. If I hear you’ve done exactly as I tell you, I’ll triple the fee. Liam O’Shea’s the name.”

The driver straightened. “I know you, Mr. O’Shea.”

“Good. Then you know I don’t tolerate incompetence. She’s to go directly, and safely, to her home. Can you guarantee that?”

“Sure. I’m the best driver in the city.”

Liam snorted and counted out a handful of coins. “Send another driver to pick up your fare and come to my house for the rest of the money when the job’s complete. You’ll find the Gresham home on California Street.”

“I know it, sir.” The driver pocketed the coins and tipped his hat. “She’ll be home safe and sound in a jiffy.”

Caroline made no protest as Liam handed her into the brougham. She peered at him through the window, pale against the glass. Soon the carriage was down the lane and rounding the headland, out of sight.

He walked to the surrey to retrieve the dogs. Both were gone—probably down at the beach for their run. Grimly he went back into Cliff House, but Mac was nowhere to be found.

She was not outside, nor on the descending road to the ocean. It wasn’t until he looked over the railing along the rocks and down to the beach below that he saw her.

She was walking close to the surf, her skirts caught up in one hand. The dogs were with her—Norton bounding ahead and doubling back again, Bummer chasing the waves at her feet.

Liam strode along the curved lane and onto the sand, ignoring the coarse grains that worked into his shoes and destroyed their fine polish. All he could see was Mac.

Her walking boots, stockings, and hat lay in a heap just out of the water’s reach. He stopped to gather them up. Her footprints melted into wet sand as he followed them.

The sand also muffled the sounds of his approach, allowing him to observe uninterrupted. The hem of her gown was soaked five inches up, and her hair was tangled with salt spray. She didn’t mind displaying her ankles for all to see. Once she’d revealed a great deal more, only for him.

She was a bloody siren, bent on dragging a man to his doom under the icy waves.

No. She was a sea nymph, unselfconscious in her immodesty, unaware of its effect on mortal men who came too near.

His body stirred, betraying him. With a final long stride he caught up to her.

“Well, Mac,” he said harshly. “I see you’ve found a way to amuse yourself.”

She turned without surprise, pushing her spray-wet bangs from her forehead. “It’s a hell of a lot better than watching your little soap opera up there. I can get that at home for free.” She whistled sharply and Norton came running up to her, beating her skirts with his sandy tail. “Is it finally over?”