Page 25 of My Devoted Viscount (Brazen Bluestockings #2)

“The smugglers are interfering in my friend’s work.

” The quirk of her brow let him know she knew exactly what he’d been doing.

To his disappointment, she dropped her arms to her sides, reducing the amount of her breasts visible.

“I thought if I could see them, identify them, the magistrate could take them into custody. Miss Burrell will be able to return to her dig.”

Vincent opened his mouth to argue that it was far too dangerous for her to do that on her own, but they all turned their heads at a soft sound.

Footsteps.

On the beach. Headed their way.

Miss Walden stepped backward and to the side before crouching down, practically disappearing into the darkness at the base of the bluff where she had been hiding before Vincent tripped on her.

It was much easier to hide her tiny frame.

Vincent glanced about, looking for a boulder large enough to conceal himself …

that wasn’t already occupied by Matthew.

He spotted one and dashed the two steps to it and ducked down.

The footsteps grew louder, crunching on the rocks.

Vincent risked peeking around the side of the boulder.

Two men, their outline barely visible as they, too, had dressed all in black, walked directly to the tunnel entrance.

Not until they stepped inside did they light a torch one of them carried.

Knit caps concealed their hair, and they spoke not a word as they continued into the tunnel, their flickering torchlight fading as they walked farther away.

Vincent caught Matthew’s attention. “You stay here, and we’ll catch them in a squeeze.”

Matthew nodded. Vincent hurried into the tunnel.

He stayed far enough back that the smugglers were unlikely to see or hear him, keeping them and their torch in his sight, paying attention to where there were caves off to one side or the other in case he needed to hide.

Some of them branched off into other tunnels and caves in the rabbit warren-like network, formed over centuries of natural and human intervention.

The two smugglers ducked into the filled cavern. Sounds filtered out of crates scraping on the ground. “Get the lead out of yer arse, ye worthless piece of shite,” one of them growled.

Just as his mind processed that familiar phrase, a muffled gasp startled Vincent… because the gasp came from behind him.

He turned around in time to see a flash of brown cloak disappearing into a cavern.

“What—” he cut himself off, but he had already given himself away.

He caught a glimpse of the two men, one holding a torch with one hand, his other balancing a sack of flour over his shoulder.

The other man also had a sack of flour over his shoulder, but instead of holding a torch, he held a pistol … pointed at Vincent.

Was this cave that Miss Walden had ducked into one of them that had a second exit that joined another tunnel? No matter. Vincent leaped over the rocks littering the opening and dove into the cavern just as he heard the bark of the pistol fire.

The impossibly loud explosion ricocheted around the small space, bouncing off the rock walls until Vincent thought his head would explode.

Rocks tumbled down, striking his shoulders and legs.

The side of his face hit the cold, gritty ground and he had a moment to wonder if the cave had collapsed.

Then everything went black, and he thought no more.

* * *

Sophia huddled against the cave wall, covering her head and face with her arms and hands as rocks tumbled and the sound of the gunfire echoed, seeming as loud as a cannon in the confined space. When at last it quieted and rocks settled into place, she cautiously lowered her arms and blinked.

Nothing.

Utter blackness.

She blinked some more and brushed her hand over her face. Her scarf was still tucked into her neckline, not covering her face, and her hair was still in its braided coronet pinned to the top of her head.

Not a glimmer of light penetrated the Stygian blackness, as if there had never been a torch lit down here. As if she were the only person alive.

She held her breath and listened.

Nothing.

No sound but her own pounding heart.

In addition to Lord Fairfax, there had been two men in the tunnel, one of whom she recognized from the inn in Sidmouth. Was she alone in the cave? What had happened to the other men?

Had they shot and killed Lord Fairfax?

She felt her way along the wall, trying to locate the entrance. Though she thought she’d taken several steps into the cave, her foot caught on rocks almost immediately. She tried stepping up and over them, but the pile grew higher.

The entrance had collapsed? Trapping her in here?

She froze, her back to the chilled rock wall, unable to breathe. Couldn’t even draw breath to scream in horror.

Time seemed to freeze as she stood there, against the cold rock. Cold as the grave.

Was she sealed in her own tomb?

She began to feel lightheaded.

There was still air in here. She willed herself to breathe it in and slowly let it out again.

It smelled of damp sea air and ancient rocks, broken apart after millennia, smashed in the cave-in.

Theo would know how old and what kind of rock was exposed at this level.

Sophia let out a hysterical giggle. Just one.

Theo. Mildred.

Her friends were counting on her.

She would not panic. Panic would not serve her. She held her hand over chest, willing her heart to slow down. It was difficult to think over the sound and feel of its pounding.

Several deep breaths, in through her nose, out through her mouth. Think!

Lord Fairfax knew she was in here.

Lord Fairfax might be dead, shot by the smugglers. Or taken as their captive.

No, no, no! Perhaps he was outside, in the tunnel, trying to free her at this very moment. He had heard her gasp, had looked in her direction.

She cocked her head, hoping to hear the sound of rocks being moved.

Nothing. Not even the faint flutter of bats overhead, for they would have all flown outside at dusk to feed.

Mr. Huntley! He knew she was in here.

Or did he?

She had darted in after Lord Fairfax. Mr. Huntley might not have seen her go into the tunnel.

And if she was no longer on the beach, he might think she had gone back up to the house.

No one would know until morning that she was missing, let alone trapped, when Mrs. Digby expected her at breakfast before they started work.

She would not panic. Would. Not.

She couldn’t just stand here all night, either, waiting for other people to notice she was missing, to come to her aid. Hoping they would find her.

Well. She’d just have to rescue herself.

She dropped to her knees to feel her way along.

The rock pile rose sharply to her right.

Perhaps if she moved parallel to it for a little way, then tried the other side of where the cavern opening had been?

Perhaps it was dark simply because the men with the torches had left the tunnel, and the rocks only covered part of the opening.

All she had to do was make her way in the dark.

Complete, utter darkness. But she was confident she knew in which direction to search for the entrance to the tunnel, and from there could feel her way along the tunnel to either the beach or the kitchen.

Nurturing that glimmer of hope, Sophia began crawling, carefully setting her bare hands on the ground between rocks before moving her knees forward, tugging her skirt out of the way.

She had not gone far when she encountered a block. A really large rock? She patted it, trying to find its shape, discover which direction she’d need to go to get around it or if she could crawl over it, when she realized it was not rock.

Wool. And leather.

A boot. On a man’s leg.

“Lord Fairfax?” she whispered.

He did not answer.

Dread warred with hope as she felt along his body. A few rocks had fallen on his legs and back. She impatiently shoved them off to the side and worked her way up and gave his shoulder a nudge when she found it. “Lord Fairfax?” she called, shaking him again.

No response.

She rested her palm on his back, between his shoulder blades, and waited.

Yes! Movement. Slight movement, up and down. He was breathing!

She nearly collapsed with relief.

But wait. Was she certain this man was Fairfax?

What if one of the smugglers had come into the cavern and been caught in the rockslide?

She’d been too shocked at recognizing the curse to notice what the smugglers had been wearing.

They could have been wearing fine wool coats and breeches. Unlikely, but possible.

She worked her hand up his neck, into the strands of his hair.

Long, silky strands. Blessedly, unfashionably long. She brushed some aside that had fallen across his cheek and felt the day’s razor stubble along his jaw prickle her fingers.

Why wasn’t Fairfax responding? He should be sitting up, teasing her about the liberties she was taking with his person.

Dread settling in the pit of her stomach again, Sophia wiped her hands on what she thought was the cleanest part of her gown, and began tracing Fairfax’s features.

Jawline, lips, nose, ear—the right side of his face lay against the stone floor of the cave—and up to his forehead.

All lovely, stubbly, silky… until she encountered sticky blood.

Blood oozed from a wound above his ear toward his eye.

She wiped her fingers and kept checking everything she could reach, until she had traversed the entire length of his body and back up, except for his right arm, which he seemed to be laying on. Nothing else seemed bloody or broken.

She hadn’t brought her reticule to the beach so she didn’t have so much as a handkerchief on her to help stop the bleeding.

Ah, but Fairfax did. Probably.