Page 27 of My Devoted Viscount (Brazen Bluestockings #2)

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Vincent waited until the cave floor stopped dipping and rolling like a ship in a storm before he risked opening his eyes again.

Miss Walden knelt before him, her brows furrowed in concern as she stared at him.

Dirt smudged her cheeks and nose, and strands of hair had escaped her braids and frizzed around her face.

Bits of white peeked through numerous little rips and tears in her dark brown dress.

Without the scarf tucked into her neckline, he saw the curved tops of her breasts, though her arms were not folded and pushing them up at the moment.

“Where is your scarf?”

Her eyebrows raised. “ That is what you want to know just now?” She snorted. Then pointed at his head. “You were bleeding.”

He reached up, finding the scarf and a wad of linen. His hands came away with grit and traces of blood on his fingertips. “In complete darkness, you found my injury and treated it?”

“First I found you. Then when you didn’t answer me, I tried to find out why.”

Hearing the catch in her voice, he looked at her more closely.

Now he noticed her jagged fingernails, the scratches on her hands, how she was holding herself rigidly as though she might shatter into pieces if she relaxed.

He risked turning his head, taking in the uneven pile of rocks blocking what had been the entrance, and numerous rocks on the ground on either side.

Only large rocks remained at the top; the smaller ones had been flung aside.

How terrifying it must have been for her, trapped in here, no source of light, her only companion injured and unconscious. And instead of huddling in the corner and having a fit of hysterics, she had stopped his bleeding and worked to free them.

He patted his thighs. “Come here, cara .”

She reared her head back. “I beg your pardon?” she said in the same tone a duchess would use to depress an encroaching toady.

He folded his legs tailor-style and held his arms out toward her.

“Please.” She obviously wouldn’t admit to needing comfort, even if he desperately wanted to give it to her.

“I am chilled after lying on the cold ground.” Not something he would admit to in other circumstances, and a mild discomfort he could easily ignore compared to the demented carpenter hammering away in his head, but it suited his purposes.

Her brows snapped down and she squinted one eye as she stared at him, her head slightly turned to the side.

Perhaps patting his lap and calling her like a dog had not been the best opening gambit.

He was accustomed to London lasses who would rush into his arms with the barest hint of indication of his interest, yet here he was in danger of this bluestocking giving him the cut direct.

He curled his fingers in the ‘come here’ gesture while giving his best ‘I’m going to freeze to death without you’ expression.

Something worked, as she leaned toward him. He grasped her under her arms, lifted, and before she had a chance to utter more than a startled squeak in protest, settled her sideways on his lap, careful to keep her boots and skirts away from the candle.

He felt her sharp inhale, no doubt to rebuke him, so he quickly wrapped his arms around her and let out a gusty, contented sigh against her neck. “Ah, much better. Thank you, Miss Walden.”

She made a strangled noise, no doubt swallowing her comment, and was silent.

After a few moments he felt her relax a fraction.

He arranged his coat and her cloak to cover them both to ward off the chill.

A few moments later, he felt her slide her arms under his coat, embracing him, and she relaxed enough to rest her cheek against his chest.

While keeping one arm snugly around her waist, he rubbed one hand up and down her back, and said nothing when he felt tiny tremors wrack her body, and then warm dampness on his shirt. He might be a tad overset himself if he’d just spent as much time alone in the dark, in uncertainty, as she had.

Dare he ask her why she had followed him into the tunnel?

Soon. But not just yet.

Before the candle had burned down much farther, she sat up, sniffling.

“I wish I had a handkerchief to offer you,” he quietly said.

“No matter.” She lifted the bottom of her skirt and wiped her eyes and delicately blew her nose, before covering her legs again.

Catching himself staring at her stockings and trim calves, he retrieved another candle stub from his pocket and lit it just before the first candle sputtered out, spent.

“You brought a pocketful of candles?”

“You didn’t?”

“I did not intend to come into the tunnel.”

“Which begs the question…”

“I have been asking myself that for the last … however long we have been stuck in here.” She sat up farther and looked around the cavern, seeing it for perhaps the first time.

“It could take hours to move all those.” She stared morosely at the pile of rocks blocking their exit, and her bosom heaved in a distracting deep breath. “Best get back to it.”

Before he could object, she clambered to her feet, shook out her skirts, and marched to the pile and began flinging rocks off to the side.

Vincent lit another candle. Feeling as creaky as an octogenarian, he slowly climbed to his feet.

He held still until the cave stopped spinning, then held the candle high and started prowling the edges of the cave, patting the walls here and there, as he heard the rhythmic scrape and clatter of Miss Walden removing rocks from the collapsed entrance.

He made a full circle of the space and faced her. “I was hoping this cavern would be one that connects to others. No such luck.”

There was no flare of disappointment on her face, as she hadn’t shared his hope to start with.

She gestured at the rock pile. “Do you feel well enough to help me move some of the bigger rocks? The going is much easier now that I can see what I’m doing, but some of them are too heavy for me to budge by myself. ”

Bending over made his head spin and threatened a return of his supper, so he set the candle in a puddle of wax on the largest rock that had been freed so far, and reached for rocks at his chest level or higher.

“We don’t need to clear all of it. Just create an opening big enough for you to wiggle through. ”

Her brows and chin raised as she paused to catch her breath. “Wiggle?”

How could she look and sound so imperious, while covered with dust and trickles of sweat, her hair mussed, her white shift showing through rips in her gown? He wanted to pull her back into his arms. “You can fit through a much smaller gap than I can.”

Without a trace of self-consciousness, she gave him a thorough perusal from his face down to the toes of his now scuffed and dusty boots back up to his head, like she was cataloging every detail of his physique, and tilted her head back to look him in the eye.

“Agreed.” And with that, she went back to flinging rocks out of their way.

Under other circumstances he would ask if she liked what she saw. “Matthew knows I’m in here,” he offered. Together they dislodged a particularly large boulder and let it roll down between them.

“The smugglers may have captured or … injured … him.”

“Or he might have escaped their notice and gone to get help after they left. Even now, there could be people working on the other side here, trying to free us.”

They paused, listening.

The only sound was their own breathing, harsh from their exertions.

“Lovely if it happens. In the meantime, I will keep trying to dig myself out.” Miss Walden grabbed another rock and tossed it aside.

“ We will dig us out.”

* * *

Vincent’s last candle began to sputter out. No, wait, the flame was fluttering because of a sudden flow of air … into the cavern.

“Not long now,” came a masculine voice from the other side. A flicker of light shone through a tiny gap near the top of the pile, too small yet for Miss Walden’s hand to fit, never mind the rest of her wiggling through.

“We’ll be rescued soo—” Vincent cut himself off when Miss Walden emphatically gestured for him to shush.

More voices filtered through, discussing which rocks to move. He recognized Matthew, the butler, the coachman, and … was that the young footman?

For the first time, he saw Miss Walden panic. She stared at him, her eyes wide, her bosom heaving.

She should be delighted. After hours trapped in here, perhaps all night, they were finally going to escape. She’d been in here all night…

Alone with him.

He smacked his forehead. They might keep this private if it was just Matthew finding them, but household staff? The maids would know by noon. And everyone in the village would know by nightfall.

That he had compromised Miss Walden.

He gave her an appraising glance, just like the one she had given him earlier.

Though a tad older than green girls on the Marriage Mart who’d been trying to catch him and his title since he’d finished university, she still had pleasant features.

She was a delectable armful, a Pocket Venus spitfire who kept a cool head instead of panicking, had a delightful singing voice and better than average musical talent.

He could do worse than marry one such as her.

And once she was his wife, he’d finally get to see her thick brown hair unbraided, unbound. Spread across his pillow.

The only drawback was that she was still hiding something from him.

Was she involved with the smugglers? She’d seemed as startled as he to recognize Clyde.

Even so, the more he thought about it, the more the idea of marriage to her appealed to him. He could question her at length after their wedding. In their bedchamber. While they were naked. “Miss Walden, I—”

She rushed to him and stretched up to cover his mouth with her hand.

The opening in the rocks grew a fraction wider.