Page 28 of My Devoted Viscount (Brazen Bluestockings #2)

“I did not safeguard my reputation this long only to ruin it protecting a foolish former student.” Her voice was low and intense as she frantically swung her gaze around the cavern, finally returning it to him. “You have to lie back down!”

She kicked stones out of the way, clearing the spot where he had originally fallen, then turned back to him, assessing.

She swept her hands over him, brushing away dust from his chest, stretching up on tiptoes to reach his shoulders and even shake dust from his hair.

He dropped his jaw in surprise as she lifted the side of her skirt to brush the dirt from his hands.

Another rock moved and more light spilled into the cavern, the men’s voices becoming clearer.

“Lie down!” she hissed, and pointed to where he had been lying when he regained consciousness. “In the same position as you fell. I think your right arm was folded under you.”

He still intended to offer her marriage—he’d held her on his lap, after all—but for now he’d placate her.

He lowered himself to the ground, tucking his arm underneath his chest where he’d tried to brace for his fall, and stifled a groan as the room spun with his change in altitude.

The cold, gritty floor stung his cheek as he laid his head down.

He felt her sprinkle a few rocks on his legs and back. “Don’t wake up until they see you’ve been unconscious the whole time,” she whispered beside his ear, and blew out the candle. Fabric rustled and he felt her reach into his pocket, hiding the candle stub.

Obediently, he closed his eyes—the better to shut out the cave that was still spinning—and relived her whisper, how her lips had almost brushed his ear.

Those were possibly the least romantic or affectionate words any woman had spoken to him, yet a shiver ran down his spine that had nothing to do with the cold ground or sweat down his back that was now cooling, chilling him further.

“In here,” she called, her voice directed away from him. “Mr. Huntley, is that you?”

“Miss Walden!” Matthew replied, relief evident in his voice. “Are you injured?”

“No,” she replied. “But I fear Lord Fairfax may be. He hasn’t moved since the rocks fell.”

Saucy little minx. She sounded completely believable, just enough concern in her voice without overdoing it. Vincent couldn’t help chuckling.

She lightly kicked his ankle. “Hush!” she whispered.

Pushing aside any guilt that he should be helping to extricate them, Vincent allowed himself to relax. His head ached, he was tired from his earlier efforts, and it must be nearing dawn. Even in London with all its diversions, he would have sought his bed long before now.

He must have dozed off, for the next thing he knew, Matthew was shaking his shoulder.

“Vincent!” Matthew squatted beside him, blocking part of the torchlight, shaking him again.

Vincent blinked, bringing his friend’s worried face into focus, and let out a groan for good measure.

Beyond Matthew, he saw Miss Walden against the cave wall, holding a lit torch.

She bit the corner of her bottom lip. Resisting the impulse to wink at her, Vincent let out another groan and slowly sat up, holding his head.

“Good show, my lord,” Bickford said, looking relieved.

Vincent squinted at the coachman.

“We weren’t looking forward to carrying you out and all the way up to the house,” Matthew explained. “Unless you can’t walk?”

Considering he was several stone heavier and inches taller than everyone present except Kendall, Vincent took no offense.

“Let’s find out.” He held out his elbows.

Matthew and Kendall each took an arm and helped him to his feet.

The slight wobble when he was fully upright was no playacting.

He closed his eyes while the cave spun and tilted.

When the floor seemed level again, he opened his eyes and looked around the cave while moving his head as little as possible.

Enough rocks had been cleared from the entrance to allow the men to climb in through the gap they’d created.

“What’s this?” Matthew pointed at the black scarf wrapped around Vincent’s head.

He reached his hands up, as though just discovering the scarf’s existence.

“You were bleeding,” Miss Walden offered in a tiny voice. “You weren’t moving after the rocks stopped falling, and I tried to find out if you were … were—”

“In total darkness?” Bickford and Kendall discussed the sticky wicket Miss Walden had been in, with additional commentary from Marshall, the young footman.

“I am sorry I frightened you.” Vincent took a tentative step toward her. Relieved that he did not fall on his face, he took another. He wanted to pull her into his arms, wrap her in his embrace until she stopped shaking at the memory she was clearly reliving.

Cognizant of the other men nearby, he gently grasped her free hand.

Her raw, scraped hand. He moved his hands up to her wrist, wanting to trace over the pulse point with his fingertips …

which he quickly realized were sore and raw from flinging rocks.

He’d need to make sure he wore gloves for the next few days, to hide the evidence that he had not, in fact, been unconscious the entire time he’d been alone with Miss Walden.

“I’m sure you two are ready to get out of here,” Matthew said. “I certainly am.”

“Yes, by all means,” Miss Walden softly said, looking anywhere but at Vincent.

The other men helped her over the rocks, annoying Vincent that they denied him this privilege, until his attention was fully occupied with getting himself over the pile and out to the tunnel without disgracing himself.

He put a hand against the cool wall to steady himself, willing the ground to stop rolling.

A sound caught his attention, perhaps the scuff of a shoe on the rock-strewn floor … on the opposite side of the cave-in from where the rescuers stood with Miss Walden. Vincent started to turn his head to see who else was here, but had to close his eyes again against a wave of vertigo.

Probably just bats fluttering back to their nest after feeding all night.

After a brief and hushed discussion, Marshall led the way with a lit torch toward the kitchen, not the beach. Matthew took Miss Walden’s hand and wrapped his other arm around her waist.

Vincent wanted to object to Matthew behaving with such familiarity, especially so soon after Gert’s suggestion that Miss Walden could solve her problems by marrying Matthew …

until he realized that Bickford and Kendall had each taken one of his elbows.

If he were to lose his balance, as seemed quite possible if he turned his head too quickly, Uncle Digby’s two long-time retainers, who were nearly as tall and broadly built as Vincent, were the only persons present who stood a chance of keeping him from falling on his arse.

“Steady on, my lord,” Kendall quietly encouraged as the ground rose and they began the turn.

They soon emerged into the kitchen, startling the scullery maid, who was adding more fuel to the fire.

“Do I need to send the cub to fetch the surgeon?” Mrs. Bickford stared at Vincent while gesturing at Marshall with her big wooden mixing spoon, unfazed at the trail of people trooping into her kitchen from the secret tunnel.

“No,” Vincent said at the same time Matthew said, “Yes.” The two friends glared at each other.

Vincent pulled out a chair at the kitchen worktable and sat down. “I just need one of your restorative cups of tea,” he said to the cook. He must have taken a harder blow to the head than he thought, because he didn’t even think about pulling out a chair for Miss Walden until he saw Matthew do it.

“And perhaps a little something to eat?” Miss Walden carefully kept her hands in her lap, hidden under the table.

“Quite right, dearie. Coming right up.”

Within moments, Vincent cradled a warm cup in his hands that held more brandy than tea.

After several gulps, he set it down to help himself to the butter, blackberry preserves, and still-warm bread that the scullery maid set on the table, while Mrs. Bickford chopped and stirred and cooked something that smelled divine.

He nodded approval when Miss Walden helped herself to a thick hunk of bread, and barely noticed that Matthew sorted out getting rid of the extra people.

Marshall, Kendall, and Bickford returned to their duties. Or their beds—Vincent didn’t much care.

Matthew took another chair at the kitchen table, pouring himself a cup of tea with only a splash of brandy. “We need to talk,” he murmured, glancing between Miss Walden and Vincent.

“Not on an empty stomach.” Vincent leaned back in his chair as Mrs. Bickford set heaping plates in front of him and Miss Walden, then quickly dished up a third for Matthew.

“Are you sure you shouldn’t have a surgeon see to that?” Miss Walden pointed at Vincent’s head.

Vincent stopped himself from shaking his head just in time. “I’ll have Lawrence take a look at it when I go upstairs. I’ll let him decide if it’s beyond his skills.” He held up his teacup in one hand and gestured at the plate of food with his other. “I think this is all I need.”

“Right,” Matthew said under his breath. “It’s not like you need sleep.” He gave a pointed glance at Vincent’s hands, both of which were adorned with fresh scratches.

Miss Walden froze in the act of taking a bite.

“I’m sure everything will be fine,” Matthew said, giving her a reassuring pat on the shoulder. He turned his head toward Vincent, a wealth of meaning in his stare.

“Yes, we have everything under control.” Vincent returned his friend’s stare with equanimity.