And then he thought he heard the faintest cry. He froze, and his horse did the same, its ears twitching. Slowly, he went forward, and the cry became louder, though hoarse.
“I’m here! But beware the hole!”
He came up short when he understood her and dismounted. He could see the hole now, a gaping blackness in the center of the narrow path. Cursing under his breath, he pulled the cane out of the strap behind the saddle, and limped forward. He saw the top of her blond head before he reached the edge, and went down on his knees to peer in.
“You came,” she cried, sagging back against the dirt wall that was etched with rivulets of water and mud.
The color of her gown was indiscernible, her hair and face matted with mud. But she was alive and on her feet and staring up at him with hope.
“Are you injured?” he demanded.
She shook her head. “But I can’t get out. If you hadn’t come ...”
She trailed off, swallowing, and he knew she’d feared that she’d been abandoned.
“I’ll always come for you, Cecilia,” he said. Then he saw a stone as she dropped it, the gouges in the wall one above the other near a tree root. “Were you trying to dig stairs?”
Her blue eyes lightened with satisfaction. “Yes, I was. But it’s very muddy, and I wasn’t sure they could hold my weight, even if I supported myself with the root.”
“You’re a resourceful woman,” he said with admiration, watching her blush beneath the layer of dirt on her skin. “And you never lost your head. Take my hands, and I’ll pull you to safety.”
Her hands were slick with mud, and he could feel her trembling. As he pulled, she used her feet to climb up the rough walls of the hole. When she emerged, she collapsed against him. He held her tight, kissing the top of her head over and over, feeling more relieved and full of fear than he’d ever felt on a battlefield.
She clutched at him for a moment, her heart pounding against his chest, her body quaking. And then he realized how cold she was, for her hands were like ice. He held her back a bit although she was still in his lap.
Chafing her dirty hands between his, he stared into her face. “What happened?”
“I don’t know,” she said between chattering teeth. “One moment, I was striding along; the next, I was falling forward. I’m so lucky—I could have broken my neck!” She stared up at him almost wildly.
He took her cold face between his hands. “Thank God you’re all right. I knew something was wrong even though everyone else thought you’d sought shelter from the rain.”
“Thank you,” she whispered, then dropped her gaze.
“Let me get you home. We’ll talk then.”
He saw her chin lift, the mutinous curve of her mouth, as if she planned to keep everything in. Well, he’d just see about that. He stood up first, and when he pulled her up after him, she swayed.
“Goodness, my skirts are heavy when they’re full of mud,” she said, her lightheartedness obviously forced.
“The horse won’t care.”
She pulled back and stared up at him. “We are not riding together.”
He rolled his eyes even as the rain streaked down, washing more of the mud from her stubborn face. “Do you hear yourself? Do you plan to walk back in this weather? I’ll mount first, then pull you up.”
She opened her mouth as if to protest, but he ignored her, mounting and securing his cane, before reaching down a hand. With an exaggerated sigh of surrender, she put her foot on top of his in the stirrup, and he had an intriguing glimpse of her damp stockings. Then he pulled, and he managed to toss her across his lap although she obviously meant to ride behind.
“This is ... uncomfortable,” she fumed.
He slid back in the saddle so that her hip wasn’t jammed against the pommel. “For me, too. But I’ll suffer quietly.”
Of course, he was suffering in ways she couldn’t imagine, with her body so intimately close to his. He opened his cloak and pulled it around her, sharing his heat. He felt her stiffen, thought she’d protest, but then, with a sigh, she sank back against him. They rode home in silence, and he wasn’t surprised to see Talbot, Mrs. Ellison, and Nell waiting beneath the portico, wearing relieved expressions. But her brother wasn’t there.
Mrs. Ellison and Nell took charge, hustling Cecilia away. Talbot called for Tom and Will to see to bathing tubs for both rooms. Michael had a brief flash of sharing a brimming tub with his wife, but he put it from his mind—for now.
Talbot was staring at him. “My lord, do tell me what happened. Lady Blackthorne looks a fright.”
Michael saw Appertan leaning in the doorway of the drawing room, and Doddridge hovering just behind, wringing his hands together.
