The Lady By His Side(100)
A maelstrom of feelings wracked him—wracked them. He kissed her ferociously, and she responded in kind, as if letting him go was something she couldn’t yet manage.
Relief, and the knowledge that they were still there—alive, hale, whole, and together—eventually seeped into their brains.
A storm of reaction still roiled inside them, but they couldn’t let it rage—not now. Not here.
Not yet.
He filled his lungs and drew back.
They broke from the kiss; his hands cradling her face, her hands framing his jaw, each holding the other captive, with their breathing still ragged, each leaned their forehead against the other’s in wordless communion .
In wordless support.
Several seconds passed, then they both drew deep breaths and moved apart.
Refocused.
He glanced toward where he judged the mouth of the onward tunnel lay. “Did you see who it was?”
“No. You?”
“Just that it was one of the younger men.”
In the dark, he felt her push to her feet. “And from his accent, it was one of the Irishmen—so Filbury, Wilson, or Connell Boyne.”
He nodded, then realized she couldn’t see. Moving slowly so he wouldn’t bump into her, he drew his legs in and stood. “We need to get back to the house and see which one is wounded.”
“Are you sure you hit him?”
“Yes. But he knows I know, so he’ll be running as fast as he can. We need to hurry.”
“I can’t see anything,” she said. “We both dropped our candles.”
He felt in his pockets and was relieved to discover his matchbox still there. “I have matches, but we’ll need to find at least one of the candles.” Carefully, he opened the matchbox and extracted one of Congreve’s matches. “Ready?”
“Yes.”
He struck the match. As soon as it flared, he held it at head height, and they both searched the floor.
“There!” She pounced. Just as the match burned down, and he swore and dropped it, she triumphantly rose, holding one of the half-burned candles.
He drew out another match, lit it, then he lit the candle, and they finally had light enough to see each other.
For an instant, they stared—and it felt as if a rush of urgent things both needed to say passed between them in a second.
Then they both drew in a breath, and she looked toward the tunnel leading onward. “Do we follow him? That will be the fastest way, won’t it? On to the house?”
He considered. “No, we can’t go that way.” An explanation of the dictate leapt readily to his tongue. “If I were him, I would wait along the tunnel somewhere and hope we come along. It’s still very much in his best interests to make sure we don’t reappear—at least not alive.”
She drew in a quick breath and, in a brisker tone, said, “Very well. It’s back to the beach. At least we know it’s not that far.”
And they knew the terrain; they accomplished the return journey to the beach in a matter of minutes. They stumbled into the deeper sand on the shore. Sebastian blew out the candle, stubbed it on his boot sole, stuffed the remnant into his pocket, then caught Antonia’s hand and helped her run back through the sands to the spot where they’d come down the cliff.
Because of that last large stone, they had to find an alternative route up.
He studied the climb, then glanced at her. “Can you manage it?”
She threw him a look he remembered from long ago, reached up, caught a branch, and swung herself onto the slope.
This time, he let her go first. He followed close behind, lending a steadying hand whenever she needed one.
It was a scramble, but she uttered not one word of complaint, just grabbed branches and bushes and hauled herself up.
Finally, they gained the top of the slope.
They both paused to catch their breaths.
Then their eyes met, and they raced for the horses.
* * *
They thundered across the fields. Sebastian didn’t need to glance over his shoulder to check on Antonia. He knew she was an accomplished rider; he trusted in her abilities to keep up.
She was only two lengths behind him when, eschewing the path to the stable yard, he veered across the side lawn. He rode directly to the side door; it was their fastest route into the house.
He hauled the gray to a halt, flung himself from the saddle, and was waiting to lift Antonia from hers the instant she drew up.
She did, and he seized her about the waist, swung her down, released her, took her hand, and together, they ran for the door.
He thrust it open. “Pray he lingered, hoping to catch us in the tunnel.”
They strode straight down the corridor toward the estate office, but as they neared the office door, they saw Crawford and Sir Humphrey in the front hall. The men’s backs were to the corridor, and they were being railed at by Parrish and McGibbin.