Page 35 of A Bride for the Baron

Edmund motioned to the largest man. When the man came over, Edmund ordered him to tie the rope around his waist. He did and planted his feet while Edmund and several other men grabbed the rope, ready to pull when Sims gave the signal. Edmund tried to look toward the hole, but his view was blocked by the backs of the men in front of him.

“Steady,” Sims called back before asking, “Miss Fenwick, can you get it tied around your waist?”

Edmund did not hear her answer, and his heart faltered. God, keep her safe. Keep her safe. Please, keep her safe.

The prayer kept repeating through his head as Sims yelled, “Pull. Slowly. Stop if I tell you to.”

The rope grew taut in Edmund’s hands as he and the other men edged back. A weight, greater than Vera’s, warned that the dirt had clamped around her when she had fallen in. Maybe stones, as well. He tried not to think of how she might be crushed within the debris.

“Keep it up, lads,” Sims bellowed. “She’s coming loose. Slowly, slowly.”

Edmund focused on moving his feet. Back on the ball of one foot, then down on his heel. Back with the other foot. Over and over.

Shouts raced along the line, Edmund ran to where Sims struggled to assist Vera out of the hole. Edmund grasped her under the arms and lifted her out. The dirt released her reluctantly; then she was free. He pulled her back. Sims jumped aside as the hole widened another yard.

“Are you hurt?” Edmund asked as he set her on her feet. When she winced, he scooped her up in his arms.

“My right knee,” Vera replied with another grimace. “I twisted it when I fell. I guess this will teach me to hold on to my temper, won’t it?”

He knew that, if she could make a joke, she was not hurt badly. But he did not feel like jesting. After giving her a chance to thank the men who had assisted in her rescue, he carried her to the carriage. Griffin, the coachman, rushed past them and opened the door so Vera could be placed on the seat.

Edmund stepped in and closed the door. The carriage jostled when Griffin climbed into the box. Seconds later, they lurched into motion.

Beside him, Vera made a soft sound halfway between a sigh of relief and a moan. When he asked her if she was in pain, she murmured, “Other than my knee, no.”

“Thank God for that.”

“Yes, thank God.” She closed her eyes for a moment, and he had to wonder if her prayers of gratitude echoed his. She opened them and met his with her uncompromising gaze. “But no thanks to the smugglers.” She leaned her head back against the seat and his arm that he had draped along it. “I saw broken timbers. Recently broken ones. I landed on a heap of stones, and the cavity was closed in both directions. I think I had the misfortune to stamp my foot on the one spot they failed to fill in before they set fire to the church.” Her bonnet creaked against his arm as she turned her head toward him. “Thank you for saving me.”

As he gazed down into her soft eyes and the faint smile on her lips that looked even softer, he could not imagine not being truthful. “I was only one of many who pulled you out.”

“But you were the first one to try to reach me, and you directed the men.”

“Following your commands.” He looped a strand of her hair over his finger and tucked it behind her ear. His fingers splayed across her silken cheek.

She breathed out something that might have been his name, but he heard only an invitation to kiss her. As he leaned in closer, she flinched as his knee brushed her injured one.

He pulled back but kept his arm beneath her nape. What a bacon-brain he was! Kissing her was the first decision he had made in almost a year, and it was as half-witted as his last one.

“I am all right,” she whispered.

She had no idea the course of his thoughts, and, for that, he was grateful. Telling her that her knee would be tended to as soon as they reached Meriweather Hall, he watched her eyes close. He looked out the window at the unending sea, wishing he knew how to heal the invisible wound he had brought home from the war.

* * *

Being bored was worse than being too busy. Vera sat in a chair with her foot propped on a high stool. Mrs. Uppington and Lady Meriweather had been insistent that she stay off her leg. That had been fine for the first thirty-six hours when her knee hurt. In the past two days, the pain had diminished to almost nothing. She had tried explaining that to both women, and both women had given her the same answer. Such an injury required her to remain off her feet for a week.

By that time, she would lose her mind. She had read two novels and paged through several other books. She knew little about needlework other than mending. There was none of that because her clothes were either new or borrowed. The same for Gregory.

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