The Edge of Desire (Bastion Club 7)

He seized her wrists, hung on with both hands as her falling weight yanked him to the edge. Going down on his knees, he braced his body behind the low parapet, his hands locked viselike about hers.

Her fingers clenched convulsively, gripping, clinging.

Then came the jerk as he took her weight.

The muscles in his arms screamed; pain shot across his shoulders. He heard her cry out in pain and shock.

But he had her. Mentally giving thanks, he closed his eyes for a second, savored the feel of her hands still in his.

Still alive in his.

She gasped, gulped in air as her swinging weight steadied.

After a moment she looked up; he felt the shift in her weight.

Spreading his knees, lowering his body, he leaned into the parapet, and opening his eyes, looked down.

Into her face.

He smiled. “I’ve got you.”

The concern—the fear—in her eyes didn’t fade.

She studied his face, then he saw her gaze lower.

“You can’t hold me forever.”

“Believe me, I can—or at least for long enough now to be able to manage forever.”

She smiled faintly; something in her face changed. Her eyes, when she lifted them to his again, were filled with an emotion he hadn’t seen in them before—one she’d never let him see.

“I love you.” Letitia knew that, no matter what he said, she was going to fall and die. The muscles of his neck, shoulders, and chest were under horrendous strain, the veins in his throat starkly corded. Even now the muscles in his arms were starting to quiver.

So she had to say now what she hadn’t yet. “I’ve loved you from the first moment I saw you. I’ve always loved you, every day through all the years. I never stopped loving you. Even when I lay with Randall, it was you I was with in my heart.” She smiled softly. “That was yours from the first, and will be yours to the last.”

“I love you, too.” He continued to look into her eyes. “I always have. I never stopped loving you—I never will.” His hands tightened on hers. “Now hold on.”

Her smile faded. “It’s hopeless.”

“Nothing’s ever hopeless—just look at us. And in this case, we have friends who are running hither and yon as we speak.”

He glanced past her. “Apparently there’s refurbishing still going on around the house—they’ve found a large oilcloth. And there’s bales of hay, too. They’re arranging them beneath you.” His gaze switched back to her face. “You can’t possibly be so gauche as to fall before they’re ready to catch you—they’re going to so much trouble.”

Hope sprang to life within her. A bright burning flame, it caught and flared—so quickly, so strongly, she felt giddy. She nearly laughed.

If there was hope, she’d cling to it—cling to life, and him.

He was looking down past her again. “They’re almost ready—they’ve stretched out the oilcloth. There’s only four of them—no, Barton has joined them. Good man. You’ll have to stop hounding the poor beggar now—very bad ton to hound a man who was instrumental in saving your life.”

The thought of Barton finally being helpful was too much; she humphed.

But then his expression sobered and he looked back at her.

“Now comes the difficult part.” He held her gaze. “You have to trust me. When I say let go, you have to let go. Believe me, that won’t be as easy as it sounds. You’ll be falling. But the straw bales are beneath you—you won’t hit the ground. And the oilcloth will slow you—which is why you have to let go exactly when I tell you, because they’re going to have to pull the cloth taut at the right moment.”

She nodded her understanding. “Yes, all right.” She trusted him implicitly, more than enough to trump all fear.

“Good.” He looked down, raised his voice. “On the count of three.” His gaze returned to her face. His hands shifted on hers, easing his grip but not yet releasing her. “One, two…” His eyes held hers. “Let go.”