A Rake's Midnight Kiss (Sons of Sin 2)

When she gripped his hand with immediate trust, his heart leaped. She was such a gallant woman. He barely credited that she loved him.

They squeezed along the tunnel. This third time, the way seemed even longer. Perhaps because he went backward. At least his prior journeys had smoothed the passage a little.

As they approached the mouth, muted light revealed Genevieve. Dirt matted her hair. A bleeding scratch and the older bruise on her cheek made Richard want to shred Fairbrother’s liver.

Only now did he accept that they’d make it. For hours, dread had thrummed a bass note in his soul. Finally he admitted his terror at rotting in that forgotten catacomb. And his greater terror when he contemplated Genevieve suffering the same fate.

He tightened his grip and with her scrambling help, dragged her through the vines. Blessing the sky overhead, he collapsed onto the rough grass.

Eventually Richard turned his head toward Genevieve, sprawled beside him. By Jove, he was in a bad way. The stickler who had scorned a hundred diamonds of the first water was head over heels with a woman who looked like she’d wrestled a mule through a landslide.

Closing his eyes, he let the late sun melt the crypt’s chill from his skin. His arm hurt like the very devil, but even that seemed a minor consideration now that he was above ground. A few feet away, he heard Sirius nosing at some leaves as if he hadn’t just saved their lives.

Dear God, that had been a close-run thing. Richard basked in the warmth, relishing the birds chirping from the bushes, the rustling leaves, the gentle lap of water.

The gentle lap of water?

Summoning his last strength, he staggered upright to see beyond the sheltered hollow. He started to laugh, descending to the ground and leaning his head on one filthy knee. “Do you know where we are?”

Genevieve didn’t shift. “Heaven?”

“I have no doubt that’s your destination, my love. I’m not sure it’s mine.”

She closed her eyes. “If you’re not going there, neither am I.”

Yet again you rip the ground from beneath my feet with mere words.

Caught on the raw, he bent and kissed her, cradling her dirty face in one hand. She was more fragile than Dresden china, more precious than any jewel, ancient or new. She smelled of rotting vegetation, mud, and sweat. And flowers and female musk. The mixture was astonishingly alluring.

Once she’d struggled to her feet, she released a broken laugh. “Everything comes back to Sedgemoor’s pond.”

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nbsp; “It does indeed.” They were just behind the bank where they’d first kissed. Across the water, trees hid the summerhouse. “I wonder if Cam would sell me this corner of the estate.”

“I’d like that.” Her smile indicated that she too remembered.

“I’ll only pay top price if the naked nymph comes with the deal.”

“I’m not sure naked nymphs are the duke’s to supply,” she said drily. She brushed her skirts in a futile attempt to dislodge the caked muck. “I hate to be prosaic, but I’m starving and I’d love a bath.”

He rose groaning—that tunnel was a deuced torture chamber; he felt like he’d gone ten rounds with Tom Cribb. “We could swim here.”

Her gaze sharpened. “I’d rather plot Lord Neville’s downfall.”

“A warrior queen to the end.” His voice hardened. “Let’s head for Cam’s and decide how to bring down a lord.”

Chapter Thirty-Five

An expressionless footman showed Genevieve to Leighton Court’s splendid library, where the Duke of Sedgemoor and Richard waited. Lady Hillbrook had helped her dress, but neither she nor her husband were present now. Which was a pity. She felt comfortable with Lady Hillbrook, whereas His Grace overawed her. He wasn’t exactly supercilious, but she felt like a complete peasant compared to his aristocratic perfection.

Night had fallen and the room glowed with candlelight. Upon her entrance, Sirius raised his head from the hearth rug before resuming his snooze.

“Darling, how are you feeling?” Richard strode forward to take her hand. As always, his touch restored failing courage.

He looked much better, and not just because he’d washed and changed. After they’d run across Sedgemoor looking for them in the woods, the duke had brought them here and summoned a doctor. Following the examination, Richard sent a footman upstairs to the bedroom with a note informing her that the bullet had done no lasting damage. Thank heaven.

The endearment made her glance nervously toward where Sedgemoor stood beside the carved marble mantelpiece. She mustered a smile. “Better, thank you.”