Kasey Michaels - [Redgraves 02] (10 page)

Since he’d been up half the night, attempting to sort out what he knew and didn’t know, Simon was able to answer her. “Yes, it did. And if you know the ground isn’t all that steady, why are you in here?”

“Because I agree with Gideon’s suspicions, what we’re looking down at right now is part of a man-made tunnel. I’d hoped to locate more of it somewhere else in here.”

“Man-made? From your father’s time?”

Kate shrugged. She looked delicious, dressed as she was in a midnight-blue riding habit, not to mention that tempting smudge of dirt on her left cheek. “Or my grandfather’s. Or possibly even from the days our ancestors may have dabbled in a bit of smuggling.”

“The upstanding earls of Saltwood—smuggling?”

“Don’t pretend to be shocked. Smuggling is a time-honored profession the nearer you are to the coast, yes. Or did you believe the Redgraves totally depended on crops and forestry and the like to build their empire? There’s many an exalted family could be traced back to horse thieves and smugglers. Trixie told me of one insufferably high-in-the-instep peer she had on good authority owes the majority of his fortune to his grandfather’s clever hand with a marked deck.”

“As opposed to those who made their way via assassination, poisoning and the occasional tragic midnight tumble down the stairs, for example. Yes, I see the distinction,” Simon said, attempting not to smile.

“Don’t be snide. Smuggling is barely criminal, nearly laudable, as it keeps the local residents from starving in bad years, and there isn’t a landowner from Dover to the marshes of Sussex who would not look the other way or turn down a few bottles of French brandy or several ells of Flemish lace deposited on his doorstep once or twice a month. In thanks for allowing the owlers to cross their property, you see, or to store their cargo in a handy cave until a caravan of land carriers and their ponies move everything inland to its final destination.”

“So then you approve?”

She shrugged once more. “Of smuggling? In general, no. It can be a bloody business. But we like to think
our
smugglers are more civilized. Not like some of the competing gangs who once operated in Kent.”

By now Simon had managed to gingerly make his way around the collapse and join Kate on the other side. “You’re saying the owlers, as you call them—and allow me to admit I’m amazed at your ladyship’s wide vocabulary on the subject—still operate near the Manor?”

“With our heads conveniently turned away, yes. But Gideon more or less frowned on the practice during time of war, so any activity has been sporadic these last years, what with us seemingly at war with France one moment and forging a truce the next, skirting the edges of combat while Bonaparte seeks new conquests. But this time, with France capturing Spain, it will be all-out war until the Little Corporal is in a cage, won’t it? That’s what Max told me before he left for the Peninsula.”

“You worry about him?”

“Max? No. He always lands on his feet. The same for Gideon.” She sighed as she turned away from the collapse and headed down the main aisle. “It’s Valentine who worries me enough for the three of them. He’s got such a soft heart.”

Simon smiled as he followed her. “And that’s a flaw?”

“In a Redgrave, yes. And makes him easy prey to any sad story. He always seems to be riding off to help some supposedly unfortunate soul. I worry one of these days he’s going to tumble into trouble by falling prey to a conniving female with a heartbreaking tale of woe.”

Simon’s bark of laughter startled a few small birds that had made their home in the rafters of the lofty structure.

Kate whirled to confront him. “It’s not funny,” she told him—warned him. “Women are natural-born connivers, at least once the skill is pointed out to them.”

“And you should know, hmm?” he said, recovering from his unexpected bout of mirth. “Being your grandmother’s student.”

Kate’s smile slowly crept all the way up to her dangerously exotic eyes. “Exactly. By rights, Simon Ravenbill, you should be quavering in your boots, terrified of what I might do next. I already managed to frustrate you into believing you wanted to—no,
needed
to kiss me.”

“Oh, is that right,” he said, advancing on her. The devil had taken hold of his mind, and he couldn’t resist. “Rather sure of yourself, aren’t you? May I suggest a wager?”

Her eyes widened, and she stepped behind a rather straggly bush clearly brought into the greenhouse to be revived. “What sort of wager?”

“I
wager,
for the space of seven days and nights, I can be completely indifferent to you.”

“Really.” God, she looked smug. “And am I to wager in return that I will be able to remain
indifferent
to you for that same time period?”

“That only seems fair, doesn’t it? And, as I’m only a helpless man, and you are a self-admitted born conniver, it shouldn’t be much of a challenge on your end. Therefore, the forfeit has to be considerable. Agreed?”

“I don’t know,” she told him, revealing more than she knew by nervously stripping the leaves from one flopping branch. “What did you have in mind?”

That was a good question. He’d been so intent on the wager, he hadn’t yet considered possible consequences. And then inspiration—or the devil—had him saying, “If we both resist, the wager becomes null and void in seven days. However, if your attractions should become too difficult for me to resist and I cannot help but kiss you, I will climb to the top of the highest church steeple in Hythe precisely at noon the very next day and sing every last chorus of ‘God Save The King.’”

“All of them. Really.” Simon could see the corners of Kate’s mouth quivering, but she was holding out, asking, “And my forfeit?”

He continued to push, genuinely enjoying himself. “When you find you can no longer resist me and beg for my kiss, you mean?”

“If, Simon. Not when. And a highly improbable
if
at that.”

“Why, then you will marry me.”
Because the wager may be ended by a kiss, but what would inevitably follow that capitulation could only end at the altar.

“That’s ridiculous! I won’t agree to any such thing.”

Simon made her an elegant bow. He had her now. “You flatter me, madam, with your refusal. Clearly you’re afraid you will find me irresistible.”

“Stop that ridiculous bowing, you look like an ape. I’m not afraid of—I’m not afraid of anything.” She stepped out from behind the shrubbery and her position that clearly proved otherwise, and stuck out her hand. “Agreed. And you will sing loudly enough to be heard over the bells in every church steeple in Hythe, because they all always strike at noon. You’ll be both deaf and hoarse for weeks.”

He shook her hand to accept the wager, and then pulled her close against his chest. “I believe my ears and voice to be safe. You’ll make a lovely bride.”

She peered up at him through her lashes. “Give over, Simon, I’m not going to kiss you. I’ve no need. You’re already halfway to losing. I suggest you practice those lyrics. Beyond the first, they become rather tricky, as I remember.”

He brought his mouth to within a whisper of hers, closer to capitulation than even she might think. “One kiss behind the stables and she believes herself the master of all men. How amusing, Kate, but I don’t think so. By the way, you’ve got a smudge on your cheek,” he said, and then let her go.

“You insufferable pig! I’ve got half a mind to—”

What Kate might do with half her mind Simon was never to know, because at that moment Adam Collier stepped into the mouth of the greenhouse and called out, “Yoo-hoo! There you are. Look at me—no, don’t! I’m beyond mortified. My second-best rigout, and I’m
covered
in chalk dust. My valet will be brushing it away for
hours.
And my hand? It’s all but in a cramp from writing and writing. Really, Kate, I’m going to have to complain to Jessica about—”

“Don’t take another step, you idiot!” Simon commanded.

“Oh, seriously,” Adam trilled, mincing toward them, “I may have exaggerated some little bit. I’m not quite
that
bad. See, although my lace cuffs are all but—
aaaaahhhh!
”

Simon and Kate rushed toward the collapse. “I suppose no one ever thought to cover the opening with stout boards?” he commented as they approached.

“The doors are kept closed and locked,” Kate countered. “Most of the time. Is he all right?”

Simon was certain the pit caused by the collapse was a dozen feet deep, but at least the boy’s landing was soft, thanks to the mud. “Adam. Adam! Can you give us a shout?”

“What—what happened? One moment I was...and then I was— My God, I’m in a hole! What am I doing in a hole?
Gaak!
It’s
wet
down here, and my lovely shoes are mired in mud. They’re
ruined!
”

“That’s one piece of good news, at any rate,” Kate muttered as she, too, looked down in to the darkness. “You’ll have to climb out, Adam. Just stay there until I get someone to bring a rope.”

“Where would he be going?” Simon asked facetiously, bent over with his hands on his knees. The sides of the collapse were more mud than solid earth, and he couldn’t be sure thanks to the shade cast by the pear trees, but there was possibly a good two feet of water at the base. “And you might want to hurry a bit.”

There was the sound of a splash, followed by a good deal of sputtering and a loud appeal from Adam that nobody leave him to drown.

“Then stand still, man, and stop jumping about,” Simon advised, stripping out of his jacket. “The ground down there isn’t all that stable. You don’t want to knock anything loose.”

“Knock
what
loose? You...you don’t mean—
My God, you have to get me out of here!
”

Simon dropped flat on the ground, reaching one arm into the hole. “Adam!
Adam!
Stop bawling like a mired calf and listen to me. You either stand still until Kate comes back with a rope and some help, or you take your time, find footholds and handholds in the rocks I can see jutting out until you can take my hand and I can pull you the rest of the way. Can you do that? Good God, look who I’m asking to help himself! Adam, forget what I said. I suggest, highly, you wait for Kate.”

“No! I’m going to do it. I can’t survive down here another moment! I can see your shirtsleeve. I can reach it, I can. I’ll just do as you say and dig my hands and feet into this horrible mud—”

“Not the mud!
Rocks,
you twit, you can’t expect the mud to hold you!”

“But it is! And— See! See me, I’m climb—”

Three feet of the edge Simon lay prone on gave way all at once and he went sliding into the hole. He would have landed headfirst in the muck if it weren’t for his quick thinking that had him twisting his body with all his might. The wall of sodden, packed earth trapped his body, but not his right arm, head or shoulders.

He struggled to clear his face of mud and attempted to look about in the darkness. “Adam! Collier, where the devil are you?”

“I’m up here!” the boy called out triumphantly from the new edge of the now much rearranged collapse.

“Thank you, Simon. When the side came tumbling in, it made a near walkway to the top. I was out of there lickety-split, although my rigout is now ruined beyond redemption. Why don’t you come up now? You can’t possibly like it down there.”

Simon looked at the far side of the oddly shaped pit in time to watch a new section of mud slowly break away from the rest as if surrendering to the blade of a huge knife, and slowly slide into the disturbingly deepening mud. Adam had climbed out, up and over the mud that had taken Simon down...thus over Simon himself. But now the “walkway” the boy had employed was also gone. Adam Collier couldn’t be more of a menace if he put his entire minuscule mind to the task!

“If I get out of here alive, I’m going to strangle that paper-skulled idiot,” he muttered, attempting to pull himself free of the mud. More of the wall collapsed, as if the hole was attempting to fill itself in, further pinning his chest and legs. But he couldn’t panic. Panic was his enemy. “Where the bloody hell is Kate?” he asked. But he asked quietly, trying to not even breathe heavily.

Kate’s face appeared over the edge. “Simon? For the love of— What are you doing down there?”

Someone held a lantern out over the pit—it was surely a pit now—lighting the mud walls and the mostly buried Simon. And there were rotting beams here and there, sticking up from the mud. Gideon was correct to believe the cave-in was the result of a collapsing tunnel. Although surely there could have been a better way to learn that fact beyond tumbling headfirst into the hole.

“Don’t let anyone tramp too hard up there, Kate. Every move seems to bring more of the walls down on me in slices.”

“Oh, my God. Oh, my God, oh, my God, ohmyGod!”

“Less than helpful, Kate,” Simon pointed out, attempting to stay calm himself. He was in a predicament, no ignoring that. If slices of the wall kept splashing into the mud and water, he’d soon be completely covered. Perhaps he should console himself with the idea there would always be flowers on his grave....

“I know that. But I’m fine now, Simon. We need more rope and shovels. And some stout boards. We need to shore up the sides. Somebody—get them! But first secure this rope. I’m going down there.”

“First man up there who obeys that last idiocy is a dead man!” Simon shouted, and then prayed his voice wouldn’t bring down another section of heavy mud. It was as if he was to be buried beneath brown, extremely heavy slices of cheese.

“You’re hardly in any position to threaten anyone, my lord,” Kate told him. “Toss the rope up and over that rafter, Liam, and then secure one end around the support beam beside you.
Do it!
”

Simon watched in amazement as Kate stripped off her jacket, revealing the lace-edged white silk chemise beneath, and tossed it down to him.

“Grab that, Simon, wad it up and try to place it behind your head.”

Moments later a rope was hanging down into the middle of the pit.

Kate made a dangerous grab at the swinging rope, caught it then launched herself into the air, wrapping her legs around the rope, aided by the divided skirt of her riding habit. She lowered herself, hand over hand, until her boots sank into the mud.