Then, weakly, “I’m here. I—my ankle—”
Relief punched through him, leaving his hands shaking. “Stay where you are,” Edward commanded, “Don’t move. I’m coming—damn it, I’m coming for you—”
A slab of tombstone had slipped, half covering the hole into which she’d vanished. With a grunt, he hefted it away, ignoring the spasming pain in his shoulders that told him he’d pay for this tomorrow. He wedged his legs into the hole, angling down until his boots hit a ledge of sorts. The descent was steeper than he’d thought—one wrong move and he’d join her at the bottom, or worse.
Edward edged down, one cautious inch at a time, until his feet found a solid surface. He crouched and groped around, seeking her out in the gloom. The interior stank of rot and mold, but he ignored it. Beatrice whimpered, a vague outline in the dark. She flung her arms around him and he grunted from the sudden contact.
“All is well,” he assured her.
“You told me not to fall in,” she said against his chest.
She trembled and he smoothed his hands down her back until the shaking eased and concentrated on not revealing hisown panic. He would never tell her, but for a moment he had believed she was truly lost.
“Edward?” Beatrice’s voice trembled. “Please don’t leave me.”
He paused, breath ragged. “Never.” He eased away and tried to get a good look at her but the moonlight barely infiltrated the hole into which she had fallen.
“Are you well?”
“My ankle is a little sore but I am fine.”
That was better. She sounded a little more like herself.
“Let’s get you out of here then.” He peered up and concluded climbing out would be easier than climbing in. So long as her ankle wasn’t broken, that was.
“Can you climb?”
“Yes.” He thought she gave a determined nod.
“Come here then.” Edward aided her halfway up, supporting most of her weight on his arms. She scrabbled her hands into the mud, trying to get a grip in the dirt and slipped several times.
“That’s it, Bea. You can do it.”
“I am trying—” she hissed, but then she took hold of something and she was able to pull herself another few inches up.
He adjusted his grip, pushing with everything he had.
“Pull, Beatrice!” he shouted, and she did. Her skirts caught, her boots kicked out, but she managed to hook her elbows and vanish out of the hole.
The silence that followed was total, broken only by his frantic breathing. Edward stood below, his arms aching, sweat soaking his shirt despite the chill.
“Are you—?”
“I’m here,” Beatrice called, voice hoarse but triumphant. “I’m—I’m safe.”
He sagged with relief. “Stay put. I’ll join you.”
He looked around, considering, He wedged his boots into the cracks, using every inch of leverage he could find. Halfway up, his foot slipped and he scraped his shin raw, but he forced himself upward, hands clawing at the mud. His fingers found the rim and, with a final wrenching effort, he hauled himself out into the open air.
He rolled onto his back, panting.
Beatrice’s face appeared above him, smudged with dirt and haloed by the moonlight. “You made it,” she said, grabbing his hand and hauling him to his feet before he had a second to think.
For the second time that night, she lashed her arms around his neck.
He swallowed hard, feeling his heartbeat rebound in response. He pressed his cheek to the crown of her head, breathing in the smell of her. She smelled like dirt and damp instead of something sweet and floral, yet he was taken back to a time of dancing with her in the warmth and candlelight and he finally acknowledged what he’d been trying to protect himself from since the day they met.
He had loved her at first sight.
