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“You’re right,” she said judiciously. “Besides, it’s really very simple.”
“It is?” He sounded no more than slightly harassed.
“Of course. If you want to kill me then I’d just as soon be dead. So either catch me or you’re lying and you’ll let me fall, but make up your mind.”
“There was never any question on my part,” he said. “Trust me, Bryony.”
It was the third time he said it, and that third time gave her wings. She took a running start and leapt across the cavernous hole, closing her eyes and praying as she went sailing through the air.
She crashed into him, and he went down beneath her. Catching her in his arms, he rolled them both away to the far wall, keeping her still beneath him as the building creaked and shifted ominously. The remains of the house across the divide began to crumble, and a moment later it collapsed into the basement with a thunderous noise and a huge cloud of dust and soot, burying her would-be murderer. Slowly, slowly he loosened his death grip on her. She opened her eyes to look up into his blazingly furious ones.
“I don’t know whether to kiss you or strangle you,” he muttered.
“I thought you told me I could trust you?”
“That doesn’t mean I’m not tempted to beat you within an inch of your life. ‘Let me think about it,’” he mimicked. “I’ll give you something to think about, my girl.”
“Let’s wait until we get out of here, shall we?” she said. “Or aren’t there any stairs left?”
He stared at her in disbelief. “You mean you jumped across that gaping hole and you didn’t even know whether or not there was a way to get down?”
She smiled up at him, and finally her eyes began to fill with tears. “I love you too.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
THREE DAYS LATER Bryony Arielle Josephine Russell Bruton, Countess of Kilmartyn, stretched out in the bunk, warm and catlike. “Thank God I don’t get seasick,” she said. “It’s bad enough that I can’t walk and can’t use my left arm—if I’d been casting up my accounts all over the place I really couldn’t bear it.”
Her husband gave her an indulgent smile from across the wide cabin. “I rather like it that you’re currently forced to stay in bed. It’s the best way to enjoy a honeymoon, such as it is.”
“It’s lovely!” she protested.
“Well, running from the law and leaving everything behind and not knowing if or when we can ever return isn’t quite my idea of lovely,” he said. “And you’re worried about your sisters.”
“I know, but I needn’t be. I sent them a letter telling them that we know father wasn’t responsible, but the man who was is dead and we can’t prove anything. Not good news, and I expect they’ll be horrified that I’m married.”
“Horrified?” he echoed, affronted. “Why?”
“Because I told them I was never going to marry. I was going to live in happy seclusion in a little cottage for the rest of my life once everything was settled.”
“You can live anywhere you want as long as the seclusion includes me.” He crossed the room in a few strides and caught her face in his hands. “Foolish girl,” he whispered, and deliberately turned her face to one side to kiss the scars. “You are such an idiot for such a smart woman.” He kissed her eyelids, and then
her mouth, a deep, possessive kiss that had her rising up to meet him. He climbed onto the bunk with her, tucking her against him, and she felt that strange, wonderful calm envelop her once more.
“It’s actually the staff at Berkeley Square that I’m worried about,” she said after a few quiet moments. “I hate it that we just abandoned them without a word.”
“They have word, darling. My lawyer has seen to it that Mrs. Harkins… or for all I know she’s Mrs. Collins by now… has charge of the household money, and they’re taking good care of Jem. I imagine they’ll have a lovely time having the house to themselves and not having to look after anyone.”
“I hope they all get a chance to use the bathtub,” she said. “You really should put one up in the attics as well.”
“We will. When we get back.”
She was silent for a long while. “Will we get back?”
He slid his arms around her waist, leaning over and giving her ear a tiny bite, sending shards of warmth through her. “You know we will. We have the Pinkerton Agency’s best man in England working on it. If the man survived they’ll find him. If he crawled off to die they’ll find him. Either way, they’ll find out who he is and get the proof they need so we can return home.”
“What if he is still alive? What if he goes after my sisters?”
He kissed the side of her face tenderly. “Why would he? And how would he even find them? They’re buried in the countryside somewhere, aren’t they?”
