An Unexpected Earl (Lords of the Armory #2) - Anna Harrington Page 0,109

I taught you how to shoot a bow and arrow?”

“You—you nearly shot your uncle’s mule.” Her fingers released their stranglehold on his, and he slowly slipped his hand away.

“Details, details.” He tsked dismissively. “But you have to admit that the old beast never moved faster than when that arrow flew at him.”

“I–I thought… I thought your uncle would sk-skin you alive for that.” Her fingers still shook, but they’d ceased their frantic grabs for him.

“He most likely would have, too, if he hadn’t blamed that group of canal workers who’d stumbled into the innyard right then, foxed to the gills.”

“If you hadn’t told him they did,” she corrected with a forced and strained laugh. One she only gave, he knew, because she thought he’d expected it. The soft sound of her bravery nearly broke him.

“In wars and innyards, it’s every man for himself.” He leaned over the lid to let her touch his cheek, giving her this small reassurance that he was still there. “It’s time now, love.” Clayton would be blowing the horn soon, and when he did, all the men would gather in the Inner Temple, and Pearce could spirit her away. “I need you to lower your hands so I can move the lid back. Wrap them into your skirt at your sides, all right? When the lid falls away, I will be right here.” He placed a kiss to her fingertips. “With you.”

Tentatively, in a show of great trust, she pulled her hands down in small jerks until her fingertips slid over the edge of the slit and disappeared back into the darkness inside the stone coffin.

He placed the top of his shoulder against the lid. “Keep them down. Ready? One…two…three!”

He shoved, straining with his entire body to move the heavy stone. A fierce groan of exertion tore from him, and the lid moved with a grinding of stone on stone. Another shove and groan, more slow grinding of stone. The lid fell away, tumbling into the water on the ledge with a loud splash and thud.

“Amelia!” He yanked her out of the coffin.

Carrying her in his arms, he kicked open the door and set her down in the dry tunnel. She was soaked from the layer of icy water that had seeped through the stone, and her weak arms could barely lift to encircle his neck. She shook violently against him with both cold and terror.

“Amelia, are you all right?” He ran his hands over her to check for any sign of injury on her face and head, down her body, arms, legs—

She nodded even as she sobbed, choking on her tears as she tried to gulp in mouthfuls of air.

“You’re safe. I have you now.” Shedding the white robe, he wrapped it around her like a blanket to stave off the cold, then pulled her into his arms to let his body warm hers. But he couldn’t hold her close enough, even as his arms held round her like iron bands, his hands fiercely rubbing her arms and legs. Her pulse pounded strong and vibrant, and finally, he let go of the terror he’d been holding in check in order to concentrate on rescuing her, finally let the rush of rage at almost losing her sweep from him. “I told you that I would never let you go. I meant every word.”

“Wild horses,” she whispered. Barely a sound, but his heart heard every word.

“Wild horses.” He squeezed his eyes closed as relief overwhelmed him.

Twenty-six

“So very sweet you are.” Arthur Varnham smiled as he dragged a fingertip across the woman’s bare midriff, drawing a figure eight in the pool of golden honey puddled there.

She giggled. “That tickles!”

She lay on the table in the middle of the banqueting hall, the room closed off to the other club members while that night’s dinner was being prepared. He’d attended her himself, as he always did with the women who formed the center of the feast, taking great care in the presentation. But this one was special. She’d been drizzled with honey and rolled in sugar until her skin shimmered, then finished with strategically placed dollops of jam and biscuits to just barely hide her most intimate places.

“Why am I like this?” she protested with a sticky wiggle.

“Madame Noir explained your role to you, I’m sure.” She was new to the club. He’d replaced Marigold Humphries that afternoon, not needing her any longer. And anyway, he preferred this one’s larger breasts and ample hips. All the more fleshy goodness