“Youwon’t.” He shook his head. “Let’s—”
The door slammed shut, blanketing them in darkness.
“Mr. Evans?” Miss Smith’s voice was high and thin.
He stumbled forward, biting back a curse when his knee struck the edge of an ice block. Feeling his way along the roof, he reached the door and pushed.
It didn’t move. “Hallo? Did someone shut the door? I and Miss Smith are inside. Hallo?”
There was no answer. Henry pushed harder against the door. The wood creaked, but remained in place. There was no handle on the inside of the door, no lock. No reason why the blasted thing shouldn’t open.
“Oh, God.” Panic laced Miss Smith’s voice. “We’re trapped.”
He backed up a step, braced his hands on the ceiling, and planted his boot on the door. He kicked it again. A third time, each strike making a satisfying creaking noise but accomplishing nothing.
Miss Smith’s voice sounded even fainter. “We’re trapped. With a dead body. In the dark.”
The bigger concern was being trapped in the cold, but he refrained from pointing that out. “It will be all right.” His eyes were beginning to adjust. It wasn’t full dark in the ice house, a bare amount of light filtering through the cracks in the hut’s plaster. Miss Smith was a lighter shadow among the dark, and he groped his way to her, knocking his head on the ceiling once in the process.
He grabbed her arm, at least he hoped it was her arm, and squeezed. “Something must have fallen and blocked the door. Someone will be out here soon and move it.” He slipped off his jacket and tucked it around her shoulders. “Stick your arms inside. This should keep you warm.”
Fabric rustled as she did as he said. “What about you?”
“I’m fine.” He was colder than Medusa’s stare but he wouldn’t admit to it. He inched around the perimeter of the hut, looking for any weakness in the structure. It didn’t take long. The ice house wasn’t large, but it was seemingly of solid construction. Too solid. He slapped his hand against the wall, wincing at the sting. Since Miss Smith couldn’t see him, at least not well, he stuck his hands under his armpits to warm them.
“Any minute now someone will notice our absence,” he said. Grimacing, he picked up an ice block and went to the door. The skin on his hands started to burn from the cold. Using the block as a battering ram, he attacked the door once more. “Someone.” Bam. “Will.” Bam. “Come.” Bam. “For us.” Bam, bam.
The ice slipped from his hands and landed on his toe.
Biting back an oath, Henry rested his forehead against the door.Blast.He didn’t even bother looking for the block when he returned to rejoin Miss Smith.
“Is it becoming difficult to breathe?” she gasped out.
“No.” Without thought, he gathered her to his chest and rubbed her back. “There’s plenty of air. Take slow breaths.”
She shook against him, and he held her until the tremors stopped, until her breath slowed to match his.
He rested his cheek on the top of her head. “Someone will find us, don’t worry.”
“I don’t like small spaces,” she admitted.
“Understandable.” He inhaled deeply, the scent of whatever soap she used on her hair filling his nose.
“Or the dark, though this seems to be a new fear for me.”
“Since there are only the two of us here, there is nothing to fear from the dark.” He tucked her closer. He wanted to share his body heat with her. His confidence. If she happened to feel like a soft, tempting little armful against him, well, that was only an unlooked for bounty.
“The two of us and….”
That wasn’t a pleasant direction for her mind to go. “Your father mentioned that you and he had recently returned from a trip to Paris. Tell me about that.” He had mentioned it to Perrin, in their argument when he’d confronted the earl about the changes to the marriage contract. Apparently he’d been meeting with a business associate there who would fund the mining operation expansion Smith had planned for the land Perrin was supposed to give him.
“We lodged near Notre Dame Cathedral.” A shudder wracked her body. “It was lovely, but the people were disagreeable. I don’t know if it was anti-English sentiment, the fact that my father is wealthy, or just the nature of the French. I feel no need toreturn.” She dug her hand into his cravat, her fingers pressing against his throat.
He flinched. “Good Lord, your hands are colder than mine.” He put just enough space between them to be able to hold her hands between his. He lifted them to his mouth and blew. “What of your sisters? Did they accompany you?”
“No.” She rested her head against his shoulder. “Their husbands wouldn’t let them. They each do have a young child to care for,” she conceded, sighing. “I used to hope my father would find me a good man to marry me off to. Now a part of me hopes he’ll think he has enough money and allow me to remain unwed.”
He chafed her hands between his. “Not all men are like Lord Perrin. And surely you wish to have children of your own one day.”
