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Her father's greatcoat, however, was proving to be a nuisance. She attempted to lift her arms about Nathaniel's neck, only to find the heavy wet sleeves getting in the way, and gave an impatient tug at the offending garment. He helped free one of her hands without taking his mouth from hers, and she immediately slid her fingers into his wet hair. He shuddered beneath her touch, and she was amazed to realise she could affect him in the same way that he affected her. It felt glorious.

Then, at last, he drew back and looked down at her. His breathing was unsteady, and he appeared almost as dazed as she felt herself.

"Good God, Cathy," he said softly, brushing a wet curl from her cheek. "I should not have done that."

Kate blinked at him, trying to remember how to breathe properly. "Well, you keep doing it, Mr Briar."

"I know. Forgive me."

"Mr Briar, when something happens once, it may be an accident. When it happens twice, one begins to see a pattern, and there is always a reason for a pattern in nature. You have now kissed me twice."

Despite himself, Nathaniel gave a short laugh. "Are you suggesting we ought to conduct further experiments?" He pushed one of her wet curls aside tenderly. The rain was lighter now, falling in a dedicated drizzle rather than heavy droplets.

"No, Mr Briar! I am suggesting that you ought to stop behaving as though each kiss is some dreadful accident over which you have no control! You have kissed ME, sir. Twice now."

He straightened, and seemed to try and affect the pose of a respectable gentleman. Even for a man as handsome as Mr Briar it was a nigh on impossible task when soaking wet.

"I cannot court you, Cathy."

"Cannot or will not?"

"I am trying to do what is best for you."

"Well, I wish you would stop!"

He stared at her, and Kate felt her temper rising again. She was cold and wet and this conversation had made nothing better. In fact, it had made everything much, much worse.

"Do you know what I think, Mr Briar?"

"I think that for all your affability and your ridiculous collection of over-adorned waistcoats, you are a coward."

He recoiled as though she had struck him. "A coward? You think me a coward?"

"Yes! You have travelled all over the world and faced goodness knows what dangers, but the moment something happens which you cannot explain away or make a joke of, you run from it. You kissed me yesterday and then ignored me all evening. And now you have kissed me again, and you are already apologising and telling me it must never happen again!"

"Cathy, that is not fair."

"Neither is your behaviour, Nathaniel!"

His expression tightened and he seemed to close in on himself. "You know nothing of what I have had to contend with, Catherine. Nothing of my family or what I have spent years trying to escape. If you knew even half of it, you might understand why I am unwilling to draw you into the same misery. Now, I must get you back to the house. Your father will kill me if I let you catch a chill. Though he will probably kill me anyway."

She turned away from him, hauling the heavy folds of her father's greatcoat about herself. She wanted to fold in on herself. To disappear from him, and from the situation.

"Cathy, please." Nathaniel reached towards her, then seemed to think better of it. "I never intended to hurt you."

"Well, you have. I am hurt and I am cold and I am sad. And I am going home."

She took a step away from him and slipped slightly on the wet ground. Nathaniel reached forward to steady her, but she jerked away from him, and in his haste to catch her, his own boots lost their purchase on the sodden earth. He threw out an arm to regain his balance, and Kate instinctively moved towards him, but before she could reach him, the ground at the edge of the excavation gave way beneath his weight. She screamed his name as he stumbled backwards, his arms flailing helplessly, and then he was gone, disappearing into the trench with a dreadful thud that was followed by the sound of loose earth and stones tumbling down after him.

Kate stood frozen for a moment, scarcely able to comprehend what had happened, before rushing to the edge of the trench and looking down. Nathaniel lay at the bottom, one arm twisted awkwardly beneath him and his head resting against a large stone. She called his name, but he did not move, and dread seized her as she scrambled towards the wooden ladder and began climbing down into the excavation. She nearly lost her footing herself in her haste, and by the time she reached the bottom, her hands were shaking so badly she could scarcely hold the rungs.

"Nathaniel!" she cried again, dropping to her knees beside him and reaching for his face. "Oh, Nathaniel, please be well."

There was a large cut on the side of his head, and blood was running down across his temple, mixing with the rainwater upon his cheek. Kate touched his face gently and was relieved to find he was breathing, although his eyelids only fluttered when she called his name, and he did not wake. She knew she must fetch help. He needed a doctor desperately, but the thought of leaving him alone in the bottom of the trench was unbearable. She tried calling his name again, rubbing his cold hand between her own, but he gave no sign that he could hear her.

The rain, which had eased a little during their argument, chose that moment to return with a vengeance, and Kate watched in alarm as water began to collect in the lowest parts of the excavation. Nathaniel was lying partly in the mud, his greatcoat already soaked through, and she could think of nothing to do for him. She pulled off her shawl and wrung it out as best she could, although it was a poor, sodden thing and would do very little good. Folding it carefully, she slipped it beneath his head to lift it clear of the mud, taking care not to move him more than was necessary.

"Oh, you foolish, dreadful man," she whispered, wiping the rain from his face with her sleeve. She bent closer, searching his features for some sign that he could hear her, and felt her throat tighten as she looked at his pale face and the blood still seeping from the wound.