Promise Me Tomorrow (22 page)

She stared at him, blinking, as if trying to pull her thoughts together enough to make a coherent sentence. Justin went on quickly. “Never mind. The important thing is to get out of here. I don’t like the way it sounds.”

A loud crack made Marianne jump and bury her face in his chest again. “What was that?”

“I think it’s the remaining timbers. I fear that the rest of the ceiling is going to cave in, as well. That’s why we need to get out of here. You will have to crawl through the hole I made. I’ll help you.”

He pulled her to her feet and turned her toward the breach in the barrier of rocks and timbers. He put his hands at her waist, steadying her, and Marianne stepped up onto a fallen timber to climb over the rocks to reach the hole. Another loud crack sounded, followed by a low groaning, and suddenly dirt began to pour down upon them.

Justin let out an inarticulate yell and, wrapping his arms around Marianne, threw both of them onto the ground. The timber above them snapped and came crashing down, followed by rocks and dirt.

The noise was deafening. Dirt rushed over Justin’s body as he lay atop Marianne, protecting her, his arms crossed over both their heads. Rocks pelted his body, and something hit a glancing blow on one leg and bounced off. Another rock struck his cheek sharply, and he felt blood start to ooze from a cut. A roaring filled his ears.

Then it was over, except for the soft susurration of some last trickles of dirt. The air was thick with dust, and the darkness around him was stygian. Beneath him, Marianne wiggled and made a noise of protest.

Justin started to rise and found that he could not. A timber was holding him down, though he realized when he moved his legs a little that the wood was not pressing into his flesh but merely lying too close to him to allow for upward movement.

“Crawl forward,” he whispered to Marianne, starting to do the same thing himself.

Together they wriggled and squirmed into the darkness in front of them, pushing through dirt and pebbles and twisting around larger rocks, until finally there was enough freedom of movement that they could crawl on hands and knees. They pulled themselves free of the timbers and tried to stand up, but it was impossible to do more than stand crouched over.

The darkness was not complete. When Justin turned around, he could see little cracks and pinpoints of light piercing the dark wall, creating a dimness in which they could at least see one another as their eyes adjusted to the darkness and the dust settled to the floor.

“Are you all right?” he asked Marianne, then smiled derisively. “Sorry. Idiotic question. Is anything broken?”

“I think not.” She coughed. “My shoulder is wrenched, but I think that’s all.” He could see the faint gleam of her teeth in the darkness. “Except for being squashed flat, that is.”

“I beg your pardon.” Humor tinged his voice. “I shall try to do better next time.”

“Good Lord, what a thought. I sincerely hope not to go through this again.”

They crept nearer to the barrier and began to gingerly pull away rocks and debris, keeping a wary eye on the walls and ceiling around them. Justin struggled to roll away a large rock, and the timbers and other stones settled a little. They waited for a long, expectant moment, but nothing else happened. However, it soon became obvious that no matter how much they pushed and pulled away, the exit was still blocked by timbers and stones far too heavy to move. The second collapse had virtually sealed them inside.

They continued to work for some time even after it became obvious that their efforts were not going to win them their freedom. Finally, however, Justin sank down with a sigh, arching his aching back, and Marianne plopped down beside him.

“It is hopeless, isn’t it?” she asked in a small voice.

“Nothing is hopeless,” he replied staunchly. “But, yes, I doubt that we shall be able to dig ourselves out. Still, they are bound to search for us when neither of us returns. Did you tell anyone where you were going?”

Marianne cast him an odd look. “No. You told me not to.”

Now it was his turn to look at her strangely. “What do you mean, I ‘told you’?”

Marianne wondered if the cave-in had given him a concussion, though he had not seemed to black out. “In your note,” she explained warily. “You told me not to tell anyone.”

He looked at her for a long moment without speaking. “Note?”

“Yes. Note. Justin, what is the matter with you? Did you strike your head? I am talking about the note you sent me.”

“I sent you no note.”

“Of course you did.” She frowned at him, frustrated.

“Where is it? What did it say?”

“I don’t have it. I tossed it into the fire before I left. But it said for me to meet you here. I thought you—”

“You thought what?”

“Never mind. It isn’t important. Do you mean to tell me that you did not send me a note?”

He shook his head.

“Then why are you here? I thought you must have already been inside when I was push—” She stopped, her puzzlement changing to cold fear. “I was pushed.”

“What?” That was the second time she had said something about being pushed. Justin’s alarm climbed.

“I looked inside. I thought maybe you were in here. But it was far too dark to see anything, and I didn’t want to come inside. It was too eerie. Then something pushed me, and I fell inside on the floor. And next there was a tremendous pain in my head, and that is the last thing I remember until you were saying my name.”

“’Something’ pushed you? You mean ‘some
one’?
”

Marianne nodded weakly. The idea seemed too horrible to voice out loud.

“It wasn’t just your horse nudging you in the back?”

“No.” Her voice was quiet but decisive. “It was too hard for that, and besides, it was smaller and—well, it felt like two hands at my back, giving a hard shove.”

“And the pain in your head—did you hit the ground with your head?”

She thought for a moment. “No. I came down on my stomach, and my hands went out in front. It knocked the wind out of me but did not hurt my head. That was an instant later, and it was a sharp pain across the back of my head.” She raised her hand to the spot, exploring, and winced.

“Yes,” he agreed. “I felt a knot there. So something—someone hit you on the head from behind after he shoved you inside.”

“That sounds absurd.”

“Yes. But no more absurd than your receiving a note from me when I never sent one.”

Marianne’s hand went to her stomach. “I feel sick.”

His arm went around her shoulders, and Marianne leaned gratefully into his side.
Someone had tried to kill her!
She could not quite absorb the idea.

“But wait—this cave-in—how did it happen? Why are you here if you did not send the note?” She turned to look at him, her eyes searching his face in the dim light.

“I followed you. I happened to see you walking across to the stables this morning, and I—” He stopped, looking a trifle abashed. “I thought perhaps you were meeting one of your confederates, and I decided to follow you.”

“Then you must have seen what happened!” she exclaimed.

He shook his head. “No. I stayed well back, not wanting you to see me. I let you get out of sight, then followed. Your horse left tracks that veered off the path. I started in that direction. That’s when I saw the mine entrance and realized that it had collapsed. Your horse was nowhere in sight any longer—I guess it must have run away at the noise of the cave-in.”

“Or someone led it away.”

“Yes.” He paused, then went on. “Anyway, I dug a hole through the debris, and I saw you inside, so I climbed in to get you. You were unconscious, and I couldn’t get you out. Then you woke up, and you know the rest. That is when the entrance collapsed again. Now it’s more solidly blocked than it was before.”

They were silent for a moment, both of them lost in their own terrible thoughts. Finally Justin said, “I heard a noise—a sort of roar. I didn’t know what it was. When I saw the mine, I assumed it must have been the entrance collapsing. Now I think it was explosives. This person must have made it collapse on you.”

“But why?” Marianne whispered, tears welling in her eyes. “Why would anyone want to kill me?”

His arms went more tightly around her, holding her to him. “I don’t know. You must have angered someone very much. Or frightened them.”

“Frightened them? Why would anyone be scared of me? I have no power. I am no danger to anyone!”

“Perhaps it is someone you—well, that you played your little charade for.”

“What are you—oh. You mean someone who had things turn up missing?”

“Exactly.”

“But how could they know that it was I?” Marianne asked thoughtfully. “I can assure you that nothing went missing at any party I attended.”

“
I
figured it out. Why couldn’t someone else? Perhaps they saw you, as I did, or—” He shrugged. “I don’t know. It makes no sense. Why not force you to give it back if they knew it was you who had done it? Why not turn you over to the constable?”

“They would have had no proof,” Marianne pointed out. “Just as you have no proof.”

“That is true. Perhaps it would not be enough for the law. Still…it seems a bit extreme to try to kill someone for stealing your property, even if it was something precious.” He thought for a moment, leaning his cheek against Marianne’s hair; it was, he discovered, a very pleasant position. “What else could it be? Jealousy? Do you have a lover who fears you are unfaithful to him?”

“No! I have no lover—have never had a lover. The only jealousy going on around here is on the part of your fiancée.”

He stiffened and pulled back from her. “I have no fiancée.”

“Indeed? That is not what I have heard. Even you admitted that it lay in your future.”

“I did? Well, she is
not
my fiancée.” His mouth quirked a little in amusement. “Nor can I quite envision Cecilia being jealous. It seems far too much emotion for her.”

“Well, she has some sort of emotion brimming in her. It comes out as venom, and she has directed it at me. She is quite capable of strong emotion, I assure you.”

“Not to the point of killing someone,” Justin said decisively. “God knows, Cecilia can be poisonous. I have been on the receiving end of some of her remarks. But a physical attack? I think not.”

After a moment, Justin asked, “Has this person tried anything else?”

Marianne hesitated, looking at him, then went on tentatively, “Well, there was that moment the other day when I slipped and almost fell into the River Lyd.”

His eyebrows vaulted upward. “Are you saying you didn’t slip?”

“I—I thought I felt someone give me a shove.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“What should I have said? It seemed absurd. I was sure that I must have imagined it. If
I
felt that way, you know how everyone else would have responded.”

“Mmm. You’re probably right.” He sat back, hiking up his knees and resting his elbows on them thoughtfully.

“I am not sure even now that it was intentional. Perhaps it was just a stray elbow, an accident.”

“And perhaps not. Anything else?”

“What do you mean? Any other attacks? No.” She shook her head, then stopped short as she remembered something. “Although…no, it’s unlikely.”

“What?”

“Before this party, when I was back home, one evening a young woman was attacked just down the street from our house. He did not try to have his way with her. Apparently he leaped out, grabbed her from behind and began to choke her. He was frightened away. It was a most unusual event. It is a respectable neighborhood.”

“Yes, I know. However, that doesn’t necessarily mean that it is connected.”

“No. It may not be. The only thing is…well, this girl had been visiting with Piers and the others. She had just left our back door. And her hair was red-gold.”

“Red?” He looked at her sharply. “You mean, like yours?”

“No. It is not nearly so dark, but at night it would probably look darker, and if someone did not know me, only that I was a redhead…”

“I see your point. Then this attacker followed you here from London?”

“Maybe.” Marianne shrugged. “But it seems unlikely. How would he know about this mine if he were from London? And how would he know that you and I—well, that a note from you might bring me here? Most of all, how would he be able to sneak into Buckminster House and slip a note under my door without detection?”

“Valid points all,” Justin admitted. “In that case, it appears that the would-be murderer must be a guest at Bucky’s party. He is one of us.”

M
ARIANNE AND
J
USTIN LOOKED AT EACH OTHER
,
both of them reluctant to accept such an idea.

“I don’t know,” Marianne whispered.

“Let us say it is a possibility—a strong possibility.”

“All right.” She hesitated. “There is another odd thing. I am not sure that it is related, but it happened recently, and it was so unsettling…. There has been a man asking about me.”

“What do you mean, asking about you?”

“Well, first he went to—to where I used to live. He was trying to find out where I live now, but no one knew, at least no one who would tell him. Or that is what I thought, but later, only days ago, a man showed up near our house, asking questions of one of our maids. He asked if a red-haired woman lived at our house. Unfortunately, Rosalind told him that her mother had red hair. After that, we saw him watching our house.”

“This was before the attack on the other woman on your street?”

“Yes.”

“This whole affair becomes murkier by the moment. There is someone from your past looking for you.”

“Not someone I knew in my past,” she corrected. “It was obvious that he did not know what I looked like. He asked only about my name and my hair.”

“As if he was going on a description he was given.”

“Yes.”

“So there is someone who has been looking for you, knowing your name and hair color, but you have no idea who or why.” He raised one finger, as if ticking off the item, then added a second. “A girl with your color hair was attacked close to your home. Again, no one knows by whom or why. Next, you may have been pushed into the River Lyd. And lastly, someone lured you to this mine, using my name, then knocked you unconscious and apparently caused the mine entrance to collapse, sealing you in.”

“It sounds bizarre, I know.”

“Also rather ineffectual. I mean, really, some fellow chokes a girl, not even being sure that it is you, and then is frightened away before he finishes the job. Next he gives you a shove into a river that is not particularly deep, although it is damned rapid and could, I suppose, have swept you away and drowned you. But what a time to choose, when you are with a large group of people and the chances are that someone would rescue you before you could drown. Now, when he knocks you out, he does not finish you off but collapses the mine entrance, sealing you in—once again leaving you available for rescue.”

“Perhaps he meant for the cave-in to crush me. I mean, he set off explosives, so he might have thought that the whole thing would cave in, not just the entrance, and I would be crushed. After all, the second cave-in came close to killing us. If one of those timbers had actually fallen on us, we might both very well be dead now. Anyway, if I was not rescued, I would eventually die of thirst and hunger.”

“I’m not sure. I was able to dig a hole and crawl through. If you had awakened here by yourself, you might very well have done the same thing from this side. It was the second collapse, which
I
caused, that sealed us in. And what if someone rescued you?”

“He couldn’t have guessed that you would follow me.”

“No, but they would have known that something was wrong when your horse returned to the stables. Since it is no longer here, that is probably what happened.”

“Unless
he
took the animal with him so that it would
not
go back to the stables.”

“Even so, eventually everyone would realize that you were missing, and at some point they would ask whether you had taken a horse. The groom would say when you had ridden off. Search parties would have been sent out. No doubt one of them would have passed this way and seen the collapsed mine entrance and investigated. There were tracks outside. You would have been found before you could starve to death.”

Marianne looked at him. “Is that what you expect will happen with us?”

He smiled. “I jolly well hope so. Don’t you?”

“Yes. But I am afraid I am not quite so optimistic.”

“It will probably take longer for them to set out looking for us. Since both of us rode out, they will probably assume that we were together, and they would not worry so quickly as they would about a lady alone. It might appear scandalous, but not life-threatening. It may be nightfall before they grow anxious, and then it will be too dark for a rescue party to be effective. They will start out at first light tomorrow, however.” He did not mention what he feared might happen—that before a rescue party could find them, there could be another collapse of the remaining timbers, and they might be buried beneath them.

Marianne shivered. “I don’t relish spending a night in this place.”

Justin squeezed her tightly and kissed her forehead. “Neither do I. However, I doubt that it will kill us. They’ll find us. They will spot my horse, for one thing. He is well trained. He’ll stand where I left him.”

“That long?”

He shrugged. “I have never tested him to that extent. But my guess would be that he won’t wander far off. Unlike your mount, the stables here are not his home. I think there is a good chance he won’t return there but will stay in the vicinity.”

Marianne leaned her head against his chest. It was amazing how comforting it felt to be held by Justin.

“Do you think that this person did not mean to kill me, then?”

He shrugged. “I’m not sure. It is possible, I suppose, that he is trying to threaten you, terrorize you, but if so, he is doing it in a damned roundabout way. Attacking someone else, asking questions about you, even that shove into the water. What if you had assumed that someone had merely stumbled into you?”

“It seems to me that he is trying very hard to make it look like an accident. Not the first one, of course. But these last two times—slipping and falling into a river, a mine collapsing on me. If either attempt succeeded, it would have appeared to be an accident, not murder. A knife in the back would be more certain but would obviously be intentional. The only logical reason anyone would want so badly for it not to appear as murder would be that the killer is someone here at the party.”

Justin sighed. “You’re right. If you had been murdered, the only suspects would have been the other guests.”

“Not the only suspects,” Marianne corrected. “Someone staying with Lord Exmoor could have done it.”

Justin sat back, cocking an eyebrow at her. “Are you still thinking it could have been Cecilia? Marianne, I tell you, it won’t wash. I have seen Cecilia when she’s furious, and God knows it isn’t a pretty sight. She can be mean and vindictive, but the type of revenge Cecilia seeks is social. She might ostracize you, but kill you?” He shook his head. “I don’t think so. Nor can I imagine her brother doing it. Fanshaw’s much more likely to try to seduce you than kill you. Now, the Earl is someone I could picture as a murderer. But why? You don’t even know the fellow, do you?”

Marianne shook her head. “I have barely spoken two words to him. But I don’t know most of the people here! Other than Penelope, Nicola, Buckminster and, of course, you, I never met any of these people before I came here. And who here
would
seem capable of murder, anyway? Mr. Thurston? Mr. Westerton? Sir William Verst?”

“Mmm. You have a point. It is a singularly innocuous lot, isn’t it?”

“Indeed.”

“So what is our conclusion? If the man searching for you and the incidents here are connected—and it would seem awfully coincidental if they were not—then the suspect is a guest here and is also somehow connected to your past. But he or she did not know you by sight, before this visit.”

“True. I do not think he had information on me any more recent than ten years ago. That is where he was looking.”

Justin frowned. “It makes no sense.”

There was a faint groan from the timbers, and another cup or two of dirt trickled down off to the right. Marianne glanced toward it nervously, then back at Justin. She huddled into her arms, trying to control the shudder that shook her body.

“What—what if the other timbers collapse, too?” she asked softly. “What if it’s not over?” She could imagine the stout wooden logs bending under the weight of the hill above them, could picture the tons of dirt and rocks that pressed down on the severely weakened structure.

“Don’t think about that,” he told her, moving over to her and pulling her into his arms again. “There’s no point in it. Let’s just concentrate on the possibility of getting out.”

“I hate feeling so helpless!”

“I know. I do, too.” It was not a position Justin was accustomed to finding himself in. He wrapped his arms more tightly around her, settling her so that she was sideways to him, her bottom between his legs, his knee cocked behind her to support her back, and her legs and skirts crossed over his other leg.

In this way, his warmth and strength enveloped Marianne, and she found it comforting. Gradually her shivering stopped, and she relaxed against his chest, letting her head lean against his shoulder. When Justin held her, it was easier to believe that it would turn out right somehow, that rescue would come before the mine collapsed on them.

She released a soft sigh and snuggled closer, her arms slipping around his chest. He could feel the side of her soft breast against his chest, her rounded derriere against the very center of his desire. He realized how sexual their position was. The darkness was velvet around them and utterly silent. With little to stimulate his sense of sight and sound, he found his other senses stronger. He could smell the scent of lavender soap that clung to her skin, could feel the satiny texture of her hair beneath his cheek. Heat flared at every point where her body touched his, building and pulsing deep in his abdomen.

Marianne felt the fire in him, the throb of his desire against her hip, and a shiver of an entirely different sort shook her. She, too, was intensely aware of every point where their bodies met; her nipples seemed suddenly swollen and extraordinarily sensitive. Desire welled in her, drowning out the tingles of fear. She wanted Justin. She wanted to feel his hands on her, his mouth. She wanted to run her own fingers over his body, exploring the wide chest and muscled shoulders, the curve of his buttocks.

Her breath rasped in her throat, and Marianne blushed in the dimness, embarrassed by her own reactions.
How could she feel this way at this time and place? Trapped, facing possible death at any moment…yet her thoughts turned to carnal lust!
She told herself a gentlewoman would be praying now.

Yet she knew that if she were to die, she wanted to know Justin’s lovemaking first. She was, after all, no gentlewoman. And in the face of death, all her reservations and hesitations seemed silly and pointless. She had never known lovemaking, only the hurried and brutal coupling that Rosalind’s father had forced upon her. She had never given herself, only been taken advantage of.
Was she to die without ever knowing real passion? Why did she deny herself what she wanted for the sake of the rules created by a Society that despised her?

“Justin.” She breathed his name, lifting her eyes and searching his face in the faint light.

She heard him draw in his breath sharply, and his arms tightened around her. He looked down at her, his face turned stark and hollow-cheeked by the heavy shadows. But there was no mistaking the desire that widened his mouth and gave his eyes a heavy-lidded look.

He brought up his hand to cup her cheek, his skin faintly rough upon her softness; the contrast stirred her in a deep, visceral way. He slid his fingers down over the elegant column of her throat to the hard base of her collarbone. Her pulse fluttered in the hollow of her throat, and her flesh trembled faintly beneath his touch. Justin bent to kiss her, his mouth moving slowly and tenderly over hers.

Marianne gave herself up to the pleasure, her worries and doubts slipping away in the warm dark. This moment was life itself, vibrating with hunger and delight. Her body was alive to each sensation, each taste and touch and change.

She sank her fingers into his hair, reveling in the feel of it upon her skin, sliding tantalizingly. Her lips moved against his; their tongues entwined, moving in an erotic dance. The scent of him filled her nostrils, and she felt almost dizzy with desire. They kissed over and over, hungry to know each other to the fullest extent. His hands slid down her body, caressing her breasts and stomach and legs. Marianne’s flesh tingled beneath his touch, and she wanted to rip away the barrier of her dress and feel his fingers on her skin. Her breasts were full and aching deliciously.

Her hands went to the buttons on his shirt, undoing them, then sliding beneath to feel the flesh, searingly hot, smooth skin stretched over hard muscle and bone. She brushed her fingers lightly over him, then spread her palms flat and ran them over his chest and stomach. He jerked a little as the sensations exploded within him, and his mouth turned ravenous on hers. Reaching behind her, he quickly unbuttoned her dress and shoved it down. Only the beribboned cotton chemise lay between him and what he desired. He jerked the ribbon to untie it and, sliding both his hands beneath the material, lifted the white globes free of their binding.

Her breasts gleamed palely, the pink-brown centers in dark contrast. He held them for a moment cupped in his hands and gazed down upon them, his eyes hot. “You are so beautiful,” he murmured huskily.