Page 26 of Ten Rules for Loving the Wrong Rake

He righted the ladder, got one arm beneath her shoulders and the other under her knees, and lifted her off the cellar floor. She yelped and her arms went around his neck.

She was heavier than he'd expected when she first arrived. The weeks of manual labour had put muscle on her, and she filled her dress differently now. He kept his eyes on the ladder.

"Put me down."

"No."

"I'm the mistress and—"

"Still no."

He set her down facing the ladder, holding her steady until she had her weight on her good leg.

"Up you go." He gripped her waist from behind, his hands firm beneath her ribs. "Climb. I've got you. Don't push with the bad hip. I'll take the weight from below."

She gripped the rung. Pulled herself up one step. His hands moved with her, bracing and lifting. Second rung. Third.

She stopped.

"What are you doing down here, Kit?"

"Climb."

"I can smell it from the barrier. What is behind that wall?"

"Climb, Audrey."

She turned on the ladder. Looked down at him. He wished she hadn't, because now she was above him with her hands on the rungs and her face lit from below by the lantern, and her eyes were full of the stubbornness that made him want to shake her and shield her in the same breath.

"Not until you tell me."

"I'm not having this conversation while you're on a ladder."

"Then we'll be here a while." She settled her weight against the rungs.

"What in God's name is the matter with you?" His voice echoed in the tunnel. His fingers tightened on her waist, her body inches from his face, and the anger was rising from deeper than the argument warranted. "I told you not to come down. You will hurt yourself badly one day. Truly badly. Do you want that?"

"That is the longest speech I've ever heard you make." She almost smiled. He continued to glare and her smile died. "I have the right to know what happens in my own house. If you explained instead of grunting, I would not be here."

Her brows drew together, her head tilting. She was maddening and he was losing.

"What is so dangerous that you won't let me see?"

She looked down at him, her eyes curious, her face flushed with pain and with the effort of holding herself on the rungs. The lantern light caught her jaw, her throat, the collar of her dress.

"Me," he said.

"I don't understand."

His hands were still on her waist. He could feel her ribs expand with each breath.

He lifted her off the ladder.

Chapter eleven

Weapon

Kit