As the door shut, the closed space reverberated with the thunderclap. Whatever warm thoughts Verity might have had a moment ago, were gone.
All at once, she couldn’t breathe.
Blindly, she tried to make it to the door, hands outstretched, feet shuffling over the debris-strewn floor. She stumbled over the lantern that had fallen from her slack fingertips. But before she toppled end over end, she was abruptly caught and held against a solid form.
Magnus.
She clung to him. “The door. Need . . . the door.”
“It’s right here,” he said, his voice calm, soothing as he guided her a step, then two. “You’re doing splendidly. We’ll be out in a mere second.”
She heard the hollow scrape of his callused hand sliding down the wood. The jostle of the latch. Felt his muscles flex to pull it open. But nothing happened. He jiggled the latch again, impatient this time. And again, his muscles flexed. Still nothing.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. I have it all under control,” he said with taut reassurance as he made another attempt. The wood groaned. He cursed. “It appears to be . . . stuck.”
“Stuck?” Her voice cracked as her throat constricted, lungs laboring.
He placed his hands on her shoulders, rolling his palms in circles. “See here, wildling. You’re going to be just fine. You’re braver than you think. And you’re not alone. I’m here. The door is a little warped, but—”
“Warped?” She was starting to sound like a parrot. A parrot of doom. Panic sluiced through her, her words tumbling out on a frayed breath. “We’re trapped and we’re never getting out of here because no one will even think to look for us, and it will be days upon days, weeks even, and they won’t find our lifeless bodies until it’s too late.”
He pulled her close, his hands stroking her back in calming passes. “Shh . . . I won’t let anything happen to you. I promise.”
“How can you promise that? You didn’t even come prepared to rescue me with anything other than your foul temper.”
“I came with a pistol and a knife in my boot. A real knife, with sharp edges and everything.”
“If you are trying to tease me out of my panic, you are doing terribly.”
“I don’t need to resort to tricks.” His lips brushed against her temple. “Because we both know that you are already brave. Perhaps even too brave for your own good, for when it comes to others, you never hesitate to act. You climb trees to rescue cats. Save frightened monkeys. Refuse to put your friend in danger by dashing off to an undisclosed location in order to ensure your father’s safety.”
“This sounds suspiciously like a reprimand, only spoken softly,” she said, her cheek resting against his chest.
“Hmm . . . perhaps.” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. “However, I have absolutely no doubt that if you came upon someone trapped behind a closed door that you wouldn’t rest until you devised a way to free them. You told me yourself that the panic you suffered when you were a child and left in the closet was because you were afraid of what your family was suffering. In other words, you had wanted to be there. For them.”
His words penetrated through years upon years of the baggage she’d carried with her from that day. And, the more she remembered and thought about it, she realized he made sense. It was always the sound of the screams that woke her from her nightmares of that day and the sense of being cut off from her family. Trapped. Isolated.
Of course, there were other aspects surrounding those frequent episodes in the closet, primarily the fear of everyone seeing her the way the governess had—flawed, imperfect and unworthy. Easily forgotten. She’d hated that most of all.
“You think I’m being silly, don’t you? That I’ve conjured all this out of nothing?” She flushed with embarrassment and made a paltry attempt to squirm out of his embrace. But he held fast, refusing to let her go.
“No,” he said, his tone serious, solemn. “Because I understand what it’s like to be unable to control what is happening on the other side of a locked door.”
With those words, she remembered what he’d said to her about his father having suffered bouts of panic. He would stay in there for days, sometimes weeks, refusing to come out. And, over time, the episodes weakened his heart.
She wrapped her arms around Magnus, pressing her lips to the center of his chest. “It must have been hard for you, not knowing how to help your father.”
His arms tightened reflexively and he drew in a deep breath before he quietly said, “Unbearable.”
The gravity of that single word filled the room and, with it, a deeper understanding of the man he came to be. They both knew what it was like to be cut off from someone they loved and filled with a sense of powerlessness. But he’d had the strength and determination to push through it, while she was still fighting against it.
As if he heard her thoughts, he lifted his hand, the crook of his finger settling beneath her chin, nudging her face up toward his. Even in the darkness, she could feel the intensity of his gaze.
“I admire your strength, Verity Hartley,” he said and her breath caught. “That frightened little girl you once were has become a capable, intelligent, lovely and resilient young woman. I never want you to forget that.”
With his arms around her, his body so solid and immovable, she should have felt blocked in, surrounded, entombed. And yet, as her fingers flexed over the cashmere of his waistcoat, her fears began to dissipate, little by little.
She felt stronger now. Strong enough to stand on her own.
But instead of standing apart from him, she huddled closer. Not because she was afraid, but because there was no other place she’d rather be than in his embrace. Whether they were trapped in a room, locked in a broom cupboard or buried in a cave near the center of the earth, she wanted to be just like this, with him.
She took a breath, his scent a comforting elixir that unfurled the tight band around her lungs. Relaxing against him, she slid her hands to his nape and drew his mouth down to hers.
He offered no resistance. And at the first familiar press, the rest of the world fell away. Then he angled her mouth beneath his and kissed her slowly, patiently, telling her warm and tender things without words.
Only then did she forget all about her panic. Only then did she feel truly brave. Only then, did she remember his angry declaration. And her heart lifted as if pushed by a whirlwind of air. In his arms, she could soar.
He was aware of all her flaws, the very worst of her. Yet, by some miracle, he cared for her. And as he held her so securely, cradling her cheek so tenderly, she’d felt as if nothing could possibly go wrong ever again as long as they stayed just like that.
“Why does it feel like I can only breathe when you’re kissing me?” she asked on a contented sigh.
“Because you’re stealing all the air from my lungs. You’re killing me slowly, I hope you know,” he said wryly, drawing her closer.
Their lips met again in the darkness. They were both smiling.
After a moment, she tsked. “Such a shame. How much longer until I’m kissing your corpse?”
“Heartless bit of baggage,” he murmured, nuzzling a place beneath her jaw as she arched her neck for him.
“Fear not, I’ll say something kind at your gravesite.”
“Such as?”
“Oh, I don’t know. Something along the lines of how impatient, controlling and maddening you are. And in spite of it all, I happened to fall in—”
She broke off as a sudden, sharp boom from below drew their collective attention. It was the front door slamming, the sound muffled and distant. But the reverberations through the floor at their feet caused them both to stiffen with alertness.
Their heads turned toward the office door.
There was a faint vertical sliver of light bleeding between the wood and warped frame. For a moment, neither one of them moved out of their embrace. But it was clear that they were no longer alone in the building.
It wasn’t until they heard the echo of heavy footfalls and the muted murmur of conversation that they both seemed to recall their purpose.
And their feud.
She stepped apart at once, their differences lining up between them like bars of an iron gate. He thought her father was guilty of scheming and swindling his friends out of their money. She knew the painful truth.
But still, it surprised her when Magnus reached through the proverbial bars and took her hand in his.
“Whatever it is, we’ll face it together.”
Verity wasn’t certain exactly what he meant. However, it sounded a lot like a promise. And she found herself holding her breath once more as she nodded and held on tightly.
Together, they went to the door.
She pulled with both hands wrapped around the latch, planting her feet as she bent at the waist, hoping the plump weight of her bottom would be of some use to her for once. She even grunted for good measure. But it was no use.
“Here,” he said, placing the hilt of his dirk in her hand. “Wedge this through the seam while I pull.”
Though it took a couple of tries, the door finally gave in a sudden pop of rending wood. They pried it open to reveal a faint glow of light coming from below and she practically fell out into the narrow corridor in her haste to be delivered from that enclosed space.
Verity took in a deep breath and felt his hand close over hers. She smiled up at him. “We did it.”
“That we did,” he said fondly, brushing away the clinging strands of hair from her cheek. Then he slipped the blade free from her grasp and his expression turned grave. “But it isn’t over yet.”