“It was nothing, sir.”
“All the same,” Richard said with a nod. He peered into the passageway, blinking into the darkness. He’d forgotten how cold and damp it could get in there. “Iris?” he called out. It was unlikely she’d got very far. He doubted she’d had time to light a candle, and the tunnel grew black as night once it twisted away from the house.
There was no answer, however, and so Richard lit a candle, placed it in a small lantern, and then stepped into the hidden passageway. “Iris?” he called again. Still no answer. Maybe she hadn’t entered the tunnel. She was angry, but she wasn’t stupid, and she wasn’t going to hide out in a pitch-dark hole in the ground just to avoid him.
Holding his lantern low enough to light the way, he stepped carefully forward. The Maycliffe tunnels had never been laid with stone, and the ground was rough and uneven, with loose rocks and even the occasional tree root snaking through. He had a sudden vision of Iris taking a tumble, twisting her ankle or worse, hitting her head . . .
“Iris!” he yelled once again, and this time he was rewarded with the tiniest sound, a cross between a sniffle and a sob. “Thank God,” he breathed. His relief was so quick and sudden he couldn’t even manage regret over the fact that she was obviously trying not to cry. He rounded a long, shallow corner, and then there she was, sitting on the hard-packed dirt, huddled like a child, her arms wrapped round her knees.
“Iris!” he exclaimed, dropping to her side. “Did you fall? Are you injured?”
Her head was buried against her knees, and she did not look up as she shook it in the negative.
“Are you certain?” He swallowed awkwardly. He’d found her; now he didn’t know what to say. She’d been so magnificently cool and composed in the breakfast room; he could have argued with that woman. He could have thanked her for agreeing to mother Fleur’s child, he could have told her that it was past time they made plans. At the very least he could have formed words.
But seeing her like this, forlorn and curled up tight . . . he was lost. He brought a tentative hand to her back and patted, painfully aware that she’d hardly want comfort from the man who had made her so miserable in the first place.
She didn’t pull away, though, and somehow that left Richard feeling even more awkward. He set the lantern down a safe distance away and rested on his haunches beside her. “I’m sorry,” he said, aware that he had no idea what he was apologizing for—there were far too many transgressions to choose just one.
“I tripped,” she suddenly said. She looked up at him with defiant eyes. Wet defiant eyes. “I tripped. That’s why I’m upset. Because I tripped.”
“Of course.”
“And I’m fine. I’m not hurt at all.”
He nodded slowly, holding out his hand. “May I still help you to your feet?”
For a moment she didn’t move. Richard watched her jaw set defiantly in the flickering light, and then she put her hand in his.
He stood, nudging her along with him. “Are you certain you can walk?”
“I said I wasn’t injured,” she said, but there was a rough, forced quality to her voice.
He did not respond, just tucked her hand in the crook of his arm after reaching down to retrieve the lantern. “Would you like to return to the drawing room or head outside?” he inquired.
“Outside,” she said, her chin quivering through her regal tone. “Please.”
He nodded and led her forward. She did not seem to be limping, but it was hard to tell for sure; she was holding herself so stiffly. They had walked together so many times during that brief period he had come to think of as their honeymoon; never had she felt like this, all glassy and brittle.
“Is it far?” she asked.
“No.” He’d heard the swallow in her voice. He didn’t like it. “The exit is near the orangery.”
“I know.”
He didn’t bother to ask how. It had to be the servants; he knew she hadn’t spoken to either of his sisters. He’d meant to show her the tunnels, he’d been looking forward to it. But there hadn’t been time. Or maybe he hadn’t made time. Or forced her to take the time.
“I tripped,” she said again. “I would have been there already if I hadn’t tripped.”
“I’m sure,” he murmured.
She stopped hard enough for him to stumble. “I would!”
“I wasn’t being sarcastic.”