Trapped with the Duke by Annabelle Anders

Trapped Again

She was safe.

Addison had not even begun to recover from what had been the most exquisite experience of his life when he’d heard the first piece of wood splinter and give way.

“Collette, sweetheart, are you hurt?”

“I don’t think so. Mostly,” she answered, her voice a little shaky. “I always wondered what it would be like, but I never expected it to be earth shattering.”

Addison chuckled, relieved, and then inhaled. The scent of dust and debris nearly overpowered the scent of her, and of their lovemaking. But not quite.

She had been a revelation. But he couldn’t dwell on that now. He needed to assess their situation.

And he very much intended to do just that—if only he could bring himself to move. Or open his eyes. Or do anything.

But they were trapped beneath this cot—trapped in this very small space. His chest was beginning to tighten as terror slithered up his spine.

“Collette.” He hated the fear in his voice as he fought this brewing panic.

“What kind of man are you? A weakling? A sniveling girl?”

It was his father’s voice.

The old duke loomed over him, angry from catching him running to Rowan’s room, upset from a nightmare.

“I dream about the bog,” he explained and then watched as disgust twisted his father’s expression.

“Not that again. I’ll teach you to be a man, by God.”

He felt himself being lifted over the window seat used for storage in his father’s study. Sensing his fate, knowing the world was about to swallow him whole, Addison began fighting, kicking, and screaming.

And begging.

“Whip me instead, Father.” He cried. “Please, I’ll never do it again. I promise.”

“Not the box! You know he hates it.” Their father pushed Rowan back. “Punish me instead.”

Not even the favored son could cut through their father’s stubbornness once his temper took over.

“You’ll get over this foolishness one way or another.” His father pushed him down mercilessly, tucking Addison inside.

The sounds of the lid closing, and then the lock—

“Addison.” Collette’s voice cut through his memory. “Addison. I’m here.”

He inhaled.

Collette. Vanilla. Her skin. Her taste.

Tender hands soothed his shoulders, his arms. “I’m here.”

He nodded. And then inhaled her scent again. He needed to get her to safety in case the entire structure gave out. God help him, he needed to gauge their situation before he lost control of his fear completely.

Because if their situation was as dire as he thought it was, his heart would explode before anyone even discovered they were trapped here.

But it wasn’t his life that mattered. It was Collette’s.

In fact, Collette was all that mattered. He nodded again, inhaled, and forced his eyes open.

Black. Black everywhere.

“Are you all right?” He pressed his mouth to the top of her head.

Sweet and warm. He inhaled again, filling his senses with… her.

When she didn’t answer right away, he moved his hands over her shoulder. “Collette?”

“My foot…” A tremor shook her voice. Addison froze. She’d try to hide her fear from him—his brave Collette. She’d been brave from the moment he met her. “Something’s caught it.”

“Does it hurt?”

“A little. More now. But…” She gasped. “It’s trapped.”

His heart skipped a beat. The possibility that her foot was crushed only increased his urgency to get the two of them out from beneath this damn house. She would need a physician, and quickly.

If he failed… He thrust away the wave of fear and hopelessness that wouldn’t help anything and steeled himself.

Reaching down to free her from his position was impossible. Only a few inches of empty space surrounded them.

Addison swallowed hard. The cot had saved them from being crushed outright. It was as though they’d been entombed—buried alive.

Before panic could crush him again, he rejected such thoughts.

He’d make damn sure they didn’t die here together.

An opening. There must be gaps in the debris. He’d locate one and then he’d ensure it had sufficient supports for them to pass under.

“Can you move your foot at all?”

“Oh!” She gasped. “I can, but… Addison, it hurts.” The pain in her voice tore at him.

“Don’t move it then, love. I’ll free you. I’m going to get us out of here.” All he wanted to do was hold her, reassure her, and make all her pain go away. First, though, he needed to save her. “Trust me?”

“Yes.”

Sliding his arms out from beneath her, he could only make incremental movements but managed to roll so that he faced the outside—or what he thought was outside. Cool air teased his chest.

An opening.

He explored the space with his hands. Fabric. The wool of his jacket on the floor. He didn’t even remember taking it off. And wood. Planks, small gaps surrounding most of them.

If he could push the lower half of himself out, then he could turn around enough to free her foot.

“Someone will come, won’t they? What if the cot breaks?”

Addison reached behind him and gently squeezed her thigh. “It won’t break. I promise.”

“I’m sorry.” Addison heard—and felt—her attempts to breathe evenly. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Of course. I—”

“Love? He cut into her apologies. “I’m going to get us out of here. I have an idea.” Because Rowan’s workers would not return until morning and with most of Mayfair’s residents vacated until spring, there was no guarantee that anyone had heard the collapse.

This had to have been the work of the vandals Rowan had told him about. There was no way Rowan’s construction would ever allow for such a catastrophe.

She found his hand and squeezed. She was scared. His precious, brave girl—hurt and scared. All because he’d brought her here. If only he’d taken her directly to her brother’s house instead. Or the park—anywhere but here.

But he couldn’t think about that now.

A tremor ran through her small body. Her gown was mostly gathered around her waist.

“You’re cold.” Because of him.

What had he been thinking to place her in danger like this?

“No.” Her teeth chattered. And then another tremor. He located his jacket again, shoved it above his head, and turned again to face her.

“Don’t worry about me,” she protested. “I’m fine. Do what you need to do. I’m fine.”

But worrying about her was exactly what was going to get them to safety. She was his sanity. If he worried about himself…

He cradled her face in his hands and then pressed his lips to her forehead. “Do you hurt anywhere else?”

“No. No. Should I scream for help? Would anyone come?”

Addison considered the size of the lot, how far they were from the street, and the thickness of the untended trees and shrubs surrounding them.

But if she thought it would help, and it provided her with a distraction, then he wouldn’t discourage her. “It can’t hurt.” And then he braced himself for her voice to shatter the cool silence around them.

“Help!” Her voice wobbled with her shout. Another shiver. “I don’t think I’m much of a screamer.”

“Let me help you into this.” He opened his jacket, glad that she seemed momentarily distracted from her pain. “Careful, love.”

The skin on her arms was cool and damp. And far too delicate for her to be laying in the debris that had worked its way into their small sanctuary.

Addison guided her hand into the arm of his jacket. Never had she seemed so fragile as she did in that moment.

She was his heart, his life, and she was oh, so very vulnerable.

Thank God they’d made it under the cot.

“Let me…” She arched her back so he could slide the jacket under her and working together, the two of them managed to get her covered.

Shielded.

It shouldn’t make any difference but knowing she was protected in his jacket provided him with some comfort.

“That’s better. It smells like you,” she said.

He smiled, calmed by her matter-of-fact observation.

“Still leather and wood?” he asked, wanting to keep holding her but turning again so he could renew his efforts to free her foot.

“I remember it distinctly. From the stairwell. I remembered it even after you left Warstone Crossing.”

“You are vanilla and spring—and sometimes mint. My favorite perfume in all the world.” He located the opening again and, contorting himself, tucked his knees up and pushed his feet through it.

If he dislodged one of the planks supporting the debris on top of them, he could possibly bring down even more of the structure.

He wasn’t sure how much weight the cot could support.

He edged his feet out slowly, taking note of each piece of wood he encountered, how it fit, and which direction it lay, trying to get an idea as to the puzzle of chaos around them.

With most of his lower half out from under the cot, he allowed himself to focus on Collette’s predicament again.

Eau du Arousal. Vanilla still, but also muskiness, blended with flowers that blossomed in early spring. He drew in a deep breath. His position placed his head against her thighs, where she was naked with the lower half of her gown drawn up to her waist.

If they hadn’t just made love and if he wasn’t trapped beneath Rowan’s bloody house, by God, he’d—

He kissed her skin, tasting it as he dragged his tongue down her leg.

“Addison?” Her hand landed on his head, and he felt a tug as her fingers threaded in his hair. This wasn’t the time or the place, but God help him, he felt himself hardening again.

Which, presently, was not going to help his cause.

“When we get out of here, I’m going to taste every inch of you.” He made this promise for both of them.

“I will taste you.” The fact that she could surprise him no longer surprised him.

“A thousand times. We have a lifetime, Collette.”

He would get them out of here. His resolve could not be greater.

There was a long and happy marriage awaiting them.

He slid his hand over her knee, which was bent, and then down her calves. To her ankle and foot.

He placed a soft kiss on her ankle, and skimmed his fingers over to her other leg, which lay straight, and seemingly locked onto the floor.

Somehow, when he’d rolled them off the cot, he hadn’t managed to keep her head high enough and that had left her foot to stick out the bottom of the cot.

He felt around. Two planks were crossed, forming something of an X, making for the perfect trap.

“It’s not crushing you?” He had to be sure.

“No. But it’s tight.”

He exhaled.

Supporting himself with his elbows, he tenderly touched his lips just above her stuck ankle.

“I’m going to go around.” He wasn’t sure how, but it was the best he could come up with at this point.

“Addison?” Fear and pain and love all managed to sound in her voice.

“I love you, Collette. We’re going to get out from under this damned house, and tomorrow, I’m getting a special license. And then, so help me, you and I are going to be married by the bishop if I have to track him to ground myself.”

Which he ought to have done all along.

She didn’t contradict him.

She didn’t say anything.

“Tell me what you’re thinking.” Addison was crawling out from beneath the cot again, grateful that he was wearing an older pair of boots. The soles were thin, and he could feel the positioning of the planks better that way. “Let’s address all of your concerns once and for all.”

Now, he supposed, ironically, was as good a time as any.

“Your mother is right,” she admitted. “I’m simply not duchess material.”

There was a gap to his left and he edged his legs into it. It was larger than he’d expected. He could get them out of here. She would, by God, agree to marry him.

But first he must free her foot.

Very carefully.

“Is it because of how you see yourself?”

“It’s because of who I actually am.”

He located a small broken board and turned it to stand beneath one of the beams to his right. Hopefully, it would be thick enough to hold if necessary.

A wave of dizziness rolled over him. Without her touch, his fear threatened to crush in around him.

He remembered those moments in the stairwell, when she’d helped him by simply… talking.

“I don’t deserve to be a duke any more than you deserve to be a duchess. But it’s our fate.” There he went again, embracing this notion of destiny—of a predetermined future for both of them.

“But you aren’t illegitimate.”

“My inheritance is. But for my father’s ill-fated decision not to marry Rowan’s mother, I’d likely be a soldier, or a cleric.” He grunted as he reached to place a support. “But for your father’s ill-fated decision to marry your brother’s mother, you would have already taken the Ton by storm and not given me a second look.”

“I’d have given you a second look.” Her voice echoed softly from beneath the cot. “And a third.”

“Even my father regretted not marrying Rowan’s mother.” Addison never discussed this with anyone. It was a topic that he and his brother were well adept at avoiding. “Rowan was always stronger than me… My father hated that his legal heir was weak. I was smaller. I was… a disappointment.”

* * *

She pictured him as a child,again, as she’d imagined—with lighter hair and sweet eyes that would have been innocent and trusting.

“There was a place for storage, a box in my father’s study. After he discovered the fear I had, from the bog, he said it was his duty to crush it. And according to my father, that meant making me face it.”

Addison paused and then grunted from exertion as he shuffled around. The sound of wood scraping against wood had her holding her breath.

“Be careful. I don’t know what I’d do…” She swallowed hard, the thought of losing him was suddenly all too real.

And unbearable.

This man. She’d be half a person without him.

“He locked me in it. You say you’re not a screamer. I think I screamed that first time until my voice went raw. He didn’t let me out until much later. I either fell asleep from exhaustion or passed out from clawing at the lid. Thereafter, that box was my punishment. For failing at my studies or playing with the wrong children. For doing anything that would tarnish our family’s honor. It didn’t take long to realize how important it was never to break the rules.”

Honor was everything.

No wonder. Dear God. How could a father do that to his own child?

No wonder.

“And your mother didn’t stop him?” She brushed away a tear. Had both his parents been monsters?

“She didn’t know. Even if she had, I doubt she could have. My father was a very stubborn man.” He paused and she heard wood shifting before he continued. “My brother teases me now for always staying within the lines, so to speak. I do believe he was rather thrilled when I told him about you, Collette. Let me know how you are doing.”

His story summoned silent tears to stream down her face and she swallowed hard before she could answer. The wood pressing down on her foot felt tighter; she couldn’t even twist now. But she didn’t want to worry him. He was already doing everything he could.

“Collette?” He seemed to pause what he was doing.

“I’m afraid.” But that wasn’t going to help. “But I’m well enough.”

“You? Afraid?” He was moving again. “You’re the one who kept me from weeping like a baby while we were locked in that stairwell… Not sure if I started falling in love with you then, or the moment I came into your classroom and you glared up at me for interrupting your solace.”

“You wouldn’t have wept.”

“Oh, no, I was weeping inside.”

Collette remembered. He’d gone pale that day, his breathing had been uneven, but he’d kept most of his emotions in check.

And then she remembered.

“I fell in love with you when you kissed me.” She’d tried to deny it, even to herself, but she had.

She really had.

“So it’s all about the kissing?” Teasing sounded in his voice. But she wasn’t going to limit her confession to how she felt about his kisses. If she was going to die, she was going to tell him all the things she loved about him first.

“I love that you see me differently than anyone else does. How you see me… better than I am.”

“I just see you.”

“And I love that you make jokes, even when you’re pretending to be serious. I love that you’re true to yourself, despite the expectations of your position. And I love your stories.”

“You haven’t read them.”

“But I have. Most of them. I went back and bought the entire collection the day after you showed them to me.” It had put a sizable dent in her savings but she couldn’t help herself.

Silence fell where he’d been working. “You read them?”

“Just the first three so far. And I love them. They paint the most vivid pictures, and your characters come to life on the page. Albert is simply wonderful.” His protagonist lived the life of freedom that Addison could not. He’d traveled the world, fought off villains, and met distant people.

“You don’t hate them?”

Because they were his, even if they’d been boring and staid, she likely would have read them. And she could never hate anything he created.

But she was able to answer truthfully. “Not at all.” She smiled. “And I am not just telling you that because I love you.”

Saying the words to him was a freedom in itself.

She wished she could see his face in that moment, and yet there was a certain intimacy to talking with him in the dark like this.

“All right. I’m going to lever this up and when I do, pull your foot out.”

If he moved the wood, more could fall. “What if it sends everything else crashing? Addison, be careful for yourself. Please. If it fell on you—"

“It won’t. I won’t let it.” He sounded so confident that she almost believed him.

She wished he could kiss her first. One last time, just in case.

“I’ll kiss you properly when we’re out.” Oh, but how he knew her.

“All right.” She squeezed her eyes together. “I’m ready.”

“On three.”

“On three,” she confirmed. He was going to get them out of this.

“One… two… three!

Collette tried bending her knee, but her ankle caught on the wood and spikes of pain shot up her leg.

And then she felt his hand, turning her foot and wedging it toward her. Dear God, so much pain!

She’d been wrong when she’d told him she wasn’t a screamer. Dead wrong.

The sound tore through her throat and then echoed in her head, but she kept bending her knee and tugging.

“A little farther.” His voice was level, somehow penetrating this fog of agony. She tried to focus on the warmth of his hand and the steadiness in his voice, but the pain was more than she could endure. Then she was moving and a layer of dust covered her face. Addison had a hold of her, dragging her, but there was pain.

So much pain.

When the world finally slipped away, taking her agony with it, the last sounds she heard was the distant barking of dogs.

Either canines were welcoming her to heaven, or help was on the way.