“She’ll be swept out with the crush,” he assured her, still holding her arm, unwilling to let her be swept into that fray as well. “She’s probably halfway out by now.”
He jerked around even as more shouts and screams echoed in the high-ceilinged bazaar. Before Edmund had the chance to do more than scan the area, something crashed from further in the maze-like room, causing him to strengthen his hold on the woman. The sound echoed and mingled with the cries of fire, help and fearful, wordless screams.
He turned back to the merchant and looked at the stunned man. “Is there another way out?” Edmund demanded. In the distance, he heard glass crash and jerked the woman closer to his side.
Shaken, the old man nodded as he grabbed his trays and dumped the contents into a bag. “Yes, yes. Follow me.”
Edmund took the woman’s hand, propriety be damned, and pushed her forward. She stumbled and looked frantically behind her, screaming for Annabelle again.
“She’ll have gone for the doors,” he assured her quickly. “Come!”
Edmund took a second to look through the racing crowds, swelling like a tidal wave as they attempted to push toward the front entrance. All of those people shoving through only a few doors. He didn’t see the woman’s companion; she’d been caught up in the frenzied mass of people running for the street.
“Go!” he shouted to the merchant, who stalled before them, over the discord of sound and spreading fire.
The frantic crowd pushed forward again, debris falling among them.
She tugged again at his hold, as if ready to break it — run back, into the crowd.
He refused to release her hand and with one final look at the mob, dragged her with him as he ran beside the merchant. Edmund refused to let her make a mistake that could cost her life.
The flames burned much closer than he originally thought, licking greedily along wood and fabric. It didn’t help that the old man led them further into the building. But then he turned sharply and pushed through a door.
Behind them, the fire licked along the ceiling and headed directly towards them with an ungodly speed.
The ceiling of the small landing burned hot and fast, but the stairway leading down looked to be safe. For the moment. The passageway was pitch black and stank of mustiness and rubbish. Even now, as they raced down the stairs, Edmund smelled burning wood and ash; he gripped her hand tighter and moved faster. The darkness amplified her harsh breathing, but she didn’t fight him any longer and easily kept up.
It was only a matter of moments before the fire consumed the tunnel’s ceiling and consumed the way out.
The merchant proved surprisingly agile for his age and ran ahead. Clearly he knew where to go. Within a dozen steps, Edmund lost sight of the merchant among a maze of crates.
“Hello?” he called out, voice choking on the smoke.
Edmund heard a muffled response from up ahead, the faint hint of daylight beckoning them closer. Before they’d gone more than a few steps, the high ceiling crackled with flames illuminating the entire area. Smoke hung in thick ribbons above them, heavy and viscous.
Edmund turned to her, seeing her face fully for the first time within the glow of flames.
“He must have escaped this way,” she said pointing towards the towers of crates and urging him to follow.
Edmund moved with her through the stacks. Suddenly it felt like half the building fell on him. Pain seared through his left shoulder. Under the weight of a cracked beam, Edmund fell to his knees, then collapsed to the ground.
Damn it!
Jaw clenched with each movement, his hand covered the wound. The beam wasn’t on fire, a small mercy.
His hand came away wet.
The woman, who had not continued on, gasped and fell to her knees before him. “Sir!” Her gloved hands pushed at the beam, desperate to move it off him. “No!”
“Go!” he shouted over the din of the now-approaching fire. “I’ll not have you hurt here. Keep moving.”
She gave him an incredulous look. Mutely shaking her head, she ignored him and tried to push the beam away. Above them the fire slithered closer; flames dropped from the ceiling like a hellish rainstorm.
The wooden crates around them smoldered for barely a heartbeat before catching fire. Smoke surrounded them, thickened, made it almost impossible to breathe.
“You need to go now,” Edmund insisted, more a growl of a command than a request. Shoulder throbbing, Edmund grunted as he tried to push the beam. He couldn’t angle it off, his position was all wrong. “Find someone outside to help me.”
The woman stood, and he was relieved she’d find her escape but she didn’t move ahead; instead she retraced their steps around a corner and he lost sight of her.
“It’s this way, where are you?” he called out, desperate.
He tried to turn to look behind him and grunted in pain. He only managed to gasp in a breath before she stood beside him again. She held a long, metal pole of some type. Without a word, she jammed it under the beam lying across his arm and shoulder and, with great effort, leaned all her weight on the pole.
The beam thudded to the floor. With a groan, he rolled free.
Coughing, shoulder aching, knee protesting each movement, Edmund struggled to his feet.
She slung his uninjured arm over her shoulder and dragged him forward. Smoke obscured the doorway, but daylight broke faintly through. He steadied his feet, ignored his knee, and walked swiftly through the cluttered room, leaning heavily on her. His lungs burned with each gasping breath, his left arm hung limply by his side.
Behind them, the fire burned hotter.
Smoke clogged the room and choked them. Unable to see ahead, Edmund nonetheless walked faster. She covered her mouth and nose with her gloved-hand, her other hand tight around his waist. It did little to block the smoke and Edmund lifted her closer against him.
They stumbled over fallen crates, around spilled wares. The fire licked overhead now, hotter, gaining on them. Edmund kept his gaze on the open door where light shone through.
Relief flooded through him. The door still stood open. They moved faster, straight for daylight, stumbling into a brick alleyway. The merchant was nowhere to be seen. Edmund kept walking until they were clear of the fire, of the smoke that poured from the open door.
She guided him to a pile of packing crates, hands gentle but he pulled out of her hold.
“You should’ve gone, you should’ve left me,” Edmund snapped. His lungs burned and made the words weaker than the harsh scolding he wanted.
He coughed, hard, wracking coughs that squeezed his chest. Edmund stumbled against the crates; his left knee buckled beneath him and he just barely caught himself.
“I could never do such a thing,” she said quietly. But her hands never left him and pushed him to sit. She coughed and shook her head. “I could never leave anyone to die.”
“Going back towards the fire was foolish!” he said, but his tone wasn’t as harsh, not as biting.
He looked up at her, soot blackened her face. It made her startling green eyes all the more vibrant. Edmund found himself unable to look away.
She tore her gaze from his and without a word tugged off her glove and examined his shoulder. She met his gaze again. With a sharp inhalation of breath, she mouthed, I’m sorry and pressed the glove to his bleeding wound.
“I could not live with myself if I left you there. Could you have left anyone behind?” Though her voice sounded rough, she didn’t pull back but continued to press her glove to his shoulder. Carefully peeling it back, she shifted his coat off and peered at the bloodied wound.
“You could have died,” he stated, looking hard at her.
Her head jerked up at that. She stared at him for a long moment, tilting her head just slightly to one side. Then she offered a slight smile, a ghost of the wide grin she offered at the merchant’s.
“Then it is good neither of us have died,” she said softly.
Edmund released a long,
uneven breath. With her words, all the tension left his body. He met her gaze again, and understood just what sort of person she was. He didn’t know why he was so angry so quickly. Yes he did.
He’d been terrified she’d be hurt. Or worse.
His hands ghosted over her body, searching for burns or cuts. He didn’t know if she’d been injured, if returning for him had harmed her. She continued to hold her glove to his bleeding shoulder. Stand closer than propriety normally allowed.
For a moment longer than necessary, his hands rested on her hips, thumbs brushing the dirty fabric hiding her waist. Edmund didn’t look away from her, waited patiently for her to meet his gaze.
Her eyes remained focused on his shoulder, met his gaze once only to look away for a heartbeat before finally settling back on his. She stood between his legs, such an intimate gesture. His hands tightened on her waist, but she never broke eye contact, didn’t look away, didn’t back down.
The moment stretched out, wound around them. Edmund wanted to lean up and kiss her. Her eyes dropped to his lips then back to his eyes, her breath heavy now.
“Are you harmed?” he asked, voice rough but not from the smoke.
“No,” she said and the word caught.
She licked her lips and shook her head, her gaze once more on his arm. However, Edmund didn’t turn away, continued to watch her. She didn’t step from his touch, and only then did he drop his hands. They curled uselessly on his lap.
“Stay still,” she commanded but her voice was still soft. She pressed her glove more firmly to his shoulder.
She glanced at the door, and Edmund followed her gaze. The door was obscured by black smoked. No one else stumbled into the alley. He hoped none had been trapped in that hell.
“There was no one else behind us,” he said assured of that.
She nodded and met his gaze once more.
His lungs didn’t burn quite as much, but it still hurt to breathe deeply. He covered her hand with his and waited. When she looked up at him, Edmund asked softly, “Miss… ?”
“Miss Lyndell,” she offered with a short laugh.
It ended on a cough. His fingers tightened over hers and he waited for her to catch her breath. Finally she looked up at him again, eyes watering, and nodded.
“I’ve been attempting to discover that information since I first saw you,” Edmund admitted with a slightly sheepish smile.
“And how shall I refer to you?” she asked with that wide grin, so innocuous on her soot covered face. She was all the more striking for it. “Who is the mysterious gentleman I saved?”
“Edmund.”
Proper? Not even slightly. Propriety be damned.
“Still mysterious I see, Edmund.” Miss Lyndell offered a small chuckle which ended on another cough.
“Not mysterious,” he said, voice rough from smoke. “Just familiar.”
She carefully pulled her glove away, now completely soaked in his blood, fingers sliding from beneath his. With another look at him, she bent to examine his shoulder.
“I think the bleeding has ceased.” She stepped back and looked toward the mouth of the alleyway. “I need to find Annabelle,” she said, eyes meeting his.
Despite her earlier calm, the briefest of conversations they shared, she looked worried, her green eyes wide with fear for her friend. For an instant he’d forgotten about her companion, this Annabelle. Forgot everything except her.
Selfish, he didn’t want to let her go or let these quiet, intimate moments end.
However, Edmund carefully stood from the packing crate, his shoulder throbbing, his knee threatening to collapse beneath him.
Looping his arm around her shoulders once again, he silently guided her out of the alleyway. Out of necessity, his steps were slow, though he was in no rush to end the connection he’d found with this woman. The alleyway remained quiet and deserted, as if the unexpected intimacy they shared continued to surround them.
But he didn’t say anything more, unwilling to break the bond they formed. He merely continued their slow, unsteady pace away from the still-burning building.
“Did you arrive with anyone?” she asked, suddenly concerned as if it just occurred to her as they continued to walk.
“No, I came alone,” he admitted.
As they neared the mouth of the alley, Edmund dropped his arm from around her shoulders. Despite the situation, the fire they’d just escaped, he wanted no gossip about her. They walked into a confused mass of crying, shouting people.
The fire brigade had arrived, adding to the chaos. Miss Lyndell, hand on his arm now, guided him to a relatively empty place along one wall. She stepped back, looking reluctant to do so yet still very worried.
“I must find Annabelle,” she said, eyes darting from his to search the crowd.
Edmund caught her ungloved hand, felt her fingers jump beneath his touch. “I’ll go with you.”
“No.” She shook her head, smiled. “I don’t want you jostled by everyone.” She gestured to his shoulder, but never took her gaze from his.
He tightened his fingers around hers and stood from the wall, steadier than he felt. She stepped away, hand still in his.
“I’ll come back,” she promised. Her fingers were warm in his and she returned the pressure before she slipped her hand free.
Reluctantly he gave her a slow nod. His shoulder throbbed and his head pounded, and he had a feeling his left knee would let him know its displeasure come morning. Nonetheless, he took several steps forward.
However, Miss Lyndell whirled and dashed off into the crowd.
The crowd who still surrounded the burning bazaar, with flames reaching higher and higher and thick black smoke billowing greedily around it. Left arm held tightly to his side, Edmund started after her. His knee didn’t bother to wait until tomorrow to let its displeasure known, but he ignored it.
Before he had the chance to push his way into the multitude, Miss Lyndell returned. Her hair lay in a tumbled mass around her shoulders, she looked utterly beautiful. Her green eyes sparkled as she rushed up the alley, another woman, no doubt Annabelle’s hand clasped firmly in hers.
Relief moved through him in a warm wave, easing the coldness that gripped him as they’d run through the burning passageway. She was safe and found her companion equally unharmed.
She stopped still a dozen paces from him, relief easing her features and the lines that had bracketed her mouth
Annabelle gasped when she saw Edmund. She called out to a group of men lingering on the street. “Sirs, this gentleman needs assistance!”
Miss Lyndell’s mouth tightened slightly but she didn’t do more than nod to the gentlemen as they rushed into the alley. Her eyes stayed on his.
“I should see you home,” Edmund insisted.
He took a hobbling step closer, not wanting to see her leave. He wanted to continue their time together, stretch out the minutes they shared.
“Have no worries, sir,” Annabelle said. “I’ll see her home.”
With no recourse left but to nod in agreement, Edmund watched Annabelle lead Miss Lyndell into the crowd and for the line of hackneys gawking at the fire.
Chapter Three
Four days after the fire at the Bond Street Bazaar, Edmund sat across from Hamilton at their club, Langston & Biddle’s.
Questions had been asked about the fire. Edmund answered what he could, but his mind hadn’t been on their questions or the cause of the fire. It had been firmly on Miss Lyndell.
The way she looked at him in the alley stayed with Edmund. The way her vivid green eyes watched him felt more intimate than with any woman he’d ever been with. Her soft touch, her quiet words drew him — made him want to stay in her embrace and not move.
Made whatever pain he felt vanish. Those moments had been unique in his life and Edmund was greedy for more. As she stood between his legs, so very close, Edmund had only wanted to lean up and touch his lips to hers. Wanted to feel her lips beneath his, the warm smoothness of her ski
n against his fingers.
Everything he wanted was the very opposite of propriety. He hadn’t cared who watched or who might have wandered down that alleyway. He’d wanted to take the intimacy that had woven itself around them and push the boundaries.
It would’ve been too much — would have undone all his efforts to be a proper gentleman. And it may have scared her away.
“It’s a good thing there’s no cloud over London on the day you wish to meet your pretty little savior,” Hamilton said as he lounged in one of the dark green cushioned chairs, one leg negligently thrown over the wooden arm.
Edmund shifted in his seat, coming back to the conversation. He sipped his whisky, forcing his thoughts away from Miss Lyndell. His knee seemed to have forgiven him the awkward fall, and though his shoulder and upper chest were slightly bruised, the wound had healed quite nicely and only troubled him if he moved it too quickly. All in all, Edmund considered himself lucky.
Luck seemed to have been the fortune of the day — though the damage to the bazaar was extensive, and several had been injured, no one had died. A column had fallen at just the right angle to allow the patrons to rush from the building while it supported the burning roof.
A seeming divine intervention.
The weather had turned after the fire. Today the sun peaked through sporadic cloud cover but a cold wind, a portent of winter to come, blew icily through the streets. At the far end of the room a fire burned to keep the chill out of the air.
As he sat and listened to Hamilton taunt him over his search for Miss Lyndell, Edmund wondered why he had simply not stayed home and taken luncheon there instead of meeting his friend. Or conducted business with his steward. Or answered any of the many correspondence that sat piled on his desk.
At least today Hamilton did not reek of a woman’s perfume.
“I’m tempted to accompany you,” he said and looked up from the broadsheet with a lazy grin. “Simply to see the woman you scoured London to find.”
Edmund barely refrained from glowering. “I don’t think I’d want you to meet her until we were wed with six or seven children.”
Improper Match: Scandalous Encounters Page 2