Passion Regency Style

by Wendy Vella

  Lucian paused as a groan wracked the building. He definitely felt the ground shake that time. The remains of the wooden gallery gave way, sending sparks flying and he turned to shield Ellie from them. Some struck him but he didn’t feel their sting. He strode on, the door so temptingly close.

  Another groan. Another crack. What was giving way this time? He peered up and came to a standstill. Horror ate into him and made his limbs feel like jelly. It happened very slowly, yet he could not move quickly enough. A rafter dangled from the roof, ready to drop. It was not one of the main beams but it would crush a man with ease. It gave way and it brought down a fiery mass of wood with it.

  All he could do was drop to the ground and cover Ellie. Debris rained down around them and dust filled his lungs. Something struck his arm and a sharp sting bit into his leg. The pain was different from that of the previous mill fire so he could only conclude he was not alight.

  With a groan, he dragged himself up, hauling Ellie with him, and he glanced at the debris. The sharp pain in his leg jabbed at him and begged him to give up. Even his arm protested holding the light weight of Ellie. But giving up was not an option. Not while there was a chance Ellie was still alive.

  Ignoring the agony in his calf, he stepped over the rafter that had nearly crushed them and picked his way through the rest of the burning debris. The flames touched his trousers and he cursed when he noticed the hem of his trousers was beginning to burn. But the door was steps away. He stumbled on and the door shattered.

  Two firemen burst through, the golden glow of the flames glinting off their helmets. Wordlessly, one grabbed Ellie from him, while the other urged him outside and patted out the flames that had taken a stubborn hold of his clothing. Once only smoke rose from his clothing, pain and fear forced him to the ground.

  A fireman wrapped an arm around his waist and helped him to his feet. “Come on, my lord. It isn’t safe to be so close to the building and we can’t get our hoses in if you’re there.”

  He nodded wearily and looked for the man carrying Ellie. Several firemen were bringing in their hoses and onlookers had crowded the gates. He could not see her and panic ate into him. The man keeping him upright pushed aside the crowd.

  “Where’s Ellie?” he demanded.

  “The doctor is seeing to her. Sit down, my lord.”

  “Take me to her.”

  The fireman looked as though he was about to argue but thought better of it and peered over the crowds. “Just there. Come, he will need to see to your leg too.”

  His damned leg. The pain was burning through it and he walked at the pace of a snail. Not quick enough. Why had the fireman not dragged him straight to her side, damn him? His heart had never left his throat since he had realized Ellie was in the building but now it threatened to jump clean out of it when he saw Ellie laid out on some blankets someone must have thoughtfully provided. An elderly chap, the doctor from Lenten Street, he assumed, was leaning over her.

  Lucian disengaged himself from the fireman’s hold and dropped to her side. The doctor moved back, allowing him to smooth her hair away from her blackened face.

  “Is she alive?” The noise of the crowd and the building in its death throes almost drowned his words but the doctor clearly understood and nodded.

  Lucian let his shoulders drop.

  “She has likely inhaled a lot of smoke,” the doctor told him loudly. “If she wakes up, she shall need to be well looked after so she doesn’t sicken.”

  Nodding, Lucian eased her head into his lap and urged her to awaken. Drops fell onto her face and he scowled. It wasn’t raining. He swiped his eyes and realized they were his tears. Bloody hell, the woman had him in tears. What had she done to him?

  “My lord, your leg...” The doctor motioned.

  He glanced at the leg in question that was stretched out in front of him and noted the large splinter of wood sticking out from his trousers. That explained a lot then.

  “Just pull it out.”

  Even over the noise surrounding him, he was sure he heard the doctor sigh as he moved around to tear apart the fabric. Lucian kept his gaze fixed on Ellie and hardly noticed the pain as the doctor removed the huge splinter.

  Wake up, wake up, wake up. The words echoed the painful thump of his heart. Look at me, Ellie. Wake up. If she lived, he didn’t care if he lost the mill or every penny he owned. He didn’t care if she decided to travel the world and search for more bugs, or if she took a hundred lovers. If only she lived.

  Very well, so he might have something to say about the lovers. But her life was more important than his happiness. He would suffer unending agony for her.

  Hope burst in his chest when her eyelids fluttered. It took far too long but gradually her eyes opened and that beautiful grey gaze latched onto him.

  “Lucian.” Her voice came out a mere croak and a great coughing fit consumed her.

  The doctor came back to press his stethoscope to her chest and Lucian cradled her as though she were a child while he checked her over once more.

  “You need to get her clean and warm, my lord. Take her home and I shall follow. And we must see to your leg.”

  “Damn my leg, I don’t care two figs about it.”

  Lucian thought he saw the doctor roll his eyes, but he said nothing as Lucian insisted on drawing Ellie into his hold and carrying her to the carriage.

  “Take us to my house,” he ordered the driver. “With haste.”

  The man nodded. Everyone knew of his townhouse. Lucian thanked the Lord it was close to the mill and would only take minutes to get there.

  He settled Ellie against his chest. She appeared to be fighting to keep her eyes open and that was the way he wanted her. Fighting.

  Before they started off, a fireman popped his head through the open window. “Thought you’d like to know we’ve caught the man who started the fire.”

  “Already?”

  “Your guards caught him sneaking away and had given chase. A bobby just arrived and informed me the police have him in custody and will be questioning him.”

  “Good. My thanks.”

  The fireman slapped the side of the carriage and told the driver to move on.

  “Everything will be well,” he soothed when the carriage jolted forwards. He pressed his hands across her cheeks and savored the warmth of her skin.

  “The mill,” she said, her voice still raw but more audible now they were away from the crowd.

  The last he had seen of the building, it was half collapsed and he doubted the firemen could save it. “It doesn’t matter.”

  “Someone set that fire...I was looking for you...I wanted to stop—” A coughing fit consumed her and he shushed her.

  “It doesn’t matter. It’s only a mill.”

  “No,” she said when the fit had subsided. “I wanted to stop the fire, but I wanted to find you. To say...I love you.”

  The hand on her cheek stilled of its own accord and he stared at her. Had the fire sent her delirious? Had it sent him delirious? Had he misheard?

  “Pardon?”

  “Love you,” she whispered.

  It was wholly inappropriate given the situation but a smile worked its way across his face.

  “Do not laugh at me.”

  His grin expanded at the surprising strength to the words. “I would not dare.”

  “I know I have ruined everything and—”

  “Ellie, do be quiet,” he said none too gently. “I love you too, you foolish woman.”

  Her lids fluttered several times and a crease came between her brows.

  “Devil take it, any other woman would be happy to hear such a declaration. Perhaps my words were not flowery enough.” He pressed a finger to his lips. “How about this? Eleanor, you are the light of my life, my reason for living. I was but a grizzled, cantankerous old viscount before you and likely a great big fool too, but you have brought light into my world. With you, I am a better man. Not perfect, I shall give you that, but certainly one hundred
times better. If you love me and I love you, I can think of no reason not to marry, and I shall not take ‘I will think about it’ as an answer this time.”

  Those perfect lips—even if covered in grime—parted and she gazed up at him.

  “Do I need to say more? Spout words of your beauty perhaps, though I must tell you, Ellie, you are a damned mess right now.”

  Ellie laughed and it turned into a cough. He patted her back, easing her closer to him. Her warmth seeped through his muscles and the feel of her soft body against his eased some of the apprehensive ache in his chest.

  “You always did have a way with words, Lucian.”

  He scowled. “Do not try to change the subject.”

  “Considering you are meant to be charming, you’re terrible at marriage proposals.”

  “Well, I have not had much practice,” he grumbled. “Ellie, I did not take you for a tease.”

  “Forgive me, Lucian. I have suffered much of your teasing and it is only fair to repay you.”

  “Even after I rescued you from a burning building?”

  “Yes, I suppose you have more than made up for your behavior.”

  He clenched his jaw and found his fear had been replaced with a very strong urge to throttle the woman. Was this what it would be like, their marriage? She forever leading him on a merry dance? Probably. And there was little to be done about it. He had to have her and if she decided to torment him for the rest of his life, he would let her.

  “Poor Lucian.” She reached up and pressed her palm to his cheek. “What sort of fool would I be to say no? I am only sorry I did not say yes sooner but I was so scared. I didn’t want to make the wrong decision. Now I see you could never be a wrong decision.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  “Do you need flowery words also?”

  “I just need a blasted yes,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “Then yes. Yes, I’ll marry you. Yes, I’ll love you forever.”

  Lucian battled the desire to let out a string of curses at her for keeping him waiting for so long, but pure happiness quashed the words and instead he found himself burying his head in her curls.

  “You will not regret it, I swear. I shall do all I can to make you happy, Ellie.”

  “I know,” she said as she lifted her head to his. “You can be my happily ever after.”

  A laugh escaped him at the romantic notion, but he had to admit, he was feeling one or two distinctly fluffy notions and he nodded. “And you can be mine,” he murmured as he lowered his lips to hers.

  Epilogue

  What’s Wrong with Gretna Green?

  “Thank the Lord that’s over,” Lucian said as he slid into the carriage next to Eleanor.

  “I do not think you’re meant to be glad your wedding is over.”

  He grinned, looking as handsome as ever in his perfectly fitted suit and elegant dark green waistcoat. Lucian took her gloved hand, peeled off the fabric and slid his fingers between hers before bringing her hand to his lips.

  “Do not tell me you are not grateful it is all over.”

  She couldn’t help but laugh. “Very well, yes I am. I didn’t trip and I did not say the wrong words, or sneeze into my flowers, but I feared greatly I would.”

  “You were perfect, wife.” He emphasized the words.

  “As were you, husband.”

  “But I still would have preferred to go to Gretna Green and avoided all this fuss.” He waved a hand to the array of people waiting outside their carriage to see them off.

  “Mama would have killed me for certain.”

  “Come wave to your adoring crowd and then we can make for the hotel. It’s been a busy few months and I am desperate to remove that rather fine gown from you and make you my wife properly.”

  “We have already made love,” she whispered, as though one of the cheering crowd might hear her. “I’m not sure we need to do it again to make it formal.”

  “Nonsense. I need to make you my wife in every way possible and that means keeping you up all night.”

  His voice rose with the last few words and, though she doubted anyone heard, she knew he was teasing her and heat spilled into her cheeks. She slapped his arm. It had been a long few months trying to get the mill repaired and everything up and running again. Not to mention tracking down the culprit.

  Leaning across him, she saw her mama and papa waving and she waved back. Even Papa seemed to have tears in his eyes. As the carriage began to move, she settled back against the plush interior. She glanced at their joined hands and let herself relax. With Lucian at her side, she never had a need to be nervous again. If she proved to be the clumsiest, most ungainly wife of all time, he would still love her.

  “It’s a shame we can only be gone a few days,” she said.

  They had to return soon for Mr. Newcombe’s trial. He had been billing them with inflated figures and had hired men to sabotage the mill. All because he wished to set up his own mills and was looking to buy up the local mills at cheap prices. What they had not known was that he had already done the same to two other mills in Lancashire, forcing them to close and be sold off at a discounted price.

  Also Lucian wanted to oversee the final stages of the build. With a little help from his main investor—namely her—they had managed to save the mill and the jobs of the people in it. She could not wait for them to see their modernized mill with better working conditions and safer machines. She could not object too much at his eagerness to return. She had come to love the mill as much as he.

  “Pardon?” She found him staring avidly at her. “Forgive me, I was admiring my beautiful wife.”

  “I said it is a shame we only have a few days.”

  “A few days is all I need.”

  She glanced at his wicked smile. “You are a rogue and a rake, Lord Rushbourne.”

  “Ah, yes, but I am your rake.”

  Eleanor laughed and took his face in both her hands so she could slide onto his lap and straddle him. “You are indeed,” she confirmed and proceeded to kiss him in a manner that only a very wicked woman would. He groaned and cupped her rear to press her against him.

  “Even the worst of rakes do not bed women in their carriages,” he informed her between kisses.

  “Yes, but you are not the worst, you are the best.”

  “How very true that is,” he agreed.

  And he proceeded to show her just how good a rake he really was.

  THE END

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  A Lady in Hiding

  Amy Corwin

  A tragic case of arson sends Sarah into hiding to escape the terrible fate of her family. She works as a common laborer and manages to keep her secret safe for thirteen years until she receives an ominous note. The killer has caught up with her, and despite her disguise, she is once again in danger from a man determined to keep the past a secret.

  William, an inquiry agent, is interested in the challenges presented by Sarah’s case, and one look into her beautiful eyes has him hooked. He decides to help her, even though the evidence is scanty after so many long years.

  But when an attempt is made on Sarah’s life, there is a new trail, twisted though it may be, for William to follow. His growing attraction to the independent woman doesn’t help him to remain disinterested, however, or to sift through the ashes of the old tragedy.

  Love must find a way to bring the two together and outwit the cunning arsonist, or the last survivor of the long-ago fire will die.

  Chapter One

  1819, London

  The sky glowed with morning as Sam passed St. Mary Magdalen’s, hurrying toward Crown Street. Studying the crowded road, she searched the faces for any fleeting sense of familiarity, unsure if she would even recognize Major Pickering. His note, now hidden under the rough fabric of her linen shirt, crinkled uncomfortably against her skin. The
sharp edge of paper reminded her that she was late.

  There are facts you must know about the fire in 1806. Meet me tomorrow morning at six at the corner of High Street and Crown.

  I am your sincere friend, trust me—Major Pickering.

  She didn’t need to see the heavy, dark scrawl to remember the words.

  It was already well past the hour. She had overslept. In truth, she suspected she simply did not want to meet Major Pickering or hear what he had to say. The past was not something she cared to consider.

  She passed St. Mary Magdalen’s and paused to catch her breath. The warm air from her mouth puffed out in small gray-white clouds, crystallizing in the freezing air as she rubbed her burning thighs. After a final, raw breath, she headed toward the sharp corner at High Street.

  Tension tightened her shoulders and stomach, and for once, she was glad to have missed her breakfast. She was uncomfortable enough without the heavy lead of one of Mrs. Pochard’s stale rolls burdening her digestion.

  After all these years, why had Pickering contacted her? How had he found her?

  Does he know who I am?

  Nearby, a church clock chimed the half hour. Time—past time—to head toward work. With a sudden desire to be done with the matter, she started to run, elbowing past lackadaisical workmen who threatened to impede her progress. The brim of her hat whipped back in the chill morning breeze. She clapped a hand to the crown, flouting the efforts of the wind to tear it away. Her heavy linen smock flapped around her thighs as she dodged through the busy streets, heart beating wildly.

  The brim suddenly flattened over her eyes, obscuring her vision as she came around the last corner. She bumped into a fashionable young gentleman, apparently late for an appointment with his bed after a hard night’s drinking. A cloud of sour garlic and alcohol hung around him, clinging to his silken finery. The odor stung Sam’s eyes.

  He thrust a sharp elbow into her chest and pushed her roughly out of his path. “Watch it, you damn fool.”