Rogues and Ripped Bodices

by Samantha Holt

  “I shall take a carriage. I’m not sure where he will be at this time of day anyway.” She swung a glance at the clock and saw it was past finishing time for the mill, but knowing Lucian, he might still be there.

  “I don’t like the thought of you out there alone, my lady.”

  “I have walked these streets several times alone now, Maggie, and as I said, I shall take a carriage, so I shall not be alone.”

  “Well, I know it is useless arguing with you, but please be careful.”

  The maid passed over her shawl but Eleanor waved it away. Her purple jacket was warm enough and she wanted nothing hindering her in her haste to see Lucian. Knowing her luck, it would catch in the carriage door or some such other ridiculous scenario and she would have nothing coming between her and Lucian.

  A tiny smile thread across her lips and she pressed two fingers to her mouth. Was she foolish to imagine he might want her back? Probably, but she had to hold onto hope. Little Ellie Browning had once hoped when all seemed bleak. Little Ellie had been quite the happy person, in spite of everything, until duty and reality had struck. It would be nice to enjoy the luxury of indulging in dreams for a change.

  The hotel arranged a carriage with haste for her and she opted to travel to the mill first. In all likelihood, that was where Lucian was. Nervous tension threaded through her making her limbs feel soft and useless. Chances were, when she got out of the carriage, her feet would give way and she would tumble onto the damp cobbles in the most unladylike manner, but if she had to crawl on her hands and knees to Lucian, she would.

  Each rattle and clank of the carriage across the cobbles increased her apprehension until the paper documenting her discoveries was crumpled into a tight ball.

  “Dash it all.” She unscrewed it and spread it out over her lap.

  The supplier was Mr Newcombe’s company. Was it a deliberate act on his behalf? She scowled. Surely not? How would he benefit from the mill closing? He would lose a valuable customer. It had to be someone in Lucian’s office. Embezzlement perhaps? She shrugged to herself. As much as she might have a head for numbers, she had little idea how business worked. Her own business dealings were heavily managed by her lawyers.

  They made good time and the roads were clear given the time of day. The street lamps were being lit and a cold sheen from the night sky reflected off the damp cobbles. Windows glowed and smoke scented the air. She climbed out of the carriage with the aid of one of the footman and instructed them to wait outside the gates for her.

  The mill gate was unlocked, but she saw no glow of oil lamps from the office. There was however, a faint glow in the mill itself. He had to be in there.

  Breath held, she made her way across the courtyard and pressed open the door. The silence deafened and sent a shiver up her spine. To see the machinery so still and with no cotton filling the air like little puffs of cloud made her skin prick. She sniffed, becoming aware of an odour.

  Smoke. And it was strong, not like that of the smoke from the chimneys. With no lamps lit, she could not see where it was coming from or even if it was visible in the air, but she headed towards the glow at the rear of the room, her stomach weighted down like lead.

  Eleanor inched forwards and heard a pop. When she turned the corner, heat touched her skin and she jumped back. Eyes wide, she pressed a hand to her mouth.

  “Good God.”

  The cotton bales were alight, and the fire had already licked up the wooden steps to the gallery that spanned the tall room. Her eyes watered as smoke clouded her vision and the orange glow increased.

  She glanced around for a sand bucket or some water or something, but the rest of the room remained dark and now she had been staring at the flames she could not penetrate it. She tore at the buttons of her jacket and flung it over the nearest flames but the brief moment of victory was fleeting as the flames did not snuff out and merely set alight to her jacket too.

  She could not let the mill burn. Lucian would be devastated. She must do something.

  Fumbling around the machines in the dark, she searched for something to douse the fire. When she snuck a glance over her shoulder, she saw the flames had swallowed the steps and were licking along the gallery. Lord, the flames were consuming the place. What could she do? The driver would surely see them and call the fire brigade but who knew how long they would take to get here?

  Eleanor coughed and clapped a hand over her mouth as smoke scorched her lungs. Using her hands to guide her, she followed the edge of the room until her shin connected with something. She dropped a hand down and it came up wet.

  “Oh, thank the Lord.”

  Finding the handle, she lifted the heavy bucket and moved as swiftly as possible to the bales that were all but gone under the flames. With one mighty throw, she flung the contents of the bucket over the flames. They spluttered and hissed and went out. But as she dropped the bucket and it clattered to the floor, she realised how futile her act was. There was no way of fighting the flames that had spread across much of the building like a wild, spitting orange monster. The heat made her skin damp and the smoke in her chest became unbearable. She bent double to cough and it seemed she might cough forever. It was no good. She could not save Lucian’s mill. She would have to get out—and fast.

  A crack sounded and she squeaked as what used to be the stairs crumbled. Wood splintered and half the gallery gave way. A beam tumbled down. She watched in horror as a support hung suspended at an odd angle for a moment before the flames ate through it. The crash was deafening and sent her tumbling back so as to dodge the burning wood.

  Eleanor’s foot caught on her skirt as she went. Pain burst through her skull. She had the briefest moment to realise she had struck her head on one of the looms before collapsing.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Almost a Hero

  Lucian snapped up his head and peered into the darkness for a moment. Both arms on his desk, he screwed up his eyes and opened them once more to clear the bleary haze of sleep. Running both hands through his hair, he pushed himself up from the desk. He winced. Sleeping on a desk was not a good idea. Not that he’d intended to fall asleep. Why had no one come to wake him?

  Then he recalled his foreman had come in briefly and reminded him it was the end of the day, but he had been so buried in work, he had decided to stay late. It had not been dark yet so no lamps were lit.

  Damn, his mouth was dry. What he would not give for a decent cup of tea, or better yet, a strong drink. He stretched and leaned back against his chair. His night vision grew good enough to see the time on the clock. It really was quite late. He supposed he should return home and have dinner, but the thought of having dinner alone with only the company of his staff lingering around did not appeal one bit.

  He wanted dinner with Ellie.

  But she did not want him, Lucian reminded himself. If she felt even half what he did, she would have had no doubts about saying yes. Not that he blamed her. Marry the man responsible for years of hurt and for forcing your parents into marrying you off? He laughed aloud. What had he been thinking?

  He hadn’t been thinking, if truth be told. All he knew was that he wanted Ellie as his wife. He needed her by his side and without her the ache inside him was more painful than ever. The uncertainty that had haunted him since the fire disappeared with her and he felt like a man again, instead of a disfigured source of gossip. Damn society, he didn’t care a fig for it, but he did care for Ellie. He’d happily never attend a ball or a dinner ever again if he had her by his side.

  As he forced himself to standing, feeling as though he might well be a hundred years old, he scowled and froze. A sound had awoken him, he recalled that now, and there was another one. A crash. Damnation, was someone breaking in again, and where were the guards? He turned and peered out of the window but saw no one creeping across the courtyard.

  “Not this time,” he said. Whoever it was must be in the mill.

  Ignoring his coat, he stomped outside and headed towards the
factory building. What he saw made his heart jolt to a standstill. Fire. Bloody hell. The building glowed orange and flames danced out of the back windows.

  He swivelled on his heel and raced to the gates only to find a carriage outside. The driver stepped forwards and held out an arm to stop him in his tracks.

  “Johnson has gone for the fire brigade. We saw the flames a few moments ago. Where is the countess?”

  Lucian wondered if he had been doused in icy cold water as his entire body tensed and the hairs on his arms stood on end.

  “The Countess of Hawthorne?”

  “Aye, she came to see you, my lord. Where is she?”

  Lucian pivoted slowly and eyed the flames slowly eating into the building. She wouldn’t, surely? But she might. Bile rose in his throat and he fought the urge to bend double.

  “She’s in there.” He knew it to be true as his heart felt as though someone had put a hot vice around it. As if someone was tearing it from his chest or stabbing it with a dagger.

  “Nay, my lord, surely not?”

  “Find your friend and find a doctor. There is one in Lenten Street, I believe. When the fire brigade arrive, tell them someone is trapped in the building.”

  “You can’t go in there, my lord. If she is in there, it’s surely too late and you’ll be burned too.”

  “Damn it all to hell, I don’t care. Just fetch the doctor.” Lucian said these words over his shoulder. He had already taken off across the courtyard to the mill.

  The door was ajar and he clamped a hand over his mouth when he entered. The blaze lit the room, revealing a thick cloud of smoke. Heat hit him and brought out instant beads of sweat. His hand fell away and he accidentally drew in a long breath as he gaped at the sight. Half of the inside of the building had already crumbled away and the fire had taken its vicious hold on the rafters.

  “Ellie!”He began stalking between the looms, trying to penetrate the thick smoke to spot her. “Damn you, Ellie, where are you?”

  Had he been wrong? Perhaps she wasn’t here, and his body was lying to him, but he did not believe so. Every part of him told him she was in danger.

  The smoke had begun to clog his nostrils and made him cough. His lungs ached for fresh air and his scars itched at the sensation of remembered heat and the very real heat that flickered too close by.

  A crack resounded from above and he was sure the floor had shaken. He glanced up and the knot of fear in his stomach tightened. The building was foundering. He had to find her.

  “Ellie,” he tried again, drawing in another gulp of smoke as he did so. The crackle of flames drowned out his desperate cry.

  Then his foot hit something. Something that shouldn’t be between the looms. He bent and pressed his hands to the foreign object. When he lifted it, his heart stopped beating.

  Ellie.

  Wasting no time, he scooped her lifeless form into his hold and stood, fighting another coughing fit. The proximity of the flames terrified him. If he had not come upon her when he did, she might have gone up in flames too. His eyes watered and he had no idea if it was down to the smoke or utter terror at the image created. He would not have been surprised if it was the latter.

  He carried her between the looms as quickly as he could. Smoke and tears clouded his vision and he didn’t want to hurt her on the metal machines or injure himself and destroy any chance they had of escaping. As it was, he had no idea if she was even alive. What if she had inhaled too much smoke?

  No. No, it was inconceivable. He’d rather she was alive and spitting her aggravating words at him and getting under his feet than that.

  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 realised 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 realised 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 savoured the warmth of her skin.