by Laura Landon
He’d learned a lot in the four years he’d been gone. He’d learned that love wasn’t an emotion to be given away lightly. That loving someone meant giving them a special part of your heart and soul. And when the person you loved trampled on what you gave them, the pain never went away.
And he’d learned another valuable lesson. He’d never love Olivia that deeply ever again. He’d never give her that much power over him. Never risk that much of his heart. Especially when she’d already proved she could never love him as deeply in return.
“Where is she?” he bellowed at Chivers, and this time he left no doubt he’d do the man bodily harm if he didn’t get an answer. “Where!”
Damien watched the expression on Chivers’s face change and knew the moment he capitulated.
“She went—”
But before Chivers finished his sentence, the front door flew open and one of Olivia’s footmen burst through the opening.
“Fire! There’s a fire. Everything’s in flames!”
Chivers caught the gasping footman before he collapsed into a chair beside the door. “Where, Willy? Where’s the fire?”
“At the warehouse,” the footman choked out. “I followed Lady Olivia . . . like you said. And waited to make sure nothing . . . happened to her. And all of a sudden, the whole place was in flames.”
“Where’s Lady Olivia now?” Damien asked, his feet already carrying him across the foyer to the stable.
“She’s inside! I tried to reach her, but the fire’s too bad.”
Damien froze for a fraction of a second, then raced down the long hallway and out through the kitchen exit. His mind refused to believe this could be happening. But the fear mounting inside him knew it could.
A groomsman threw a bridle on his horse as Damien grabbed the reins and hurdled onto the gelding’s bare back.
The ride to the waterfront was the longest few minutes of Damien’s life. A fire. Olivia was inside a burning building. He fought the overwhelming fear that consumed him. He knew how quickly a fire could devour everything in its path. Knew how terrified Olivia must be. Every muscle in his body trembled as he pushed his horse harder.
Breathing became more difficult, whether from remembering the horror of being trapped beneath burning beams aboard the Princess Anne, or from the heavy smoke that filled the air as he neared the Pellingsworth Shipping office. Damien rode as close as his horse would take him, then jumped to the ground and ran the rest of the way.
A long line of men were passing buckets, throwing water on the front of the building. Captain Durham had taken control and was issuing orders to the crew of sailors, but Damien knew it was too late. The whole front of the building was clearly engulfed in flames, and no amount of effort would save it. Damien raced through the downpour of glowing ashes to get to him.
“Where is she?”
Captain Durham turned around when Damien yelled. He had a confused look on his face. “Where’s who?”
“Olivia! Where is she?!”
Damien looked around, frantic to find her. To see her sitting off to the side. He didn’t. Damien started to run toward the burning building, but Durham stopped him.
“You can’t go in there,” Durham yelled through the thundering noise. “It’s too late to save anything. The fire’s too far gone.”
“But Olivia’s in there!”
“She can’t be. The building was dark. It was empty.”
“She’s here!” Damien said, rushing forward. “Her footman said she didn’t get out.”
Fear and terror darkened Durham’s features, and he threw down his bucket. “The back! There’s an exit to the back.”
Both Durham and Damien raced around the side of the building. Smoke billowed from beneath the closed door, but Damien couldn’t see flames.
“Get the men over here. Maybe we can stop it from this side.”
Durham ran a few steps back, then turned. “Don’t go in, Damien. Wait until I bring help.”
“Go!”
Damien raced for the door. He had to get to her. If the fire hadn’t reached her, the smoke had. And that could be just as deadly.
Damien pulled his cravat from around his neck, then kicked open the door that led to Olivia’s father’s office. A rush of choking smoke came out at him, blinding him.
“Olivia!”
Nothing.
“Olivia!”
When he heard no answer again, Damien put his cravat to his nose and rushed in. He couldn’t see her, the room was too dark, so he went by feel.
His legs trembled beneath him. His nose and throat burned so that taking a breath was nearly impossible. He remembered that night aboard the burning ship. The night he’d nearly died.
Damien pushed himself farther into the room, over to where Pellingsworth’s desk sat. Empty.
He worked his way to the right and bumped into the table where the earl had kept a collection of maps. He moved his feet, praying he’d find her lying on the floor, then dropped to his knees and crawled. Dear God. Where could she be?
“Oliv—” he tried to yell, but his throat was so raw he barely made a sound. He got back to his feet and moved to the other side of the room. His lungs burned with every breath he took, and Damien knew from experience it wouldn’t be long before the smoke suffocated him. Or the flames reached him.
He looked upward as long, licking flames shot across the ceiling and knew it was too late.
In frantic desperation, he swiped his hand across the floor in great arcs. Nothing.
She had to be here. She had to!
He crawled to another spot, this time in front of Olivia’s father’s desk and swept his arm in front of him again. Nothing. He moved and felt again. His hand came into contact with something soft. A piece of material. The hem of her gown.
Damien crawled closer and followed the fabric with his hands. It was Olivia. She was huddled in a tight ball with her face buried in her arms. Damien scooped her up and walked with her to where he thought the door should be, but couldn’t find the exit.
“Iversley!”
Damien stopped to listen.
“Iversley! Here!”
Damien heard Captain Durham’s voice and made his way toward it.
Fresh air hit him like an updraft on a clear, cold night at sea. Strong arms steadied him as he stumbled from the building with Olivia tight against him. He took in one huge gulp of air after another, then sank to his knees and cradled Olivia in his lap.
“Olivia! Liv!”
Damien swiped his fingers over her face, pushing her hair from her eyes.
“Is she breathing?”
“I don’t know. Liv!”
“Here.”
Someone handed him a cold, wet cloth and he placed it on her forehead, then ran it down her cheeks. “Liv. Can you hear me?”
Damien placed his hand on her chest, praying he’d feel her chest rise as she struggled to take a breath. Nothing. Next, he placed his hand on her stomach and pushed. Nothing. He pushed again. Harder.
Olivia’s stomach lifted and she took a narrow gasp of air. Damien lifted her so she could breathe easier and she flailed her arms, struggling with more strength than he thought she had. Then the wracking coughs started. Damien sat her up straight and pressed his hand against her back while she coughed to clear her lungs.
“Easy, Liv, easy. You’re safe now.”
“Get her away from the building, lad,” Captain Durham said. He leaned down to help Damien to his feet. “She needs to get out of this smoke.”
Damien rose with Olivia in his arms. His legs screamed in pain, and he nearly stumbled when he took the first step.
“Let me carry her,” Durham offered.
“No,” Damien answered, limping away from the blaze. “I should never have let her out of my sight.”
Damien looked
down. Olivia’s complexion was ashen pale. Her eyes remained closed, and when she did open them, he was struck by the terror he saw there. A terror he remembered all too clearly.
The realization of what could have happened loomed larger with each step he took away from the blazing fire. By the time he reached the carriage Chivers had driven, Damien’s temper was flaming in a raging fury. What the hell was she doing down here? How many times had he forbid her to come alone? Bloody hell! She could have died.
Damien stopped when Olivia sucked in a labored breath, then she drew her knees in as another spasm wracked her body. She gasped for air, her body tensing in fear. How he remembered doing the same. The panic that consumed him because he couldn’t take in enough air to breathe. Struggling against the unbelievable pain.
Damien stood frozen to the spot while Olivia trembled in his arms. Going into that burning building was like enduring the terror and the pain all over again.
Damn her! She could have died!
“Iversley.”
Damien heard the captain’s soft voice from behind him and felt the man’s steady hand resting atop his shoulder. He’d relied on Durham all those months after the fire, when all he wanted was to die. It was Durham who had rubbed his aching legs when the muscles knotted and cramped. And Durham who had sat with him when the pain was so bad Damien was on the verge of taking his life.
Damien looked from the concerned expression on Durham’s face to Olivia’s fragile body in his arms.
Her eyes were open, and she looked at him with huge tears threatening to spill over her lashes.
“I didn’t discover the fire until it was too late,” she gasped.
Damien realized how fragile she was and fought another surge of terror for what she’d gone through. “What the hell were you doing down here anyway?” he hissed. “You could have been killed.” He ground his teeth and said in anger, “And it would have served you right.”
Damien wanted to take the words back the minute they left his mouth, but it was too late. Her face paled even more, and with a ragged breath she uttered, “Yes. I could have made everything so much simpler.”
She closed her eyes, and the tears he was sure she didn’t realize were there seeped between her lashes and ran down her cheeks.
“You need to get her home,” Durham said softly.
Damien nodded and walked to the waiting carriage. Chivers had the stairs pulled down and Damien stepped up with Olivia in his arms.
“Please, put me down,” she said, her voice ragged and hoarse.
Damien ignored her and leaned out the window. “Hurry, Chivers. Take us home.”
Damien watched Chivers rush to the front and climb atop. Before the carriage lurched forward, Captain Durham approached the window. “I’ll take care of things here,” he said, glancing back at the smoldering shipping office, “and see if I can find out anything. Maybe the person responsible left some evidence.”
Damien nodded, then leaned back against the cushions as the carriage took off. His legs ached mercilessly, and when Olivia struggled to get off his lap, another shot of pain spiked through his thighs. He sucked in a heavy breath and pulled her firmly against him. “Sit still, dammit!”
She went stiff in his arms, and he inwardly cursed himself. He’d never felt such terror as he had when he realized Olivia was inside the building. Never felt such helplessness as when he couldn’t find her. Never knew such devastation as when he feared he might be too late. And instead of letting her know how much her safety meant to him, his fear came out in the form of anger.
Damien breathed a deep, shuddering breath and wrapped one hand around her middle. He placed the other around her shoulder and pressed her shivering body close to his. She held herself away from him for what seemed an eternity, then gave into exhaustion and burrowed deeper against him.
In the darkened silence of the carriage, he rested his chin against the top of her head and tried to make sense of the war his emotions were waging inside him.
Olivia scooted up in the bed and leaned back against the mound of pillows supporting her back. Breathing was easier sitting upright than lying down. She pulled the down covers about her chest and took in as deep a breath as her lungs would allow.
She’d already endured a thorough examination by Doctor Barkley then the ministrations of a very anxious Tilly and the rest of the staff. They’d helped her bathe and wash her hair, then helped her into a fresh nightgown to remove the last hints of soot and the smell of smoke. The drapes in her room had been opened wide at Damien’s insistence, then Cook had sent up a cup of special tea guaranteed to soothe her aching throat.
She’d tried to play down their fussing, but from the moment Damien had carried her into the house, she’d been hovered over until she begged to be left alone. Alone so she could sort out what had happened after the fire. Alone so she could come to terms with Damien’s reaction. A reaction that frightened her nearly as much as being trapped in the fire.
A part of her wasn’t ready to face the harshness of his feelings. A harshness he’d made more than obvious. Another example of the hostility he hadn’t tried to conceal from the moment he’d come back. And no matter how hard she tried, there was no way she could excuse his anger for anything but what it was. She was an inconvenience to him, a bothersome irritation he’d just as soon do without. Except he couldn’t. Because she was the means to his end.
Whether she wanted to face it or not, the facts did not lie. Whatever they’d shared had been destroyed when she’d put him aboard the Princess Anne. She may not have lost him to death, but she’d lost him nonetheless.
Olivia wrapped her arms around her bent legs and rested her chin atop her knees. She felt so alone. So confused. So frightened.
She brushed her fingers across her damp cheeks, then stiffened when the door opened.
“I thought maybe you’d be sleeping.”
She heard Damien cross the floor and dabbed the corner of the coverlet to her cheeks before turning to face him.
“I’m not sure I want to sleep.”
“It’s common to feel that way at first. Closed in. Like someone has sealed you in a small jar.”
“Is that why you ordered the drapes left open?”
“It helps. The fear you feel now will go away in time.”
“As yours has?”
“Yes, well . . .” Damien pulled a chair close to the bed and stretched his legs out in front of him. “The nightmares are better than they used to be. They come less often.”
He leaned forward and reached out his hand to touch her cheek. She pulled away.
“You’re bruised.”
“Am I?”
“You must have fallen against something.”
“I don’t remember.”
“Olivia, I don’t want you to ever—”
“Do your legs pain you much?”
Olivia knew what Damien was going to say and wanted to avoid his demands. She knew from the stern look on his face he intended to lecture her again for going to the shipping office without telling him where she was going or taking him with her. She knew he was angry with her, but she wasn’t up to hearing him scold her like she was an errant child and he the taskmaster.
And, she didn’t want to waste her energy trying to break down the hostility that sprouted between them without warning. Or struggle to pretend a part of her wasn’t dying inside because the man with whom she’d been so in love her whole life couldn’t forgive her.
“Do they? Still pain you, that is?”
His hands stilled atop his thighs and an unreadable expression covered his face. “At times. More so in the evenings or when I . . .”
“Or when you overexert yourself, such as you did tonight,” Olivia finished for him.
“Don’t let it concern you. It’s not important.”
But she was concerned. More than
she wanted to be. “What do you do to ease the pain?”
He cast her a sideways glance that contained no softness, making sure at all times to keep the scarred side of his face turned away. Then he lifted the corners of his mouth in an expression that was a long way from being a smile. “Sometimes I drink until I can’t feel the pain. Sometimes Captain Durham works the muscles until the cramping goes away. Are you worried you will be saddled with a cripple for a husband, my lady?”
There was no mistaking the antagonism in his voice or the sharpness in his words. Yet another example of the punishment he intended to mete out. A reminder of the futility of thinking they could have a future together. Olivia clutched her hands around her middle to buffer the pain. “No. I’m not worried.”
Damien sat forward in his chair and looked at her. It was one of the first times he’d faced her squarely and his whole face was exposed to her. She thought the movement was purposeful, as if he’d wanted to force her to see the whole of him to gauge her reaction.
“How did you get the scar on your face?”
He lifted the corners of his lips to form a smile. But it wasn’t a smile. There was something indifferent in his look. “Does it repulse you?”
“Do you intend for it to?”
His smile broadened. “You’ve changed,” he said. “The Olivia from four years ago would never have answered my question with such a forward question of her own.”
“What would she have done?”
“She would have apologized for having offended me.”
“And were you offended?”
Damien shook his head.
“Then I see no need to apologize.” She kept her gaze locked with his. “And you still have not answered my question. How did you get the scar?”
“It happened during the fire. I’m not sure exactly what struck me. Perhaps parts of the rigging. The masts and yardarms shattered into smithereens, most of them as sharp as rapiers.”