Engaged in Sin (44 page)

Suddenly there was a roar at the end of the hall, and a rush of hot air pushed her back. She dropped to the ground as smoke billowed over her. She kept her cheek pressed to the floor. Dear God. Slowly, she looked up.

Ahead, down the corridor, flames licked at exposed boards on the ceiling and the floor. The plaster walls rippled eerily. She got to her feet, yanked up her hems, and tore down the hallway away from the fire, but as she turned a corner, she stopped. More flames rushed up the walls ahead. Sebastian must have set two fires, trapping her between.

Sebastian was not going to win! There
had
to be a way out—

A black shape came running through the fire, wings flapping at its sides. She must be losing her mind, or the smoke was stealing her wits. No, it truly was a man running toward her, and he held a blanket over his head. The fire behind him illuminated him, but she couldn’t see his face. Sebastian? He wouldn’t come back. Mick?

The blanket swept down and she drank in dark hair, a handsome face streaked with soot, a face she loved but couldn’t believe she was seeing. Perhaps she’d fainted and was dreaming—

“Anne!” His voice was hoarse, and he coughed. It was Devon. It really was. He ran to her and wrapped the blanket around her. Wet wool slapped against her. He had soaked the blanket to keep the flames off them. He cupped her cheeks and gave her one mad kiss. Then he grasped her by the wrist and began to drag her with him. “I got in through a window. Hopefully the fire hasn’t blocked our way back.”

She was weak with relief and whispered, “How did you find me?”

“Yesterday I instructed my investigator to go to the house party Norbrook was attending. But your cousin left this morning—”

“He came back to kill me,” she croaked. “But how did you—” She coughed helplessly. How had Devon known to find her here?

He held her tighter. “Wynter followed Norbrook here, then sent his lad with a message for me. I’d just learned you hadn’t returned home. When I got here, Norbrook had already escaped in his carriage. Wynter rode off to pursue him—we thought he had you with him. But then I spotted a prostitute on the street corner. She said she saw a red-haired woman—you—sneak into the warehouse this morning. So I came in.”

“I—I
didn’t
. Mick caught me, knocked me out. I woke up here—”

“Shh. I know. Norbrook paid her to lie and say you came alone. Right now we have to get out of here. Then I will deal with your cousin.”

Smoke billowed in the corridor, and Anne’s eyes were stinging so badly, she couldn’t see. She held on to Devon and let him lead her. She trusted him completely. In her life, she’d known only three men she could believe in: her father, her grandfather, and Devon.

A thundering crash behind them made her scream.

“Part of the roof must have collapsed,” Devon growled.

The entire building would come down at any minute. They would be trapped and fire would consume them. “You’re going to die because of me. I’m so—”

He shook her gently, then grasped her wrist tightly and tugged her to start her running. “No, angel, I’m going to get us out of this alive. I didn’t survive war to let both of us die here.”

He had to move—this end of the building was creaking and shuddering above them, and Devon was getting dizzy from lack of air. Anne couldn’t speak anymore, and she stumbled as he pulled her along. He was blind in the smoke and dark, but he’d lived like this for weeks. He didn’t need his sight to find his way back through the winding corridors. He would not let Anne die. He’d lost his sight, almost lost his life, lost his soul—he believed—in battle. He’d lost Rosalind and his father. But losing Anne was the one thing he knew he couldn’t face. The one thing he couldn’t survive.

After he’d talked to the prostitute, he knew Anne was still inside—the woman had seen only Norbrook come out. Devon had sprinted around the building and found
a window that wasn’t boarded. He broke it and climbed in. He had to reach it now. He’d never been so hot in his life. The flames, the explosions, the blinding ash and smoke were like a battlefield. He’d thought charging into combat was like running into hell. He’d been wrong. He’d never run into cannon fire and flaying bayonets while dragging an innocent woman with him. This, here, now
—this
was hell.

Above them, the building gave another deadly shudder. Anne fell, her legs collapsing beneath her, and he caught her. She was limp, so he tossed her over his shoulder, clamped his hand to her rump. She had to be all right.

Crash!

An enormous piece of the ceiling thundered down behind him. The heat of the flames was scorching. He knew he was only a few yards from the window, and the licking fire threw light ahead of him. He had no air left in his lungs, but he sprinted forward.
There
. The window. He had to get Anne out. Saving her was all that mattered.

Gently, he set Anne on the sill. Her eyes were open and she struggled to speak but coughed instead. Then her eyes widened with horror at the exact instant he heard a groan behind him. He twisted to look. The fire illuminated a man in the doorway, dragging himself along the floor, clutching his gut. The eerie red light gleamed on his bald head.

Anne was trying to move off the sill, and he knew she intended to risk her life to help Mick Taylor.

“You first,” he breathed against her ear. “I’ll get him, and bring him out. I want you to run away from the building, love. I’ll come after you. But just in case I can’t get out, you have to get away before the building collapses.”

“No—” she began, but he lowered her out the window,
then gave her a push so she had to stumble away from the warehouse. The structure gave a long, agonized creak. “Run, Anne,” he shouted. She did, moving clumsily. He hurried to Taylor, who had collapsed. Dark liquid covered the man’s hand—blood. It was leaking from his stomach onto the floorboards. Taylor had been shot. He must have seen them and pulled himself after them, hoping for rescue.

As swiftly as he could, Devon turned the man over. He saw the eyes—wide open and blank. Without hope, he searched for a pulse to make certain. There was none. Taylor was dead and there was no point in dragging him out. Devon raced to the window and grasped the frame to jump out, when the building made a sound like a scream. Flame and wood rained down on him, and a great weight slammed him hard between his shoulders, knocking him to the floor.

EVON
.
A
NNE HAD
turned back, had seen him in the window, then there was an awful roar and the wall of the building fell in. Dust and smoke flew at her face, blinding her. It billowed up, hiding everything. Was he buried? Crushed? She could barely breathe through her scorched throat, but she didn’t care. Dizziness swamped her, from lack of air, from fear, but she stumbled back toward the pile of ash and flames. She had to get Devon
out
. People surrounded her—a fire in the stews attracted hordes. She pushed through the crowd to get closer to the building, then someone grasped her shoulders and pulled her away.

“Keep back, miss,” barked a male voice.

It was a stranger. She fought his grip. “No. Devon … I must get him—”

“Look!” shouted someone else. “A man’s coming out of the smoke! How’d he survive
that
?”

Tears streamed down her face. They hurt her cheeks—her skin must have been singed. She broke free of the hands restraining her and ran forward. Her legs wobbled, but then Devon was there. His strong arms hauled her against his chest, and she breathed in the scents of
him and smoke and sweat. Her tears of relief swiftly soaked his shirt. “I thought you were dead. I thought I’d lost you.”

“Never.” Devon scooped her up and carried her away from the raging fire. Bells clanged. Now that she knew Devon was safe, she really saw everything around her. Men raced with buckets, working to put out the blaze. A man rushed out of a neighboring building, and he was propelling a terrified woman who held a baby. Anne shuddered in horror. This is what her cousin had caused. She’d always known he could be cruel, but she’d never imagined he was so evil. “Sebastian,” she croaked. “I have to stop him.”

“Shh.” Devon had every intention of destroying her damned cousin. First, he wanted to ensure Anne was safe. He carried her to his carriage and laid her down on a seat.

He caressed her, his intent to make certain she had no cuts, no broken bones, no injuries. Her wrists were raw and chafed.

“The building came down …” she croaked, “on top of you.… How did you escape?”

“I managed to move quicker than the collapsing wall,” he said simply. He turned and gave an instruction to one of his footmen, then he shouted to his coachman, “Make haste to Dr. Milton, on Harley Street. And keep her safe. Do not let her out of your sight.”

“Can we just go?” she whispered. “Should we not wait, tell someone … about Sebastian?”

“I want to have you examined by a doctor. I’m going to stay and ensure that everyone has escaped from the surrounding buildings.” He stroked her cheek, brushing away soot. “Rest, Anne,” he urged. “I’ll come after you as soon as I can. You’ll be safe with my servants.”

He jumped down from the carriage, and as it rolled down the street, he headed back toward the fire. Out of
the corner of his eye, he noted his footman had found the prostitute who had given him the information.

Suspicious of her story from the start, Devon had coaxed her to reveal the truth: A blond man who matched Norbrook’s description had paid her to say that a red-haired woman had gone into the warehouse alone. At first, Devon assumed Anne’s cousin had done it to deflect suspicion from himself. But he couldn’t understand why Norbrook had specifically paid this woman to say she had seen Anne. After the fire, though, the woman’s story would have been evidence that Anne had died—

Hell. In the fire, a body would have been burned beyond recognition. The prostitute’s story would have given proof of Anne’s death. Why would Norbrook want that? Was it because he thought Bow Street would stop investigating the madam’s murder if Anne was dead?

Fury raged, roaring through Devon’s heart and soul like devouring flames. What in hell did the motives matter? He wanted to kill Anne’s cousin. First, he was going to stay until people were safe and the fire was under control, then he would go to Anne. After that, he would get Norbrook.

What was he going to do when he found Anne’s cousin? Stay cool and logical and ensure that the man trapped himself so that he could be locked up in prison? Or give in to the hatred that was coursing through him and publicly tear the viscount apart?

“Sebastian is here?” Anne stared in horror at the elegant front of the Boodle’s Gentlemen’s Club, situated on St. James’s Street. Blinding anger welled up. “How could he? He murdered Mick Taylor, he left me in a burning
building, and he came to his
club
to play the gentleman?”

Devon drew her instantly into a soothing embrace. “Apparently he’s confident no one would suspect him of setting that fire. He’s a fiend, love, but in a few minutes he’s going to get a very unpleasant surprise.”

He spoke softly, but his tone was lethal. Devon looked over to Sir John Lawrence, the Bow Street magistrate. Devon had come to her at Dr. Milton’s, exhausted, sooty, but smiling with delight as Milton assured him she was healthy. The fire had been extinguished and everyone from the surrounding buildings rescued. She had been deeply relieved to know her cousin had not hurt anyone innocent. But then Devon had told her he must take her to Bow Street.…

Anne would never forget how afraid she’d been, even at Devon’s side, to face gray-haired, obviously astute Sir John in his offices. Nor would she forget how intensely Devon defended her, convincing Sir John of her innocence and her cousin’s guilt.

Then Devon had wanted to take her home before he searched for her cousin. He’d argued she should rest—Dr. Milton had warned that she’d breathed in a great deal of smoke and must be suffering from shock. But she’d insisted on coming with him. She wouldn’t cower from Sebastian now. By not letting her old fears paralyze her, she had survived his attempt to kill her.

Well, actually she had survived because Devon came to her rescue. He had rushed into a burning building to save her. At first she had wondered if gentlemen normally did such things for mistresses. But she knew Devon would have risked his life to rescue anyone. He didn’t believe he was a war hero, but he was wrong. He was a hero in every way.

He gently stroked her neck, trying to soothe her, as the footman opened the door. He planned to confront
Sebastian, who was a true madman, yet he was worried about
her
.

She had known for a long time she was in love with the Duke of March. Now she knew she could never love him in a halfhearted way that wouldn’t ultimately break her heart.

Devon lifted her hand and bestowed a gentlemanly kiss. “You will have to wait here.”

“No! I’m not afraid of him. I want to be there with you, to ensure he doesn’t hurt you.”

“Angel, I promise you have nothing to worry about. If the French army couldn’t kill me, your bully of a cousin won’t succeed. But the reason you can’t come is that you are a lady. Ladies are not allowed in gentlemen’s clubs.”