Passion Wears Pearls (41 page)

O God, lead us from death to immortality.

He moved to the first door across from the stairwell, but it was locked. The next, the same. Josiah dropped back to his knees and crawled across to the right side of the passage, a wave of nausea from the smoke making his stomach churn and his hands shake. At last, he’d found an open door.

“Eleanor!” Josiah called out her name, his hands outstretched into the stygian gloom only to be rewarded with a brush of textured gabardine from a woman’s skirts. “Eleanor?”

He found her hands and then her face, and pulled her to him, relieved to find her warm and pliant, if unresponsive. She’d fainted from the smoke, but was alive, and for Josiah, it was enough.

He found the damp cloth that Darius had given him and tied it around her face. He then hauled Eleanor unceremoniously over his shoulder and mentally prepared himself for the gauntlet of destruction awaiting him, remapping his path and counting the steps. The entire building creaked and moaned again, and Josiah abandoned his preparations and moved into action.

A wall of heat and smoke nearly knocked him over when he opened the door to the stairway, but as Michael had said, here was the only exit. The steep stairs had transformed into a deadly chimney. Speed was his greatest objective, and he ran down, taking multiple risers at a time in a strange off balance juggling act between the forces of gravity and the need to keep himself upright. Josiah fought off the surreal effects from oxygen deprivation that made the walls seem to dance and fall away.

He’d reached the first-floor landing when a small explosion on the floor above rocked him down to his knees. The concussion from the sound and force of it made his ears ring harder, and for the space of a breath or two, he wondered if he hadn’t allowed his own blind stupidity to lead to both of their deaths.

“I should … have let … Rutherford … get you. … He can see, dearest … but … pride goeth … before the fall.” Josiah readjusted his precious bundle, fighting the sensation that he’d just lost all, and staggered back up to fight his way down the last of the stairs.

The ground floor was an inferno, but Josiah managed a grim smile as the oven-hot blaze warmed his face as he squared up in the doorway. “Here,” he said, his lungs miraculously opening up, “is where it’s an advantage to be blind because I’m betting a hundred sterling a sighted man wouldn’t be able to take a single step forward, Miss Beckett.”

The pinpricks of light were frightening enough to give him an idea of what lay ahead, but Josiah ignored all of it, unwilling to trust himself to spots of vision no larger than halfpennies. He pulled her from his shoulder to cradle her against his chest, unwilling to allow fiery debris to fall onto her or to use her in any way as a shield. Josiah ran forward, darting as best he could away from the worst of it, as even the columns that supported the ceiling were now burning like Roman candles.

It was only seconds, but he could hear Rutherford shouting encouragement from the steps of the Thistle just outside its open doors, and it was the lifeline he needed. Josiah followed the sound to safety and the instant relief of the wintry night air on his face.

“You’re insane! You realize that, don’t you?” Rutherford said, guiding Josiah down the stairs back toward a tree stand across the street. “Is she—is she all right?”

“I don’t know.” It was only with Michael unknowingly guiding him that he stayed upright until they were a good distance from the chaos. Josiah stopped, kneeling on the sidewalk to assess the damage and face his worst fears. “I can’t see! Is she breathing? Is she burned?” Josiah desperately tried to ascertain the extent of her wounds, taking slow breaths to calm himself, and tried to concentrate using touch alone to feel for the telltale wet of blood. “Rowan! Goddamn it, where the hell is Rowan?”

“Not coming. Told you. None of you—” Darius had to stop, a coughing fit seizing him and doubling him over again for a minute. “Were to be here. I sent notes by courier as soon as I arrived in London but—I thought it was only Michael—I hadn’t reached.”

Behind them, the Thistle collapsed to the ground in a grand rush of flames and timber, and each of them shuddered at a grim end they’d missed by minutes.

Michael knelt next to Josiah. “Hellfire, my fault! I dropped those damn papers and she saw the Thistle in my notes—”

“Shut up!” Josiah cut him off ruthlessly. “Listen to me, Michael. I can’t see. I can’t see a damn thing. I’m literally
blind! So help me find out if she’s hurt and make sure she’s breathing properly!”

“Blind,” Darius said. “How did we miss that?”

“Blind.” Michael echoed the announcement in whispered shock, but instantly moved to help his friend and the young woman he cared for. “All right.” His search was efficient and quick, turning her on her side to see if the lining of her coat might be stained and give them some clue. “I don’t see any sign of burns or injury, but I can’t imagine she can breathe easily in …” Michael’s speech trailed off uncomfortably.

“What is it!”

“Her clothing and her corset. I can’t see how anyone could breath in that steel cage, Josiah, much less a woman with scorched lungs. Perhaps we should get her somewhere where we can get the damn thing off and—”

“You are
not
removing one single stitch of my clothing in public, Josiah Hastings! We have an agreement!” Eleanor struggled to sit up, affronted to awake to a discussion about her unmentionables. “I may have compromised my principles slightly for the sake of art, but—”

He swept her into his arms, ending her adorable lecture about the improprieties of rendering first aid on a street corner, a groan of relief wrenched from his lips. “Oh, God … what a delectable prig you are!”

“I am
not
a prig! Now, kindly let me up. …” She blushed at the word, aware of the unique nature of his endearments.

“Go slowly.” Michael tried to intervene. “There’s no telling how much damage your lungs have suffered after all that smoke. You’d fainted, Miss Beckett.”

“Oh.” She glanced down and winced slightly. “I never faint, Mr. Rutherford.” Then she smiled. “Despite my industrial foundation garments, I am relatively unscathed. But what have you gentlemen to do with all of this? Did the Jackal come?”

“And on
that
note”—Michael shifted his weight onto his feet and stood, an oak tree unfolding from the ground—“I’m retreating for the night. I have an idea I’m to blame for
the lady’s presence and will therefore make a strategic retreat. I’m off to see the others at the brownstone and make sure that no one else had an equally adventurous night. And to make sure Rowan looks at poor Darius.”

“I’m fine. …” His protest was cut off by another coughing fit, but he waved off their hands. “I’ll go with you and explain what I think prompted our ‘adventurous night.’ ” Darius brushed some of the soot from his pants. “Josiah, I suspect Miss Beckett will want to see you safely home and that will give you time to answer all her questions.”

“And what of
my
questions?” Josiah asked as he helped Eleanor to her feet.

“I’ll call on you tomorrow afternoon and make sure you have all the information as well. Be safe.” Darius waved. “Come on, Rutherford. My hackney is there, but I’m sure if we walk a bit, we can find another one easily enough. Let’s yield it to Hastings so he can see Miss Beckett out of this.”

The men left the pair without looking back, determined to complete their mission to ensure the well-being of the others, and Josiah shook his head in wonder at it.

That was it. I told them and the world didn’t come to an end. No coddling. No inquiries. No pity.

Telling his friends in a moment of pure necessity had been painless. But now he would have to tell Eleanor everything, and pray that between knife-wielding assassins and her aversion to controversy, she might forgive him before they parted.

I am finally and completely out of time.

The carriage ride back to his home was surreal. The smell of burnt wood and oil clung to their skin and clothing, and all he desired was to hold her hands in his, kissing her palms and absorbing the fact that she was still alive, still there, and miraculously still with him. Here was a good-bye he’d never imagined, and Josiah wasn’t sure he had the stamina for it.

“What just happened, Josiah? Did that … man burn down the Thistle to hurt you and your friends?”

“It seems so, but he accused us of the deed and got off a shot before we could stop him.” Josiah pressed her palm against his cheek, savoring the luxury of its healing powers. “And so the Jackal lives to bother us another day.”

“It’s like a penny novel! I just don’t understand any of it.”

“It’s a puzzle for another day, perhaps.” Josiah kissed her fingers. “I don’t want to think about him anymore.”

“I’m such a fool. I didn’t realize—I was simply going to find you and make sure that you were safe. I thought I’d arrived ahead of you somehow when the room they said
you were in was empty, so I was just waiting. …” Eleanor shuddered. “But then there was the smell of smoke and people were screaming, and when I finally worked up the courage to escape, I heard a gunshot and lost my nerve. I shall have nightmares for the rest of life, I’m afraid.”

“Damn, I’m so sorry that you were involved with this mess, Eleanor. They all warned me to be sure you were clear of it, before—I was going to come to you once we’d finished with this villainy.”

“Josiah, I need you to tell me what just happened and the truth behind this Jaded nonsense. Please confess it.”

He found her hands to hold them gently, drawing her closer. “My small circle of friends earned a silly nickname after we’d returned to England. I think it was Ashe or myself who said something about how nothing engendered interest more than a lack of it, and since we were irrevocably jaded from the twists and turns of our adventures, we were doomed to live the rest of our lives in defiant isolation and arrogant ignorance of the rules of civility. A woman of rank overheard it and dubbed us the Jaded. It was … quoted in a paper, and for complicated reasons, we decided to let the name stand.”

“It is a wicked name, Josiah.”

“I know, but honestly, it’s grown on us. And I thought nothing of using a public mystery as camouflage to hide our real secrets. It was all a lark, Eleanor, until Galen came under attack, Rowan’s house was broken into, and then someone tried to poison Ashe and nearly murdered his wife instead. It’s been a jumble of assassins and veiled threats and—I should never have turned my back on the danger. Michael accused me of being selfish and heartless for bringing you into my life.”

“No! But why would anyone want to hurt you or your friends?”

“That man, that
Jackal
—believes that we have something, a sacred treasure from India, that he is entitled to. He’s been trying to draw us out with notes and threats, and we’ve been trying to discover how to satisfy him or destroy
him, whichever is possible. But none of us have yet surmised what that sacred treasure is or how it is he knows so much of us. Unless Darius solved the puzzle and uncovered a clue in Scotland amidst the gem brokers and that’s what he was trying to tell us before all hell broke loose.”

She shook her head. “He found out about the ambush, and that there is another player in the game. It’s this unknown that may have caused that fire—not the man you were facing. And the fire must have been set to stop him from acquiring your … treasure.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Mr. Thorne sent you a note.” Her voice dropped, and he recognized the sweet shame he heard there.

“You’re reading my correspondence?”

“I was worried!” Her voice rose defensively, the lilt like music in his ears. “Mr. Rutherford was being a bit too secretive about this Jaded business, and when your friend Mr. Thorne came by the inn earlier, I began to fear that something had happened … even to you. So I came to your house … and read the correspondence he’d left for you.”

“And then set out to rescue me—alone?”

She shifted next to him. “I’m not sure if
rescue
is the right word, but I had hoped to warn you. And I wasn’t completely impulsive to come alone! I would have dragged Mr. Creed along, but he was nowhere to be found when I left.” Her gloved hands smoothed over his and squeezed his fingers gently. “I knew you couldn’t have read Mr. Thorne’s note and I was terrified to think that you might be hurt.”

The carriage came to a halt, but he made no move to exit it, signaling the driver to wait. “You knew I
couldn’t
read his note?”

“Naturally. I may be a prig, but I’m not an unobservant prig, Josiah Hastings.”

“You know? About …”

“Your sight? Of course.” She touched his face, tracing his jaw with the soft cup of her palm. “It’s failing, isn’t it?”

He nodded. “It is.” He took a deep breath. “I don’t think I can face going in. Not just yet.”

“Then we’ll wait until you’re ready.”

Josiah took another deep breath, holding it until his lungs ached before letting it go, and then glanced out the window at the dark looming shape of the ruined factory’s shell that was home. “I can’t see a single light. It’s as if the house isn’t ready for my return either.”