Along Came a Rogue (7 page)

Her lips parted in stunned surprise as the heat he'd flamed between them vanished. “What do you—”

“You're beautiful when you lie.” He arched a brow. “But you're still lying.”

She desperately shook her head. “Grey, please—”

His hands tightened around her arms. “Are you in trouble?”

She fought back a gasp. Oh God, he knew…somehow, Grey
knew
! And for a heartbeat, she wanted to admit the truth to him and put an end to the lonely nightmare her life had become. But she couldn't.

“No,” she lied, the single word barely above a whisper.

The hard flicker in his eyes told her he didn't believe her. In that instant, she had a glimpse of the War Office agent he was, suspicious and wary, catching every detail.

Then he softened, and she glimpsed the man beneath the agent, who gazed on her with concern. He asked gently, “Are you in danger, Emily?” As she stepped back to escape his grasp, he pursued her and cupped her face in both his hands. “Let me help you.”

A knot of emotion tightened her throat at the strength and support Grey offered. And God help her, she wanted to take it. She wanted to crawl into his arms, to somehow bury herself inside him and finally be safe—

She groaned softly. “You shouldn't be here.”

“If you didn't want me at Snowden Hall,” he countered, crooking a half grin, “then you should have aimed lower with your gun.”

She didn't laugh at his teasing. Instead, she fisted her hands helplessly at her sides to keep from reaching for him. “That's not what I meant.”

He frowned. “Then what exactly did you mean?”

She shook her head, futilely attempting to chase away both the fear and the arousal blossoming inside her. She should never have allowed him into the room with her tonight, or offered him a drink, or let him
ever
get this close. While she wore nothing more than her robe and thin night rail beneath, Grey stood there in the firelight half-dressed himself, with his shirt collar hanging open wide and revealing the place where his neck and shoulder met. That place where she found herself longing to place her lips…

Madness!
She would have laughed at herself if frustration weren't grinding razor-sharp inside her.

“I meant—” She swallowed hard. “That you should leave tomorrow. I insist.”

He folded his arms across his chest, and the determined gesture frustrated her to infuriation. “I am not leaving unless you—”

“Stubborn man!” she snapped and stalked away.

His brow arched as he countered evenly, “Stubborn woman.”

In exasperation, she pressed the heels of her hands against her forehead, not knowing how to feel about him—if she should be furious, disappointed, aroused—or if she should grab her pistol and start shooting at him. Again.

“Why won't you just leave?” she half demanded, half begged.

“I will,” he answered earnestly. “As soon as you tell me the truth.”

She threw up her hands in aggravation. “I
have
told you—”

A metal click sounded softly at the door, and the words strangled in her throat. She froze, sudden terror ripping the air from her lungs.

But Grey only frowned, staring at her in bewilderment. He hadn't heard it. But
she
knew the sound of fear—she'd lived with it for the past five months, and it slithered through her like a sickening poison.

“Grey,” she whispered, so low that his name was nothing more than a terrified breath, “I think someone's trying—”

An explosion boomed through the house, the sound of shattering glass lost beneath her scream.

G
rey rushed to the door and pulled on the handle—
locked
. Behind him, he heard Emily gasp as she fought back a second scream.

“Where's the key?” he asked evenly, forcing his voice to stay calm for her sake.

“I don't have one—not in here—I never lock it—”

“Someone just did. Hedley!” He pounded his fist against the wooden panel. “Hedley, wake up!”

The commotion in the house grew louder around them. More crashes, more shattering glass, followed by the panicked sounds of running feet and muffled shouts.

“Stay back!” Grey ordered. Retreating a stride, he lunged forward and slammed his shoulder against the door. Then again. And again. But it didn't budge.

“Grey, stop!” Emily rushed forward, her hand on his arm to pull him back. “
Stop
—you'll hurt yourself!”

“I have to get us out of here.” He pounded at the door with his fist. “Hedley!”

Then he saw it—the first tendrils of gray smoke curling beneath the door. From the tightening of her fingers on his arm, he knew Emily saw it, too.

“The house is on fire,” she whispered, her face white with fear. “They're burning it down around us.”

“The hell they will!” he growled.

He broke free of her grasp and ran to the window, tossed it open, and leaned over the sill, hoping for any kind of escape route. But there was no ledge connecting their room to the one beside them, and a two-story drop to the ground waited below. They were trapped. Jump from the window and die, or burn alive inside the room.

“Major!” From the opposite side of the door, Hedley pulled frantically at the handle, but the lock wouldn't give. “It won't open!”

“There's a key downstairs in the kitchen,” Emily cried out.

“Forget the key,” Grey ordered. “Go fetch an ax from the stable and chop the damned door down!”

“Aye, Major!”

As Hedley's footsteps pounded away, Emily grabbed his hand. Her fingers laced tightly through his as if she were afraid she'd lose him if she let go. “But the key is downstairs.”

“Brat.” He cupped her face in his free hand to hold her still while he explained as calmly as he could given the chaos unfolding around them, “Whoever is doing this locked us into the room so we couldn't get out before they set the place on fire. They would have thought to take the key from the kitchen so no one could unlock us.”

She choked out a terrified sob.

“But Hedley will get us out, count on it,” he reassured her, although he didn't feel all that certain himself. “And I will protect you. Do you trust me?”

Sucking in a shaking breath, she nodded jerkily. “With my life.”

“Good.” Her soft admission stirred a warmth deep inside his chest. Later he would let himself wonder what that meant, but now— “Help me find a way out of this room.”

He snatched up the iron fireplace poker and began to pound it against the door handle, hoping to break it free so he could ram the poker inside and twist open the lock. Smoke billowed beneath the door now, the smell acrid and pungent as the wood panels grew warm to the touch.

“Could you shoot the lock open?” she asked desperately.

“If I had my gun.” But he'd left it in his room, not thinking he'd need a weapon inside a sleeping house.

He twisted the poker against the handle, trying to force open the lock as he pried at it, all the muscles in his arms and shoulders straining with brute force. But it didn't give. With a curse, he raised the poker to strike the door again.

She waved a gun in front of his face. “Here!”

“What the hell—” He drew back in surprise and stared. A dueling pistol with pearl-inlay handle and acid-etched barrel, elegantly beautiful, and wholly impractical. And so old he wondered if it would even fire.

“Be careful,” she warned, “it's loaded.”

He blinked. “You keep a loaded pistol in your sitting room?”

“Of course.”

For a heartbeat he stared at her incredulously. Then, grinning broadly, he murmured appreciatively, “Good girl.” He gestured toward the settee. “Get behind that.”

She did as ordered, and standing at an angle to the door, he raised the pistol and fired. The ball hit the lock and shattered it, the metal pieces falling away. Dropping the spent pistol, he kicked hard at the door, and this time, it broke open with a splintering pop.

With a snarling whoosh, smoke and heat poured into the room. Rolling flames curled across the ceiling.

“Emily!” he shouted over the noise of the burning building, calling her to come to him.

But she was frozen in fear, her eyes wide as they stared at the flames. Even from across the room, he could see her shaking violently.

He rushed to her, grabbed her hand, and pulled her toward the door. When she saw the flames engulfing the hallway, she screamed and jerked back with terror. His grip tightened around her wrist so she wouldn't be able to pull away, so tightly that he was certain he bruised her. But he refused to let go.

“Come on—we've got to go. Now!” He dragged her into the hallway and straight into the raw heat of the fire.

Forcing her to crouch low beneath the billowing smoke, he pulled her along behind him as he half crawled down the hallway toward the stairs, moving as quickly as he could beneath the lowering wall of smoke. But she could barely walk and still shook violently with fear, and she coughed and gasped as she struggled to breathe in the thick smoke.

As they reached the stairs, Hedley raced up toward them. A damp cloth was tied around his mouth and nose, an ax gripped in his hands. When he saw Emily, he grabbed for her arm.

“I've got her,” Grey yelled. “Get the others out of the house!”

“They're all outside.”

“Then get yourself out!”

“I'm not leavin' you, Major.”

“Go! Get to the stable and hitch up the team. Quickly! We'll be right after you.”

With a worried frown, Hedley nodded and turned to hurry down the stairs and back through the burning house. A good soldier, Hedley would never disobey orders, and Grey was counting on that. He needed to get Emily far away from here as quickly as possible.

“Come on, brat,” he coaxed. He slipped his arm around her waist to help her down the stairs, their way nearly black with smoke and lit only by bright flashes of searing flame.

But she was too overcome to follow, and her legs crumpled beneath her. He scooped her into his arms as she fell, her body frighteningly lifeless, her arms unable to cling to him as he cradled her against his chest.

Slipping his hand behind her head to press her face against his shoulder and protect her from the heat and swirling billows of smoke, he carefully descended the stairs, then carried her through the house and out the front door into the cold night.

Around them, everything was confusion and panic. The two male servants had given up on the house, letting it burn to the ground in favor of attempting to dump water on the outbuildings and save whatever they could of the farm. A sobbing Yardley huddled by the garden wall, staring incredulously at the flames now engulfing the roof and spreading down to the ground floor, unable to believe the terrible sight before her. The night sky was alive with flames and sparks, and all of it glowed like the fires of hell.

Forcing back the panic that pulsed through him, Grey laid Emily down on the damp grass. Her body slumped helplessly onto the ground. She coughed violently to clear the smoke from her lungs and inhale fresh air.

“Breathe, Emily,” he pleaded between his own coughs, his voice a raw rasp from the smoke as his hands squeezed her arms.

But she couldn't catch her breath. Her mouth gaped open and closed futilely like a fish out of water.

He grabbed her shoulders and shook her hard. “Breathe, damn it!” He wouldn't lose her—he
wouldn't
! “Breathe!”

With a violent, shuddering gasp, she inhaled sharply, her lungs finally finding air. She took rapid breaths now and gulped frantically at the cold air between pain-filled coughs. But she was breathing again, and relief fell through him.

Grey pulled her against his chest to press her close. As she continued to gasp, shaking with an occasional cough yet unable to speak, he rubbed his trembling hands over her back. The emotion that flooded over him with each of her deep breaths overwhelmed him, and his smoke-stung eyes blurred as he buried his face in her hair as she clung to him. A black streak dirtied her face, the hem of her robe was singed, her bare feet most likely burned—but she was alive.
Thank God.

He rocked her gently in his arms long after her breathing steadied and her shaking calmed, long after her arms rose up weakly to encircle his neck. After coming so close to losing her, he now didn't want to let her go.

“Dear God, brat,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. “I thought I'd lost you.”

“Grey,” she mumbled against the bare skin of his neck, her voice scratchy and rough, “are you hurt—”

“Major!” The small carriage and two-horse team drove toward them from the stable, with Hedley mounted on the driver's seat and the reins twisted around his hands, expertly controlling the skittish horses.

When the carriage stopped on the lawn beside them, Grey lifted Emily into his arms and carried her to it. He flung open the door and placed her inside, then he leaned out the door and ordered, “Drive!”

As the carriage lurched to a start, Grey swung back inside and slammed the door closed. He didn't care where they were headed as long as they left. Sitting on the edge of the bench across from her, facing backward as the carriage swayed and rocked down the lane toward the road, he reached for her hands and held them tightly. She breathed more easily now as her skin warmed and the color returned to her cheeks.

Her fingers curled gratefully around his. “Yardley,” she whispered. “I can't leave her behind. We have to go back for her.”

The hell they would.
“I'll send for her once we're safe.”

Her eyes turned pleading. “Please—”

“We are
not
turning around,” he forced out through clenched teeth.

At the strong resolve in his voice, she wisely stopped pressing for her maid and nodded. She blinked hard, tears gathering at her lashes. “What you did back there—”

“It stops,” he hissed furiously as he leaned across the compartment toward her. His fingers clamped down hard around her wrists so she couldn't pull away. “The lying, the deceit—you
will
tell me the truth, Emily.
Now.
”

“I can't!” she cried.

He jerked her toward him until she nearly fell into the space between the benches at his feet. Fury blazed through him. “For Christ's sake! Someone just tried to burn you alive!”

Instead of bursting into sobs, an inscrutable mask came down over her face. She didn't look away, her eyes unwavering from his in the dark shadows as she bravely but silently held his gaze and refused to give up her secrets.

He stared at her, stunned.
Good God.
What must she have been through in her life if she could react so calmly, so stoically, after everything that had happened tonight? He would have given her credit for that if he didn't want to throttle her so badly. If it didn't seem to him that she had…expected it.

A sickening dread rose in his gut. She
had
been expecting it.

“What are you keeping from me?” he demanded, his teeth clenching so hard in his frustration with her that the muscles in his neck worked. “Why is someone trying to kill you?”

She inhaled sharply. In that heartbeat's hesitation, he saw indecision flash in her eyes.

“Emily,” he pleaded as he leaned toward her, his anger replaced by core-wrenching concern as he desperately tried to get her to trust him. “Tell me, please, so I can protect you.”

A soft, anguished sound tore from her throat, and she shuddered, her eyes squeezing shut. “Andrew.”