Fallen (26 page)

Stepping through the grand doors of the library, he stood a moment, lips pursed. The last time he looked, he had covered the area to the left of the enormous west window. The room had two such windows, one to the north and one to the west, with a tow of elegant windows set high on each of the other walls. Larger than many ballrooms, the library was a testament to the many learned individuals in the Dearingham line. Generations had read, collected, and mis-shelved in this room.

He supposed the best way to begin was at floor level and work his way up. The side benefits of this method were the many interesting volumes he had found on the way. Crossing the room, he started to kneel before the lowest shelf.

"Oh,
bother
," he heard in exasperated feminine tones. Jerking upright, he spun toward the sound. There, high on the ladder, stretching perilously toward an out-of-reach shelf, was his wife. Suddenly realizing her danger, he sprang toward the ladder.

Thunder boomed outside even as he moved. Startled, Izzy lost her precarious grip and began to fall. For an instant he thought she might retrieve herself but, overbalanced by her unaccustomed weight, her feet slipped off the steps. One despairing shriek followed her down.

"Oomph!"

Izzy found herself sprawled on the floor, eyes shut tight against the enormous pain that was sure to come. There was nothing. Nothing except the lumpy surface she lay upon. It was quite grinding into her side. Wriggling to find comfort, she opened one eye.

Why, she didn't appear the least bit mangled! Her hands were fine, and her arms and legs moved easily. The baby! Pressing one hand to the small swell of her abdomen, she felt nothing unusual.

Well. Quite an anticlimax to be sure, though she was thrilled to be undamaged. Rolling over to push herself up, she was surprised to find her palms planted on a broad, hard chest. Following the expanse upward, she gasped.

It was Julian she had landed upon, and he did not look well at all! In fact, he lay distressingly still, obviously stunned. Frantic, she scrambled up him to lay one hand on his cheek.

"Julian? Oh, Julian, please be all right!" There was no response. Just as she was about to rise, she felt his chest expand with a great sucking draw. Wheezing harshly, he took one breath after another, while Izzy perched on him, eyes wet with gratitude.

"Izzy?" Abruptly he remembered. "Izzy, how could you be so foolish? Is the baby well? What a careless thing to do!" On their own, his hands reached for her, pulling her down onto his chest, his relief at her obvious good health making his heart pound even harder.

"I cannot breathe," came a gasp, and Julian eased his panicked grip somewhat. Izzy raised her head.

"Thank you," she said politely, and pushed back her tumbled hair.

Julian wasn't listening. He was feeling the waves of silky hair caress his neck and face, and breathing in the sweet, summer-breeze scent of her skin. Here was everything he'd recollected, fantasized about, and more. In an instant his body had hardened to full attention, his erection so immense it seemed there was no blood left for his brain.

Izzy felt him swell beneath her and a half-remembered warmth stole through her body. Some of it was the heat emanating from Julian beneath her. His body always exuded warmth, but now it verged on combustion. But the rest, the sweet rest, was her own lower body turning liquid in answer to his hardness.

All of him was hard. Beneath her hands, his chest flexed like iron bands, and his manliness made her quiver inside.

Julian couldn't bear it. Izzy's hands were roaming his chest, fingers digging gently, kneading like a cat, testing his tensed muscles and then stroking them. Over the planes of his upper chest, his shoulders, and then back down, her hands traveled. Slowly she sat up, and he could see that her eyelids were half-closed, her lips parted as her tiny hands examined him.

When her touch began to stroke lower, his hips flexed involuntarily, pressing him up into the junction of her thighs, and her hands tightened on his rigid stomach like wicked little cat claws.

He had to know. "Izzy?" The tense hoarseness of his voice would have dismayed him if he hadn't been past caring.

She didn't hear him. Her head hung down, with her hair falling across him, and she was feeling his erection pulse against her. Her breath came in startled pants, matching the rhythm of his heartbeat.

Plunging his hands into her hair, Julian gently forced her to meet his eyes. "Izzy?"

She knew what he wanted. His leonine eyes invited, requested, commanded. She could see the same dark need there as once before, and she wanted to acquiesce. Almost all of her screamed
yes, YES
. The ache nearly consumed her. It would be so good to give her body to him again, if only she didn't have to give her heart as well.

But she wasn't made that way. For her, it was giving in totality, and it would destroy her not to have her love returned. It would make her into something she did not want to be. If she gave herself to someone when she truly knew she was not loved, she would be fallen in truth, even to herself. How ironic that when most of the world would consider her above reproach, she would be a Jezebel in her own mind.

She sighed. It would be so easy to pretend. There was fondness, she was sure. And this. She could take the golden fire of urgency in his eyes and call it love, just this once. But she knew that for the opiate it was; that dream would leave her unfulfilled and empty, craving more.

She knew she must give over someday, of course. He was her husband, and according to the law of the land, her body and her bed were his to command. But as long as she had the choice, she would not choose heartbreak.

Julian waited, and watched the turmoil in her face. He could almost hear her mind clicking away, and he knew he had lost even before the tiny, almost involuntary shake of her head. He shouldn't have asked. He should have just swept her away, like before. He could have made it good for her, and he knew it would have been heaven for him.

But he found he didn't want circumstance to toss her into lust. He didn't want the accidental press of bodies to be the cause of her desire. He needed to know that it was him she was thinking of, that it was him for whom she ached.

It would be unbearable to doubt again, to wonder if he was a substitute for whom she really wanted. He wanted her to look in
his
eyes and tell him "Yes, Julian. Yes."

"No," she whispered. For an instant, his hands tightened on her face, as if to pull her to him. Breathing deeply, he forced himself to relax his grip, one finger at a time. She pulled back and scrambled off him. He lay there, unwilling to move, until the reverberation of the door slamming made him close his eyes in loss. Like an echo, the approaching storm beat another thunderous warning.

«
^
»

"Fire! Fire! The house is afire!"

The bell above the stables began pealing wildly. Before he came completely awake, Julian was out of bed and across the suite to the door. Yanking it open, he grabbed the first body he saw.

"Fire, milord!" The young chambermaid in his grasp squeaked, her eyes wide at his half-naked state.

"Where?"

"The servants' hall, milord! Down t'north wing, by the kitchen!" Hanging tiptoe by his grip on her arm, the girl shook her head wildly. "We best get out, milord! We'll all be burnt in our beds!"

Not bothering to point out that neither of them was currently in bed, Julian let her go. Simms was right behind him, with shirt and boots. Pulling them on, not bothering with the shirt studs, Julian stuffed the tails into his trousers and took off at a run, his valet following along.

He could smell the smoke long before he saw any sign of fire. Once outside, the blaze was evident.

The wooden addition to the wing had already begun to collapse, the first floor of the rest beginning to catch. There was little order in the kitchen yard, although the duke's butler had a small bucket brigade going. Julian grabbed the man. "What happened?"

"Must have been the wind blew the stovepipes in. No one spotted it 'til it was well set. All of a sudden, there was smoke, and then the rafters above the kitchen collapsed, and it just took over."

"Keep the buckets going. If we can hold it, the rain might be the saving of us."

The older man looked up dourly. " 'Twon't rain. It's been threatening for hours. Just wind and lightning. We'll lose the house, we will."

"Just do it!" Julian growled. Stalking away, he began restoring order to the knots of panicking servants. All the while, he worried. Izzy would be fine, he told himself. Her room lay far away, in the family wing. Should the worst happen, there would be plenty of time to get her out.

He cocked his head, to see if there was a reason to worry over the wind. To his relief, it seemed to be blowing north, and would only send the sparks harmlessly away from the house. For now, it would be best not to frighten her. Grabbing men, he shouted at them to find buckets and join the line. Pulling two older women aside, he ordered them to set up a place to treat the wounded for burns.

Although most everyone seemed well enough, one massive cook lay on the ground, clutching his seared arm and moaning loudly. Others had charred clothing, but were at work regardless. Pulling aside a woman who was busily counting frightened servant girls, he yelled into her ear over the chaos.

"Is everyone out?"

"I don't know, milord. No one's seen the four girls sleeping in the far gable room!"

Julian felt a chill. They would be young, no more than fourteen or so. No doubt without a brain amongst them. "Damn!" He started for the house.

"Julian!"

He whirled. Izzy ran to him, her eyes wide. She looked to be no more than a child herself with her hair down and her white wrapper hiding her figure. "Izzy! Get back!"

"I want to help! What can I do?"

The urgency of his mission made him harsh. He spun her around by the arm and shoved her away from the raging house. "You're in no condition to help. Stay back and let the able-bodied handle it!"

Just then an equine scream rent the air. Julian jerked as if shot. With horror, he saw the roof of the stable smoking. Sparks from the house had landed on the dry shingles, and it was a sure wager that the wood would flare soon.

"Julian! The horses!" Aghast, Izzy turned to him. His face was like stone, but his eyes were hot with anguish.

"There are others still inside," he said brutally and turned. "They must be first…"

Izzy watched him go, knowing what it cost him. He was right, of course. The servants and the house needed him more. But it agonized her to see him have to make the choice. She knew what horses meant to him; long ago he'd told her that they were the only part of his life he felt he could call his own.

Turning this way and that, Izzy looked for anyone who could be spared. No. Of all the people crowding the area, she was the only one who didn't seem already assigned a task. Well, if she wasn't allowed to tote buckets, then she would simply tote horses. She might be the best one for the job, in any event; no one else would be able to handle Tristan.

Pulling off the belt of her wrapper as she ran, Izzy flew to the huge doors of the stable and drew open one side. It was almost too heavy, and only the well-oiled state of the hinges allowed her to do it at all. Inside, the smoke was only wisps, but the horses were near panic.

Going to Tristan's stall first, since he was the most valuable and the dearest to Julian's heart, she called soothingly to him before opening the top half of the split door. He drew back his head, his eyes wide and wild from fear.

"Shhhh. Shhhh. Shame on you, you great thing," Izzy murmured softly. "If I were your size, I would fear nothing." She spouted more nonsense until Tristan lowered his head enough for her to loop her belt through the soft rope halter he wore. She hoped all the horses wore their halters. Pulling gently on his tether, she shrugged out of her wrapper one arm at a time, then drew the fabric over his eyes in a blindfold. He quieted immediately, only the quivering of his skin showing his agitation.

Using her hip to throw the catch of the lower door, Izzy kicked it open and led Tristan out to the cobbled stableyard, where she stopped. She couldn't leave him here. Stories of horses running back into burning stalls crossed her mind. She would hope he would have more brains than to do that, but she couldn't count on some of the mares not to.

The fenced pastures were too far; she would never have time to get them all there. Better to simply turn them loose. Walking the willing horse quickly, she led him through the gate to the open grounds. Pulling her wrapper from the stallion's eyes and her belt free, she gave him a resounding whack on his giant buttock, sending him streaking away into the night, leaving only a startled neigh behind.

Turning back, she could see more smoke rising from the shingled roof. She had best hurry.

Julian fought his way through the smoke-choked hallway of the third floor. The way was narrow and dark, the smoke sending his lantern glow back at him without letting it light his way. He was trying to keep his sense of direction as he wended his way down the senselessly twisting hall. He'd had no idea the servants' quarters were so inconvenient. Distantly he made a note to himself to consider revamping them when the rebuilding began after the fire. Now his main concern was the roomful of girls.

He thrust open every door he passed and shouted into each darkened room. It was slow going, but he couldn't risk passing the trapped children. The smoke thickened by the moment, tearing his eyes and clogging his lungs. The wet cloth round his nose and mouth filtered the worst, but the heat made his chest feel on fire. It occurred to him in a vague way that he was in danger, but his purpose outweighed such paltry considerations.

The hallway ended so abruptly, he actually struck the ancient whitewash with his lantern. Peering around through streaming eyes, he saw only one door left. He burst through it to find an empty room.

Oh, God, no!