Forbidden Fire (33 page)

“Then let us both out of this! I don't want your money, I never wanted your money. I just want out. And then you won't have to worry about what people think or say—”

“I don't give a damn what people think or say.”

“Then go ahead—divorce me!”

“There will be no divorce.”

“But you just said you don't give a damn about propriety, about the things people say—”

His vise around her arms was so tight that she nearly cried out. His eyes were the silver-blue of a dagger as they pierced into her heart.

“There will be no divorce, Marissa. And it hasn't a thing to do with others, it has to do with a vow. Till death do us part.”

“So you will let us live in this agony!”

“I would let us live in hell, madam!”

She stared at him in silence for a second and then she cried out. “I cannot! I cannot! I cannot live with you when you—”

“You will live with me. And as a wife!”

She trembled with hate and fury and excitement, and with love and hope. At least she could still anger him, still arouse him. She could have his touch this moment if she so desired.

No.

“No! I can't live this way because I cannot bear it!” she told him. “I—I love you—”

“Liar!” he thundered.

But he seemed so startled that his hold on her loosened, and she wrenched free from him. They stared at one another for a moment, and then she cried out and ran from his room.

“Marissa!”

His voice bellowed after her. She ignored him, and tore down the stairway. She burst outside, knowing that he would be after her.

And now she didn't want to see him. She had bared her heart and soul once again to try to convince him that she loved him. He didn't believe her, or else it didn't matter. She couldn't endure his mockery right now.

She raced to the carriage house and into her mare's stall. The animal bolted, nervous, skittish. “Oh, please, what is the matter with you!” she whispered to the horse. What was wrong with all the animals? She soothed the mare quickly, then bridled her and leaped upon her back without bothering with a saddle.

The first streaks of dawn were becoming apparent in the far east as she trotted out of the carriage house. Ian was on the lawn.

“Marissa!”

She nudged the animal into a canter, knowing that he would follow her soon. She'd had no plan, but now she realized that she could race for the store. It would be open because Sandy and others would be preparing for one of the orphans' breakfasts today.

She raced recklessly through the streets, seeing the city as she began to come to life. Most people would still be in their nightshirts, but several grocers were setting up their produce. Newsboys were already on the streets. Some sleepy soul swore at her as he jumped out of her way.

Feeling guilty, she plowed on, and soon reached the store. She jumped from the mare and tethered the animal. She looked up the street to see that Ian was already thundering down upon her.

She quickly flung open the door and nodded to the security guard who greeted her retreating back. Then she hurried down to the basement, anxious to be with others.

Across the room she could see Darrin. His freckled face broke into a broad grin and he rose to greet her. He began to frown, taking in her wild hair and disheveled appearance.

She couldn't hide behind children, she thought. If Ian was angry enough, he'd drag her out of the basement and demand a confrontation. She had no right to be here. She should have faced him, no matter what.

“Mrs. Tremayne!” Darrin called to her.

And then there was a rumbling beneath her feet.

“What the—” someone cried.

“Shaker!” Darrin shouted. “Shaker! It's a shaker! A big one.”

The rumbling became a cacophony, and it seemed as if the world began to crumble and break.

Chapter Seventeen

T
he most amazing thing to Ian was that he saw the quake. Saw the way it ran up the street, tearing the ground apart, saw it rend the earth asunder.

There was the sound, a rumbling, a moaning.

The bay reared, nearly unseating him, and Ian leaped quickly from the animal's back. Even as he soothed the horse, he looked down the street. And he could see it.

The great buildings, waving, undulating, engaged in a macabre dance. And the rip … the rip itself, slashing its way down Washington Street, undulating, sweeping, cascading, coming toward him like the massive and powerful waves of an ocean.

“Marissa!” he screamed. The desperate urge to protect her, to see her, to hold her, at all costs, assailed him. But it was too late. The street was ripping in half. Steel pipes were bending and snapping. Wood, cement, concrete, metal … everything buckled beneath the gigantic tear …

It reached him. The bay screeched as it was picked up and hurtled toward the building. Ian could give the horse no comfort for he was suddenly flying himself, picked up as if he were no more than an ant, thrown in a high arc then slammed down flat. He braced himself against the wall he touched. It was the brick wall of the emporium.

He stared across the street. Facades were crumbling, buildings were falling. He braced himself as the world continued to shiver and shake. Marissa! She was inside the building …

The building would hold! he promised himself. His grandfather had built it well, and he had personally seen to all the modifications over the years. The store would hold.

Before him, a wall came crashing forward. Great chunks of cement came hurtling through the air, and he rolled just in time to avoid being crushed. A wood frame building came crashing down as if it had been wrecked by dynamite.

And the street continued to undulate, the buildings to dance.

Ian heard screams, horrible screams.

And then suddenly, the earth went still.

The bay was down; he ignored it. Screams were rising from all around him. He barely heard them. Picking himself up, he ran to the emporium entrance.

Only one thing gave him pause.

He could hear a hiss. A slow, almost lazy hiss.

But he knew what it was. Gas. The pipes beneath the city had been split by the quake. At any moment, explosions could start up.

“Marissa!”

He tore into the store and found a security guard on the floor. Ian stooped beside the man and quickly noted the smashed display case by his side. It was Bobby Harrison, a young Irishman who had been with the emporium since his sixteenth birthday.

The latest in French pottery had downed him.

Ian lifted him. The man began to blink. “Mr. Tremayne. I'm sorry, sir. There was a shaker. Oh.” He grimaced. “You must know that. The case fell. I—”

“Yes, Bobby, it was a shaker, a bad one. My wife just ran in here, before the quake. Where did she go? Who else is in here, and where?”

“Just the folks down in the basement. No one's been up to the offices, and no one's come to work on the floor. Only some of the kitchen folk to cook, and—” he paused, his eyes opening wide “—the kids. There's about ten kids down there already. Two cooks, a priest, er, Sandy is in, and that's it, I'm sure.” He stared at Ian. “You needn't worry, she's going to stand, sir. I'm sure of it. Some merchandise went flying around, to be sure, but the building, she's as good as gold.”

“We've got to get them out of here, Bobby,” Ian said. “The gas mains are broken. We've got a sprinkler system, but if the pipes blow …”

Bobby understood. Despite the jagged cut on his forehead, he was quickly on his feet. “I'm right with you, sir.” Ian was already racing along the corridor for the elevators. He pressed the call button, then realized that the elevators might have been hurtled off their tracks. He turned and started for the stairs to the basement.

“You need to do something about that shoulder, sir,” Bobby told him.

“What?” He hadn't realized he was bleeding; he hadn't felt a thing. He looked down to see that blood was bright and very red over the white cotton of his shirt sleeve. “It's all right,” he said briefly.

He threw open the door to the stairs and ran down them. He started to press through the door to the cafeteria and discovered that it wouldn't budge.

“Dammit, give me a hand here, Bobby,” he said. He threw his shoulder against the door, but nothing happened. Bobby joined him, and together they threw all their weight against the door. Nothing happened. “What the hell?” Ian demanded, his anxiety growing.

“Ian!”

Softly, faintly, he heard Marissa's voice.

“Marissa!” He thundered against the door, calling her name.

“Ian, we're trapped! A beam has fallen, and brought down some of the roof.” Marissa sounded calm, and she sounded unhurt.

“All right! I'm going to get to you. Is everyone all right? Has anyone been hurt?”

“Ian, you must hurry. Sandy was struck by a cart. She's bleeding very badly. We've a few other injuries, too.”

“Are you hurt?”

She hesitated, then said, “I'm fine.”

He hoped she really was. That she wasn't just being brave, as she knew so well how to be.

She'd handle what was happening in there. She'd bind up the wounds and keep the others calm. Not because she was his wife.

Because of the person she was. The proud and beautiful downstairs maid from the coal mines who had learned all her lessons the hard way.

“Ian, do hurry, please!” He could hear that she was trying hard to stay calm. Things were clearly worse than she was letting on.

Much worse. He could still smell the gas.

“I'll hurry,” he promised vehemently. And he added a silent prayer. Dear God in Heaven, let me be swift!

Shaker. Darrin had called it a shaker. It couldn't have lasted for more than half a minute, but it had changed the world.

Ian was alive, he was near, and he was going to get them out. Those simple facts meant everything to her. They almost made her stop the trembling that had begun in her with the quaking of the earth. She had never been so terrified in her life.

In the basement, all hell had broken loose. Tables and chairs had seemed to jump and leap around with minds and purposes of their own. Shelves of china and glassware had crashed and shattered. Plaster had cracked and beams had fallen. For a split second she had looked up at the roof and she had been terrified that the entire building was going to cave in. But it did not cave in. Even as the walls trembled and shook, they remained firm. Screams and cries littered the air as the shaking continued.

And then the shaking had stopped, but the cries had not.

Trembling, jerking, she had dragged herself from the spot where she had fallen by the door, just two feet from the fallen beam. Ian! she called silently. She wanted to scream in raw, blind panic. She had left him on the street. Anything could have happened to him. Oh, dear God, dear God, she was going to shriek and scream hysterically …

She couldn't! She knew that; she couldn't. Some of the youngest of the little boys had been screaming, and she had tried to call out assurances to them. All the lights had gone, and darkness permeated the basement. “It's all right, it's over now, it's going to be all right!”

Was it over? She didn't know! she thought with a growing panic. If only she hadn't run, if only she was with Ian, she wouldn't be so afraid. He would know what to do.

“I'm cut!”

“Me foot's broke, I know it is!”

“Oh, Marissa, I'm bleeding! I'm bleeding badly!” That call was from Sandy.

“We've an emergency lantern, Mrs. Tremayne,” one of the cooks, a heavy man named Ralph, told her.

“Wonderful—” she began, and then she broke off, for the smell of gas was slowly becoming obvious around them. “No, no! Ralph, don't.”

“Oh! Yes, you're right.”

She could not panic! And she could not lose all sense and logic worrying about Ian. She couldn't imagine that a building might have fallen, that the earth might have opened …

“It's going to be all right!” she said.

The slightest bit of daylight was beginning to filter in through the slim grates that were at street level. Her hands still shaking, she called out to the boys, asking who was hurt. Then she heard a deeper voice.

“'Tis Father Donohue, Mrs. Tremayne. I'm little help for the lads. I'm caught beneath a table here, and I cannot move. I think me leg's crushed.”

There was only a slight quiver to the good Father's voice, and Marissa bit into her lower lip, applauding his bravado.

“All right, then, my good young fellows, I'll get to you one by one!” Marissa promised them.

“We're all going to die!” a lad babbled hysterically. It was Tiny Grissom.

“Tiny! We are not all going to die. I'm not going to die. I've still a great deal ahead of me to do!” she assured him.

And she did have a great deal ahead of her, she realized. She knotted her fist over her stomach and began to shake again. She was going to have a baby. And so help her, she was going to live to have that child. Ian's child. “We're going to be fine, Tiny. Just fine. Now you remember that, every one of you!”

“I'm—I'm here!” Darrin suddenly called out. “I'll keep to the left side, Mrs. Tremayne.”

And so between them, she and Darrin reached the boys one by one, and those who were not trapped by some piece of fallen furniture or debris she grouped together. One of the youngest lads definitely seemed to have suffered from an injured foot, and she carefully wrapped it in a bandage she made by ripping up one of the tablecloths.

Sandy was the one who scared her. A food cart had fallen upon her, and there was a great pool of blood soaking her skirt. Feeling ill and praying for courage, Marissa ripped up Sandy's skirt and created a tourniquet for her leg just above the thigh. The trickle of blood seemed to stop, but Marissa still felt ill. Teddy Nichols, Ralph's assistant, arrived at her side with a large bottle of cooking sherry, and they encouraged Sandy to drink.