Rule's Bride (10 page)

The wall seemed endless. No opening in sight. He moved forward as fast as he dared, afraid the floor might give way beneath them. Still no escape in sight. Only more smoke and flames.

Rule cursed violently and pressed forward through the clogging, blinding darkness, Violet's hand gripped in his. He knew how terrified she must be and yet she had not given up.

Neither would he.

“Hang on,” he said. “We're almost there.” Blinking against the burning in his eyes and praying it was true, he finally saw it—the door to the narrow wooden outside staircase leading down to the alley. Small flames chewed around the edges of the frame, but there was room to get through. He lifted the latch, thanked God it was unlocked
and wondered if the man who had run this way had made it to safety. Shoving it open, he tugged Violet forward, gulping in a breath of the fresh night air.

“Come on!”

Violet tried to step through, but her skirt was too wide. She lifted the metal cage, held it up and turned sideways enough to get outside, but as she stepped onto the platform, her green silk skirt caught fire.

“Rule!” She wildly slapped at the flames that ate into the fabric. Rule slammed the door behind them, shed his coat and used it to stamp out the fire.

Satisfied she was safe, he surveyed the steep wooden staircase. “Can you make it?”

“Help me.” She turned her back to him, displaying the row of tiny covered buttons she wanted him to unfasten. There wasn't time for that. Grabbing the fabric in his fists, he split the dress in two, drew it up over her head and tossed it aside. Violet unfastened the tabs on the crinoline she wore and Rule helped her step out of it.

He didn't have time to admire the way she looked in her chemise, drawers and stockings. All he could think of was getting her to safety.

Fire licked out the windows now and the door was completely in flames. He went down a few steps ahead of her so he could catch her if she slipped, but she descended the narrow wooden stairs at a steady pace that reminded him she was Howard Griffin's daughter.

The moment they reached the ground, he draped his scorched coat over her shoulders, covering all but her pretty stockinged legs, pulled her into his arms and just held her.

Trembling all over, Violet made a soft sound in her throat, reminding him they were still in danger, and Rule gripped her hand and tugged her forward. They raced
down the alley away from the burning building, now engulfed entirely in flames. People rushed past them, a throng of actors and stagehands who were also racing toward safety.

As they reached the street, a big red fire wagon pulled by four galloping white horses roared past them, joined by three more wagons, approaching the burning theater from different directions.

Violet stumbled. Rule caught her before she could fall, scooped her up in his arms and kept running. The building was well beyond saving. Anyone left inside was doomed.

Searching through the chaos of terrified people, some of them weeping, all of them grateful to be alive, Rule scanned the street, hoping to find his carriage, and amazingly, spotted his coachman running toward him.

“I knew ye'd make it. I knew ye wouldn't let yer lady die.”

Rule felt a swell of emotion that brought a tightness to his throat. He squeezed his coachman's shoulder. “We need to get her out of here, Bellows. We need to make certain she's all right.”

“Don't ye worry, milord, I'll get 'er home.” He pointed along the street. “The coach is just down the block. No way to bring it to ye in this crowd. Ye'll need ta follow me.”

Rule looked down at Violet. Her face was smudged with soot, her chemise hanging by a single strap. She was shaking so hard he could hear her teeth chattering, barely holding herself together.

He adjusted his coat to cover her a little better. “You're safe now, love. Soon you'll be home.”

“I—I'm all right. You don't have to carry me. I—I can walk.”

Rule ignored her. He wasn't letting her go until she was
safely inside his carriage. Falling in beside his burly bearded driver, he finally spotted the carriage. Bellows opened the door and Rule settled Violet in the seat.

“Take her home, Bellows.”

Violet swung toward him. “What…what about you?”

“I need to see if there is anything I can do to help.”

“I'm not…not leaving here without you.”

He could see she was determined, and her concern made something expand inside him. “All right, I'll be back as quickly as I can.”

By the time he reached the front of the theater, he could see the fire company and the police had already taken control. The injured were being attended and carriages hauled the survivors away. There was nothing left for him to do but pray for the poor souls who had died.

With a last glance at the scene, he turned and strode back to the carriage, anxious to get as far from the Royal Pantheon as possible. He signaled his driver, opened the door and climbed into the dimly lit interior.

Violet was fighting not to cry, he saw, as he settled himself on the seat beside her. “It's all right, love, it's over. Everything's going to be all right.”

Violet looked up at him and the tears in her eyes rolled down her cheeks. “People…people died in there. There was a woman, her…her skirt caught fire and then her hair and…and…”

“Hush, sweetheart, don't think about it.” Violet didn't protest as he lifted her gently onto his lap. “Just think about how brave you were and how proud I am that you are my wife.”

She shook her head. “I wasn't brave. You were brave. I was terrified.”

He smoothed back her disheveled copper curls. “That
is what bravery is. Being afraid and still having the courage to do what has to be done. And believe me, I was afraid.”

Afraid he would lose her. Afraid his beautiful, courageous little wife would never have the chance to experience life. Afraid he would fail her even worse than he had by leaving her in Boston.

“Those poor, poor people.” Burying her face in his shoulder, she began to cry, deep racking sobs that reached straight into his heart.

Rule just held her.

Silently, he thanked God that he had been able to save her.

V
iolet didn't remember the carriage ride back to the house or Rule carrying her upstairs to her room. She only remembered him holding her in his lap inside the coach, stroking her hair, telling her she was safe.

She remembered the way he had looked, his handsome face blackened with soot and his evening clothes singed by fire, the smell of smoke and the determination in his eyes as he had led her into the smoke and flames.

She remembered wondering if she had followed him into hell or if he led her down the path to safety. In that moment of uncertainty, she remembered the way he had looked in his office, so capable and in control, and she had placed her life in his hands.

Rule had not failed her.

She looked up at him now, standing next to a silver tray that held a bottle of brandy and two crystal snifters the butler had brought up to her room, watched him pour some of the brandy into the glasses. He strode back to where she sat in the small sitting area in front of the fire and pressed one of the goblets into her trembling hand.

“Drink this. It will steady you.”

She did as he asked, allowing the warmth of the liquor to burn down her throat, trusting him now as she hadn't before. She had never tasted brandy. Her father liked whiskey. He had given her a sip now and then and she had grown to enjoy the flavor.

“Drink the rest.” He urged the glass back to her lips and she drank the balance, beginning to relax.

Rule left her a moment, walked over to the dresser and poured water from the pitcher into the basin. Before she'd left for the theater, she had given Mary the night off to visit her mother, Violet recalled as she watched Rule dip a clean linen cloth into the bowl and return to where she sat. She felt the soothing wetness as he carefully bathed her face and shoulders, then he returned to the basin to wash his own face and neck.

His coat was gone, still draped round her shoulders. His cravat was missing, his waistcoat tossed over a chair.

“Better?” he asked as he returned to where she sat.

Violet nodded, but all she could think of was the woman in the hall, the flames spreading over her gown, her hair, her awful shrieks of horror. Another memory arose—being pushed away from Rule, stumbling and falling, the crush of a man falling on top of her and then another, pinning her down on the carpet, their weight so heavy she couldn't breathe.

“Could I… Could I have a little more?” She held up her empty glass. Rule refilled it and brought it back to her. Violet's hand shook as she took another sip and then another. The warmth of the liquor soothed her, made her feel languid and warm, dulling some of the awful memories.

“I wonder how many…died tonight.” She upended the glass, finishing the drink, wishing she had more, wishing it could make her forget completely.

As if he read her thoughts, Rule poured a little more liquor into her glass. “I don't know. Too many, I'm afraid.”

Tears welled, began to slip silently down her cheeks. She felt like a weakling, a coward. What would her father think? Then Rule was there, taking the glass she had emptied, sitting down beside her, pulling her into his arms.

“I'm sorry I took you there. If I could change the way things turned out—”

“It wasn't your fault,” she said tearfully, and felt him draw her closer. She leaned against him, seeking his comfort, his protection, her hands slipping up around his neck.

“I was afraid I would lose you,” he said, kissing her forehead. “I've never been so frightened in my life.”

Violet reached up and cupped his cheek. “You saved my life. If it hadn't been for you…if I had been there with anyone else—” Her voice broke on this last word and Rule silenced her with his lips, a soft, gentle touch that said how sorry he was for what she had suffered.

Violet kissed him back, seeking the solace he brought, desperate to block the awful memories. The kiss went on and on, a gentle tasting that deepened into something more. The liquor erased her reservations, made her think only of him and not the awful tragedy she had witnessed that night. Her body turned languid and warm, began to stir to life.

Need rose inside her, slowly changing the heat of his kiss into a smoldering flame, then burning hotter, brighter, flaming out of control as the fire had that night. He eased his coat off her shoulders and pressed his mouth against her bare skin, kissed the side of her neck and returned to her lips.

Hot, wet kisses followed, an onslaught that buried the awful memories and turned her thoughts to the need building inside her. Easing off the remaining strap of her chemise, he kissed her shoulders, the soft swell of a breast,
took the fullness into his mouth. Desire rose, swift and sharp, fierce and demanding, and any thought of stopping him slipped away.

She was alive and grateful for it.

Alive because of him.

His teeth abraded her nipple, which was hard and throbbing, aching as his tongue swirled around it. He suckled and tasted and her skin heated. Her body grew flushed and damp.

She barely noticed when he lifted her into his arms and carried her over to the bed, when he rested her on the deep feather mattress and stripped away the final remnants of her clothes. He was kissing her again when she roused herself, taking each of her breasts into his mouth, sliding his hands over her body, tracing a finger through the tight red curls above her sex. When he parted the moist folds and slipped a finger inside, need unfurled in her belly.

Her heart pounded frantically and her skin felt hot and tight. She arched upward, wanting more of the deep drugging kisses that held her in thrall, the skillful stroking of his hand.

Every part of her pulsed for him, throbbed for him. He left her for a moment and she bit down on her lip to keep from begging him to return. Then the mattress dipped and she felt his heavy weight above her, felt him part her legs and settle himself between her thighs.

“Violet…” he whispered, kissing her softly again.

As he leaned toward her, the muscles across his powerful chest rubbed against her nipples and they stiffened and swelled. His shoulders were wide and muscular and her fingers dug into them, seeking purchase in the storm of pleasure his kisses evoked.

“Easy, love,” he whispered as her hips arched upward against the heavy, hard length pressing against her belly.
His hand found her softness once more, dipped inside, stroked her until she cried out his name. He was preparing to take her, she knew, but Violet didn't care. They were married. He had saved her. She wanted this, ached for it.

Rule positioned himself and pressed forward, moving slowly, entering her with exquisite care. He kissed her deeply as he reached her maidenhead and surged beyond, seating himself fully. There was an instant of pain, far less than she would have expected, and even that single moment was fleeting. Soon all she felt was the warm weight of him above her, the thickness of his shaft inside her, the slick glide and the rising pleasure that filled her.

She was so wet and sensitive. Fresh need stirred to life, heated her, aroused her until she couldn't think. With every deep thrust, he impaled her. With each withdrawal, she sobbed for more. Tension built in the depths of her, so thick it felt tangible, pulling her muscles tight, making her stomach contract.

Then it hit her, waves of pleasure so sweet, so powerful she couldn't hold back a cry, sensation so intense her whole body shook with it.

Beneath her hands, the muscles in Rule's shoulders tightened. His throat moved up and down and his head fell back, and she knew he was feeling the same sweet pleasure he had given to her.

His tense muscles finally eased and he relaxed against her. Several seconds passed. Then he kissed the side of her neck, lifted himself away and lay down beside her. Rule eased her into his arms, and bliss stole over her, contentment unlike anything she had known. The warm sensations lingered, gentle now, soothing. It was the last thing she recalled as she drifted off to sleep.

 

Rule lay next to his sleeping bride.

His wife.

She was his now. She belonged to him. The knowledge filled him with a powerful sense of triumph. And relief. And a feeling of satisfaction he had never experienced before.

He smoothed back a tendril of tousled copper hair. He hadn't intended to take advantage. She was hurting and vulnerable and several times he had told himself to stop. Then he remembered those moments in the flaming inferno, moments when he'd thought she might die and he would lose her. If he made love to her, she couldn't annul the marriage. She would belong to him. She would be his wife in more than just name, and they could begin to build a future together.

A moment had occurred when he thought of all he would gain. He would keep his half ownership in Griffin, as her father had planned, a company worth a veritable fortune. But it wasn't the money that had driven him.

It was his need for Violet, an urge to claim and protect her and keep her in his life.

And pure, driving lust.

She had almost died tonight. Both of them had almost died. He would never be able to live the superficial, unfulfilled life he had enjoyed before. He wasn't sure exactly what future he wanted, but he had married a woman of incredible courage and beauty and he meant to keep her.

He leaned over and kissed her forehead. She was his now. Her virginity marked the sheets. There was no way she could deny it.

Rule lay back down beside her, hard once more and wishing he could have her again.

It wasn't going to happen. At least not tonight.

Drawing her a little nearer, he closed his eyes and tried not to remember how close he had come to losing her.

 

Violet awakened to the sound of Mary's voice speaking to her in soft, gentle tones.

“Yer 'usband sent up a nice warm bath, milady. 'Tis nearly noon. Ye wouldn't want the water to be gettin' cold, now would ye?”

Violet struggled to wakefulness and tried to sit up. A hammerlike pounding and a shot of dizziness forced her head back down on the pillow.

“Ye had a very bad night, milady. Ye recall the fire, don't ye? Ye'd best take it nice and slow.”

The fire.
Dear God, how could she have forgotten?

Images arose, flames licking the curtains, people screaming in terror. A woman engulfed in flames.

Her throat tightened. Violet closed her eyes, fighting to block the memories.

“Are ye all right, milady?” Mary's round face peered down at her. “Should I fetch 'is lordship?”

Violet slowly shook her head, working to control the pounding, the nausea in her throat. “I just need a moment and I'll be all right.”

A few seconds later, she made a second attempt to get up, but as she started to rise, she realized she was naked, and fresh memories assailed her. Rule kissing her. Rule making love to her!

Jerking back the covers, she stared down at the proof of her lost virginity, the scarlet stains on the sheets, and anger blocked everything else.

“How dare he!” She pulled the covers up once more, fighting for control. “Hand me my robe.”

“But…but what about yer bath?”

Violet looked over at the steaming copper tub, large enough for her to sink into. The scent of violets drifted up from the water. She needed a clear head to face him, needed to wash away the reminders of the terrible fire.

Along with the remnants of his lovemaking.

Clutching the robe in front of her, she took Mary's hand and let the woman lead her over to the tub. Very carefully, she climbed into the water and settled back against the sloping rim.

The water felt wonderful. Her headache was fading, but she ached all over. She remembered falling in the hallway, the crushing weight of the people on top of her, remembered that she couldn't breathe and the instant she was certain she would die.

Then Rule was there, shouldering his way through the crowd, fighting the throng of desperate, screaming people, determined to reach her.

He had saved her last night. Saved her from certain death in the theater.

He had kept her alive.

In return, he had taken her virginity. He had gained what he wanted—the fortune her father had set aside for him as her husband. He had gotten what he had been after from the start.

“Let me help ye, milady. You'll be wantin' to wash ye hair.”

Violet didn't argue. She smelled of soot and smoke. And something far more intimate. Rule's musky male scent seemed to stamp his ownership on every part of her body.

Rule.
She didn't want to think of him. Didn't want to remember the way he had made her feel. Not yet.

Instead, she concentrated on the bath, accepting Mary's help to wash and rinse her hair, then wrap it in a towel around her head.

“That feels much better.” She leaned back against the
rim of the tub. “Thank you, Mary. Now, if you don't mind, I'd like a few moments alone.”

“Are ye certain, milady? Yer face is kind of pale. Are ye sure ye'll be all right?”

“I'm fine. If you wouldn't mind coming back a little later, I could use your help getting dressed.”

“Of course, milady.” Mary backed away, stepped out into the hall and quietly closed the door.

With a weary sigh, Violet settled deeper in the tub and closed her eyes. She had known better than to trust him. And though he had saved her, he had taken advantage of what had happened and betrayed her in the very worst way.

Just as she had betrayed the man who loved her.

Her heart squeezed. Dear God, how would Jeffrey feel when he found out what she had done? Jeffrey would never forgive her. There would be no future for them. She would never have the loving husband she had dreamed of, only years spent with a man who cared only about himself and his own personal gains.

Violet felt like crying. She bit back a sob.

After what she had done, she didn't deserve the solace of tears.

When Mary returned, she was ready to leave the bath, ready to dress and face Rule. She couldn't wait to see the look on his face when she told him she wanted a divorce.