Taming The Bride (Brides of Mayfair 2) (15 page)

Alfred nodded. “We have to split up. Tomkins, you search the first floor. Mungo and I will go upstairs. Go!”

Tomkins gave a nod and turned down the opposite end of the hallway, shouting that help had arrived.

Alfred and Mungo exchanged a look, and each took a deep breath in preparation for what they were about to do. Then, knowing there was nothing else for it, they bounded up the stairs.

Flames licked down at them from above, like the tongue of a hungry beast. The fire seemed to growl and moan like a demon from hell. All around them the glow of the flame mocked and beckoned them, drawing them deeper and deeper into the fire’s lair.

The two men headed for the room where Dolly had poked her head out the window. They came to the door and heard screams beyond it.

Both men hurled themselves against the door, and when it gave way, they almost fell into a gaping hole that shot flames from floor to ceiling. The fire had burned through the floor from the room below. Now, the flames climbed greedily up the bedroom wall, feeding on the wood and wallpaper like a hungry babe at its mother’s breast.

“Dolly!” Mungo shouted. Dolly lay unconscious on the floor, while the other girls stood huddled around her with frightful faces, coughing from the thick smoke.

“Wait,” Alfred held the big man back. “That floor’s ready to cave in. You weigh a lot more than I do—I’ll go in and bring her out, then pass her to you.”

Without waiting for Mungo’s approval, Alfred gingerly stepped through the door, and kept to the side as the flames reached closer.

He reached Dolly, squatted down, and lifted her into his arms. He headed back to the door, hugging the side of the wall. He felt the floor shift slightly under the extra weight, and practically danced his way across it.

Upon reaching the door, he quickly transferred Dolly into Mungo’s waiting arms.

Turning back, Alfred dashed into the room again, gathering the girls together. He ripped off his jacket and vest, handing them to the frightened girls.

“Breathe through the cloth,” he ordered, “We’re going to go out into the hallway, then down the stairs as quick as you can. Stay close to me. Are you ready? Follow me!”

Alfred stepped quickly across the deteriorating floorboards, and reached the door, passing the girls out into the hall one by one. As the last one neared the door, she stopped and stood frozen to the spot and stared transfixed as the flame seemed to creep across the floor toward her like a serpent.

“Come on!” he shouted, recognizing the girl he had talked to in the garden. “Annabelle, come on!”

But Annabelle just stood there, eyes wide with horror as she watched the flame lick across the floor with its bright orange tongue.

With a hideous shriek, the floor gave way, and Annabelle fell through, screaming.

“Annabelle!” Alfred bolted, but slowed himself when he felt the floor heaving under his feet.

He looked down into the gaping hole that seemed to lead to the fires of hell itself, and saw Annabelle dangling there, just out of the flame’s reach. Her housecoat had caught on a jagged beam, and she now hung helpless above the burning room below. Her screams sliced through the air, sharp with terror.

“Hold on, Annabelle! I’m going to get you out of there.”

Alfred lay down on the floor to make himself more stable and reached his hands over the side of the hole. Her hands frantically tried to grasp his. She slipped out of his grasp and he swore an oath, grabbing her in an iron grip. He grit his teeth, pulling her up with all his might. He gave one last pull, sitting back and bringing her up over the side.

The flames shot higher and Alfred felt the floor giving way. He scrambled to his feet and grabbed Annabelle, practically throwing her out the door ahead of him. They had just made it to safety when the floor of the bedroom crumbled into the mouth of the fiery beast.

We’ve got to get out of here, now!” Alfred shouted, heading for the stairs. The girls were close behind him as he led the way out.

Alfred could see the doorway at the end of the hall. He stopped at the foot of the stairs and looked back to see that all the girls were close behind him. They huddled close, fearful eyes peeking out from over his jacket and vest as they shared them to breathe through the smoke.

“Alright, out you go, now. I’ll stay back here and follow you out
.”

He herded them toward the door and watched them scurry out like little mice. When the last one was safely through, he dashed out as well, coughing and sputtering more than he would have liked.

He saw Mungo attending to Dolly, and Prudence checking her girls like a mother hen counting her eggs. Tomkins stood by with blankets from the coach.

Prudence saw Alfred, and came rushing over to him. “But where is Emma?”

“She isn’t with you?” he asked.

Prudence looked stricken “No…”

“Tomkins!” Alfred beckoned his driver, who dutifully trotted over. “You didn’t find anyone on the first floor?”

“No, sir. I searched everywhere. Not a soul to be found.”

Prudence covered her hand with her mouth. “She must be on the third floor.” She moved toward the door but Alfred stopped her.

“You’re not going in there, Prudence. I’ll go.” He looked up at the third floor and saw orange flames reaching out the window as if to welcome him back in.

One of the girls passed his vest to Prudence, and she handed it to him. He looked into her eyes, her beautiful face, and knowing it might be the last time he did so, swept her up into a fervent kiss.

Without looking back, he covered his mouth and ran back into the burning house.

Chapter 14

Alfred raced up the stairs, dashing from side to side as bits of flaming wood dropped from the ceiling. The house was in its last throes, now. Soon it would be completely consumed.

The smoke had grown thicker, and he coughed almost constantly as he pushed upward.

Perhaps it was a fool’s mission. But he would rather die trying to beat the cunning flames than to let them win without a knock-down, drag-out fight.

He came to the second floor landing saw that the bedroom that he’d rescued the other girls from was now almost completely engulfed in flames. As he neared the top floor, he could hear the flames raging above him.

The smoke forced him to stop for a moment. Even breathing through his jacket seemed futile here. His lungs fought for air, and his eyes burned from the smoke.

He was almost to the third floor landing.

It would be no picnic when he got there, either.

Flames ate at the walls and curled up and over the ceiling. The heat was at its most intense here, and Alfred felt it weaken him. Another of the fire’s dirty tricks, he thought.

He called out and though he was trying to shout, his voice rasped like an old man’s. “Emma!” he called again.

There was no response.

He made his way to the first doorway, and saw a room full of flame. He shielded his face from the heat and pressed on, moving to the other side of the hallway and found a room filled more with smoke than fire. Alfred called out again, but there was only the sound of the cackling flames.

He was about to turn and go when he saw her.

There in the far corner, Emma lay unmoving on the floor. He rushed to her and pulled her into his arms. Dizzy from the smoke, he struggled to lift her.

If only he could get a breath!

He grit his teeth and headed for the stairs. He’d be damned if he let this fire get him now.

The stairway was still clear, just barely. Alfred dashed down steps, hugging the wall as the flames reached out long hot fingers.

A thick beam cracked as it broke free above them, and Alfred leaped out of the way as it crashed down onto the staircase.

They were almost there.

He dashed down the hallway, hearing the staircase crumble behind him, the fire devouring the structure as if it had teeth.

With a sheer act of determination, Alfred pushed forward and ran out the front door.

Unable to do anything else, he sank to his knees with Emma still in his arms, while Prudence and Mungo rushed to his side.

Alfred coughed uncontrollably as Prudence crouched down beside him. Mungo ministered to Emma, and soon the girl regained consciousness, looking weakly about at everyone. Her fellow students surrounded her and wiped away tears of joy.

And though she tried to hide it, Alfred saw Prudence wipe away a tear or two as well.

“Please, don’t cry on my account,” he croaked. “I’m quite certain that I shall live.”

Prudence regarded him, with a mixture of rage and relief in her expression. “Don’t you dare make jokes at a time like this!”

“Nothing like kicking a man when he’s down, eh?” He coughed again, quite pitifully, he thought.

Prudence opened her mouth to say something, but shut it. Instead, her eyes filled up with glistening tears. Alfred watched in wonder as a fat, twinkling teardrop ran down her cheek, glittering like a diamond.

“My word, I must be in terrible shape if I’m making you cry. Tell me, my dear,” he said with all the melodrama of a true thespian, “will I ever walk again?”

“I said no jokes!” she said.

“Alright, no jokes.” He sat up, duly chastised, and reached out to wipe another tear that slid down her cheek.

“What shall we do, Alfred?” she asked. “The school
—”

“Hush, now.” He pulled her into his arms and cradled her close, thankful that she didn’t care who might be watching. “It will be taken care of. You shall stay with me in my house in Mayfair.”

She pulled back for a moment, her expression confused.

He explained, “You
all
shall come to stay with me, Prudence. I have more than enough room. I would be pleased to provide a temporary home for the Atwater School. Great-Aunt Withypoll will insist upon it.
I
insist upon it. No arguments, now.”

Lifting her chin, Alfred gently placed a soft kiss upon her lips—effectively ceasing any arguments Prudence might have made.

* * *

The ride to Mayfair was quiet. They had piled everyone into the two carriages and drove in a somber procession along the dark London streets.

Alfred kept his arm around Prudence for the length of the journey.

She’d felt so lost, so afraid. He had simply offered the comfort of his strength—quietly and without ceremony. He would never know how grateful she was for that.

Upon their arrival, the butler effortlessly mobilized the house staff and organized the preparation of food and rooms for the guests. A physician was summoned, the authorities were notified, and before long, Prudence saw the girls to their beds.

The house was quiet, now.

Though she knew she should be exhausted, sleep eluded her. All she saw when she closed her eyes were the flames.

Oh, what was she to do now? The Atwater School—her father’s dream—was now no more than a pile of cinders.

She’d heard Alfred and Mungo talking in the hallway. They were trying to shield her, but she knew their suspicions. They thought the fire had been deliberately set—to keep her from taking the girls off the streets.

Could it be true?

Could someone have planned to murder them all?

It was a chilling thought.

All she’d been trying to do was help these girls. To give them a chance at a better life. And tonight, it had almost cost all of them their lives.

She was in danger. They were all in danger, because of her.

A hideous knot formed in her gut, heavy and sour. Fear crept up her throat with cold fingers that threatened to strangle her.

She threw back the covers. Dolly stirred in the other bed but did not waken. At least one of them could get some rest. Prudence hastily donned the robe that matched her white lawn nightdress and tied the satin ribbon.

Somehow, Alfred’s butler, Crawford had arranged for them all to have nightclothes. There would be dresses for the morning, as well.

Prudence turned the door-handle and stepped out into the hallway. Crawford had mentioned that his master’s rooms were down the adjoining hallway, if Lord Weston was needed during the night.

She crept silently around the corner, hoping she wouldn’t become lost in such an enormous house. Finally she came to the door, and praying it was Alfred’s, knocked softly.

The door before her opened silently.

Alfred stood in the doorway, his tall frame a dark silhouette against the warm glow of the room. His white shirt was open to the waist, revealing a broad, muscular chest, the sight of which had Prudence almost swallowing her tongue. His black hair was wild and unruly about his face, and his eyes, though dark as midnight, shone down at her with intensity.

“Prudence,” he said, finally. “What is wrong? Is someone ill?”

She shook her head, muttering, “I can’t sleep.”

He rested his hand against the doorframe and shifted his weight. “I haven’t even bothered trying.”

“May I come in?” she asked.