Chapter 32
Chapter Thirty-Two
“ W hat the devil?” a male voice bellowed as Adam thrust his weight against the first door he came across, stumbling into the drawing room at Ravenshire like a madman.
He could hear the rapid footsteps of servants running up to restrain him.
“Where is Rosaline?” he demanded.
Travel-worn and soaked from the mud of the roads, he must have looked a sight.
A tall man, who could only be the Duke of Ravenshire, huge and imposing with thick brown hair and sharp green eyes, advanced on him, his face like thunder.
“What is the meaning of this, sir? How dare you barge into my house in this way?”
“Where is Rosaline?” Adam demanded again, straightening his clothing a bit but ensuring that he did not take a step back.
These people have my wife, and I am not leaving until I have spoken with her.
A movement caught his eye behind the duke. A young brown-haired woman stood where she had been seated on the settee. She had a book of poetry in her hand and appeared entirely unfazed by his abrupt arrival.
Adam attempted to catch his breath, her blue eyes assessing him with interest.
“I take it that you are Adam Fitzwilliam, the Duke of Oldstone?” she asked in an impossibly calm voice.
Her husband, for it could only be he, stepped back, glancing at his wife reproachfully as she came toward Adam.
“I am the Duke of Oldstone,” Adam managed finally, still breathing heavily from his frantic ride. “I would like to speak with my wife.”
“I am Genevieve Addington, and this is my husband Wilhelm, and you are trespassing on Ravenshire land.” A touch of steel entered her voice at that.
Adam cleared his throat. “Please. I am sorry for my conduct. I will leave as soon as I have seen her. There is no guarantee she will not throw me from the house herself, and you will have your wish.”
“What makes you think I will not do so?” asked the duke, his stance screaming that he would enjoy nothing better.
Genevieve rested a hand on her husband’s arm. “Rosaline is not here,” she stated simply.
“What?” Adam said frantically. “She wrote to me not two days ago telling me she had arrived safely.”
“She was here. She left this morning. She is headed to your country estate.”
“That is miles away.”
“She is stopping at an inn on the way through,” Genevieve said with deliberate calm. “I imagine she will have arrived there by now.”
Adam tried hard not to raise his voice in his desperation. “Duchess, I beg you to tell me which inn she is staying at.”
“Are you going to make her happy or unhappy when you find her?”
The lady’s eyes were all fire now.
“I am going to beg her to forgive me. On my knees if I have to. Will that do?”
The duchess glanced at her duke, and they shared a little smile of satisfaction at his words.
“Well then, I can tell you she is stopping at The Black Heart. But if I hear that you have not done as you say, I will send Wilhelm to fight you.”
“Will you indeed, darling wife?” her husband asked with an amused edge to his voice.
“I cannot go myself, I have the baby to think of.”
“Then it would be my pleasure,” the Duke of Ravenshire replied, his eyes serpent-like as he glanced at Adam.
Adam bowed to them both, relief flooding through him. He knew the Black Heart, it would not take him long on horseback to reach it.
“Thank you, Duke, Duchess. I hope that I can meet you again in more felicitous circumstances.”
He turned away, walking swiftly to the door and out into the dark night ahead.
A few more hours, Rosaline, and then we will be together again, and I will spend my life trying to deserve you.
Rosaline watched the fire spread at a terrifying speed.
No sooner had her uncle left the room than the floor seemed to be a sea of flames licking at every surface. She could not even climb upon the bed as refuge—it too was soon on fire.
Panicked, she held her arm over her mouth as thick, foul-smelling smoke surrounded her.
She pulled herself to her feet, rushing to the window and throwing it open.
She looked down at the ground beneath, but the drop was too far and there was no roof to climb on to break the fall.
Turning around with determination, she looked along the floor for any way of escape.
The flames were making a snaking path beneath the bed and spreading outward but Claridge had been careful not to put too much brandy by the door to secure his own escape.
“Damn you, Uncle!” she hissed under her breath.
She calculated her path, holding her breath as best she could, and took a careful step back.
She lifted her skirts up to her knees, steadying herself, before she ran forward, leaping from the ground and throwing herself over the flames.
The heat was vicious and all-consuming as she passed over it, but she landed on the other side of the fire without injury.
Heat at her ankle made her look down in alarm. Her gown was on fire. With swift jerky movements, she stamped at the tiny flames until they were extinguished, wrenching open the door even as the handle burned hot against her palm.
In the corridor outside all was chaos.
There were screams from the other rooms, and thuds and bangs from downstairs as people shouted instructions to one another that she could not make out.
She turned, making for the top of the stairs to head down to the safety of the lower floor. But as she spun around to head in the right direction, a shard of pain shot through her skull, and she cried out, collapsing against the wall and sliding to the floor.
Her head was pounding unbearably. Try as she might, she could not summon the strength to pull herself to safety, and she was unable to open her eyes fully.
Blackness crept across her vision, the smoke billowing out of the open door begin her as the flames began to spread into the corridor at her side.
Coughing and spluttering she clawed at the floorboards, trying to wrench herself forward, splinters of wood driving beneath her nails.
Sobbing, she looked up at the seething inferno as it seemed to engulf everything around her. She lay on the floor of the inn, waiting in despair for the flames to consume her.
Oh, Adam. I am so sorry for everything.
He smelled the smoke before he saw the flames.
The thundering beat of his horse’s hooves were all Adam had heard for the last half mile, as the glow in the sky ahead grew more pronounced and his heart thrummed in his chest.
That is The Black Heart, it has to be. There is not another building for miles. My God, what has happened?
The horse was slowing by the time he reached it, spurring her on so blindly that she was close to collapse.
He hurled himself from the saddle as they arrived, running forward to the front of the inn. Black shapes flitted about in front of the flames as people flooded from the building.
The air was filled with the sound of distant screams and the ominous, endless crackle of the fire.
Adam looked everywhere, but there was no sign of Rosaline in the crowd.
No no no—where is she?
One man was standing staring at the inn with a look of deep pain on his face, an apron around his waist, and Adam ran to him.
“Are you the innkeeper?” he shouted.
“Yes, sir.”
“Was there a woman? A duchess? Did she arrive?”
The man’s eyes widened in shock as he glanced at the people gathered around them.
“Yes! But I cannot see her.”
“Damn it to hell!” Adam cried, and without another thought he ran forward and rushed toward the doors.
“Sir! Stop! It is too late!”
But Adam ignored the innkeeper’s cries and dived into the chaos of the flames.
I cannot lose her. I refuse! She must be safe, she has to be.
The main room of the inn was so far unscathed, the fire not having yet reached it, but he could hear its roar above him, the ceiling bowing under the heat.
Sprinting to a low doorway, he found a set of steps leading up, the raging glow all the more terrifying as he contemplated it from below.
Visions of David, of his cries for help filled his mind, but he shut them out.
I did not save you brother, but I will save Rosaline, if it is the last thing I ever do.
He ascended the stairs, ripping a section of his cloak and tying the fabric around his mouth. He was already coughing from the smoke filling the corridor and cursed himself for not having asked the man which room she was in.
As he reached the top of the stairs, he could see the fire burning along the right-hand wall and leaping up toward the ceiling, spreading back to the rear of the inn.
Hold on, darling. Please.
His eyes squinted through the smoke as he saw something ahead of him, crumpled on the floor.
He gasped, coughing into the smoke, as he ran forward, recognizing that golden hair from feet away.
“Rosaline!” he shouted, falling to his knees beside her and grabbing her shoulders pulling her up.
She groaned loudly, and he cursed as he saw blood trickling down the side of her head.
What the hell has happened to her?
“Rosaline? My love? Can you get up? We must get out of here.”
Her eyes fluttered open and then widened in terror as she seemed to realize where she was.
“Adam? No, the fire. You must not be near the fire!”
He gripped her shoulders more fiercely, “We will get out of this together,” he shouted above the roar of the flames, and rose to his feet, dragging her behind him.
The heat from the room beside her was unbearable, and he fell against the wall in shock as a large plank of wood detached from the ceiling and crashed through the floor at his feet, onto the flagstones on the ground floor.
Rosaline clutched at him desperately and Adam half-walked, half-carried her to the top of the stairs.
Mercifully, the fire had not yet destroyed them, but the flames were already licking at the posts.
Rosaline was so weak that she could not hold her weight, so he pulled her into his arms.
He turned for seconds only, to look back at the towering blaze behind him, hoping that everyone else had managed to make it out alive.
Then he picked Rosaline up into his arms. His bad leg protested at the added weight, but Adam ignored it—nothing would keep him from saving his wife.
Swiftly, he carried her down the stairs, through the billowing smoke and out into the night.