Pledged to the Lyon (The Lyon’s Den)

Prologue

Smoke clogged the air. Hugh Westfield, the Earl of Carlisle and the future Duke of Somerset, plunged across the lawn toward the burning house.

“My lord!” his valet called from the doorway, his voice muffled.

“Hugh!” This was Amelia, his sister, her voice edged with panic. “You cannot go up there!”

Before him, through the door hanging loose on its hinges, the great hall and grand staircase were ablaze. Flames licked at the banisters. The floors cracked. Beams hung crooked from the ceiling, sinking under the weight of destruction.

For a heartbeat, he paused. If he went in, there was no guarantee he would make it out again.

But his parents were in there. He could not let them burn.

No more thinking.

Coat over his mouth, eyes stinging, he ducked through the door.

Above him, the fire crackled, a merry thing at odds with the screams from trapped servants—and somewhere above him, his parents.

He felt as though he were moving through water, ironic as it was.

His limbs were heavy, his clothes so hot, they burned his skin everywhere the fabric touched.

The inferno had caught the upper half of the building, and black smoke pulsed into the air, threatening to choke him.

He charged up the staircase, paying no heed to the dangerous creaking underfoot.

But his steps faltered as he reached the landing.

There was a roaring, as though the heavens had descended with their thunder.

The air was monstrously hot, searing his lungs.

His eyes burned. Tears evaporated from his cheeks before they could reach his chin.

The screaming had stopped, he registered dimly, but he had come too far to give up now—not when there was a chance.

There had to be a chance.

Dear God, let it not be too late.

The house groaned and screeched, the conflagration booming in a way he had not known fire could, and he staggered onward, searching for anything living amidst the debris.

He could see nothing but smoke.

All he knew was pain.

There was a crack above him. Something pummeled into his chest, hot and unforgiving. Agony splintered across his body. His last thought before the world went black was that if he had just been a little faster, he might have saved them all.