He turned and raced up the stairs before waiting for Brown to respond. He had to get to Freya before Pembroke did.
LOUISA TREMBLED IN Freya’s arms. “He will find us,” she hissed. “You have no idea how determined he is.”
Tucked into the corner of the farthermost bedroom, they were almost as far from the hallway as they could be. But Louisa wasn’t wrong to fear. Guy had been seriously outnumbered. What if he they had hurt him? What if he was—
She shook her head. She couldn’t think on that. If she did, she might crumble to the floor and never rise again.
She rubbed Louisa’s back and eyed the closed door. They had made a mistake coming in here. There was no escape. But she didn’t know if the baron had more men. If she sent Louisa outside, would she be sending her into the arms of the enemy?
“Shhh,” she soothed. “Lord Huntingdon will protect us.”
“You do not know him.” Louisa looked up at Freya. “He will never let me be free. He’ll kill me first.”
“I will not let that happen,” Freya said firmly.
Louisa jolted in her arms and Freya’s heart skipped a beat. Her mouth dried. There was no mistaking the baron’s voice echoing through the rooms of the house. And he called for Louisa.
“He’ll find us,” she wept.
Freya peered out of the window. There was no sign of extra men but no indication of Guy either. They could either wait here and hope for the best or run. Or at least, Louisa could run. It would only be a matter of time before the baron found them, and even if Louisa’s husband had already fired his pistol, it would be easy enough for him to overpower them both. She hadn’t heard a pistol shot, which gave her hope for Guy but not much for either of them.
She took Louisa’s arm and urged her toward the door. Pulling it open, she peered down the empty corridor then ushered Louisa down the hallway. “Keep going and you’ll find the servants’ stairs.” Louisa’s eyes were wide. “Do not stop. Find a hack and go to your sister, understand?”
“What will you do?”
Freya swallowed. “I’ll delay him.”
“But—”
“Lord Huntingdon will be but a moment. It will be fine, I promise.”
The baron’s voice reverberated up the stairs. “Louisa,” he called in a sing-songy tone.
“Go.”
Louisa nodded, turned on her heel and fled down the hallway. Freya waited until the door ahead had slammed shut behind her before darting back into the bedroom, grabbing a candelabra and standing to one side of the doorway.
She pressed herself against the wall and peered down the hallway. Her attempts to swallow the knot in her throat and ignore how stifled her breaths were failed when the baron’s footsteps neared.
The candelabra quivered in her hands. Her grip on it grew slippery so she tightened her fingers. If this man had harmed Guy, he needed to pay for it.
She waited until he neared then leaped out, swinging the candelabra around. The baron lifted an arm at the last moment, catching the worst of the blow on his forearm. He snatched it from her, nearly ripping her fingers from their sockets. She cried out.
He bared his teeth. “You could have broken my arm,” he muttered. He flung the weapon aside and it landed with a dull thud on the carpeted hallway.
“I was hoping to break your face,” she bit back.
He took several steps toward her, backing her up against the wall. Heat radiated from his body and sweat tinged his brow. Freya fought to swallow.
“Where is my wife?”
She shrugged.
“Where is my wife?” he repeated through a tight jaw.
“Goodness knows.”
He snatched her arm and yanked her into the bedroom. His fingers bit into her flesh. She swiped at him with her free hand and fought to pull away, but he grabbed her wrist and hauled her toward the bed. “I will hurt you if you do not tell me where she is.”
Freya lifted her chin. “I told you, I do not know where she is.”
“Stubborn little mare,” he muttered. “Women like you need to be broken in. Clearly the earl has not been doing his job properly.”
“Oh I know all about you and your dealings with horses.”
He scowled. “What the devil do you mean?”
“I know everything.” She smiled. “I know how you made all of your money, stealing and ransoming thoroughbreds. I spoke to someone who felt he hadn’t been paid enough to partake in such matters.”
He eyed her for a moment then grinned slowly. “Do you indeed?” He lifted a shoulder. “Well, then you definitely need putting down. A shame really as I would have enjoyed breaking you.”
Freya looked into his cold blue eyes and a shiver ran through her. He meant to kill her, there was no doubting that threat. She kicked out, meeting air, then pulled against his hold. He shoved her and the back of her head connected with the post of the bed, making her ears ring. She eased herself up, but her head whirled.
Pembroke snatched something from the curtain and grabbed her wrists. Once he started binding her wrists together, she realized he’d taken one of the silken ties used to hold back the curtain. He forced her against the bedframe. The wood pressed painfully into her spine while he lashed her to it.
Freya wriggled against the tight bindings, but they would not give. “You will not find her,” she said breathlessly.
“Louisa has a kind heart. She will not wish to see you harmed, I am sure.” He tilted his head. “But you can save yourself by telling me where she is.”
“Never.”
“Very well.” He snatched a lit lamp from the nearby table and lifted it high. “I shall have to burn her out.”
“No.” The word escaped her as he brought the lamp down, smashing it upon the end of the bed. Oil spilled onto the bedding and the flame caught instantly. Heat radiated swiftly toward Freya.
The baron took her chin in his hands. “I will find her, and your death will be painful and pointless.” The fire crackled and raged, swiftly spreading across the blanket. “I hear dying by fire is the worst way to go.”
Freya tore her face from his hold and tried to bite him, but he moved his hand away. Smoke clouded the room so that when he slipped out of the door, she couldn’t even see which way he went. Flames flickered up toward the canopy, catching on the fabric there. She glanced up then turned her attention back to the knots. It wouldn’t be long before the bed collapsed, and she did not want to be tied to it when that happened.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Guy stumbled into the upstairs hallway, his gut throbbing from the hit. He shoved open door after door and called her name. Where the devil was Freya? He stilled when he pushed open the door to the next section of the house. He sniffed.
Smoke.
His gut bunched and he cursed under his breath.
An orange glow emerged from the open door of a bedroom. He heard the crackle and hiss of wood aflame. Then he heard her call for him.
“Freya!” he called back and barreled through the doorway.
He stumbled to a halt, lifting his arm to block the immense heat from his face. His gaze met wide, fearful eyes, and he quickly spotted the ties at her wrists, binding her to the bed. The canopy and mattress were entirely on fire. Flames licked along the top wooden structure and the foot of the bed, so, so close to Freya’s hands.
“The baron,” she called over the roar of the flames. “He’s gone.”
He hastened over and tugged at her wrists, testing the bonds. Minutes more and the fire would be crawling up her skin. Her fingers were already warm, and her skin shone with sweat. “It doesn’t bloody matter where he is.”
“I think Louisa is safe.”
“As will you be,” he muttered. He gave the ropes another tug, spying the frayed sections where she must have been pulling at them with her teeth.
His fingers were clammy, and heat touched the side of his face, sending rivulets of sweat into his eyes. He swiped it away with the back of a sleeve then pried at th
e stubborn knots. He needed more time, damn it.
Her eyes widened at something behind him. He twisted to view the flames eating away at a tapestry by the bed, moving swiftly toward the door. The air had already grown thick and hot. He released a growl of frustration when the ties would not give way then he stepped back. If he broke the bedframe, the whole thing would come down on top of her. There had to be another way.
Freya forced herself straight, tears spilling down. “Go. Please,” she begged.
“Never.”
“You will be trapped too.”
He shucked off his jacket, retrieved the jug on the vanity and peered into it. Half-full but better than nothing. He doused his jacket then slung it over her shoulders. It would protect her for a few more precious moments with any luck. Then he yanked open the drawers and tossed out the contents. Why the devil was there nothing sharp in here? Why were dinner jackets not designed to hold knives and multiple sharp objects? Why the hell had he not been more prepared for this?
He would not lose her. Not now.
“Goddamn it,” he yelled.
“Please, Guy. Go.” The flames inched closer, crawling their way down the bedpost. He didn’t even have moments.
Cradling her face briefly in his hands, he kissed her and stepped back. She sagged against the bonds. He heard her mutter something about loving him. He longed to say it back, but it was too late now. If he didn’t act, it would be over.
He eyed the bedpost and the canopy, the last remnants of the fabric dripping flames to the floor. He retrieved a discarded candelabra and slammed it into the post.
Her head snapped up. “Guy, no!”
He repeated it, the wood buckling with a crack, then slammed it once more. A creak tore its way through the room before everything gave way. Before the flaming frame of the bed could collapse, he gripped Freya to him and twisted, putting his back between her and the wreckage of the bed. The weight of the wood forced him to the floor and the air fled from his lungs. A sharp pain speared through his side.
Freya lay almost underneath him, her legs covered by his chest. He grinned to himself, grimly aware of the scent of burning hair. The ties hung loosely around her wrists.
She scrabbled to sitting, blinked a few times and darted her gaze around. “Oh God.”
He didn’t know what the situation looked like, but it could not be good. He felt the heat claw its way closer, and when he tried to push up, the pain in his side sent a wicked burst of agony through him. Not that pushing up was even an option. Something kept him pinned—most likely much of the bedframe. He could only see floor, the legs of the vanity table and Freya’s shocked expression if he craned his neck.
She stood swiftly and moved to lift whatever trapped him, however the weight remained.
“Freya, you need to go,” he said calmly.
“No.” Another grunt, another moment of effort, and nothing changed.
“Freya...”
“You did not leave me, I will not leave you!”
Boots entered his vision. He recognized those boots. They were marred with mud and a little blood on the lighter rim of the calf. “Russell, bloody take her. Now.” He didn’t even know if his brother heard him over the increasing roar of the fire. “If you wait any longer, neither of you will escape.”
He managed to twist enough to see his brother’s face, pain tearing through his side. He spied the beam and the end of the bed keeping him pinned. And the flames. They licked along the curtains and the doorframe, billowing up over the ceiling. The whole damned room would go before long.
Russell attempted to lift the beam, his face contorted with effort. A rumble shook the room and part of the ceiling cracked, one of the beams splitting and dropping slightly. Russell winced, glanced at Freya then at him.
“Take her. Now,” Guy ordered.
“No.” Freya raced over to him, gripping his shirt and pulling on him.
“Now!”
Russell hesitated then nodded. He grabbed Freya by the waist and hauled her out of the room. Guy eased out a breath, blocking out the sounds of her cries. Russell wasn’t dead and Freya would be safe. He couldn’t ask for much more than that.
FREYA FOUGHT RUSSELL every step of the way until he swept her into his arms and gripped her tightly. She flopped against him, dropping her head to his chest when he wouldn’t release her. Why would he just abandon his brother? Why would he not let her stay with Guy? Stupid, foolish, heroic men. What was wrong with them?
Russell burst out of the door into the darkened street. She blinked at the lamplight and gulped down a breath of fresh air then gagged on it when it hit her raw lungs. Russell set her down on something soft and she vaguely realized someone had put a cloak out for her. Rosie appeared in her vision.
“Goodness, are you quite well?” She kneeled beside Freya.
Freya jolted upright. “Guy is still in there.”
Rosie glanced at her husband and rose. “Is that true?”
His expression turned grim. “He was.”
“Should we go and get him out?” Rosie asked.
Russell shook his head. “If we had stayed any longer, we risked the building coming down on all three of us.” He set his jaw. “He’ll survive.” He leaned into his wife and winced slightly.
Freya spotted the blood stain on his leg. Good Lord. How he had even carried her down all those stairs, she did not know.
Freya tried to push to standing. “There’s time. We should go to him.” Her limbs trembled and gave way and she fell onto her rear.
Rosie sat beside her and looped an arm around her shoulders. “Guy is perfectly capable of escaping himself,” she said firmly. “He would not ask Russell to leave him unless he knew that to be true.”
She glanced at her and saw the doubt in Rosie’s eyes.
“He wanted you safe and you are, that’s the main thing.” She gestured to Russell. “If there’s one thing I learned about these men, is they’re incredibly resilient.”
“I don’t want him resilient, I want him alive.” Freya swiped a tear from her cheek. “Louisa....have you seen her?”
Russell nodded, his hands clasped behind him as he peered at the increasing glow in the building. “We arrived as she was fleeing. She’s safe.”
Freya let her shoulders drop. At least she was safe. It was all Guy wanted after all. Near the top of the building, a window shattered. Russell scowled and motioned for them to move back. “We should get you two to safety.”
“You should damn well sit down, Russell,” his wife scolded. “That leg won’t hold you for much longer.”
He urged them to move across to the other side of the road but refused to sit. Flames crawled their way out of the building, catching upon the roof. Tears trickled down Freya’s cheeks, though she didn’t notice them until they splattered on the front of Guy’s jacket. How could he possibly survive such a fire? She should resign herself to the truth now. He would die in there.
“There’s still time,” she muttered. She tried to stand again but Rosie held her back. Easily done given how her legs felt as though they belonged to a newborn foal.
“Guy would never forgive us if we let you go back in.”
Russell nodded. “You are safe. That’s what he wanted. I’ll be damned if I go against my brother’s wishes.”
Tiles dropped from the roof near where they were originally standing. Freya finally noted the servants gathered a little way down the street. People from neighboring houses emerged to watch the blaze take hold and a few people Freya assumed were meant to be dinner guests huddled by a carriage. A few had buckets of sand or water but there was little that could be done, given the flames had swallowed half of the upper floor. They were forced to watch helplessly as the roof began to cave in.
Freya twisted and buried her face against Rosie’s chest. She should have fought harder to stay. Surely it would be less painful to be swallowed by the flames than to be without Guy?
“Oh.” Rosie jolted. “Oh!”
With a frown, Freya lifted her head. She scanned the darkened street. “Is it the baron?”
“No. Look.” Rosie pointed toward the garden gate.
She eyed the darkness for several moments. Her heart gave a wild leap. It couldn’t be.
“Oh!” She shoved to her feet, her legs scarcely holding her long enough to race forward. She half-stumbled, half-dashed toward the limping figure and flung her arms around him.
Guy gave a grunt but wrapped one arm around her waist. She pressed her face into his neck and sobbed. He held her for a few moments before easing her back. “I do not think this is the safest place to be.”
Russell hobbled over and aided his brother across the street. All four of them turned to eye the house while the orange glow seeped into the night. Freya curled herself into Guy’s side.
“How did you escape?”
He grimaced. “The floor gave way then I managed to crawl my way out of a window.” He pressed a hand to his ribcage. “I’m going to regret it all tomorrow.”
“You will not. You are alive.”
“And missing a little hair, I suspect.”
She touched the singed patch. “Never fear, you are still handsome.”
His lips quirked and he glanced past her. “I’m glad to see you’re still alive, Russell.”
His brother lifted a shoulder. “Takes more than a little bullet to stop me.”
“What of Nash?”
“In Grace’s capable hands. He took a graze to the shoulder but nothing terrible.” Russell swept a hand through his hair. “We were outnumbered. I should have put a stop to the plan as soon as I realized but my damned pistol misfired, and it all went to hell.”
“What happened to Louisa?” Guy asked Freya.
“She’s safe,” she assured him. “She escaped before Pembroke even discovered me. He set the fire to try to burn her out and scare me, but she was long gone. Russell and Rosie found her.”
“But the baron...”
She shook her head. “He ran.”
Guy grimaced. “He’s a dangerous man.”
“Not any longer.” Freya allowed herself a little smile.
Taking the Spinster (The Kidnap Club Book 3) Page 19
