He lifted them from huddling behind the tree. “Miss Burghley, where’s your carriage? I am going to make sure you are safely on your way before I take my wife home.
Miss Burghley nodded. “This way.” Her eyes were big as saucers, bigger than Ester’s.
He put his wife’s palm on his arm, but she pulled away. “No. I’ll go with Miss Burghley.”
This was the first time she’d ever done that. Her jaw was tight, her posture stiff. She was furious. “You’re safe. That’s all I wanted, Bex.”
“No, Ester, you’re coming with me. There is much to say.”
He kept both women close until they found Miss Burghley’s carriage. Helping her inside, he sent her away.
Now just his wife remained. He wasn’t letting her go, not until they talked.
When they walked to his phaeton, he set her atop and climbed beside her. “I know you are angry. Let me explain.”
“No, Take me home, Bex.”
“I am, Ester. At Cheapside we’ll discuss everything, even things I’ve never said.”
“No, Bex. Take me to Nineteen Fournier. It’s time to end the charade. We’ve failed.” She folded her arms. “No, you failed because you couldn’t trust me enough to tell the truth of where you went tonight.”
Her words kicked him in the stomach, but he wouldn’t argue with her until they left Hyde Park and were as far from the Serpentine as possible.
Yet, he could not lose hope. Ester had started to clap for him. Surely, she felt the importance of his message, and if he told her why it was his fight, everything of his uncle’s scandal, maybe he could win another chance.
Yet, the sadness in her eyes, the line stealing her soft lips, foretold that her love for him was lost. No. That couldn’t be. He’d fight for her love. He’d make her understand.
Chapter Eighteen
The Fiery Inferno
A weave of ebony and smoky purple seemed to blot out the stars the farther they drove from Hyde Park. Ester was furious, her arms folded, and she wished Bex would take the streets faster. The sooner she was at the door to Nineteen Fournier and begging for forgiveness, the sooner her heart would be safe.
Being with Bex wasn’t safe, not at all.
He sat next to her with his tan frock coat stained with dust, and he smelled of gunpowder. Yet, he had the audacity to look sad, his mouth drawn in a line as if he’d been hurt or deceived.
“Do you know how scared and how angry I am, Bex?”
“I have some idea, Ester.”
Turning away, she clasped her elbows.
“But I’d like to tell you everything. I don’t want to lose you, Ester.”
His voice, deep, maybe steeped with regret, vibrated through her. The ache in her chest became greater with images of that bullet whipping by him. It repeated in her head. “I can’t live like this, not knowing when you’ll lie to me just to put yourself in harm’s way.
Bex slowed the carriage when they came close to the Thames and more stars disappeared, making the brightness of the gaslights more prominent. Something would guide her home, for love wasn’t enough.
“I was wrong to deceive you. I should’ve just told where I was going, but I didn’t want to disappoint you when I said I had to go to the rally. I had to, Ester. Forgive me.”
“No. Take me to Nineteen Fournier. You left me before. I’m leaving you now.”
“There’s nothing I can say that would make a difference? How much I care, how I wish to make amends. You don’t want to hear that?”
She stared at him and his fists clenched about the reins. How could he be angry when he was at fault? “I commend your ruthlessness, Bex, but how long did you think I was going to bathe? It’s well past ten. I think I’d be a prune waiting for you. Do you know what it felt like to go from feeling loved to being tricked? Why did you trick me?”
“I know. I know. I thought I was giving you a perfect moment, a bath fit for a queen. My queen. I know you, Ester. I know how baths make you happy.”
She wanted to cry and throw things at him. “That’s why it hurt so much. You used something I treasure as a ploy, just so you could sneak away.”
“Yes. It was wrong. So wrong. If it hadn’t been for the rally, the rally that I called for the day I met you, I would have stayed with you. And we would have consummated this marriage. For what it’s worth, I approve of the lengths that you will go to keep me home.”
Her breath went away. His jest ripped right through her. “How can you joke about this? Before you surprised me with the bath, just seeing you come back through the door had taken away all my doubts. I wanted to be everything for you, Bex. I thought you had chosen me above your rally. I wanted you so much in that moment.”
He rubbed at his face. “Don’t you know how I burn for you? It killed me to leave, but I had to do what was right. They needed my voice at the rally.”
“I needed you.” She dropped her face into her palm. “But you want me pacing, wondering if you’ll come home. I’ve done that for years, waiting to see if Papa would come home. Now you want to sentence me to the same purgatory, hoping some fool never shoots you at a rally. You, Bex, want me pleading on my knees, praying you aren’t trampled by a mob.”
“Ester, I need you, but the cause needs me, too.”
She wanted to stand up and leap off the gig to be away from his voice of lies. “You didn’t have to go. Mr. Wilberforce was there. He could’ve led the rally. You’re good, but he’s the man who championed the law banning slavery in England.”
Bex reached for her. “I know you are angry, but I have to be a part of this fight for abolition. The cause, this righteous cause, needs new soldiers. We can’t depend upon others. We have to fight.”
“It wasn’t we. It was you.”
He took off his felt hat and fanned his face, which had reddened. “It had to be me, alone. You shouldn’t have been there. You and Miss Burleigh were the only women to attend. It was a men’s rally. You could’ve been shot, or targeted, or worse. That shooter doesn’t want change. He’ll take his anger out on you, because of your sex or because you are Blackamoor.”
“Then maybe you’d feel a tenth of what I did, my heart ripping in my chest at seeing the bullet fly through your paper. A few more inches and you’d be gone. What would I do then?”
“Go home to your parents, like you are doing now. Nineteen Fournier is where you want to live, instead of staying with me.” He lowered his tone. “I know there’s danger. I’ve seen it. But I know what happens if you say nothing. If I don’t try to stop evil.”
“Bex, what are you talking about?”
He tossed his hat to the bottom of the gig and raised his eyes to the sky. “I’ve been afraid to lose you if you knew the horrible truth. But you must know. I can’t keep this from you, not anymore.”
Was the actor being overly dramatic? Or was there a dark secret that kept her love from reaching him? “Tell me.”
His neck craned upward. He picked up the reins and started the phaeton. “No. God. No.”
What? She turned to see what had captured his attention.
Her heart stopped.
A plume of smoke billowed from the top of the building. Papa’s warehouse.
The place the Croomes owned, used to live above, was in flames.
Bex stopped the phaeton in front and jumped from the phaeton. “There are people inside. I hear their screams.”
She heard it, too, and they’d parked behind Papa’s big carriage.
Before she could say anything, Bex had run straight for the warehouse door. He aided other men trying to get it open.
“Bex!” Ester went as close to her husband as she could. “My father’s in there.”
Bex turned to her. His face was grim, nothing lit his eyes, just the reflection of the fire. “It’s jammed. A beam may have fallen. Stand back.”
As if he had superhuman strength, he started to ram the door. With the same shoulder he’d hurt on their trip, he hit the doorframe until it began
to creak. Others joined in.
The door began to yield.
“Stand back, Ester. I’ll get him.”
Paralyzed in fear, she couldn’t move away. Her father was in there. His workers were in there. Her childhood home was consumed in flames.
Bex and the men finally broke through. A cloud of black smoke poured out, and the heat, the heat, singed the air about her.
Powerful arms wrapped around her and carried her to the phaeton. “Stay this time, Ester.”
Before she could cry, plead, or mumble, Bex ran inside as men, coughing, fighting for air, staggered out.
Neighbors started coming with buckets of water. Everyone seemed to want to help, but she just sat there, hoping Papa and Bex would be well.
Minutes passed.
Nothing. Hungry scarlet flames danced on the roof. She jumped down again and went halfway. The opening billowed. Nothing could be seen in the black smoke.
Then Bex came out.
His face and coat were covered in ash, but he dragged Papa with him.
Her father’s grooms, the men he paid, reached them at the same time she did.
Bex laid Papa on the ground. She hugged her father’s neck, but part of his face had been burned. Red scars covered his jet countenance.
Papa said nothing, but he gripped Bex’s hand.
“Sir, I’m going back for that last man.”
“No,” Papa said, struggling to breathe. “He dead…already.”
Bex turned and went back to the opening. “Got to save ’em. Won’t let them kill him.”
“Bex, wait!” she called to him. “It’s too dangerous.”
His face was blank, ghostly. “Not another man can be lost. No more being tossed overboard.”
He charged back in.
She rose to go after him, but her father grabbed her arm. He coughed and coughed but still had a bear’s strength in his palm. “Too dangerous, girl.”
A doctor-looking man had started poking at Papa when Phineas the reporter showed up. “Where’s Bex?”
“Don’t be useless. The man who saved your life tonight keeps going back into the burning building.”
Phineas jumped down from his horse and tossed the reins through the phaeton’s big wheel. “He saved me. I’ll save him.”
The man charged into the structure that was spewing ebony smoke. A window exploded, showering glass like snow.
The flames belched with a new explosion on the roof. The rooms upstairs collapsed, taking her old home. Now the fire would take her husband.
Why hadn’t she told Bex she loved him?
Why was the man so determined to get himself killed? She looked at Papa, the doctor ripping away his fine coat to get to the burns on his arms and chest.
Bex had saved Phineas and Papa, two men who hated him. Two men Bex felt were his brothers.
The scent of ash closed in upon her. Nausea burned her throat. She’d lost Bex, for how would he be lucky enough to make it out a second time?
…
Arthur yanked his cravat off and covered his nose. The thick, heavy smoke made it difficult to breathe. He heard someone calling him his nickname. Telling him to get out of the hull. He couldn’t heed. No one could be lost. Not one.
“Bex, get out of here! Anybody left in here is dead.”
The voice wasn’t Uncle Bexeley. It had to be one of his murderous crew members. “There are men to save. Men are not cargo or ballast. Men! Tell Bexeley he’s wrong. Tell my uncle, he’s wrong.”
“Bexeley? Who is that, Bex?”
Arthur moved from the ghost voice and fought deeper into the flames. He saw a figure on the floor. “See, there’s one you haven’t tossed away. I’ll save him.”
Dropping to his knees, Arthur crawled to where a beam had fallen and pinned the man. Arthur pushed, his fingers circling the crumbling girth of the wood. The sky moaned above, dropping wood around him.
“Bex, you’re going to take the rest of this roof off if you move that beam.” The ghost touched the imprisoned man’s neck. “He’s dead, Bex. It’s too late.”
Choking on the air, Arthur couldn’t quit. “Get up, man. I won’t let them toss you away. Get up.”
The ghost clawed at the man’s sleeve until his dark wrist showed. “See, Bex. There’s no pulse.”
“I just have to get this beam from him. Can’t you see it’s chaining him in place?” Arthur lifted with all his might, but he couldn’t get the beam free.
Someone caught him by the coat. “Bex, the place is about to fall in. That man is already lost.”
They’d killed another one.
Another man had died, and Arthur couldn’t stop it. He couldn’t breathe. He coughed on foul air and drowned in the sense of loss.
Phineas shook Bex hard. He was the ghost following him. “Come out of it, man. You’re in shock.”
“Not on the Zhonda.”
He shook Arthur again. “You’re playing a role, or you’ve hit your head. You’re not on a boat. You’re at the warehouse on the Lower Thames.”
Angered, he punched at Phineas. “It’s a trick. You’ll say anything. But I saw the cargo hull. I saw the men chained in there. I won’t let you kill any more.”
Arthur turned back to the fallen man pinned by debris. He clawed at the beam. Char broke free and flaked in his hands.
“Bex, you have to go.” This new voice sounded loud and strong behind him. Not a ghost. A woman’s cry. It wound its way to his heart and made it beat faster. “But the men?”
“Bex. I love you. I’ll die with you, then. If I can’t convince you to come out, then I won’t go, either. It’s Ester, Bex. Whatever dark place you are, come back to me. You never wanted me hurt. Save me, save you.”
Arthur came to himself. His wife was in danger. “Save you, Ester?” He scooped her up in his arms.
Phineas yanked on his sleeve. “This way, Bex. The whole place is going to fall any minute.”
It was the reporter, the one who’d been a pest, the one whose life he’d saved at the park. He wanted to turn back, but there was nothing but flames, the stench of choking death coming to take Ester. Arthur had to trust his enemy to get his wife to safety. He trudged forward.
Ester’s coughing became worse, but she clung to his neck.
The heat. The smell of sulfur and burning flesh almost overtook him before seeing the light. They made it to the doorway.
He set Ester’s feet down but turned back to the flames.
She put her hands about his waist and held him. “I can’t lose you, Arthur Bex. I can’t lose you. You want to save others. Sometimes, you have to save yourself. Papa won’t let his grooms leave, not until he knows you’ve come out.”
Bex looked at the man stretched out on the sidewalk and Phineas waving him forward.
Coughing, he took a step over the threshold and then another.
“Come on, Bex.”
Heart beating fast. The smoke swirling about his eyes. His fingers slacked away from hers.
The warehouse collapsed, sending fumes to suffocate him. He dropped to his knees looking for the sky. Air couldn’t get to him and smoke filled his lungs.
Arthur fell flat on the sidewalk.
Chapter Nineteen
Saving All My Love
Ester soaked in the deep copper tub. She was home in Nineteen Fournier, at her parent’s house, in the bathing chamber upstairs. The acanthus carving in the upper molding had been finished, as if to say, Welcome home, conquering hero.
But Ester was no hero.
She was a lucky fool who’d almost lost the two most important men in her life, two men she’d held in bondage, not forgiving them for things that didn’t matter.
She pushed at the water; the lilac soap wafted about her, relaxing her taut muscles, but her fears wouldn’t quit. Papa grew worse, his speech had become more difficult by the time they’d put him in his carriage, and her husband hadn’t yet awakened.
They’d cut away Bex’s shirt, cleaned a wound to his shoul
der, and he’d just lain there, motionless.
She had sat with him as long as she could in the guest bedchamber before Mama and the doctor kicked her out, fearing she’d faint from fretting. Bex wasn’t a pale man. His skin was swarthy and tanned from the sun, but now he was so gray. He must’ve breathed in so much smoke, too much smoke.
Ester lay her head back and let the warmth of the metal work on the knots in her shoulders. Mrs. Fitterwall had made the water extra hot. That was good. The steam could hide the path of her tears.
The door to the room opened. Ester ducked for a moment before remembering she was home at Nineteen Fournier, not in some shared public place.
Mama came inside. Her perfect mobcap topped her perfect curls and a sweeping pale pink robe. But Mama’s lips held an imperfect half smile, and her eyes were red like rubies.
The muscles in Ester’s stomach tightened. “Is Papa better?”
Mama shook her head. “The doctors are still with him. Seems your husband lifted a beam off him before carrying your father to safety. The beam did damage to Josiah’s hip.” Mama’s voice sounded wet with tears. “He may never walk again.”
Ester dropped her gaze to the sudsy water, for if she kept glancing at her mother she’d cry. Holding her knees, she tried to breathe evenly. “Thank you for letting me and Bex stay the night. I couldn’t handle things alone at his flat in Cheapside. I wouldn’t know what to do.”
“My, my, Cheapside.” Mama sat near and began unpinning Ester’s hair. “There’s soot in your hair. I’m sure you could handle anything. You’re strong.”
“No, I’m not. I’m a horrible failure. My marriage is a horrible failure.”
Stoic Mama snapped a tendril, and it hurt. “What? That man, Bex, may have saved your father and some of his workers, but if he’s been mean to you, I’ll fix him good while he sleeps. I’ll show you—”
“No, Bex is very sweet to me, but he takes unnecessary risks, and he refuses to tell me things he knows will upset me.”
Mama unwound the chignon but left the braid intact. “You married a man, Ester. Not a little boy to shape his mind, or a puppy to tell him what to do. That willingness to take risks saved your father.”
The Bashful Bride (Advertisements for Love Book 2) Page 22
