by Adele Clee
She shrieked. But Mosgrove was a man obsessed, oblivious to the flames creeping over every inch of the bed.
“Stop fighting.” He firmed his grip making it more difficult for her to breathe. “Oh, I can see there’ll need to be strict rules once we’re wed.”
“Are you blind?” The words sounded croaky. “Put me down and get some water before the whole house goes up.”
“You’re not getting away from me again.”
Like a naughty child, the flames ran up the wall behind the headboard, seeking every opportunity to cause mischief. Black smoke filled the room, stinging her eyes, clawing at the back of her throat.
“We need water!” Nicole coughed. She could feel her resolve weakening. Surely this wasn’t how her life was supposed to end.
Mosgrove coughed too and was forced to relinquish his grip. He backed away to the window, but just stood there staring as the angry child stuck out its fiery tongue in defiance, licking everything in its path.
“Lord Mosgrove!”
The words fell on deaf ears.
Nicole tugged his arm. “Help me fetch water, damn it.”
She raced from the room and down the stairs. Mosgrove followed in a daze. It was as if his mind had abandoned his body leaving nothing but an empty shell.
“Hurry!”
They fumbled about with the water pump, returned to the room minutes later carrying a bucket each. But they were too late. The flames had ventured out into the hall, swallowing the paintings on the wall, spreading out across the ceiling.
The sight dragged Mosgrove from his daydream. “For all the saints. We’ve no hope of putting it out.”
They threw the contents of their buckets at the wall, but the faint sizzle sounded more like a sneer of contempt.
Mosgrove threw his bucket on the floor, coughed once or twice into his coat sleeve and then hurried to the window.
“Don’t!” Nicole cried, but Lord Mosgrove pushed up the sash and tried to swish the billowing smoke outside. “The fire will only spread more quickly.”
They had no hope of saving the manor now. And so their priority was saving themselves.
“We must leave.” Nicole hurried back to the stairs and had descended a few steps when she felt Mosgrove’s hand at her back, tugging, and pushing.
The flames roared above them. Flakes of charred wallpaper, the edges glowing amber, rained down on their heads.
Nicole covered her mouth with her arm. Every breath of toxic air burnt her lungs.
“For God’s sake, hurry.” Mosgrove barged past her as he raced down the stairs.
She hit the wall, tripped and stumbled.
Time slowed.
And then she was falling, hitting every other stair with a thud. She smacked her head on the tiled floor as she landed, saw Mosgrove’s hazy figure rushing into the dining room and then everything went black.
Oliver gave his horse a reassuring pat as he slowed to a trot. He’d ridden as though the devil were chasing his heels. Sweat radiated from the animal’s coat. Cyrus had proved almost as quick as a carriage, but the black stallion was tired and needed a drink and somewhere to rest.
Morton Manor was half a mile ahead.
Fear threatened to choke him at the thought of what he might find there, but he shook it away. Jeremy Asprey was a weak, insipid man. Mrs Asprey was the sort who sat in a carriage all day long with the sole intention of snooping.
But what could they do?
Even if they had followed Nicole to the manor, Jackson would not permit them entrance. You could hit the coachman with a metal bar and he’d barely flinch.
With his mind appeased, Oliver looked out into the distance. The moon shone full and bright in a cloudless sky. The air was warm. As the trees lining the road to his left gave way to fields, he noticed the plume of thick grey smoke, spiralling up towards the heavens.
The smell of wood smoke invaded his nostrils. With a narrow gaze, he stared into the darkness, saw a flash of orange light amid the ghostly silhouette of Morton Manor.
Bloody hell!
He gripped the reins, dug his heels in and hoped that Cyrus had the energy for one last gallop.
A few minutes later he charged into the courtyard and jumped down from his horse before the poor creature had time to stop. The sight that met him robbed him of breath.
The top floor of the manor was ablaze.
“Nicole!” Oliver cried out, swinging around and around in the hope she’d come running out of the shadows.
A sudden crack filled the air as the glass in one window shattered under the intense heat.
“Nicole! Jackson!” He shouted their names countless times.
Good God!
Oliver scanned the facade, searching for a sign, some indication that he should attempt to enter the burning building. Then he noted the figure climbing out of a downstairs window. Relief flooded his chest. Despite the trembling muscles in his legs, he raced over to find Lord Mosgrove with his hand to his mouth as he gasped for air.
“Mosgrove? What the hell are you doing here? Where’s Nicole?”
Mosgrove coughed and spluttered, rubbed his bloodshot eyes and crumpled to the floor like a marionette with broken strings.
Oliver grabbed him by the lapels of his coat and dragged him to his feet. “Where is Miss Asprey?” He shook the dazed lord again and again. “Tell me. Where is she?”
Mosgrove raised a limp hand and pointed to the house. “She … she was behind me.”
“You left her in there?” He released the pathetic excuse for a man and climbed through the open window.
Smoke wafted down the stairs to add to the increasing blanket that made it impossible to see. The roar of flames above filled his ears as the fire devoured everything it touched. The intense heat stung his skin.
“Nicole!”
Please, God, let her hear me. Let her be safe.
The sharp pain in his chest felt like a knife to his heart, ripping and tearing the tender organ to shreds.
Putting a hand to his mouth, he crept out into the hall. He kept his head bowed and almost tripped over her lifeless body lying sprawled on the floor.
“Save me,” she’d said at their first meeting, when she clutched his arm at the spot where she now lay motionless, dying.
Strange creaks and groans emanated from upstairs as if the house were crying out in pain, too.
Oliver bent down and scooped Nicole into his arms. He held his breath for fear of sucking in the choking air and hurried to the window. Mosgrove was sitting on the floor on the opposite side of the courtyard, staring up with a blank expression.
Holding Nicole tight to his chest, Oliver climbed through the window. Once his feet were firmly on the ground he ran, eager to put some distance between them and the glowing timbers that would soon come crashing down.
“Nicole,” he said placing her gently on the ground and smoothing her hair from her face. “Can you hear me?” With some trepidation, he felt her pulse. “You’re alive,” he said as a torrent of emotion erupted in his chest.
It might have been his imagination, but her lids fluttered. “Oliver.”
“I’m here, Nicole.”
Beneath hooded lids, she looked briefly at the manor before turning to him. “I’m not … not sorry to see it burn.” She coughed again and again, struggled to catch her breath.
“Don’t speak. You need to rest. We’ll go to the inn.”
“My … my head hurts.” She closed her eyes.
Panic flared as he ran his fingers gently through her hair and touched the hard lump above her temple.
“Then stay awake, love. Just for a while.”
Don’t leave me.
“My lord … my lord,” Jackson’s breathless voice reached his ears. He came running up to them. “Forgive me, my lord.” He glanced at Mosgrove. “That fool left his carriage in front of the barn door. His coachman only let me out when he saw the flames.”
Oliver wasn’t surprised. But he didn’t want to
think of what had happened in his absence. “Mosgrove is a conniving bastard. A good beating might bring the man to his senses.”
“I’m happy to oblige.” Jackson gazed up at the manor. The timber beams supporting the roof collapsed into the upper floor.
“Thank you, but it is something I intend to see to myself.”
Nicole coughed, though did not open her eyes.
“Fetch the carriage. There is nothing we can do here. Miss Asprey needs a doctor.” And he needed a stiff drink to calm his racing heart.
Jackson nodded and hurried off into the night while Oliver held Nicole in his arms, praying she’d recover. The thought of losing her was too painful to contemplate. Bollocks to passion and lust, and to all the other pathetic things he’d rambled on about to convince himself true love did not exist.
Given a chance, he’d gladly swap places with her. He’d take whatever punishment the Lord saw fit just for the opportunity to see her smile again.
Was that love?
He was damn sure it was.
The sound of a horse’s hooves pounding the drive caught Oliver’s attention. A gentleman appeared at the entrance to the courtyard. His horse stopped and pawed the ground at the sight of the roaring flames.
The gentleman settled the horse, dismounted and rushed towards them. “I saw the flames and came immediately.” A weary sigh left his lips as he noted the extent of the devastation. “But I can see I’m too late.” He bent down at their side. “She’s alive I take it?”
Oliver nodded. “Yes, but she’s inhaled smoke, fallen somehow and hurt her head.”
“May I?” The gentleman captured Nicole’s hand and checked her pulse. “There’s a doctor in Abberton a few miles up the road. I’ll ride there at once.”
Another wave of relief rippled through him. “We’ll wait at The Talbot Inn. I don’t care what it takes, have him come at once.”
“Will you be all right at the Talbot? I have a large house and would offer you a place to stay. But I have young children who would be … be easily distressed at the sight of …” He struggled to finish the sentence.
“Thank you for the thought,” Oliver said, but he wanted to remain at Nicole’s side until she was fit and well again. A gentleman of such good breeding would not allow him to share a room with an unmarried woman. “The inn is clean and comfortable, and Mrs Parsons is a capable woman who’ll know what to do.”
The gentleman nodded. “Then I shall return with the doctor and meet you there.” He ran to his horse, mounted the beast with ease and galloped away down the drive.
Jackson appeared with the carriage. “I’ll climb down and help you lift Miss Asprey inside.”
“It’s fine, Jackson. I can manage.” Oliver lifted Nicole into his arms. Jackson jumped down anyway and opened the door. “Life is a fragile thing, is it not?” Oliver whispered almost to himself as he stared at the dirty smudges covering Nicole’s porcelain skin.
Good God, he couldn’t lose her. Not now.
“She’ll be right as rain in no time, my lord,” Jackson replied. “Mark my words. Miss Asprey is stronger than most.”
“That she is, Jackson.” Oliver sat on the floor between the seats and stared at Nicole lying stretched out at his side. “She’s a true original, that’s for sure.”
Jackson shut the door.
“Stay with me,” Oliver whispered as he stroked Nicole’s forehead.
Her eyelids fluttered, and she lifted a limp hand to his cheek. “Oliver.”
“Yes, my love.” Hope sprung to life in his chest.
“Th-thank you.” She closed her eyes. “You … you saved me.”
A hard lump formed in his throat and he captured her hand and kissed her palm. “No, my love. It is you who have saved me.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
They’d spent three days at The Talbot Inn. Nicole kept to her bed while Oliver sat on a chair by her side, clutching her hand, willing her to live. With each passing day she seemed more alert, spent less time sleeping. Though the whites of her eyes were no longer red, her voice was hoarse, and the persistent cough would take a week or more to clear.
Dr Taylor explained that the tiredness and confusion stemmed from inhaling smoke rather than from the bump on the head. Consequently, all the windows in the bedchamber were open. The more air circulating the room, the better.
Oliver had no idea what had happened to Lord Mosgrove. Both Jackson and Peters scoured the area, but there was no sign of the lord’s coachman or his carriage.
“If you feel well enough, perhaps we could venture downstairs,” Oliver said. Relief flooded his chest whenever she opened her eyes and smiled. “Mr Parsons has kept a private room free should you have the strength to move.”
Nicole touched his hand. “I would like that. You … you know how I hate being cooped up indoors.”
He offered a coy grin. “Though you did not object to being cooped up in a carriage.”
“That all depends on who I’m with.” She removed her hand and covered her mouth to cough. “And what we’re doing.”
Oliver stood, bent down and kissed her once on the mouth. “I’ll tell Parsons to get the room ready for dinner.”
He rushed downstairs, barked orders at Mr Parsons who took it all with good grace. There were a few reasons why he wanted the moment to be perfect. They were yet to discuss the damage to Morton Manor. There was news of Miss Murray and Mr Burrows. And the burning love in his chest was desperate to find a voice.
Mr Parsons deserved a knighthood, Oliver thought as he escorted Nicole into the private room an hour later. The windows were all open. The innkeeper had not lit the fire, knowing the fumes would be too much for Nicole’s chest, but instead had draped thick blankets over the back of the chairs.
A vase of pink roses stood on the side table. The lit candles in the wall sconces cast a warm glow and gave a feeling of intimacy.
“It’s so good to be out of bed.” Nicole sat in the chair while Oliver took a blanket and placed it around her shoulders.
“Are you warm enough?”
She smiled. “Yes, I’m fine.”
He settled into the chair next to her and resisted the urge to serve dinner, to treat her as a helpless child. “I told Parsons not to bother us for at least an hour.”
She understood his meaning and helped herself to meat and vegetables from the platter in the middle of the table.
“Have you been up to the house since the fire?” she asked.
Oliver put down his cutlery. “I’m afraid to say that there’s nothing left of the manor but a stone shell. The best thing to do would be to demolish the ruins and start again.”
She pursed her lips and stared at her plate. “I suppose I should be upset, but I’m not. After spending an hour alone in the house, I knew I couldn’t live there.”
“The manor is an eerie place,” he agreed. “You could sell the building as it stands along with the land.”
A sigh left her lips, but then she brought the napkin to her mouth and coughed. “Excuse me. Oh, I’ll be glad when I can talk without this awful tickling in my throat.”
He had a nervous tickle in his throat. “You’ll think this odd, but I went to the local church and prayed for your swift recovery.” He’d had another reason for visiting the church.
“It’s not odd at all. I find it rather endearing.”
“Well, I have a lot to be thankful for and so thought it best to show my gratitude.” Oliver took a sip of his wine, though his eyes never left her. “Most of all, I’m grateful I followed my instincts and came to Morton Manor to check you were all right.”
“I’m grateful, too.” She dabbed her napkin to her lips. “Lord knows what would have happened had you ignored the impulse to ride out here.”
Oliver closed his eyes briefly to banish the stabbing pain in his chest. Once the horrific images faded, he cleared his throat. “Though I never thought it possible to utter these words, I’m grateful to my father. Had he not sent you to the m
anor, we would never have met. I would still be an arrogant arse instead of a man deeply in love.”
Nicole’s wide eyes settled on him. “Did … did you just say—”
“I’m in love with you, Nicole.” A smile formed on his lips. “Surely you knew.”
She stared at him and shook her head. “But you don’t believe in love. Love is like opium. Love is a crutch.”
“Yes, yes. I know.” Oliver sighed. God, he was embarrassed to hear the things he’d said. “And you do not believe in the power of passion, yet your delightful pants and moans suggest otherwise.”
Her cheeks flushed red. “Oliver, those were the triumphant sounds of a woman in love.” She offered a mischievous grin. “Although I must admit, lust played a part, too.”
For the last three days, he’d sat at her bedside hoping that she felt the same way. “Then perhaps we should agree that love and passion go hand in hand.” He reached over the table and grasped her fingers.
“How can I not agree with you when I love you with all my heart? And yet, I can think of nothing but stripping every item of clothing from your body and ravaging you senseless.”
His cock throbbed at the prospect, and his heart swelled. Now he could see how the two worked together to make for a more satisfying experience.
“Do you think you might be well enough tomorrow evening, to curl up with me in bed and stroke me to sleep?” He steeled himself. “We must find some way to celebrate our first night as a married couple.”
“A married couple?” Nicole coughed. “Is that a proposal?”
“It is.”
“You seem certain of my answer.”
“We’re in love, Nicole. I’m afraid there is nothing else for it but to spend the rest of our days making each other happy.” Keeping a firm grip on her hand, he stood and knelt by her side. “Say you’ll marry me. Say you’ll come with me to St. Alkmund’s in the morning. While you’ve been resting, I made a quick visit to London and procured a special licence.”
Her brilliant smile illuminated the room, but then it faded. “Oliver, I’ve three months before I can marry without Jeremy’s consent.”
