Samuel did as his father asked. “What is it, Father?” he said, concern written on his face. Perhaps Michael had not hidden his irritation as well as he thought.
“I wish to ask you something, and it is imperative you are honest with me. Do you understand?”
Samuel nodded. “Of course,” he replied, as if he would never consider lying to his father.
“You know I am the Duke of Hayfield?” he began, and the boy nodded. “Do you have cause to believe that someone else would like to be Duke of Hayfield?”
“Oh, yes,” Samuel said with surety. “Uncle Robert does. I ease dropped…I mean eavesdropped him telling Aunt Catherine when I was at their house.”
Michael studied his son’s face. Was the boy lying? Perhaps he had misunderstood a comment Robert had made in a jealous rage. He ruffled the boy’s hair. “Thank you, son. Now, I want you to go play for a while longer while I attend to some important matters. I will come for you soon.”
“All right, Father,” Samuel replied as he stood. Then with a wide smile, he took off running, grabbing the abandoned stick as he ran past it.
Michael walked to the house. Could it be true that Robert and Catherine, along with Dalton had been contrived a scheme to convince him he was losing his mind? The idea seemed ludicrous, but the more he thought on it, the more events fell into place.
“Have Dalton come to my study,” Michael said as he passed Jenkins in the foyer.
The butler bowed. “Yes, Your Grace.”
Michael did not wait to see if the man did his bidding but hurried to his study. He went straight to his desk, took out a slip of paper, and wrote a single word on it. Then he folded it and placed it in a drawer.
Dalton came in moments later, giving Michael a diffident bow. “You called for me, Your Grace?”
“I would like you have my blue coat ready for me for by seven. I will be going out for the evening.”
“Yes, Your Grace,” the man replied and then hurried away.
Michael pulled the paper from the drawer, read what he had written, and then returned the paper to the drawer, locking it with the key. Soon he would finally learn if he was truly going mad.
***
With a cup of tea in her hand, Jane stood outside of the tiny cottage looking up at the stars. Night had descended upon the world an hour earlier, and all lay quiet. Her mind turned to Michael and the many nights they had stood beneath such a sky, standing hand in hand as they gazed up at those tiny lights. Simply being in each other’s presence was fulfilling, and she dearly missed the closeness they had shared. For at least the hundredth time, she hoped he had read her letter and then perhaps had set out to come and call on her. However, as each minute ticked by, she began to doubt he would make such a trek.
After all, he saw her as a thief, and to think a man of his station would come to her after what he believed she had done made her feel a bit childish. She imagined him walking up the short path that led to the cottage, a smile on his face as he pulled her into his arms. Then he would listen to her tell of what she had overheard in the hallway that night—that Lord Blackstone was out to hurt him and that she only wished that he and Samuel were safe.
She sniffed at the absurdity of her thoughts. Why would a Duke listen to a governess? No, a former governess. A servant. There was her answer. He would not, and that was that.
With a sigh, she went back into the house and placed her empty teacup on the counter. If only he would consider her words, he would see the truth in them. Yet, if someone came to her and accused Anne of such heinous acts, would she believe him? In all honesty, she doubted she would.
She removed the blue dress, hung it on a peg, and went to the bedroom. Sliding beneath the covers in only her shift, she laughed thinking of how she had tended Michael when he was ill and how he had carried her to her room, she so tired that she could only nuzzle up against his chest. It seemed like years ago as she recalled the feeling of safety while in his arms.
Sighing, she snuffed out the candle and lay back. Yet, however much she tried to redirect her thoughts, imagines of Michael returned. She still loved him and always would, but she prayed he loved her enough to listen to sense. Her eyelids became heavy, and soon dreams of him riding up to the cottage played in her head. He would pull her into his arms and kiss her as deeply as he had before when he realized that all she had said was true.
The snort of a horse roused her from her dreams, and when someone knocked on the door, she leapt from the bed and hurried to answer, joy raining down on her. He had come!
She unlatched the door and opened it wide, but it was not Michael that stood there, but rather Lord Blackstone.
“No one threatens me!” he seethed as he reached out and grabbed her throat.
Jane tried to cry out, but his hand squeezed tighter, cutting off any sounds she tried to make. She brought her hands up and clawed at him, but his grip was so tight that she could not break free. Pinpricks of light danced behind her eyelids, and she was reminded of the stars she and Michael had enjoyed. Her legs grew week, and fear grew inside her.
“You will meet the same fate as Elizabeth,” he spat as her eyes struggled to keep focused. “Killing a servant will be much easier than killing a Duchess.”
***
Jane opened her eyes to find her hands bound behind her and a rag stuffed in her mouth, tied off with a piece of cloth. Her mind raced as she recalled Lord Blackstone grabbing her by the throat. Yet, why had he not killed her? Fear coursed through her when she turned her head and saw the man who had accosted her squatting down beside the fire that burned in the hearth. In his hands he held a long stick, which he used to stoke the flames.
“I see you have awakened,” he said with a villainous smile. He walked over to where she lay on top of the table. When she cringed, he let out a deep laugh. “You should have kept away from my brother like I asked you. But no, you had to try to save him.”
She tried to scream, but it only came out as a muffled sound, the rag blocking her voice. Lord Blackstone only laughed that much harder as he returned to the fireplace and pulled out the now burning branch from the fire. Walking over to the curtains, he touched the flames to the fabric, and they were ablaze in seconds.
“Once the roof ignites,” he continued as he walked to another window, placing the burning branch to that curtain, as well, “you will only have moments to live. If you are lucky, you will die long before then. But if I am lucky, I will hear your screams from miles away.” He leaned in and kissed her cheek. “Goodbye, servant.” Then he walked out the front door leaving Jane to her fate.
Jane panicked and swung her bound legs over the edge of the table. She hopped a few paces before losing her balance and landing on the floor, what little breath in her chest forced out. The flames had engulfed the curtains and now ate their way along the walls, leaving a haze of smoke in their wake, making it difficult to see. Tears rolled down Jane’s face and she attempted to cough and remove the smoke that filled her lungs she had breathed in through her nose, but the rag made it impossible to expel the poisonous fumes.
How she wished that Michael was there so she could tell him how much she loved him, but he had not come. All she could do was hope that her letter had conveyed her thoughts completely and that he and Samuel would be safe.
As the minutes ticked by, the flames and smoke increased, creeping closer to where she lay. Her vision became blurred as breathing became almost impossible, and the last thought before she passed out was how much she loved Michael, and that she hoped he would not blame himself for her death.
Chapter Twenty-five
Michael stared at the clock on the mantel and watched as the hands shifted with the passage of time. In only a few minutes, it would strike seven, and he would learn the truth, or at least a part of the truth. By all accounts, he appeared relaxed on the outside, but inside he was a pot of boiling water. The more he considered the events that led up to the party, the more he began to doubt his brother’s intentions.
Could Robert have truly been conspiring against him? He trembled at the thought. Yet, after reading her letter, he found that what she said made sense. Furthermore, he could no longer doubt her after what Samuel had revealed. For a moment he thought he would rather be going mad than to believe that his brother would cause him harm.
Regret filled him as he thought of that night and he having her thrown out of the house. How angry he had been when he should have been listening to what she had to say. However, he could not dwell on what had already transpired; no one could change the past.
The clock struck seven as the last rays of sunlight disappeared over the horizon. No candles had been lit, and the dusk that filled the room would benefit his purposes perfectly.
“Your Grace,” Dalton said in the doorway.
“Come in,” Michael said as he stood, though he remained behind the desk.
“Your coat,” Dalton said as he raised a dark garment toward Michael. The color of the coat the man held in his hand was obscured by the semidarkness, which was exactly as he had hoped.
“Light the candles,” Michael commanded.
Dalton gave him a confused look but laid the coat over his arm and proceeded to do his master’s bidding. When he was done, he once again held out the coat, the black of the material unmistakable in the brighter light of the glowing candles.
“Did I not ask for the blue?” Michael asked with an attempt to keep his tone as even as he could.
“Forgive me, Your Grace,” Dalton said as he gave Michael a bow, “but you had requested the black. However, if you would like…”
“No. I will use the black. You may go.”
Dalton bowed low, draped the coat over the back of a chair, and then left the room.
Once the man was gone, Michael dropped into his chair and stared at the fire as he collected his thoughts. He removed the key from his pocket, opened the drawer, and took out the scrap of paper. With trembling hands, he unfolded the paper and took a quick intake of breath.
“Blue.”
Jane had told the truth about Dalton. This meant that whatever else she had said was more than likely truth, as well. What he needed to do next was to find her and talk with her.
Hurrying over to the door, he called for Jenkins, who came rushing from the dining room, a silver fork still in his hand.
“Your Grace?” the man asked, concern etched on his face.
Michael stopped. What part had this man had in his brother’s scheme? he wondered. Yet, Jenkins had been with him for years, not once offering a single complaint. Nor had he ever insinuated that Michael was struggling with his memory.
“I will be leaving very soon,” Michael said. He had to trust someone. “Send a rider to my brother’s house to tell him he is needed here immediately.” Then he lowered his voice so that only Jenkins could hear. “If Dalton tries to leave this house while I am gone, I know you will do everything you can to see that he does not. Am I correct in saying so?”
“With my life, I will stop him.”
Michael clasped the man on the shoulder. “Very good. I am off.” He opened the door and hurried out into the night. His brother would regret ever making him doubt not only himself, but the woman he loved, as well.
***
A bright glow lit up the sky toward the east as Michael made his way down the road toward the house belonging to Jane’s cousin. There he would find Jane and apologize to her for not believing what she had tried to tell him. She had done nothing but care about him since she first arrived at Wellesley manor, and he had let her down by not heeding her warnings. Well, he would rectify that problem this very night.
As he came around a curve in the road, the strange glow intensified, and he realized that what he was seeing was the glow of a large fire. He pressed his heels to the flanks of his horse and urged it to a run. When he got to the path that led to the cottage, his eyes widened in fear when he saw the flames that danced on the roof.
He was off his saddle before the horse came to a full stop and racing down the path, hurtling over the gate as if it were barely there. Flames shot out from one of the windows, but the structure was still sound. If Jane was in there, the chances of her still being alive were thin, but he could still have a chance to save her. He would not lose her like he had lost Elizabeth.
“Jane!” he yelled. He listened for any response, but none came, and his heart sank. “Jane!”
He had to see if she was inside. Making his way up to one a window that was still intact and looked inside. The room, a bedroom by the looks of it, was filled with smoke, but the door was open into the main room. He searched as much as he could for any sign of Jane or her family, but he could find none. Then his eyes fell on two feet, soles up as if the person to whom they belonged lay on the floor on his or her stomach. That meant that at least one person was in the house.
Using his elbow, he broke the window pane and then cleared away as much of the glass as he could. Then he crawled into the room, the remnants of the glass tearing at his coat. Crawling on his hands and knees where the smoke was thinner, he made his way to the main room. There, the smoke was thicker and heat singed his hair, but lying on the floor just inside the room was Jane.
He loosened his cravat, pulled it over his mouth, and crawled to Jane’s side. She had a piece of cloth tied around her mouth and her feet and hands were bound. How could anyone have done this to her? He felt her back and was relieved to feel the faint movement of her breath. Then he heard a familiar creak above him, and his mind momentarily returned to that night six years earlier. Panic overtook him and he thought he would collapse, but as he looked into the face of the woman he loved, he knew he could not die, for if he did, so would she.
“You will not win this time!” he shouted to the fire that surrounded him. Smoke entered his mouth and he coughed as he pulled the cravat back into place. He pulled Jane into his arms, and the heat intensified as he pulled her close to protect her against it. As he turned to make his way back to the bedroom, the roof came tumbling down, blocking their escape. However, he refused to give in to the inferno this time, the fire that wished to finish the task it had failed to complete the first time. Instead, he looked around until he found a path that led to a door. He only hoped the door led outside.
Lowering his head, he pulled himself and Jane along the floor, the flames flickering toward him as if to torture him. Yet, he continued. Once again, the roof creaked, and he glanced above him. If he did not get out soon, they would both be dead. Bowing his head, he continued his trek, and his head hit the door before he realized he was there. With one last burst of energy, he pulled the door open and pushed Jane outside.
He crawled into the night air, pulling Jane across the grass just as the remainder of the roof fell in. Then he collapsed on the ground, pulling in gasps of fresh air and coughing out smoke. He sat up and turned Jane over, fear coursing through him that he had been too late, or that he had not moved quickly enough. Her skin had spots of black but he could see no other damage. Yet, she lay motionless before him.
“Jane, my love,” he whispered. “I am so sorry for having doubted you.” Tears filled his eyes as regret tore through him. If the woman died, it would once again be his fault, and then he would go mad. “I love you.”
The only sound was the crackling of the fire behind him as he leaned over and kissed her. When he moved away, he saw clean lines where his tears had fallen on her soot-covered cheeks.
Then she coughed, and joy rushed through Michael as he brushed her hair from her face. After several harsher coughs, her eyes fluttered open and she stared up at him. A light shone from her eyes, and he vowed it would remain there forever.
“Michael,” she said in a croaking voice, “you saved me from the fire. I…knew you would come.” She closed her eyes and leaned against his chest.
“Yes, my love, I did,” he replied. Then he picked her up and carried him to his horse. He glanced down at the woman in his arms and then looked back up at the flames that were d
windling. Like the remains of that cottage, the Duke of Fire, and his guilt, were now nothing but a pile of ash.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Michael sat on the edge of the bed where Jane lay sleeping. The only sounds coming from her were a few hacking coughs and a wheezing from deep in her lungs. As soon as he had ridden up the drive to Wellesley Manor, Mrs. Fredericks, the housekeeper, had immediately taken charge, sending off one maid for warm water and another to find as many clean cloths as she could find. He had insisted in washing the soot from her face and arms, much to Mrs. Fredericks’ shock and horror, which the woman quickly quashed in equal horror that she had reacted so to a Duke.
However, once the water and cloths arrived, Mrs. Fredericks sent Michael from the room so she could see to Jane being washed. Apparently there was a limit to what she considered allowably proper.
“It is one thing to have a Duke seeing to a woman in his household, and quite another to have that same Duke taking the liberty of seeing said woman in a manner that all too inappropriate in polite society.” Her tone held admonishment as she spoke, even as her eyes held sympathy. It was not as if Michael had hidden his feelings for Jane from those around him, and clearly the housekeeper either approved of their association or simply sympathized with his suffering because he was Master of the house. Whatever her reason, he welcomed it wholeheartedly. At the moment, he would take any support from wherever it came, though he would never admit such weakness aloud.
The entirety of his wait had been spent in pacing the hall in front of Jane’s door, his mind churning over the events of the night. How had she come to be tied up? This fact pointed to an assailant of some sort, someone who wished her dead. But who would want such a thing of a woman such as Jane? Did she have any enemies who would go to such lengths?
At times, his thoughts ran wild. Was it coincidence that Jane’s cousins had not been at the cottage while their home burned? Then, when he had laughed at the absurdity of those thoughts, he realized that there was a good chance that the couple had no idea that their home had burned to the ground. Had they returned to find everything they owned beneath the dying embers of their home? Or were they on a long journey without one thought of what wait for their return? Would they wonder what happened to Jane?
The Duke of Fire: Regency Hearts Book 1 Page 20
