by Gill, Tamara
Tate nodded, steeling himself for what was un-doubtably a set-down to come.
“Your mother sent Ava a note telling her why she would not be invited tonight and Ava is in no doubt as to what your mother thinks of her. Just now, in fact, she was refused entry, in front of all these people you claim to be your friends. What say you, Your Grace? What will your course be?”
“Where is Ava now?” Lord Duncannon demanded.
“She’s returned home in the carriage.” Miss. Evans kept her attention on Tate even though she had answered his friend’s question.
The public slight to Ava was unacceptable. Tate would not allow his mother anywhere near him or the ducal property again after this atrocious behavior. He shouldn’t even be here for that matter. And he should’ve acted earlier on his emotions that drove him regarding Ava. He should have returned to her home, on bended knees, begging forgiveness, asking her to love him as much as he loved her. Tell her that he’d never wished to box her in, demand of her more than she was willing to give. Tell her that he loved her more than any title.
“Fuck,” he cursed, not heeding those about him.
He started toward the ballroom door, leaving Duncannon and Miss. Evans to follow close on his heels.
Duncannon caught up to him. “Where are you going?”
“To get my duchess,” he said aloud, not caring who heard him. Gasps sounded about him, and he schooled his temper as his mother stepped in front of him, stalling his escape.
“Move out of the way, mother.”
The room stilled, dancers halted and conversation stopped. Even the orchestra ceased to play. “There is about to be a waltz, Tate dear. Would you dance with Lady Clapham?” His mother gestured toward her ladyship who curtsied and smiled knowingly at him, her eyes twinkling with mirth.
“Your Grace, I would be honored,” Lady Clapham said, ignoring the fact he was leaving.
“I will not,” he said, causing more gasps and barely audible whispers.
His mother laughed a nervous edge to it. Good, he hoped she was uneasy. He’d certainly given up all hope of his last remaining parent supporting the woman he loved and wanted to marry. His mother would pay for being blinded by her hate and exclusivity.
“The ball has only just begun and as Lady Clapham is my guest of honor, you must dance with her. It’s only right.”
“You disinvited and refused entry to Miss. Knight. Are you so full of hate that you cannot remember that you too were common born, rich yes, but the same as Ava. The duchess’ coronet is all that separates you from her. You should not have airs when none are justified.”
His mother narrowed her eyes, raising her chin. “She is not for you, Son. Do not make the mistake that would bring our family scandal and to its knees. She’s a lowly horse farmer. Please, be sensible.”
“Ava is more than that and you damn well know it.” He stepped past her, Duncannon and Miss. Evans following close behind. Striding through the front hall, he didn’t wait for a footman and opened the door himself, calling for a carriage.
“Are you going to Miss. Knight’s estate?” Duncannon asked as a carriage came about the house.
Tate stilled as an acrid stench wafted across his senses. “Can you smell that?” He walked further onto the drive, looking out over the land now kissed by night.
“There is a fire somewhere.” Miss. Evans came up beside him as the carriage pulled up before the front doors. “It’s nearby, or we wouldn’t smell it.”
“Come,” he said to both of them, heading toward the carriage and giving directions to Miss. Knight’s home.
The closer they came to Ava’s estate, the heavier the smell of burning wood permeated the air and as they came over the small rise where Ava’s home came into view, the horrifying sight of her stables along with her home in full flame was revealed.
Through the haze of smoke, he could hear yelling and the sounds of horses’ hooves as they were released from the stables. Some frightened horses bolted past them and Tate yelled out to the driver to go.
“I should never have let her leave the ball. I should have made her come with me.”
“This is not your fault, Miss. Evans,” Duncannon said, his voice surprisingly soothing in a situation that was anything but calm.
Tate’s throat closed in panic and he fought to breathe. Where is she? Madness was all about them and until he saw her with his own eyes, held her close, he would not rest.
The closer they came to the fire the thicker the smoke, and by the time they pulled up a little distance away from the main house, Tate could see one whole side of the home was alight.
Servants ran in and out of the house, grabbing as much of Ava’s ancestral belongings as they could. Tate bolted from the carriage. He scanned each and every one of them and not seeing Ava he looked up at the house, praying she wasn’t inside.
He threw off his evening jacket and clasped the butler by his arm as he was about to dash back inside. “Where is Ava?” he shouted over the noise of the fire and those yelling orders about them.
“We cannot find her, Your Grace. She returned from the duchess’ ball an hour ago, at the time that the fire commenced. She went to her room, but when we checked there we could not find her.”
Tate searched the faces running about praying one of them was Ava. Miss. Evans and Duncannon caught up to him, their breathing as ragged as his own.
“What can we do, Tate?” his friend asked.
Tate fought not to panic. He looked about again, praying, hoping that he would spy her. He looked back up at the house, half of which was well alight. Was she inside? If she were, he’d not rest until she was safe. She’d risked her life to help him escape his stable fire and he would not leave her alone in this.
“Search the grounds, the stables, maybe Ava is there. Come back here if you cannot find her. I’ll check the house.”
Duncannon clutched his arm, hard. “You cannot go in there, Tate. You’re the last of the Whitstone line. If you die, the title reverts to the crown. Let us search the stable first, you have a look about the perimeter of the house, maybe Ava is fighting the fire with the men on the opposite side.”
“I will check there first, but if I cannot find her, I will be going inside. Be damned the title.” Ava meant more to him than what he had inherited. His title did not define who he was, it was his character which did that, and he would not be a man who left a woman, his woman to burn to death.
Lord Duncannon nodded, seemingly resigning himself to Tate’s decree. “Very well.” He paused for a moment. “Miss. Evans, come, we’ll check the stables.”
She left without a word and taking another look at those about him and still not seeing Ava, Tate ran around the side of the house. Still, Ava was nowhere to be seen, and panic started to rise up in his blood.
Please be safe, my darling. Don’t be in the house.
The doors to the kitchens were open, and Tate ran for them, moving out to the way as servant after servant came out carrying whatever they could save.
Tate ran past them all, up a smoke-filled corridor to stumble into the front hall of the home. Doors to the burning wing were closed, but smoke filled the space. He coughed, untying his cravat and tying it about his mouth and nose to help him breathe.
Taking the stairs two at a time, he called out for Ava, and yet only the crackling, the moaning of a house that would be ash by morning sounded in the night.
* * *
Ava stood inside the door to her room, watching as Lord Oakes paced her bedchamber floor, seemingly oblivious to the raging fire that was devastating her home.
Her home, the place she had been born, the house her parents had built through years of hard work was crumbling about her and there was little she or anyone could do. She blinked as the smoke thickened, clogged her lungs and stung her eyes. Her eyes flicked to the window, her only escape, but she was a floor up and a fall from this height would break her neck. She edged toward it, willing to take the risk.
“D
on’t even think about it.” Lord Oakes stepped in front of her, his features contorted into raw hate.
“Why are you doing this?” He leaned toward her leaving little space between them. “What are you getting out of such deeds?” she asked, coughing with the effort to speak.
“I left the best for last,” he seethed. “You were supposed to be my mistress, the woman who warmed my bed, and yet you spread your legs for that bastard Whitstone.”
She gaped at him. The man was mad! “You were jealous! That’s why you started the fires about our county.” Ava could not believe what he was saying surely he was not so obsessed with her that he would act out in such a way. Her neighbors were innocent people, they did not deserve this.
“None of them were innocent,” he said, gesturing toward the outdoors. “Whitstone had your heart, always has had, and those blasted Mortons, his wife supported and comforted you over Whitstone. I could not allow such deeds to go unpunished.”
Ava shook her head. “I will never warm your bed, Lord Oakes. You have proven yourself to be the worst of men, not just this night, but from the day you tried to force yourself upon me in this very house.” She tried to think of Tate, of how he warmed her blood, comforted and protected her. Not to freeze in panic over the thought of what Lord Oakes was doing with her in this room. What his ultimate goal was for this night.
He stabbed a finger at her chest. Ava raised her chin, refusing to wince at the pain it caused. “Before this night, I shall sample your flesh, and I will enjoy every second of it. My desire to have you blinded me and it was because of you that my betrothed broke our understanding. She sensed I was not committed, so you see,” he said, running a hand over her bodice. “I lost the bride that would fill my coffers all because of you. But alas, I have a plan.”
Ava schooled her features as panic licked at her skin, willing her to flee, to run, even into the flames on the other side of the door simply to get away from him. She swallowed her throat dry and sore from the smoke, and tears pricked her eyes.
The image of Tate flittered through her mind that she would not see him again if Lord Oakes had his way and a cavernous chasm opened in her chest. She’d been a selfish fool. A silly, little idiot who could not see the wonderful gift that Tate offered when he laid it at her feet.
His love.
And she loved him, everything else would fit in and around that love and they would make their difficult, busy lives merge. If she made it out of here alive, that was.
“Your obsession has killed people, you should hang for your crimes.”
He shrugged. “The lad was a lowly servant. They’re expendable and I care not at all what happens to anyone that gets in my way, or your precious horses.”
Rage tore through her at the mention of her horses and Ava set upon him. They fell to the ground and she scratched at his face, anything to hurt him. “You better not have touched my horses,” she yelled, hating him with every fiber of her being.
He wrestled to clutch her arms and she punched him, trying to hurt him as much as she could so to escape. Lord Oakes reached up and clasped her hair, pulling it hard. Ava came down on her side, pain ricocheting through her head as he pinned her to the floor.
“Bitch,” he seethed at her ear, his spirit-heavy breath turning her stomach. “Shall I have you now, Miss. Knight? We’re both going to die, a good fuck before we do is just what I need.”
Fear held her immobile for a moment, before fight took hold and she lifted her leg as much as she could, trying to hit him between the legs where men are especially sensitive to pain.
He sensed her thoughts and pinned her legs with his own. “You’re going to hang for this, you bastard.”
He chuckled. “I have nothing left, so what does it matter if they stretch my neck, but my darling, Ava.” He leaned down, kissing her hard. His teeth knocked her lips and her mouth filled with a metallic taste. Ava leaned into the kiss and bit his bottom lip, hard.
He squealed and wrenched back, but she refused to let go before his hands came about her neck, squeezing the breath from her lungs.
Lord Oakes stood, clasping his mouth. Ava fought for breath, watching him from the floor as her mind raced to save herself. A loud crash sounded somewhere in the house and the smoke thickened, the room choking them both of life.
He walked around her and she sat up, wiping her mouth of both their blood. “I will fight you until my last breath, you bastard. I will not be your victim.”
Lord Oakes rushed her, kicking her hard against her hip. She gasped at the pain of his attack but instead of rolling away, she clasped his legs, pinning them together and halting him from doing it again.
Then she bit him, again.
He swore and a sense of power ran through her blood. Damn bastard burned her home and stables down would he? Hurt her horses. Well, he too would hurt this night. She would not be the only one to come out of this bloody and bruised, if she came out of this at all.
He fell over and Ava took the opportunity to get up and run for the window. She glanced at the door, a red glow flicking beneath the wood. Smoke slithered along the cornice of the wall like a snake and there would be little time left to leave. She had to get out now or she’d die.
Ava reached to unlock the window, hoisting up the pane. She screamed as he caught her about the stomach, wrenching her back. Instead of landing on the floor, this time she hit the bed and Lord Oakes came down over her, his eyes wild with hate and determination.
Blood dripped on her face from his bloody lip and she pushed at him, scratched at him to no avail. He was too heavy, too resolute.
Her throat closed in panic at the similarities to when he tried to rape her all those months ago. She fought not to panic, to freeze in fear. “Get off, you bastard,” she screamed.
He wrenched her gown up and air kissed her thighs. His movements were harried and desperate as he tugged at his front falls.
No. No. No! This could not happen to her, this could not be happening. Her body shook and she brought her knees up, trying to wedge them between him and herself, denying him what he wanted.
The roof gave an awful moan, and dropped, exposing the flames beyond. She was going to die. She was going to die as he raped her.
No.
“You think I don’t have time. I cannot think of a better way to die than deep inside your cunny.”
“Noooo,” she screamed, wrestling him, the thought of such a horror pulling forth the last of her strength. He would not win. He could not win. Life could not be so unfair.
Shock registered on Lord Oakes’ face, and a yelp expelled from his mouth before he was dragged from her body and she was free.
Ava shuffled off the bed as Tate slammed his fist into Lord Oakes’ face, the crunch of bone and teeth smashing rent the air. An endless drubbing of blows rained down on his lordship, Tate’s visage one of deadly ire. She shivered, having never seen him so mad. He would kill him if he continued. Not that she cared about Lord Oakes, but she did not want his death to be a burden on Tate’s conscience for the rest of his life. She went up to Tate, clutching his arm as he went to hit Lord Oakes yet again. “Stop before you kill him. Let the authorities mete out the punishment, not you.”
His muscles beneath her palm were taut and his breathing ragged. The fire took hold of the curtains and she pulled him toward the window. “We need to go. This room will be full alight any moment.”
Lord Oakes mumbled something and then sat up, stumbling toward the door. “I should’ve shot you both that day in the field. It is the one regret I shall live with for the rest of my life.”
Ava looked out the window ignoring the mad man’s words. A downpipe ran along the corner of the house. It might hold their weight… “Come, we need to climb down.”
Tate stood between Ava and Lord Oakes and didn’t move. “You’re going to hang for this,” he yelled. “That will be something that I will ensure happens to you.”
Lord Oakes smirked, wrenching the door open. He stepped out
into the burning corridor before running into the flames beyond. Ava stared as his clothes caught alight, his hair aflame, before he disappeared into the smoke and burning house.
“He’s dying,” she said, not believing what just occurred.
“Let him.” Tate strode over to her and wrapped his arm about her waist, helping her to climb out the window. The pipe thankfully held both their weight and Ava climbed down, some of her staff waiting at the bottom, should she fall.
Tate followed her, jumping from the pipe at the last minute just as an almighty crash sounded. Ava stood back from the house as the roof caved in, destroying all that lay beneath it. She swiped at the tears that ran down her cheeks. The house now fully engulfed in flames, there was little anyone could do.
Tate came over to her and held her close. Uncontrollable shivers raked her body and she bundled against him, seeking his warmth and comfort. Tate called for a blanket, and a maid ran to them, giving him one. He wrapped it about her, stroking her back. “I’m sorry I didn’t get to you quicker. Are you hurt?”
Her soul was hurt, and she was shaken, but thankfully Tate had arrived in time. “I’ll be all right. I’m sad, that is all.” She blinked trying to stem her tears, but to no avail. “My home…”
“I know,” he said, holding her tighter. “We’ll rebuild it.”
She looked up at him, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. Not the most ladylike action, but right at this moment she did not care. “I know, but it’ll not be the same.”
“We’ll make it the same, darling.” He didn’t let her go and nor did she want him to. Not now or ever. With Tate she was safe, loved and respected, he was an honorable man, a good man and her heart swelled with love for him.
“Your Grace,” a voice rang out and Tate and Ava turned to see one of the undercover Bow Street runners striding their way.
The growl from Tate sounded beside her. “How did this happen? You were supposed to be watching Lord Oakes’ every move,” Tate said, pointing a finger at the man.
