by Nichole Van
Not exactly Kit’s idea of a relaxing afternoon.
But until she heard from Daniel, Kit wasn’t sure she could relax anyway.
The next day, Kit and Marc were tucked away in the library. Linwood had come to call again, and neither she nor Marc wanted to deal with the viscount. So they were essentially hiding, pretending not to have been notified of his arrival.
The morning light filtered through the paned windows. They were nestled into the window seat, facing each other, her feet drawn under her. Marc’s legs stretched out beside her.
“What will you do?” he asked.
She understood what he meant. Was she going to stay with Daniel?
Finally broaching the topic himself, despite being ‘neutral territory.’
“I don’t know.” It was the truthful answer.
He said nothing. Just turned his head and stared out the window. The sun shone weakly through the clouds, dappling light across his face.
“Would you stay?” she asked.
He swallowed and continued staring out the window.
And then finally, after a nearly painful silence, turned back to her.
Eyes sad . . . lost.
“No.”
It was little more than a whisper. More the motion of his mouth than any sound.
But she felt it like a hammer to her chest. Hard. Jarring.
She was instantly breathless. Wanting to plead with him. Beg. Find a way.
“Even . . . even with the journal from this Garvis fellow and his association with a man named W? The journal could be a sign you’re supposed to stay . . .”
Marc’s entire body slumped, sagging beneath the weight of her words. He swallowed. Shook his head.
“Kit . . . the portal let us through . . . Fate brought us together.” He fixed her with that same haunted look. “But we both still have free will . . . I care so deeply for you, but . . . though it would be hard, returning to your life in 2014 without your brother would not force you to rebuild everything. But with this—” He gestured toward her, indicating the question she had just asked. “—I would give up not only my family—my sister, my mother, aunts, uncles, cousins, friends—but also my livelihood. My passions, my interests. I would give up my entire world. Start over with nothing.”
Something hot and tight lodged in Kit’s chest.
“But you would have . . . me,” she whispered, licking a tear from her lip.
“Oh . . . Kit.” His eyes met hers, emotions flickering through them.
Pain, sorrow, regret. And then the last one . . . resignation.
She hated resignation.
The air between them stretched taut. Marc opened his mouth, intent on continuing the conversation—
Someone cleared their throat. Loudly.
They both swiveled to see a footman standing in the doorway with a silver salver.
“This just arrived for you, Lord Vader.” The man extended the tray where a small letter lay folded.
Shooting Kit a quick glance, Marc stood and took the letter from the tray. The footman bowed and exited.
Kit was instantly at his side, hands trembling as Marc opened the note. He tilted the paper, allowing her to read with him:
Luke Skywalker belongs to the Dark Side. Padme is a mole for the rebels. Thanks for the taser. It came in handy.
Please tell my sister I will await her with ‘golden roses’ on Tuesday hence, should she wish to join me. I love her so.
DA
“Jedediah!” Marc shoved the paper into her hands. “And Lady Ruby!”
“Daniel!” Kit sucked in a sharp breath. “The Golden Rose Inn!”
“How kind of your brother to provide me with an excuse to beat Mr. Jed I. Knight senseless.” Marc turned toward the door, leaving Kit stunned in the middle of the room.
Daniel’s words echoing through her mind: I love her so.
He did care! He really did.
Of course Daniel cares, Wicked Angel said.
Hope bloomed in her chest. And he would be at the Golden Rose Inn on Tuesday waiting for her. Did she want to stay—
But all thought fled as a horrifying cry rose from great hall:
“Fire!”
Chapter 22
Intent on tracking down Jedediah, Marc didn’t pay attention to the cries at first. But the acrid smell of smoke washed over him just as the repeated shrieks of “Fire. Fire! Everyone out!” sank in.
Damn.
He had known this—that a fire destroyed Haldon Manor at some point. But he had never expected to experience it himself.
The smell of smoke filtered through the great hall. No sign of actual fire in the room.
Yet.
It seemed too much of a coincidence to think this wasn’t the fire. The one which destroyed the old house.
Marc’s mind reeled from the revelations of the last five minutes. Jedediah was the spy. Ruby was the missing agent for the Crown.
And if so, what did she know about her son’s activities?
Marc dashed across the great hall to see panicked maids grabbing paintings and hangings from the walls, the butler directing them. Marianne ran out the front door, little Isabel in her arms, the baby’s nurse at her heels. A glance outside showed Linwood rallying the male servants into a bucket brigade.
The housekeeper hurried toward the entryway, several priceless vases teetering recklessly in her arms. Kit rushed past Marc to help the woman, snatching a falling vase just in time.
“You stay out of trouble,” he said, catching her arm.
“You too.” She slid her hand into his, giving it a quick squeeze. And then followed the housekeeper out the front door.
Arthur dashed up, eyes wide but otherwise self-composed. Not one for idle panic, Arthur Knight.
“Everyone is accounted for but Lady Ruby and Jedediah,” Arthur said. “They are definitely still inside the house.”
Of course.
Which reminded him.
Marc grabbed Arthur’s arm and leaned in, speaking lowly. “Jedediah is the spy Linwood seeks. He could be dangerous. Ruby is the missing agent for the Crown.”
Arthur hissed a breath through his teeth. “I’ll look after Miss Ashton,” he said jerking a chin toward the door where Kit had just disappeared.
Marc nodded his head. “Thank you. I’ll go find Ruby and Jedediah.”
“Ruby was in her bedroom, last I heard.” Arthur indicated the stairs to the family wing.
Marc nodded again, turning to cross the great hall.
“Oh and Marc,” Arthur called after him. “Please be careful.”
The smoke was instantly worse as Marc neared the top of the family stairs.
He retreated down to the landing, wrenching off his neckcloth and wetting the fabric in a vase of flowers. Wrapping it around his face, he tentatively took the stone steps again, staying low under the worst of the smoke.
Nearing the top of the stairs, he could hear the fire now. The pop of wood, the rising heat. Smoke poured from the upper hallway to his left.
Out of the smoke, a figure emerged, commando crawling along the floor.
Ruby. Her face bloodied and soot-streaked. Purple muslin mobcap askew and her purple muslin dress torn in places.
And then suddenly, a larger figure loomed from behind her. Crouching. A long sword in his hand.
Jedediah.
Intent only on his fleeing mother, murder glinting in his eyes. The medieval broadsword—most likely borrowed from one of the suits of armor—raised over his head, ready for a killing blow.
“Look out!” Marc yelled, just as Jedediah swung downward toward Ruby’s head.
Hearing his warning, Ruby rolled sideways at the last second, the sword embedding itself into the wood floor precisely where her head had been just a moment before.
Jedediah pulled on the stuck blade, unable to free it. And then, instead, grabbed Ruby’s ankle before she could get away.
By that point, Marc was on him.
Crawling along th
e floor, Marc balanced on both hands and swiveled his body, landing a powerful dual kick to Jedediah’s chest, sending the smaller man flying backwards into the smoke. Disappearing from view.
Refusing to chase Jedediah into the smoke filled house, Marc backed up and grabbed Ruby’s hands, pulling her toward the stairs.
“Jed—” she croaked.
“Leave him,” Marc coughed. “He’s not worth either of our lives.”
The smoke thickened by the moment, stinging Marc’s eyes, causing him to hack uncontrollably.
He needed to get both of them out. Now.
Reaching the steps, he took the first three and then turned to slide Ruby onto his back.
But at that exact second, all the hairs on Marc’s neck stood on end. Years of training and muscle memory registered the hiss of a sword through the air, aimed at his head.
Marc twisted his neck away just in time to hear the loud zing as the sword glanced off the stone step.
“Jed, no!” Ruby cried, rolling away from her crazed son.
Crouching above Marc, Jedediah ignored his mother and instead swung the sword again, intent on embedding it into Marc’s skull.
Go figure. The foppish Jedediah did know something about fighting.
With a grunt, Marc stopped Jedediah’s arm mid-swing, wrapping his hands around Jedediah’s forearm, bending it back at an awkward angle, forcing him to drop the sword down the stairs with a clatter.
“I know you were involved with that other fellow. What did you do with those plans, Vader? The real ones!” Jedediah hissed. “My superiors are not stupid men. It may have taken a few days, but they realized the plans given them were fakes. I need the real ones. I’m a dead man without them!”
Jedediah launched himself forward, fingers intent on Marc’s throat.
Marc rolled with Jedediah’s hands, using the smaller man’s downward momentum to toss Jedediah over his shoulder and down the stairs.
Smoke filled the stairwell, choking, blinding. Coughing, Marc turned again to Ruby, only to feel a sharp pain in his left arm as Jedediah came at him again, bending his wrist back painfully.
“What did you do with the plans?” Jedediah screamed.
Furious and desperate to get Ruby out of the burning house, Marc whirled on Jedediah, kicking him in the stomach with one leg while hooking his knee with the other. The combined moves wrenched Jedediah off-balance, sending him windmilling back. Marc staggered to his feet, finishing off with a glancing right jab to Jedediah’s jaw as the man fell.
A loud crash sounded from down the hallway. The house was burning down around them.
From the corner of his eye, Marc saw Jedediah scramble to his feet, dart a glance at the rapidly encroaching fire and run down the stairs.
Leaving his mother to her fate.
Coward.
Coughing from the smoke, Marc crawled back to Ruby and grasped her hands in his, pulling her toward him, ignoring the pain in his wrist, levering Ruby onto his right shoulder.
“Forgive him.” She wept into Marc’s ear as he staggered down the steps. “Forgive me.”
Afterwards, Marc had no distinct memory of how he got out of the burning house. Smoke seared his lungs, blurring his vision. Ruby must have passed out. But somehow, he kept putting one foot in front of the other, staggering across the smoke-filled great hall and through the front door.
Fresh air wrapped around him. He felt hands grabbing him, lifting Ruby away. Cold water splashed his face and soothed his raspy throat as he collapsed on the ground.
Wiping the smoke out his eyes with his good hand, Marc gulped in air, coughing uncontrollably. Someone placed a cup of much-needed water into his fingers. He lay on the ground, alternating between spasmodic coughing and sipping water.
After a length of time, the coughing subsided somewhat, and he managed to push himself upright.
He was sitting on the lawn, well back from the front of the house. Flames leapt from the upstairs windows, particularly fierce along the right of the house where the family wing had been. Though by now, fire engulfed nearly the entire structure. Smoke rose as one enormous plume into the sky that could probably be seen in Hereford itself.
It was quite the magnificent sight. He almost wished he could take some video of it for James and Emme.
Kit stood with Marianne and the baby across the lawn to his left, well back from the building. Tears streamed down Marianne’s face as she clutched tiny Isabel to her chest, unconsciously rocking and soothing the baby. Kit offering comfort.
Kit turned her head, seeing him. Relief washed over her face and she turned away from Marianne, intent on coming to him.
But Marc stayed her with a wave of his hand, coughing again. He was fine. Well, as fine as he could hope to be. And there were others, like Marianne, who could use Kit’s help.
Understanding his meaning, she nodded and then, with a wink, blew him a kiss. The darling minx.
His heart swelled, pounding in his chest. Heavens how he adored her.
He blew a kiss right back.
Man, anyone who knew him at all would mock him about now. Blowing kisses like some love-sick puppy.
But it wasn’t the potential embarrassment that startled him.
It was the fact that he liked blowing kisses to Kit. He wanted to blow more kisses to her. He wanted to give her actual kisses.
Wow.
He was in so deep.
Part of him was desperate for her to make a decision, so he knew what his future would be. Part of him wanted to remain in this limbo, avoiding the situation all together.
Would she join Daniel at the Golden Rose Inn on Tuesday? Could Marc leave her there with her brother and ride away?
The thought left him breathless, hands shaking.
Which kicked off another painful coughing fit.
After several minutes of uncontrolled hacking, he managed to drink enough water to sooth his throat for a moment. His wrist throbbed from the motion. Marc tested it, pressing gently on the bones. No tenderness, thank goodness, which meant no broken bones.
But when he tried to move it in circles, pain shot up his arm. Definitely sprained. He wouldn’t be punching anyone again anytime soon.
His soot-smeared cravat was still damp around his neck. Gingerly untying it, Marc used the long length of cloth to bind his wrist, immobilizing it as best he could.
Aside from singed clothing and smoke-seared lungs, he seemed to be okay.
He lifted his head back to the burning building.
Every able-bodied man—including Arthur and Linwood—stood in lines before the house, passing buckets of water along to toss on the flames.
A decidedly futile effort. Even a host of modern fire engines could do nothing to save the building now.
Arthur seemed to realize this and stepped out of the line, shaking his head in defeat, recognizing that the entire front facade could collapse at any time. He waved everyone back from the engulfed house. Giving up the structure for lost.
Arthur walked to Kit and Marianne, gathering his wife and child in his arms. Marianne instantly sank into her husband’s embrace.
Linwood moved toward them and then paused. Arthur, Marianne and little Isabel did make a touching tableau, and Linwood seemed hesitant to interrupt. Instead, he changed direction and, casting a lingering glance at his sister and her husband, the viscount strode across the grass, coming toward Marc himself.
Suddenly, the roof over the great hall collapsed with a gigantic crash, glass shattering. Shrieks of horror spread throughout the gathered crowd. Even Linwood flinched.
So that was that then. The house really was done for.
Marc turned his head to his right, noting that Ruby lay only a few yards away, tended by the housekeeper. Grunting to his feet, he winced his way over to them.
So maybe he needed to add sore muscles to his list of aches.
Collapsing on the ground next to them, Marc hissed when he got a good look at Ruby.
Her face was battered and
bruised, one eye nearly swollen shut. With a damp rag, the housekeeper was gently wiping away the blood and soot.
Linwood came up to them with a nod, crouching beside Ruby. Looking between the two men, the housekeeper excused herself, saying she would see if the doctor had arrived yet.
Alone with Linwood, Ruby turned to Marc, fixing him with her one good eye.
“Jed?” she croaked and then coughed, turning involuntarily onto her side.
Linwood patted her back, the viscount somehow looking none-the-worse-for-wear. Hardly a hair was out of place on his head. It was almost uncanny how mayhem never seemed to touch him.
“I don’t know where he ended up,” Marc coughed, his voice just as gravelly as hers.
Linwood grunted in disapproval. “What happened?”
Ruby waived a hand, as if to dismiss the question as irrelevant, still coughing.
“Please don’t bother to dissemble, Lady Ruby,” Marc continued. “I know that Jedediah was working as a spy for the French. And that you have long been a secret agent for the British government. In fact, you stopped sending information to your liaison a month or two ago. Everyone has been trying to find you.”
Linwood fixed Marc with a decidedly surprised look over Ruby’s head. Marc shrugged, like it was all in a day’s work.
All the bravado eased from Ruby, her eyes fluttering closed.
“I thought I could stop him,” she whispered. “I knew that someone kept betraying us to the French. Someone close to the Home Office, giving them access to our secrets. But it took me a while to understand the covert agent lived under my own roof. I had to come to Marfield, leaving everything and everyone else behind, before I finally realized it had been Jedediah all along.”
“Why? Why would he turn spy for the French?”
Ruby lifted a shoulder. “Debts? A chance to prove himself? Who can say. He came upon me earlier as I was writing a letter to a contact in Bath. Confronted me. Beat . . . me. He tried to kill me . . . his own mother . . .” Her voice trailed off in a whisper.
