Chapter 27

Atticus’whine woke Lilly from a troubled sleep and she sat up, disoriented in the dark. She did not know what time it was, but thought it must be very late. Atticus barked at her then scratched at the door urgently.

That was what must have woken her. The dog must want to go outside.

She slipped from the bed, tired and unhappy to be awake. Her sleep had been filled with images of falling and cold, hard water rising up to meet her. She shuddered and wished the dream would never return.

She hurried around the bed in the darkness to the dog, patting his head as she reached him. “Sorry, boy. I didn’t mean to lock you in.”

He was such a well-trained hound, but she must have locked him in too early. Her bad mood the day before was no excuse for neglecting the beast. She liked him too much to be cruel. Lilly flicked the lock, turned the knob to pull the door open—and drew in a lungful of thick smoke.

She coughed and pushed the door closed with both hands.

A warning bell rang out.

“Dear God, the manor is on fire!” Lilly staggered back from the door, coughing and wiping her stinging eyes. Confused, she crashed into a side table and tumbled a vase to the floor. Glass shattered. Her feet were bare.

When she could see again, she judged where she was in relation to the break and worked out which way to go to avoid cutting herself. She stepped carefully, sliding her bare feet along the floor until she found herself far away from the glass.

Atticus whined at the door, but she ignored his complaints. They needed to get out, but she would need more than a nightgown on her back and bare feet.

Lilly hurried to her wardrobe, threw a dark gown over the top of her nightgown, grabbed the only pair of slippers she had and jammed them on her feet. She wished she had something thicker, but Katarina purchased only beautiful things, not practical ones.

Grabbing up a length of towel, Lilly soaked it in water from the jug, then wrapped the wet cloth around her neck, effectively tying down her long hair. Lilly grabbed a second length of cloth and wet that too. She could cover the dog’s snout as well if he would allow it. She couldn’t risk losing him to the smoke.

With shoes now protecting her feet, she rushed across the room to the door and draped the wet cloth over the dog’s snout. Atticus tried to back away, but she commanded him to obey while she tied it loosely behind his ears.

With one last look about the room, Lilly curled her fingers in the wolfhound’s collar and told him to get out. If she held on tight, he might be able to lead her outside more quickly than if she tried to find her way blind. She did not imagine it would be easy to pass through the house as it burned, but she trusted the dog to do his best for both of them.

Lilly opened the door slowly and smoke poured through the crack, rising upwards to the roof. Atticus rushed forward and she stumbled after him.

She could not see much of anything and she could barely breathe. When she looked down, Lilly saw that the smoke was thinner closer to the floor. But bending down was difficult for her; her skirts twisted about her legs and hampered her every step.

At the top of the stairs, she stumbled heavily into the railing and gasped in pain, sucking up too much smoke when her wet cloth became detached. She coughed and struggled to find her feet again. Lilly gripped the railing with one hand and inched downwards, Atticus pulling relentlessly on her arm.

On the first landing, she stumbled again and went down hard, losing her grip on the dog. She felt a touch on her hand and he whimpered as he fretted over her fall.

Lilly pulled herself up, but pain lanced down her back. As much as Lilly hurt, she could not count on anyone coming to help. She had to save herself. Sweat broke out over her face as she inched down the last flight carefully.

She could not see the main door, but a faint breeze made the smoke swirl.

She reached out with one hand and her fingertips brushed a wall. Lilly followed the wall, found the door then searched for the lock.

Atticus pressed at her side.

The lock finally opened with a snap and she pulled on the handle, gasping in the fresh air that streamed into her face. They had escaped. Atticus had already bolted for the front drive, shaking his head to remove the cloth and barking at her to hurry. He raced back to Lilly and nipped at her skirts to pull her with him.

Lilly stumbled across the front drive and found the little patch of grass surrounding another ornamental pond. She collapsed to the grass, groaning as the hard ground slammed more pain into her, then coughing until she thought her lungs might burst. Atticus abandoned her to gulp down pond water.

When she lifted her head, smoke billowed from the back of the moonlit house. When she could find her feet again, she would go looking for the others, but the grass was so cool and soft that she lay there while she got her breath back.

Right now, she could not dream of getting to her feet again. She would be no help to anyone in her condition and would only be in the way. She dragged herself to a sitting position, groaning against the pain, and held her head while the stars behind her eyes faded.

When she could see again, she reached for the rag at her neck and pulled it off, squinting at it in the faint moonlight as she searched to find a clean patch to wipe over her face. She must look like a chimney sweep.

“That dog deserves a ball between its eyes for the trouble he’s caused me.”

Lilly spun on the ground to locate that voice and heard metal click on metal.

* * *

“Oh, its only you,” Lilly said, but then her eyes focused on his hand holding the pistol aimed at her heart.

Fortune smiled upon Bartholomew at last. He had Lillian alone in the dark of night, and all to himself, no less. He giggled then pressed his lips together. They had to be silent, lest someone hear them. As it was, he was sure they had little time enough before that scoundrel Daventry came looking for his whore.

It was true. She had shared his bed and done things with him that ought to be reserved for her husband. Her betrayal cut him to the core, and he shifted the pistol in his hand, debating how he might kill her.

There was a nice pond of water behind her back to drown her in after smashing her skull upon the marble. Anyone who found her later might imagine she did it herself. He glanced around and then tucked the pistol in the back of his breeches. He would enjoy watching her face as she drew her last breath.

That would provide far better enjoyment than the last time. Last time he had rushed, and not stayed to ensure the deed was done. His cousin would not be alone this time. He would stay until her end came.

“What are you doing here again, Barty?”

Her gaze flickered around the garden and back to him. Even though she was impure, touched by that swine, Lord Daventry, Bartholomew still desired her for himself. “You have always been my favorite cousin. How could I bear to leave you be?”

Lillian shifted to her knees, and he decided he liked her in that pose. She looked weak and pitiful. He could approach her, grasp her neck and squeeze until she took her last breath. The thought was appealing, so he stepped toward her.

The dog moved to her side and watched him.

He paused. The dog was a complication. To dispatch the beast with little fuss, he would need to use the pistol. But the noise would surely attract the notice of others unless they moved farther away.

“On your feet.”

The bitch licked her lips. “Why?”

He could always count on Lillian to be difficult. Her response pleased him. He would distrust her more if she suddenly became compliant and willing. He wanted her to fight, to battle with him to make his victory all the sweeter.

“Let me give you a choice. Either you get to your feet, or I shoot the dog. I know how you love to dote on the poor creatures. You can count on me to ensure that his end is agonizingly slow. Perhaps I could shoot one of his feet off first, or perhaps his tail. Do you wonder how he would feel about it?”

Lillian whimpered. Pleasure raced down his spine. He’d had no idea that killing her in person would bring him so much joy. He’d forgotten so much of his earlier attempt. He’d been too young to appreciate the moment. He pulled the pistol from his pocket and took aim at the dog.

As he expected, Lillian surged to her feet.

“Now walk.”

“Where are we going?”

Bartholomew pressed a hand to his forehead. “Don’t ruin this for me by babbling now. I much preferred it when you were insensible.”

“Papa taught me to speak my mind.”

“Your father is a foolish man. He would have done better to have listened to his wife and smothered you where you lay all those years ago.” At Lilly’s gasp, Bartholomew stepped closer. “She could have succeeded, too, if he wasn’t so weak! Your hands looked so pretty as you scratched at the pillow.”

“Lillian, where are you?” Lord Winter called.

Lilly opened her mouth to reply, but Bartholomew shook his pistol. “Say one word and he dies now.”

Bartholomew backed into the shadows. He skirted his uncle and, when he reached Lillian, Bartholomew swung the pistol hard at his uncle’s head.

The baron slumped to the ground and did not move again.

“You said you wouldn’t hurt him,” Lillian cried out.

“I said I wouldn’t kill him first.” Bartholomew grinned. Now he had two things he wanted, and all in one night. Lillian on her knees, and his uncle one step closer to death.

He could be master of Dumas before the night was through if he did this right.

* * *

Giles rushed up the stairs, opening every door he came to. Outside, servants ran back and forth from the well and stream, carrying anything that could hold water. He searched inside the house, checking how far the fire had spread and looking for signs of Lilly. So far the worst of it seemed to be merely a great deal of smoke. He hurried to Lilly’s bedchamber door and pushed it open.

No sign of her. Although he was relieved she was out of danger, he worried at how the smoke might have affected her. He moved along to check Carrington’s door and found it locked.

When he knocked, he heard Carrington cry out. Using the housekeeper’s keys, he fumbled to open the lock only to be bowled over by Carrington.

Giles hit the ground hard.

“Sorry about that.” Carrington pulled him to his feet. “Damn door was stuck. I was just debating jumping out the window.”

“Not stuck, locked,” Giles managed to gasp out.

Carrington ducked back into his room, returning with a pistol in his hand. “Better to be careful then. Where’s your Lilly?”

A pane of glass broke below them, and he turned his friend toward the stairs. “I haven’t found her yet. Get yourself outside and look for her. I’ll check the rest of this floor in case she became lost in the smoke.”

“Be careful.”

Giles pushed him on his way and checked the rest of the floor. The rooms were all empty. He re-closed the doors as he went and headed down the stairs into thick, swirling smoke. He checked along the edges of each step, making sure no one had been overlooked. Giles was gasping horribly by the time he reached the front door, but he was confident that everyone was safe.

Outside, the air was blessedly cool and clear. He dragged the fresh night scents deep into his lungs. The cooler air irritated his throat, and he coughed until his lungs hurt. A grunt opened his eyes and he looked about him.

Across the drive, Lord Winter lay beside the pond. Poor man must be done in. But at least he’d found Lilly. She and Atticus were huddled around the older man—and it wasn’t until the dog started growling that he realized they were not alone.

Barrette stood over them.

Atticus edged between Lilly and Barrette, teeth bared and snarling. The dog was enraged.

Giles ran toward them as fast as he could. Just as he neared, the dog gave his presence away by turning toward the sound of his approach. He suddenly found himself facing a dueling pistol.

The last time he had seen this man, he’d desired to have a dueling pistol near. He wished he had one now. His aim would be pretty good, given his motivation tonight.

“Stay back,” Barrette warned.

Lilly wrapped her arms around her father. Covered in soot from head to toe, her white hair dull in the limited light, Lilly thankfully did not look hurt.

Giles took two steps back as the sound of more footsteps could be heard coming up behind him. The pistol swung to Lilly, and then back to him.

“Put the gun down, Barrette,” Giles ordered, using false bravado to intimidate the man.

Barrette curled his lips into a sneer. “This has nothing to do with you. I suggest you go take care of your own affairs.”

“Lilly is my affair. I’ll not leave her.”

Barrette laughed. “Then I shall have to make sure I do a better job of helping her leave you.” He waved the pistol at Lilly. “Get back on your feet, wench.”

Giles held his breath as she complied. He was afraid for her. Terrified to lose her. But he had no gun or weapon on him to fight with. He’d have to be cunning—and damned fast about it. He could attempt to tackle Barrette, but the gun might just go off and hit one of them.

“I’m not going anywhere with you again,” Lilly began. “I’ll not be a fool like last time. Put the gun down. What can you hope to gain from this?”

“Dumas, you idiot.”

“I’ve never wanted Dumas!”

Barrette growled. “You still don’t understand. The interest from your dowry sustains Dumas. The estate will be as crippled as you.”

Lilly looked at Giles. She sought confirmation in his gaze and he let his head nod infinitesimally. The loss of her original dowry would do what Barrette feared, and leave the property in dire straights. But Giles had negotiated, settling for a lower sum. “The amount has changed. There will be no danger to the estate now.”

“I need it all,” Barrette insisted.

More footsteps sounded behind him, and Giles spread his arms wide to warn them back. “You cannot hope to harm Lilly and get away with it. There are too many witnesses now.”

Barrette pointed the pistol at him instead. “She was supposed to die. But if you want something done, you just have to do it yourself. It should have worked the first time!” Barrette complained, adjusting his grip on the weapon.

“The first time was when you threw her off the bridge, wasn’t it?” Giles asked conversationally, unsure where he was going to go with this, but anxious to draw out the exchange.

“Damned dog. Should have known she would have spoiled the brute.” He waved the gun towards Atticus, and Atticus growled until Lilly laid a restraining hand on him. “She quite ruined that hunting dog of mine before I got him. Had to starve and beat the beast before he would behave like a proper dog.” Barrette laughed, a cruel smile tugging his lips upward.

Lilly scowled, her tiny fists clenched.

All he needed was for her to fly into a temper over a long-dead dog to provoke Barrette into doing something foolish. Like shoot the pistol at her.

Winter chose that moment to groan, and his eyes fluttered open. But he did not see the situation before him. Barrette waved the pistol erratically, and Giles prayed the weapon would not fire accidentally.

“Just lay there, old man, and die! You should have brought her to me when you wanted to be rid of her. I would have done the deed myself. Did you know the cork-brain was planning on packing you off to some pissing little estate in the wilds of Scotland?” Barrette hissed. “A waste of effort I must say. All that was needed was a shovel and a ditch full of dirt. No one would have missed you. They all think you’re dead anyway thanks to your mother.”

Lilly flinched and clutched her father’s hand. “I know what Papa planned, Barty. It is not news,” she told her cousin in a strong voice.

Giles inched closer to Lilly. Barrette swung the pistol back to him, and he lost the ground he had gained.

“You don’t want to do this, Barrette. Consider what the consequences will be. There’s a dozen or more people on this estate, and every single one is watching you.”

“She promised it would be all mine. She never lies. A cripple doesn’t deserve to be a Winter!”

Barrette renewed his grip on the pistol and aimed at Lilly.

Giles threw himself forward as a pistol shot rang out. He landed hard on top of Barrette.

When he rolled off the man but Barrette lay still, eyes wide, a gaping hole oozing blood from his forehead.

Lord Carrington strode forward, pistol in hand, and nudged the fallen man with his foot.