41. The Trellis

THE TRELLIS

A s Malum led the sprint out of the park, his thoughts churned.

Crossings was behind the fires, of that, he was damn near certain. But then why the hell had Crossings’ own townhouse burned down? Was it one of his own people turning against him at long last, a disgruntled investor or accomplice?

And then what of the fire at the Domus? If Northwoods truly knew nothing about it, then it was entirely possible the incident was unrelated to any of this. Malum had more enemies than just Crossings, after all, but it was difficult for him to imagine any of them attempting something so foolhardy and drastic. Hell, the majority of the ton actively disliked him, but his title tended to insulate him from any serious forms of reprisal.

Until now.

The hunting lodge, the Domus Emporium , Crossings’ townhouse, and now this. It couldn’t possibly all be a coincidence.

The smell of smoke grew sharper in the air, the towering plumes stretching ominously over the skyline. With each stride, they drew closer to Regent Street—to Preston Hall, where Malum had left Ernest that morning, believing the boy to be safe.

His chest tightened with worry.

But as they neared the source of the smoke, Malum found that his worry was misplaced. Because his townhouse wasn’t the one burning.

Malum’s heart stopped.

The inferno raged across the street—consuming the Rutherford home.

Flames leapt from the roof of the townhome, greedy tongues of fire overwhelming the upper floors.

He had to move faster. Unable to even begin deducing who had started it, all his thoughts, his being—his very soul—focused on who might be inside.

Melanie.

Reeling from ice-cold fear, Malum forced himself to take in the scene.

The familiar sight of the household’s butler, along with some of his own servants and several people who he assumed were the Rutherford’s’ immediate neighbors, hovered in the street. And something was scattered at their feet—pieces of paper drifting and skipping along on the breeze.

On the side of the building, a man was caught up in the vines, and the instant Malum realized who it was, he had more questions than answers.

The Duke of Crossings.

Malum’s father’s old partner was only partway down the trellis, his movements frantic, the wooden frame bowing under his weight.

And then, up just a few feet higher, there she stood. In the same place where Malum had seen her last.

Her face, framed by the open window, was pale against the glow of the inferno. Blue eyes, wide and desperate, locked onto his. For a moment, everything else faded—the crackling of the fire, the shouts of his companions, even the sight of the trellis trembling beneath Crossings’ weight.

Malum swung off his horse in one fluid motion, landing hard and sprinting toward the house. Flames roared behind the open front door, the heat slamming into him, daring him to push through. He would never make it to her that way.

“Standish!” he barked, his voice sharp and commanding. “The back! It might still be passable!”

Standish, mid-dismount, froze, his eyes darting from the flames to Malum and then back to the house. Malum saw the moment when the earl must have spotted Melanie trapped in the window; the raw anguish that flickered across his face was unmistakable—a man reliving a nightmare, one who had already lost half his family to fire.

For a moment, it seemed he might hesitate, but then his jaw set, and he gave a grim nod before racing toward the rear of the house.

Malum’s gaze snapped back to the third-floor window. Melanie stood there, gripping the frame, her eyes scanning the ground below as though calculating the impossible distance. Several dark curls were clinging to her face, damp from heat and smoke, and her shoulders trembled as she leaned out.

That’s when he saw the blood.

A thin trail of crimson streaked down the side of her face, disappearing into the neckline of her gown. Something hot and cold surged through him all at once, a sickening mix of fury and fear.

If he allowed his emotions to take control, he’d make a mistake. And now, more than ever, she needed him to be clear-headed.

So he didn’t panic. Not outwardly. Not inwardly. Panic wouldn’t save her—action would.

“Are you injured, sweetheart?” he called up, surprised to hear the strength in his own voice.

“No.” But after glancing over her shoulder, she winced. “I can’t… The door. It’s blocked.”

Brick exteriors , Malum thought, his mind grasping at the details to keep himself steady. They’d hold for a time. But the inside… He glanced at the smoke curling through the sky, dark and thick. Wooden floors, staircases, paneling … There would have been nothing to stop it from tearing through the house faster than anyone could keep up.

He forced himself to breathe, to think. If the fire had started on the lower floors… His heart dropped. The walls might still be standing, but the structure would be a charred skeleton within minutes.

It was already too far along. His heart thundered, but he forced himself to ignore it.

His gaze darted from the front door, being consumed by flames, to her window.

She has to come out that window.

“Look at me, Melanie,” he called up, his voice steady and sure. “You’re not alone. You’ll make it through this, but you’re going to have to climb down from the window. Use the other trellis, just like Crossings is doing.” Melanie darted a nervous glance toward the duke, and it was obvious that she didn’t like how the thin wooden slats noticeably protested under the man’s weight. Malum didn’t blame her for hesitating. “I’m right here,” he added, coaxing. “I’ll catch you if you need me. Just one step at a time, love. Trust me—I won’t let anything happen to you.”

She nodded, rocking backward and forward a little, as if she was physically building up the courage she needed to begin. He knew, without question, that she was relying on him. Trusting him. And he wouldn’t fail her.

He flexed his hands, feeling the heat even from this distance. He could only imagine how much worse it must be from inside.

But he wouldn’t lose her. Not to this. Not now.

Malum edged closer, to her and to the flames, his unwavering focus fixed on the woman in the window above. Yet, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t avoid noticing the Duke of Crossings clinging precariously to the trellis below her. The man was grunting and panting distractingly in his fear, his clutching fingers tearing at the honeysuckle vines in search of his next handhold.

“Is that Crossings?” Beckworth’s voice rang out from behind him, cutting through the chaos.

Hearing his name, the older duke glanced over his shoulder.

For a fleeting moment, Malum stared into the bastard’s eyes, not bothering to hide his disgust and utter lack of sympathy. Crossings’ eyes widened in recognition before flicking downward, his focus snapping to the scattered papers strewn across the cobblestones. Letters, Malum could see now, many of them marked with a very familiar seal…

With sudden urgency, the Duke of Crossings shifted his weight—a fatal misstep.

Time seemed to slow as the makeshift ladder peeled away from the house. Too worn and weathered to continue holding so much weight, it bent at first, and then snapped, breaking away—and taking the duke’s flailing body down with it.

Crossings screamed as he fell, the sound stretching out for what couldn’t have been more than a single second, before he landed on the street with a thud and a painful-sounding crack.

For years, Malum had pursued the fiend, spent thousands of hours strategizing, investigating, and ultimately watching and waiting, but in this moment, with Melanie’s life in danger, he didn’t give a damn if the man was dead or alive. The one thing, the only thing that mattered, was saving her.

And the only way she was going to survive this fire… was to climb down the remaining trellis. She was lighter than Crossings, and she’d be more careful. But… if it didn’t hold…

“Bring linens!” He shouted over his shoulder. Tipton, who’d been hovering on the front step across the way, for once, acted with haste.

“Melanie.” Malum locked his gaze with hers, his tone steady but laced with a touch of light-heartedness. “It looks like you’ll have to play the romantic hero today.”

She knew exactly what he meant and was already shaking her head, looking down at where Crossings lay sprawled below and then back to Malum.

“It won’t hold me,” she said, her voice breaking, barely audible above the crackle of flames behind her. “I’ll fall.”

Malum could see the panic rising in her—the tremble in her hands, the darting of her eyes, as though searching for another way out.

But there wasn’t one.

“You’re half his weight,” Malum said firmly, stepping closer to the trellis. His gaze never left hers. Behind him, Westcott, Helton, Beckworth, and Tipton were already unfolding a heavy sheet, pulling it taut between them.

Malum placed a hand on one of the brittle slats, testing its frailty. The old wood creaked but didn’t give. Tilting his head back, he looked up at her. “If you don’t climb down, Melanie, I’ll come up and get you.”

She leaned further out the window, her face so precious… “No!” she shouted, alarmed. “I’ll do it.”

Malum stopped, meeting her wide, frightened eyes with a look he hoped conveyed everything he felt—pride, strength, and most of all, love. “I’m right here, sweetheart. You’re not doing this alone.”

Seeing hesitation etched in every line of her face, Malum watched her grip the edge of the window frame. For a moment, she was utterly still.

He wanted to shout, urging her to hurry, but he bit it back. Instead, he kept his gaze locked on her, willing her forward with every ounce of his being.

Then, finally, she gave a tight nod, but as she went to begin her climb, her skirts snagged on the sill, tangling around her legs and hampering her movements. She paused, frustration flashing across her face, and tugged at the fabric with one hand while clinging to the window frame with the other.

Malum held his breath even as he sensed the men behind him moving closer with the stretched linen. When they were ready, he moved to the side, allowing them to get into position.

“Keep it tight,” Beckworth instructed.

The faint breeze caught Melanie’s hair, sending a few curls across her face. Slowly, painstakingly, she swung her legs over the ledge, her skirts hanging loose now, swishing about her ankles. She coughed a little, but kept moving, one hand gathering the fabric and pulling it out of the way so she could find a slat to step on.

“That’s my girl,” Malum murmured under his breath, the words not meant for anyone else. When she paused, looking unsure, he raised his voice so she could hear. “Face the building, Melanie! Step sideways. Hold tight. You’ve got this.”

The trellis creaked unpromisingly as she tested it with her slippered foot, and his gut tightened. It wasn’t just the rickety structure that worried him—but the integrity of the entire damn building, compromised by the fire.

Malum tightened his grip on the trellis, as though he could will it to hold her weight. He swallowed hard, entirely focused on the pale, soot-streaked face peering down at him, her lips pressed together as if to keep her panic contained. He’d seen her bravery before, but damn it, the stakes had never felt this high.

“It’s holding,” he said, his voice firm. “One step at a time. I’m right here.”

“Okay. I’m coming, then.” Her gaze flicked down to him, and their eyes locked. He didn’t hear the fire roaring behind her or the shifting movements of the men holding the makeshift catch. All he saw was her—terrified, determined, and entirely too precious to lose.

“You knew…” she said as she lowered her other foot.

“What did I know?”

“You knew that Crossings was dangerous.” Her voice carried just enough for him to hear. “That he was a danger to me. Didn’t you? That’s why you said you were worried—last night…” Her voice broke slightly, but her fingers held tight to the trellis, moving from one slat to the next.

Odd time for her to decide she wanted to have this conversation, but Malum was willing to talk about whatever she wanted if it would help keep her calm. Besides, she was climbing for her life; an explanation from him was the least that she deserved.

“I did,” he admitted. He should have told her this before, instead of losing his wits and breaking things off so cruelly. He should have… “I should have realized earlier. By going to that ball—and then driving in the park, I put you in danger.” Standish had been right to be livid. It was a miracle her brother hadn’t demanded they meet at dawn. “I just…” He shook his head. “I wasn’t thinking.”

Something cracked inside, causing the building to shudder, but she kept right on climbing, descending with halting steps.

“Why weren’t you thinking?” she asked, a little wobble in her voice. “What do you mean?”

Of course she wouldn’t make this easy. They were not alone—far from it. His friends, his servants, hell, damn near a hundred strangers were listening to their exchange. But Malum was determined to answer her honestly.

“I wasn’t thinking straight, because I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

She stilled, but then he held his breath when her grip faltered slightly before steadying herself again.

“Can you… say that again?”

Malum let out a low chuckle. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” The words rang out loud and clear.

“So, it isn’t over?” she asked, her voice a mixture of hope and fear, as she lowered herself to the next step.

“No,” he said, his tone more serious now. “It’ll never be over, Melanie.”

He had to speak loudly for her to hear him over the din of the fire, meaning that every one of the gawkers standing around now could most likely hear him as well. But, well, Malum found that he didn’t really care about that. He didn’t care if every damned rake in London heard him. Hell, let them all know. Print it in all the papers. Let the whole bloody ton know.

“Then, there is an… us?” she asked, hesitating, just over halfway to safety now.

“Always,” he said without a moment’s pause. “Even if you don’t want me, you have me.” She had his body, heart, and soul.

Her lips parted, and for a moment, she stopped climbing altogether. The acrid smoke curled around her, the flames casting a warm glow across her face, but her gaze never left his.

“Does that mean…” she began, her voice faltering.

“It means that I love you,” he said, and the words came so easily—words he’d never imagined saying to anyone. But to her…

“Dearly. Passionately. Desperately.” To her, he’d say them a hundred thousand times over, endlessly, happily—because he meant them, more than he’d ever meant anything before. “And I always will.”

The world seemed to hold its breath. His chest was a knot of tension, and he barely registered Beckworth muttering something under his breath about “taking their sweet time”. But Malum’s attention was entirely on her, on the raw emotion in her face that made his throat tighten.

“I love you too, Harry,” she said, her voice shaking but certain.

The admission hit him harder than he’d expected, and for a moment, his composure slipped. But there wasn’t time to process it—not with the trellis creaking threateningly and the flames creeping closer to where she clung.

“Then hurry up, sweetheart,” he said with a little more urgency, though a faint smile touched his lips. “And get down here before the bloody building collapses.”

Her lips curved, renewed determination flickering across her face. She shifted again, vines rustling as her skirts caught and pulled. “This is taking forever!” she called out, still with that hint of fear.

“You’re so close,” he said, pride swelling even in the midst of this chaos.

With a nod, she resumed her descent, her movements still careful but more confident the longer she went without any mishaps. Malum stayed rooted below, his arms outstretched, every muscle taut as he tracked her progress.

When a nearby window shattered, just to his right, the same place where she’d spent hours sitting, watching the world, he realized they were running out of time.

But she should be close enough now, only a foot or two above him. Widening his stance, Malum lifted his hands, bracing himself.

“You can let go now, Melanie,” he said, his voice low but commanding. “I’ve got you.”

She hesitated.

“Trust me.” His voice cut through the crackling flames and the rush of his own pounding pulse.

She released her hold and pushed off from the wall, falling for barely a split second before his arms came up to wrap around her, his grip secure. As soon as he knew he had her, Malum pulled Melanie even closer, wanting to reassure the both of them—that she was safe, that he was here, that they were together.

In that moment, the fire, the brigade, the shouting—it all faded into the background. All Malum could feel was her heartbeat against his chest, her breath warm against his neck.

“I told you,” he murmured, his voice rough with relief as he tightened his hold. “I’d never let you fall.”

She clung to him, her face pressing into his chest. “I know,” she whispered, her voice muffled but filled with a quiet certainty that undid him.