42. Safe

SAFE

M alum rushed Melanie away from the burning house with singular focus, cradling her against his chest. The fire brigade was hard at work now, shouts and the hiss of water against flames filling the air.

Melanie was clinging to him, her face pressed against his neck. “I’m safe,” he heard her whispering. “I’m safe. And… you love me.”

“More than anything.” He spoke for her ears only this time.

Inside his townhouse, the noise from the street faded to a murmur, replaced by the quick, clipped steps of his boots on the stairs. His arms tightened around her as he reached his chamber and eased the door open, and then, carefully, he set her down on his bed. Underneath the ash and the dried trail of blood, her face was white as a sheet, stark against the clean, dark coverlet.

For a moment, he could only gaze down at her, feeling the need to memorize every minute detail, every fleck of color in her eyes, every angle in her face. The same reassuring words she’d been murmuring to herself echoed in his mind— she’s safe and I love her…

He tucked an unruly curl behind her ear, the strand stiff with soot and grit, and she gave him a wobbly smile in reply.

He wanted to remain here with her forever, just the two of them. But they were not alone for long.

“Water, Your Grace.” His housekeeper appeared at his elbow, placing a cup in his hand, while another maid hovered with a stack of fresh linens.

He knelt beside the bed, pressing the rim to Melanie’s lips. “Drink,” he said, his voice rough, unsteady. “Please, Melanie.”

She obeyed, her fingers brushing his hand as she drank. The touch was fleeting, but it broke something loose inside him.

He’d come so close to losing her forever. Too close.

“You came,” she said, her voice hoarse, but her eyes…

Filled with wonder.

Malum shook his head. “Of course.” And then, a wave of weakness hit him, a wave so heavy he could hardly keep his head up. “I was almost too late. God, I almost lost you.”

“You were just in time.” Her voice was the sweetest thing he’d ever heard. She must be in shock, otherwise, she wouldn’t be speaking to him so kindly.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you last night,” he said. “I was…”

“You were trying to protect me, weren’t you?”

Malum stared at her. How could she be so understanding? “I didn’t mean it, you know. Someone was watching us, and they couldn’t know how much you meant to me.”

“In that case, you’re forgiven.” How did she do it?

From the moment they’d met, she’d seemed to see right through him. She knew him, and yet, she seemed somehow…

He didn’t deserve her.

Malum leaned forward, his hands cradling her face, oh, so tenderly. She was the most precious thing in the world.

She parted her lips, and he couldn’t help himself.

“Melanie,” he whispered, pressing his mouth against hers, not in urgency but in reverence, as though he needed to reassure them both that she was here, alive, safe.

Her hands found their way to his, trembling slightly, and his fingers tightened against her cheeks. The heat of her skin beneath his palms, the way her breath mingled with his—he needed it. He needed her.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against hers, their breaths mingling in the quiet aftermath of… everything.

“You’re safe,” he murmured, his voice raw with emotion.

“I am.” She laughed a little.

But then, when he moved his fingertips, they came away sticky. How the devil had he forgotten that she was injured? “You’re bleeding. Ah, hell. I’m a cad.” But he wasn’t sorry for kissing her. He would never, ever, be sorry for kissing her.

His sole purpose in life, he now knew, was to love this woman.

He drew back just enough to study the blood at her hairline, unable to stop touching her, though he made sure to do so gently.

When she tilted her head away with a wince, Malum hissed through his teeth. “He did this. Crossings.”

Her little nod sent a fresh wave of fury through him, but he forced it down, focusing on her instead.

“He… he wanted my father’s letters,” she said, her voice a little raspy.

Of course , Malum thought grimly. The bastard had been willing to burn the world down to get them.

“He said he’d…” Her breath hitched but she continued. “He’d help Reed. That he could make sure my brother was never questioned about the fire again. But…” She held his stare almost fiercely. “I realized… those letters—they’re important. Aren’t they?”

Malum stayed silent, letting her speak, though he kept one hand cradling her cheek, the other on her arm.

“I was starting to remember things… just pieces, at first. Things I didn’t want to think about. But then…” She swallowed hard. “When Crossings kept talking, the memories, they wouldn’t stay buried—they couldn’t stay buried.”

“What memories?” he asked, careful though. Now was not the time to push her. They had time. With Crossings on the pavement, they had all the time in the world.

Her gaze dropped, her poor, scraped up little fingers curling into the fabric of her gown. “That day… my father. He gave me the letters. Told me to keep them safe—and not to say anything about them. And… and I think I knew, after. That they were the reason he died. That they were… dangerous.”

She drew in a long, shaky breath. “Crossings said he’d make sure no one hurt my family again. But I knew… I knew if I gave them to him, it wouldn’t stop. It would only make things worse.”

Her eyes flickered, as though recalling something else, and she shifted against him, pushing herself upright. Her trembling fingers moved to her bodice, dipping inside, and when they emerged with two folded papers, a wave of relief broke across her face. She looked up at him, her voice barely audible. “The rest went out the window, but I managed to keep these.”

Malum took the letters carefully, his gaze shifting between them and her pale, weary face.

This woman.

As he took the letters from her, his throat thickened with more emotion than he believed one man could feel—let alone a man like him. “You are so very wise, and so very brave.” His voice caught. “But it’s over now, Melanie. Crossings isn’t going to hurt you—or your family—ever again.”

The faintest flash of relief passed over her face, but her weariness didn’t fade. “He admitted it, you know.”

Malum reached for her hand, holding it tightly. “What did he admit?”

“That he’d sent someone after the letters.” Her throat bobbed, but she continued. “But my father didn’t have them. He’d given them to me…” Eyes fixed somewhere distant. “Which means Crossings was behind the fire at the hunting lodge.”

Of course.

“I wondered.” Malum was more than a little in awe of her. Melanie had had the answers all along, she simply hadn’t known what the questions were.

Malum felt his brows furrow. Crossings’ house had burned to the ground. But then, the duke had been trapped inside of Melanie’s house…

“I remember everything. I knew something wasn’t right—I think we all did. We, Caroline, Josie, and I, were forbidden from going down to the lodge…” She met Malum’s eyes, looking almost apologetic, ashamed. “My mother knew—we all knew they were involved in something…” She shook her head. “But I went anyway. I had a feeling, there was this look in Father’s eyes when he gave them to me.”

She glanced down with a rueful smile. “I was so sure he would see reason. I was his favorite. The doors were locked, of course. I pounded on them a few times, but when no one answered, I gave up. I just… gave up.” She closed her eyes for a second. “I was going back up to my uncle’s manor, but then I saw a man running along the path in front of me—a stranger. I didn’t know who he was, but I remember, he looked over his shoulder and I could see his face, and then there was an explosion. The lodge went up in flames, and that man was running away from it.”

She held Malum’s gaze steadily. “I recognize him now. It was Lord Northwoods.”

Malum went still. His hand tightened on hers, his voice dropping to a dangerous calm. “Northwoods?”

She nodded but then began coughing almost violently. Before she could recover, the door to his chamber swung open, and her family poured in.

Lady Helton crossed to the bed right away, her expression a mixture of dismay and relief as she took in the scene. “A doctor has been sent for,” she announced briskly, and then her face crumpled ever so slightly. “Oh, Melanie!”

Her mother and younger sister followed, and the room was immediately filled with raised voices of concern, questions, more coughing from Melanie, and Lady Roland’s not-so-quiet crying.

Malum kept one arm around Melanie’s shoulders, doing his best to protect her from the onslaught of concern even as he processed what she’d just told him, quietly trying to piece together this new information.

Malum’s thoughts jumped, however, when Standish appeared in the doorway, his expression a mix of gratitude and something else. Painful memories, no doubt, of when other members of his family hadn’t been so lucky.

Regardless of the tumultuous history between the two of them, Malum dipped his chin. He did not need her brother’s thanks. In the end, he didn’t deserve it.

Standish waited a moment, however, before his mouth twisted into a smirk, and he arched a brow. “You brought my sister into your bedchamber, Malum? Really?”

Malum only shook his head.

With the door still open, a handful of servants arrived, carrying basins of water, cloths, and even a tray of tea. The room filled with a flurry of activity, but even with her entire family looking on, Malum did not let go of Melanie’s hand.

His mind was still racing with the implications of her revelation.

Crossings had been a villain, and he’d certainly at least arranged for who knew how many deaths. But Northwoods… Northwoods had set the fire, and as a result, was most definitely a murderer.

Northwoods.

So Crossings had ordered Northwoods to retrieve some likely incriminating letters, and somewhere along the way, Northwoods decided to take drastic measures. Of course, Crossings would have used that information against him, a convenient leash to keep the earl in line—until now.

Malum sat back on his heels, recalling the faint but unmistakable hint of kerosene when Northwoods arrived.

If Northwoods had gotten tired of the threats and the danger, perhaps he was the one who burned down Crossings’ townhouse earlier this morning. But then who set the fire at Rutherford Place? Northwoods had been at the park with Malum and the other rakes at the time, so it couldn’t have been him…

Desperation—self-preservation—had driven Crossings to threaten Melanie.

Northwoods was desperate as well.

Malum met Standish’s gaze across the room. “Crossings may have ordered that fire last year,” he said evenly. “But it was Northwoods who started it.”

But that was all he was allowed, apparently, because in the moment that followed, a stern voice rose over the din.

“Enough! My sister needs some privacy.” Lady Helton was standing on a chair. “Everyone out, now!”