Page 21 of How to Tempt An Earl (Wed Within a Year #2)

T he first detail Kieran noticed as he pounded down the lime alley on Tambor was the smoke: how much more of it there was, how dark it was as it filled up the sky. Time was slipping away. He and his brothers had spent much of it on the perimeter, quietly taking out one man at a time. Stealth had been their friend. They couldn’t expect to safely or effectively overcome Roan’s coterie of mercenaries all at once. They’d be outnumbered and, while numbers were not always the deciding factor when up against the Horsemen, it did increase the chance of not reaching their goal without sustaining injury, and injury would slow them down at the critical moment.

The perimeter had involved bloody knife-work and it had taken time—time Kieran was not certain he had, by the looks of the smoke-filled sky. The end of the lime alley neared. His brothers would be in position. Caine had gone round to the east of the house, Luce to the west. It had seemed from the position of his men that Roan had hoped to draw them to the front of the house and catch them in a cross-fire. It was a good plan, but one that they’d effectively reversed. The surprise would be all Roan’s.

Kieran drew his pistol. There was no more need for silent killing when he faced Roan. He must be ready, but not reckless. A tall figure stood on the front steps of his home and rage began to boil. He pushed the rage away. Rage was what Roan wanted. Rage and heroic recklessness made a man an easy target. Roan liked to play games. If he was to win, he needed to think clearly and quickly. He had to choose his shot carefully. He could not shoot Roan before he knew where Celeste was.

‘Good day,’ Roan called from the steps. ‘You took longer than expected. I was beginning to think none of this mattered to you—the house, the lovely Celeste. It’s not every man who can ride away from such beautiful things.’

Kieran halted Tambor on the drive and held Roan’s gaze as he went on the offensive. ‘There was business to take care of first.’ He was in the centre of the drive, a perfect target for Roan’s men if they’d been at their positions. Soon, Roan would realise his men were gone.

‘Have you come alone?’ Roan’s eyes looked left and right without his head moving.

‘I’m sorry if that disappoints you.’ It took all his patience not to shoot Roan where he stood and dash into the house. There were flickers of flame visible now at the far end of the east wing.

‘I didn’t think the Horsemen worked alone,’ Roan drawled as if this were a leisurely conversation between gentlemen. Then again, Roan knew he had time on his side. This whole interaction had been designed to favour him. So, that was the first level of the game, Kieran thought—time against speed.

‘Only when needs must,’ Kieran replied tersely.

Roan made a show of reaching for a cigar and lighting it. Kieran slowly counted to five in his head, giving Roan time to realise his trap had not closed.

‘Was the cigar supposed to be a signal?’ Kieran took some satisfaction from Roan’s paling face when the expected shots didn’t come. ‘I think you’ll find your men have been relieved of duty. It was the reason for my delay.’

‘It doesn’t matter. There’s still one gun in play.’ Roan recovered from the news. ‘Celeste controls it. I gave her the option of a single shot she could fire to warn you.’ Roan nodded. ‘She can probably see you from the window even now, and she’s wondering if she has the courage to pull the trigger, the love to pull the trigger.’

He tapped ash from the end of his cigar while rage rocketed through Kieran. The bastard. Of all the cruelest tricks to put her through… What she must be feeling right now—grief, fear, self-recrimination because she couldn’t pull the trigger or because she could. He didn’t want to think of her doing the last. He couldn’t afford to wallow in the morbid image of it.

Be patient, my love. I am coming. He willed his thoughts to her. Yes, you are my love. Both of us walk out of here alive today, or neither of us will.

It took all of Kieran’s willpower not to look to the upper floor, to focus his attentions searching for a glimpse of her face.

‘It’s quite the Orpheus and Eurydice dilemma, isn’t it?’ Roan tapped more ash from the cigar. ‘Do you dare risk looking for her? Or in that time will I pull a gun of my own? Or possibly even a glance from you will give her the courage she needs and you can watch her die for you.’

All true. All reasons why he fought the temptation to look up, desperate as he was for a sight of her. That was what Roan wanted—for him to break his concentration both physically and mentally. But Roan had given important information away: Celeste was currently alive. She was in the house. She was upstairs. Those details mattered when time was racing.

‘Surely, the longer I stay here, the more obvious it will be to her that your plans have gone awry? And the less tempted she’ll be to pull that trigger.’ That was what Kieran hoped. He also hoped he sounded cool enough to be convincing with that argument. Inside, he was seething with a dozen different emotions that were waiting to boil over and he couldn’t allow it. A berserker rage would not help him, or Celeste.

Roan gave a shrug of contemplation. ‘There is merit to what you say but the longer you sit there on your horse, the longer my fire burns and the closer it gets to her. The smoke may already have reached her.’ More information: that meant she was in the east wing. In his smug certainty that he held the upper hand, Roan was giving himself away. Roan could tell him little more that would keep him alive. Kieran could take the shot now.

‘That’s where you’re wrong.’ Roan laughed coldly, guessing his thoughts. ‘I know who the Ottoman sympathiser is. I know where you can find him—the man responsible for organising Wapping and subsequently your brother’s death.’

Did Roan think that would keep him alive? Kieran shrugged. ‘I have the list. I will find the man eventually.’

‘Maybe. These are men who are good at hiding, at changing their names and their entire identities. I think a name is not enough. You will need more than that. Celeste does not understand that a list is not as powerful as she thinks. A list is just words.’ This was the second game: Roan wanted him to choose between his brother or the woman he loved. There was no time for this. Kieran raised his pistol.

I am sorry, Stepan. You are already dead, but I might still save her.

A clear, single crack sounded and Kieran went still, his own pistol unfired as Roan crumpled on the front step. Caine was running forward from the east side, pistol in hand, yelling instructions, but Kieran was already off Tambor and sprinting up the steps as Caine knelt beside Roan.

Inside, Kieran could smell smoke even on the lower level. Was it a second fire or had the smoke drifted this far already? He took the stairs two at a time, calling her name, letting Celeste know he was coming, that help was coming. She just had to hold on a little longer. Smoke, not Roan, was the enemy now. It was thick in the east wing and growing thicker the further down the corridor he went.

Kieran tore his cravat from his neck and fastened it around his nose and mouth. It was harder to call for her now, the smoke turning his voice hoarse. It would be hard, too, for her to answer. He’d been counting on her being able to make some sort of sound, so that he didn’t have to waste time opening each door.

A hulking shape loomed in the middle of the hall. Kieran recognised Ammon Vincent. He carried a bulky mass over his shoulder and a gun in his other hand. Was the man pillaging already? Kieran squinted against the smoke, new dread filling him. That wasn’t bulk, that was a person: Celeste. Ammon Vincent was risking much to come up and get her. Or perhaps Ammon Vincent had seen Roan fall, and knew the others were gone, that he was on his own. If he had Celeste, he could barter for his own freedom and his own life.

There was only one way for Vincent to go and that was to come towards him. The back staircases at the end of the hall were lost to him. Vincent would be near enough to see him soon. Kieran raised his pistol and stepped into the centre of the hall. ‘Put her down.’

A moment’s surprise flickered in Vincent’s eyes, red and watery from smoke like his own. ‘Or you’ll what—shoot me? I don’t think so. Not while I’ve got her. The risk is too great you’ll hit her instead.’

Kieran blinked, trying to clear his vision. Celeste was so still where she lay over his shoulder. Another tremor of fear ran through him. Was she conscious? Was she alive? She must be. He didn’t imagine Vincent would risk himself to haul out a body. He coughed, a reminder that time was running out. There was no time to think, only time to do; to take action and sort it out later. He would have to take Vincent in two stages. A lethal shot was not possible without risking Celeste but a disabling shot was. He gave himself over to the Horseman within and fired, taking Vincent in the leg.

Kieran was already running forward, slipping his knife from his boot as the big man went down, dropping Celeste and his weapon in his pain and in his need for self-preservation. Kieran was too fast; he didn’t give the man time to draw a weapon. He slid his blade between the big man’s ribs and thrust up. He knew he need not linger over Vincent; confident his blade would do its work.

His concern was all for Celeste. He lifted her in his arms and raced for the stairs, his breathing laboured, the air stinging his lungs. Someone was coming up the smoke-clogged stairs. Luce! Luce threw an arm around him, lending him strength as they made their way to the door, towards fresh air.

‘Take her into the drive,’ Luce instructed when he would have laid her down on the front step. ‘We want her far enough from the fire if it should spread.’ The extra steps seemed like miles. He wanted to lay her down and see her face, to assure himself she was breathing.

‘I don’t know if she’s alive,’ he gasped hoarsely, his thoughts jumbled, his fear giving him the power to make the last steps of the journey. He set her down at last, pressing a finger to the pulse that ought to beat at her neck, a pulse that had beaten fast and hard for him but now seemed non-existent. ‘I can’t find it, Luce, I can’t…’

His voice broke, a thousand terrors racing through his mind. He’d been too late. He should have ridden faster; he should have killed the men on the perimeter faster; he should never have let her leave; he should not have put off urging her to stay and should have promised her whatever it took. He loved her and he needed her. Let the house go, he thought—he’d build another. But there wouldn’t be another her, another love for him—never.

He gathered her in his arms and gave her body a shake. ‘Celeste, wake up, my love. Come back to me. We have so much to do. I need you. I love you.’

* * *

He loved her. She must be dead. All her wishes were coming true. Wasn’t that what happened when one died? There was peace and comfort; worries faded… If one’s life had been good, one got one’s rewards. Kieran was her reward—all she’d ever wanted, although she’d been too stubborn to see it, too set in the path she’d charted for herself. There was cool air here, too. That was nice. It soothed the burning in her throat. There’d been fire just before it had all ended. There’d been a gun and a man—a bad man. And a knife—her knife. A dagger…

The grey fog of her mind cleared. Her memories sharpened. She was back in the room at Wrexham, hideously bound with a hideous choice before her, the room filling with smoke. She was choking, suffocating on it. The door burst open and Ammon Vincent was there, cutting her bonds and grabbing her. There’d been a moment when she’d had a chance to reach for the dagger beneath her skirts and she’d seized it, attempting to stab him. She’d not been strong enough.

She’d fought him then, punching, kicking and struggling, knowing it was futile. He was twice her size and without remorse. Her head had slammed back hard into a wall—hard enough that she’d fallen and the room had spun. Her awareness had not lasted long after that. She recalled thinking perhaps it was better this way, as the smoke was bound to get her. It would be less painful when it did. She’d simply drift off and it would all be over. Only it wasn’t over…

Someone was calling her. Kieran was calling her, his voice raspy with smoke and tears. Suddenly, she wanted nothing more than to wipe those tears away and ease his fears the way he eased hers—with comfort and strength. To do all of that, she had to open her eyes, which seemed at the moment to be a Herculean feat. But it was worth it when she looked up into dark eyes the colour of melted chocolate.

‘Swiss.’ She managed the single hoarse word, watching his expression change to perfect, pure, unadulterated joy, the way the wind chased away storm clouds from the sky. ‘Your eyes look like Swiss chocolate.’

Then she was locked in his embrace as he rocked her back and forth, happiness and tears mixing with his laughter. ‘Only you would think of chocolate at a time like this. You almost died. You almost died.’

‘But I didn’t.’ She might have, for a little while, but she’d come back—for this man, for this chance. She reached a hand up to his cheek, soothing and stroking, afraid to look away from him for fear it was all a dream and he was right—she had died. She didn’t want to be dead. She wanted this to be real.

‘I was nearly too late.’ Something dark lurked in his eyes.

‘No, you were just in time.’ She held his gaze. There would be time to tell the tale of this day to each other later when they had recovered. Not all wounds were visible and there would be some trauma to overcome, but they would do it together. For now, it was enough to be in his arms, to feel his comfort around her even as she offered comfort to him. This was true partnership.

Luce knelt beside them. ‘I’ve brought water.’ Kieran took the tin cup from him and held it to her lips.

‘We’re gaining on the fire.’ Luce offered Kieran a report as she sipped.

‘Is it bad?’ She looked at Kieran, horror in her eyes. She’d forgotten about the house. She struggled for a moment. ‘I should get up. People will need help.’

‘Spoken like a true countess putting her people first.’ Kieran kissed her forehead. ‘But not today. You’ve had an ordeal and you need to rest.’ Kieran smoothed back the tangle of her hair. ‘The east wing has suffered. We’ll need to close it off and rebuild.’

Tears smarted in her eyes. This was the final straw after so many. ‘Your house, your beautiful house! I am so sorry.’ He’d saved her today but he’d lost his home and she was to blame.

‘ Our house, Celeste. It’s yours as much as it is mine. I’ve only had it for a few months. We will rebuild and I dare say the rest of the house is plenty large enough for the two of us until then.’ He was smoothing away her tears with his thumbs. ‘It’s just the east wing. I could have lost much more than that today.’

‘You saved me,’ she whispered.

‘But you saved everyone else. You saw the staff safe. Celeste, you are the most selfless person I know. You’ve lived amid corruption and coercion and you’ve never faltered in your convictions. It is just one of the reasons I love you.’

She smiled through her tears. ‘And I love you, Kieran Parkhurst. It was all I could think of…up there.’ Her voice choked over the words, the remembrance. ‘I thought I was going to die and I wouldn’t have told you the one thing that truly mattered: that I love you.’ Now that she’d said the words once, she wanted to say them over and over again.

‘Enough to marry me?’

‘Yes.’ Today had shown her much. There was freedom, and then there was the freedom that came from love. What Kieran offered her was the latter, although she’d nearly been too blind to see it. It had been a hard lesson to learn but she would not make the mistake again.

‘When?’ Kieran’s eyes danced with teasing and with joy—joy that she’d put there.

She leaned up and whispered a single word in his ear. She’d set out to save the Horsemen, but instead a Horseman had saved her. She would grab on to life with him with both hands and she would not let go, come calamity or calm, come lull or storm.