Passion (17 page)

Buttoning his coat, Raith responded, “It
doesn’t bloody matter anymore, Jules. Now will you go the hell
away?”

Jules had never felt so desperate in his
life. “I will, if you’ll listen to me. Let us help. What are you
going to do? If you’ll tell me who—“

Raith tore his hold loose. They were through
the gate when he turned and shoved Jules nearly off balance. His
face and eyes looked ravaged. “I don’t need your help. I do not
bloody need you! It is done. Now go, Jules. Go or so help me,
I’ll—.” Raith snarled and turned away.

Jules caught his balance and stood there
watching the figure stride with haste up the dark street. His guts
felt like knots. His heart was ramming his ribs. It only took a
second for him to make up his mind, get royally pisssed, and start
running.

He reached his coach and told his man,
“Follow him—discreetly.”

Inside the coach, one that moved too slowly
over the shimmering cobbled streets, Jules muttered curses,
prayers, more curses, and then nearly jumped out of his skin as he
heard a loud boom. Everything flashed red and gold. The acrid scent
of smoke followed—and then chaos erupted.

The driver tried to control the horses.
Alarms were going off back toward the docks. Shadows turned into
people running with lanterns. The fire brigade rushed by.

In a moment of opportunity, Jules leaned half
out the coach door and yelled grimly to his driver, “Don’t lose
sight of him.”

“I won’t, my lord.”

It was not easy getting through the streets
with bodies spilling out of houses, taverns, and riders crashing
through, heading past them to the explosion. The coach turned down
another street, then up. Jules broke a sweat when they pulled
against the curb.

Getting out, the sounds of voice, noise in
the street behind them was rattling his already razor nerves. He
looked at the driver. “Which way?”

“There.” He pointed a gloved hand to the
right.

Jules headed that way, half in a jog, cussing
again, cursing people who were apparently hearing the alarms. He
could feel his breathing constricted, and feel sweat dampen his
lawn shirt. He strained his eyes and finally saw the dark figure
enter a narrow alley. By the time he reached it, he saw Raith
running toward the back of a residence.

Looking behind him, Jules hoped his coachman
had followed when the pedestrians cleared. His skin tightened,
nerves getting more jagged at the noise and bells, shouts in the
dark-and that thick cloud of billowing smoke now spreading and
snaking further up town.

“Jesus Christ!” Jules groaned, his heart
jumping in his chest and eyes horrified watching the mansion Raith
had entered appear to explode inside.

He heard a man’s scream and thought his hair
would crawl from his scalp. Both sweating and chilled now, Jules
headed in that direction, screaming Raith’s name.

He was so intent on looking up at the second
floor—at windows that blew outward, that he did not see Raith until
his brother was upon him.

Filthy and coatless, Raith carried a
woman—who was nude save for that coat. Jules could not tell if it
was blood, soot or what substance on her, but she was lax, her head
back and tumbles of dark hair flowing.

“I told you not to follow me.”

“Raith.” Jules wanted to grab and shake him.
“What the bloody hell is going on!”

His brother looked stark eyed and drawn. “Is
your coach nearby?”

“Yes, it—“

“Take her.” He handed the woman over.

Jules scarcely had her secure as Raith drew a
chain from under his shirt and tore it lose. His actions rushed, he
slid the ring off it, and put it on her finger. “Take her to the
Duke of Coulborne. She’s his daughter.”

“Dear God.” Jules looked at the woman’s face,
beauty yes, but it was marred. Her whole body was. He looked up in
time to notice Raith was heading back to the house.

“Wait! Raith!”

Turning, Raith came to him and grasped his
lapels savagely. “You want to help me? Then take her, go.
Jules—listen to me—you never saw me tonight. You were not here.” He
turned and ran into the burning house.

Jules grit his teeth, stood there, torn
between obeying, getting the woman to safety, and plunging after
Raith—dragging him out of there if he had to.

Cursing, swearing like he never had before,
Jules went to his knee a moment and hastily buttoned the coat,
bringing the collar up, and hoping like hell his driver was indeed
close. Hefting her in his arms, he turned and started walking,
setting his teeth harder as a series of screams issued from the
flames.

His coachman was at the curb, on the opposite
street. He rushed to it with his burden and gave the Duke’s
address. The coach turned. Jules could only stare numbly at the
opposite seat while a succession of explosions sounded behind them.
The whole of London suddenly emerged into the streets. The
visibility, because of the smoke was limited, the noise, panic,
just beginning.

Jules shuddered, his arms holding the woman
secure until they reached the Duke of Coulborne. Leaving her in the
coach, he ran up the entry stairs and banged on the door.

The butler looked startled when he opened
it.

However, Jules, not caring what he looked
like, what his expression was, asked for the Duke, at once!

The butler hurried away and in moments, his
Grace David Bordwyc was there in his shirtsleeves, and looking at
Jules white-faced.

Catching his arm, Jules led him outside. “I
don’t have time to explain. There is a woman in my coach. Raith, my
brother, says she is your daughter. She’s in need of medical
attention.” Talking while hurrying him to the coach, Jules said,
“Discretion is obviously agreed by the both of us. I need to get
back and find Raith.”

When the coach door opened, the Duke uttered
a, “Oh, God in heaven,” then climbed in, gathering the young woman
into his arms. He exited—neither noticing a packet sliding out of
the coat pocket and landing under the seat of Jules coach.

Bordwyc spared a stark glance for Jules, “I
am in your debt Stoneleigh. I…will explain... when things are less
pressing. You did the right thing and though I do not know how your
brother found her…I thank you.”

“Don’t thank me, Raith saved her life.” Jules
added grimly, “Though he may be the reason she was in danger to
start with. I suspect, she had been his mistress.” He raked a hand
through his hair. “I have no real information or explanation, as
yet, Your Grace. It is all twisted up in some path to revenge Raith
has been on for years, regarding his dead wife. Perhaps you can get
more from her.”

“She’s alive, that’s all that matters. Do
what you must…” Coulborne strode with his burden to the house.

Jules climbed back in and barked at the
driver, shortly in another fight toward the east end. He ended up
jumping out and running through crowds, making his way once more to
that street, feeling his breath burn his lungs from the smoke by
the time he reached it.

Heedlessly running toward the house, which
was now burning down in the rear section, Jules sought a way in,
and finding none in back, went to the side— nearly falling over a
huddled figure on the ground.

From the glow of the fire, he saw a woman’s
upturned face.

“Lady Harriet! What the devil?”

Harry was leaned over Raith’s prone figure.
“I was….”

“Raith.” Jules went to his knees.

“You know him?”

“He’s my brother.”

She sucked in her breath. “We need to get him
away from here and to a doctor. The Runners are spread out, but
it’s only a matter of time….”

Already gathering him up, Jules carried him
over his shoulder, grunting, trying to stay out of the light of the
fire. He glanced at Lady Harriet—who was in male garb. “Did you
just happen to find him there?”

“Not exactly.” She shot him an evasive look,
but said, “I have a place on fleet street. The sooner we get him to
a doctor the better, and I know a discreet one.”

They reached his coach. Harriet gave
directions, and Jules sat half-holding Raith, who looked like a
bloody mess.

“He’s alive.” Harriet said softly. “Probably
has broken bones though. He jumped from a window, just burst
through it as if he had run and…” She shook her head.

Jules was in shock and knew it. His head
swam. His guts had long since turned inside out with shock and
horror. He muttered, feeling absent his own voice, “If he dies, my
father will never recover.” He was surprised that mattered to him.
Yes, it mattered, very much.

Thankfully, Harriet’s house was on a quiet
corner, at least most of the neighbors were not on the street. The
other shops, printers, and papers though, were ablaze with lights.
Clusters of people could be seen through the window, apparently
writing about the fires.

As discreetly as possible, with the help of
the driver, they got Raith inside. Harriet had the blinds pulled.
They used candlelight to get him upstairs and into the
guestroom.

Briskly, Harriet told them, “I’ll fetch a
doctor. Get him undressed. Perhaps the driver should let your
father know, but the less people who show up here, the better
chance we have of keeping his presence a secret.”

Jules stared at her.

“
I am sure others saw
him…perhaps they won’t not know him, but others may have witnessed
him jumping out.”

Raking a hand through his hair, and then
yanking off jacket and cravat, Jules muttered, “At the worst,
they’ll hang him. At best, he’ll be transported.”

“Or,” Harriet intoned, “He’ll be sent to an
asylum.”

A look of horror covered Jules face.

“I meant a private one. Nevertheless, I am
sure your father, his Grace, will have a solution. Send your driver
for him. I’ll be back shortly.” Harriet left and dashed down the
stairs.

Long and exhausting hours later, Jules sat at
the bottom of those dark stairs, with just a light from above
filtering down on his disheveled figure. His cravat was off, half
shirttails out, and his normally silken straight mane was much
finger-combed. He was drinking whatever Lady Harriet pressed into
his hands.

The Duke of Eastland looked pale and shaken.
The others, grim faced.

“There’s no telling how many people died in
that fire,” Jules muttered tightly.

“The servants all fled the house earlier
today. That pretty brother in law of Stratton’s slipped out with
loaded down bags, too.”

“How do you know?”

“I was….watching his house?”

“Why?”

“I was looking for someone.”

“Who.”

Harry shrugged, and then went to the
cluttered table. “These were spread all over the streets. Everyone
is talking about them.” She grabbed a hand full of the papers and
passed them out.

Ry read some of it aloud for Blaise. By now,
they knew the house belonged to Marcus Stratton, and aside from
Jules’s own dislike of the man, they had known little until Ry
informed them of what he had heard on the streets, much of what was
printed in the flyers, but worse.

Out of necessity, Jules had to inform them of
his earlier encounter with Raith, and of taking the woman to the
Duke of Coulborne before going back to the house.

Blaise mused, “Was she Stratton’s mistress or
Raith’s? It makes no sense.”

“Only she or Raith can answer that.”

No one noticed the slightly pale cast to Lady
Harriet’s face since Jules had told of the daughter. She covered it
well by sipping a brandy-laced coffee, her hand discreetly sliding
that handbill of (the Gypsy) under a book.

She offered, “Perhaps, considering the
reputation, and those printed accusations, the young woman had her
own reasons for being there.”

After scanning them himself Eastland said,
“I’m going there.”

“Where. Why?” Jules half stood.

Eyes still stark but with a determined look
on his face, his Grace said, “I’m going to casually make sure the
inspector sees these, and then I’m going to speculate aloud—that
Stratton obviously had many enemies, and people who owned him
money. Not to mention he was probably a murderer, certainly a pimp
and known slaver, and that if they didn’t get to him, someone he
crossed—he most likely killed himself.”

Eastland added, “Then, I am going to see
David, and suggest that he get the young woman away from London.
Eventually, someone will speculate if she set that fire. They will
find his body in there, I have no doubt. So someone….should start
the rumor that she must have died too tonight.”

Jules swallowed and sat heavily back down.
“Bloody hell.” He put his head in his hands. His elbows on his
knees, he stared at the floor. “This—is the secret you and
Coulborne shared?”

“His part of it, yes. I don’t have time to go
into it now.” Before going out the door, Artis said, “Ry, you, and
Blaise make discreet arrangements so that I can transport Raith to
Eastland as soon as he can travel.”

“Yes, my lord.” Ry nodded, still reading the
print.

“Lady Harriet. I do not know how you came to
be there, or what you were about, but I am eternally grateful to
you. We, all of us, are. I shall be in your debt, if you would
continue to house Raith until—”

“Of course.” Harry smiled a bit. “And do not
worry yourself, I am a woman who can be trusted with confidence.”
There was something ironic in her tone but the night was too grim
for anyone to notice it.

He managed a strained smile in return.

When he was gone, Blaise went up to see the
doctor who was still with Raith, before coming back down and
pulling on his coat. He stood by Jules a moment while Ry was
talking to Lady Harriet.

Reaching out his free hand, Blaise laid it on
Jules’s shoulder. “I wish I was sighted so I could see what you
look like after running over half of London.” He joked. “I’d almost
claim you now.”