The Baron's Betrayal (17 page)

“Gillbanks, how close are we? Is the fire near my house?”

The footman hesitated, telling Tristan what he’d feared the most. “My lord, it is your house on fire.”

“Get me there fast.”

Not sure exactly what it was the footman did, they managed to barrel through the crowd until they were so close he could feel the warmth from the flames. “Gillbanks, find Mrs. O’Rourke or Carson. I need to know if Lady Tunstall has left for the country already.”

“Yes, my lord.”

He tried desperately to quell the panic. Please God, Marion had already left. He was pushed and shoved, but stood his ground, waiting for word about his wife.

“My lord.” Carson grabbed him by the arm.

Tristan gripped him. “Where is Lady Tunstall? Did she already leave for Manchester Manor?”

“No sir. Lady Tunstall told me she had no intention of going to the country.”

His mouth dried up at the butler’s words.
Where was she?

“Where is my wife, Carson?”

“We are not sure, my lord. Ellis went to her bedchamber when the fire first broke out, but she was not there. We did a search of the upstairs, where she had been since you left, but she was nowhere to be found.”

“Did you search the first floor?”

“As much as we could, but the flames drove us back.”

“What are you saying, man?” He barely got the words out, his lips numb with fear.

“The smoke has taken over the first floor. No one can see in there to try to find her. I called, but she did not answer. A search around the outside area has not been successful. We have every reason to believe Lady Tunstall is most likely still inside.”

Chapter Nineteen

All of Tristan’s blood left his head and raced to his feet, leaving him nauseous and lightheaded. He bent over, leaning his palms on his thighs, fighting the black dots that threatened to consume him. This was not the time to pass out.

Marion is in a burning building. And there is no one else to save her. No one can see to find her because of the smoke. But I can’t see, anyway.

Could he enter a burning building?

How could he not?

The mere thought of it had him emptying the contents of his stomach onto the ground. After wiping his mouth, he turned to his butler. “Carson, help me off with my jacket, then dunk it and this handkerchief into the barrel of water on the side of the house.”

“My lord, what do you intend to do?”

“Get my wife out of that house. It matters not that the smoke is thick. I cannot see anyway, and I have heightened senses. I will find her.”

“The place might collapse,” Ellis said.

“Then I will die in there with her. I will not stand here and allow my wife to perish when I have the ability to save her.”

“Here is your jacket, my lord.” Carson handed the dripping coat to him.

“Tell me how the fire is spreading. Where are the flames?”

“The fire is mostly at the back of the house, but moving toward the front. We found the smoke to be extremely thick.”

Tristan gave him a curt nod. “Ellis, escort me to the front door. Quickly.”

Together they moved forward, Tristan tamping down the panic that was trying to drive him back. He could do this, and he would do this. His life was worth nothing if Marion wasn’t in it. It had taken him much too long to come to that conclusion. He would save her, and the babe, even if he died trying.

Blocking out the noise and confusion of the men attempting to quell the fire, along with the crowds that had gathered, Tristan and Ellis arrived at the entrance.

“My lord, are you sure about this?” Ellis’s panicked voice only strengthened his resolve.

“Yes. You may leave me now.”

Tristan dropped to his knees and tied the wet handkerchief around his nose and mouth. Then, swinging the jacket over his head, he lay on his belly and dragged himself forward on his elbows. He closed his eyes against the burning of the acrid smoke and took short, quick breaths.

Within minutes he was overcome with coughing, and his eyes leaked tears down his face. The only way he could tell how close the flames were was by temperature. It seemed the front area of the house was thick with smoke, but the heat didn’t seem to indicate the fire was nearby.

He continued on, every once in a while calling Marion’s name. He felt around with his hands as he continued on, hoping to strike a foot or an arm.

“Marion!” Sucking in a breath to shout her name brought on another spasm of coughing. He crawled forward, swinging his arm around, praying he would strike something to give him a clue as to where on the bottom floor he was.

Since Marion had not been found when the servants searched the first floor, he had to assume that in attempting to escape the fire, she’d gone down the stairs, and possibly collapsed or fell. With renewed fear of her being dead from a fall, he slid along the floor in the direction of the staircase.

“Marion!” He lay very still, listening for a moan or any sound other than the crackle of the flames or the sizzle of the water the firefighters were pouring on the blaze.

Sweat streamed down his face. The heat was intense, but not hot enough to alert him that the flames were near. He laid his cheek on the marble floor where the air was relatively clear and sniffed, attempting to pick up Marion’s scent. The strong smoke was all he could smell.

A whimper had him turning back toward the front entrance. “Marion?”

He waited. Nothing. Could it have been his imagination? He continued on, calling out her name, praying to find her before the entire structure collapsed. If God spared her life, he would hold her close and never let her go. He would be the best husband and father ever. No more feeling sorry for himself or pushing away those who loved him.

If only he was granted another chance.

Breathing was becoming more difficult. He moved closer to the staircase and did a sweep of the area with his arm. His fingertip touched something. “Marion?”

He scooted forward and reached out. His fingers encountered warm flesh. Feeling his way up, he determined she was curled into a ball, with the movement of her chest telling him she was still alive and breathing. Relief flooded him, followed immediately with panic. Now that he had her, he had to get the two of them out of the building before the fire spread in this direction or the entire thing collapsed.

Gripping her arm, he edged backward toward the front door, dragging Marion with him. The marble floor made it easy for him to drag her, but more difficult for him to gain purchase to escape.

Throwing the jacket off, he climbed to his hands and knees, then, holding Marion by her wrist, crawled in the direction he thought was the door, pulling her along. He was growing weary, the coughing spasms not letting up at all. A fit of sneezing overtook him, forcing him to stop. He snatched the handkerchief from his face, wiped his nose, then moved forward.

The smoke was thicker, so he took short, quick breaths, but the coughing continued. Each breath he dragged in only made him cough more. His lungs were on fire, his body covered with sweat, and his head pounded. They had to reach the door soon. When he’d been walking toward the door from the staircase, not crawling and dragging his wife along, it seemed such a short distance. Hopefully, he hadn’t gotten turned around and was going in the wrong direction.

“I see him!” Ellis’s words confirmed he was headed the right way. He tried to tell his valet to keep talking so as to anchor him, but the words wouldn’t come out as he continued to cough and drag in the smoke-filled air.

Within seconds, strong arms gripped him. “Marion,” he wheezed, alerting whoever it was holding him that Marion was next to him.

“I’ve got her, my lord,” Carson said. Then the butler was overcome with a fit of coughing.

Ellis moved to Tristan’s right side and helped him to his feet. “We need to get away from the building. It appears it may collapse any time.”

Tristan nodded, continuing to cough. “Marion?” he wheezed.

“Carson has her, my lord. Lord Beckwith has offered his home to you. He is directly across the street. I’ve already sent for a doctor to attend you and Lady Tunstall.”

“Thank you.” His throat stung with every word he uttered, and he continued to cough. Behind him he could hear Marion coughing, and he thanked God for the sound. If she was coughing, she wasn’t dead.

The group made their way across the street and up the stairs to Beckwith’s house.

“Please, let me help you,” a woman’s voice said as they entered the hall.

“Is that you, Mrs. O’Rourke?”

“Yes, my lord. Lord Beckwith has opened his home to our staff as well as you and my lady. He was about to leave for his country home when the fire broke out. He offered his home to us and then went merrily on his way.”

“I must send him a note. That was most gracious of him.” He bent over and hacked away once more, in rhythm with Marion.

…

Marion was overtaken with another bout of coughing. Her shoulder ached every time she moved, and her head pounded where she must have hit it when she fell down the stairs. Every cough reverberated as though someone was taking a cudgel to her head. She tried desperately to get clean air into her lungs, but she felt as if a huge animal sat upon her chest.

“Milady, we must get you upstairs to one of the bedchambers.” Jane slid her arm around Marion’s waist and attempted to move her forward.

“Where are we?” She barely got the words out before she began to cough again. Her voice sounded as if a frog had taken up residence there.

“Don’t talk, milady. It is not good for your throat. We are in Lord Beckwith’s house, which is across from your own.”

Too tired, sore, and weak to comment, Marion merely nodded and moved forward. Mrs. O’Rourke took her other side and the three began the ascent to the bedchamber floor.

As impossible as it seemed, she was certain it had been Tristan who had dragged her out of the house. Tristan, who had told her to return to her family and who had been terrified of fire most of his life.

“Tristan?” Another coughing spell.

“Ellis and Carson are bringing him to another bedchamber. We must get you both cleaned up for the doctor’s visit.”

She allowed them to haul her to a bedchamber where a bath had already been set up. She was stripped of her clothes and helped into the tub. Jane gave her a glass of water that she sipped on, finding that if she drank it too fast it started another coughing spell. Her throat was still raw and her lungs burned as if they were on fire.

Marion placed her palms against her stomach. Hopefully all was well with the babe. Perhaps when the doctor arrived, he could examine her to make sure she hadn’t done any harm.

She would indeed have to return to her brother’s home now, since she’d burned down Tristan’s home. She must have knocked the candle over and that’s what started the fire. A tear ran down her face, followed by another, then another. Before long she was sobbing and not certain why.

“It is all right, milady. Let’s get you out of the bath and into something warm. The doctor has arrived and he’s with his lordship now.”

She was helped out of the tub, dried off, and wrapped in what must have been one of Lord Beckwith’s banyans. It was a red and brown silk print that smelled of leather and sandalwood. Nothing like Tristan’s banyans. Tears continued to run down her face. This was most likely the end for them. He had wanted her gone, she’d burned down his house, and on top of all that, he had been forced to be a gentleman and rescue her, even though he must have been terrified.

No sooner was she in the bed than the doctor arrived. “My lady, his lordship tells me you are expecting a child?”

“Yes, sir.”

“He was quite concerned for the babe’s health. If you don’t mind, I would like to have an
accoucheur
I have worked with before attend you to make sure all is well.”

Marion once again placed her hand over her middle. “What is an
accoucheur
?”

“He is a better trained midwife. All the Quality have begun to use
accoucheurs
since their record of healthy mothers and babies is much better.”

Relief flooded her. “I like that idea. I will be happy to see him.”

Tristan was concerned for the babe’s health? Whatever made him say that? He’d clearly told her he wanted no part of the child. Nor of her, either.

“Is the doctor through with my wife yet?” Tristan’s voice drew her attention from the doctor listening to her lungs with an unusual device that looked like a musical instrument.

“Not quite, your lordship. I will be finished in a few minutes. I advised your wife to accept attention from an
accoucheur
I have used in the past to make sure all is well with the babe.”

“Yes. Excellent. Do whatever is necessary.”

Marion stared at Tristan, who appeared to be quite anxious as he stood waiting for the examination to end. He’d had a bath and was also wrapped in one of Lord Beckwith’s banyans. His wet hair had been brushed, but the curls still fell on his forehead. Argos stood alongside him, and Tristan ran his fingers through the dog’s fur. How hard it was going to be for her to leave him. But she no longer had a choice. As much as she had insisted she wouldn’t return to Manchester Manor, things had changed. It would have been easy to just stay in his London house, but now that he needed to relocate to his country estate, there would be no place for her.

“My lady, it appears you have suffered only a little bit of damage to your throat and lungs which will heal with time.” The doctor returned the strange instrument to his bag. “The knock you suffered to your head bled but a little bit, and that will also heal. You will have a bump for a few days. Cold packs on your head may help. I will also leave some laudanum for you to take to help you sleep.”

“Thank you, doctor.”

“I will send the
accoucheur
, Mr. Vargant, to attend you.” He turned toward Tristan. “Now that your home is uninhabitable, my lord, will you remain in Town?”

“No. I will be heading to my country estate tomorrow.”

“Then there is no need for me to send Mr. Vargant.” The doctor gazed down at Marion. “I suggest when you return to the country, you arrange for an
accoucheur
to attend you, but from what I can tell, I think the babe is fine.”

What the doctor didn’t know, of course, was that she would be returning to her family’s country estate, while her husband would be going to his. No need to mention such things to the doctor, however. She sighed and placed her hands once again on her stomach.

“Now I wish everyone to leave so I may talk to my wife.” Tristan’s clipped tone garnered everyone’s attention.

Marion’s stomach clenched as Ellis, Carson, Mrs. O’Rourke, Jane, and the doctor all headed to the door. She did not want to hear what Tristan had to say. One disaster a day was enough for her.

Once the crowd had left, Tristan put Argos outside the door and closed it, turning toward her. “Speak to me.”

“What?”

“Speak to me so I may follow the sound of your voice.”

“Um, I am over here. I am sitting in, I presume, Lord Beckwith’s bed.” As she spoke Tristan prowled, with all the stealth of a fine, sleek animal, in her direction, a slight smile on his face. The banyan parted, revealing his muscular chest, all golden skin and fine brown hairs down the center. He stared directly at her, giving her the eerie feeling he could actually see her. “Tristan?”

“Yes, my love.”

“Um. You can stop now. You’re a mere few inches from the bed.”

“Ah, but that is not close enough.” He moved the slight distance and sat on the edge of the bed, resting his bent knee on the mattress, giving her a glimpse of his bare leg. The front of the banyan tented, his erect manhood partially visible.