CHAPTER 34
Conflagration
“Hold!” Father ordered, and Seth’s hand froze in midair.
Damn it! To his fury, the girl’s outrageous mention of his dead brother had snared his sire’s interest.
But of course it had, Seth thought cynically.
Even in death, Francis was still his old man’s favorite topic.
Elias Flynn turned from the window and eyed Lady Margaret suspiciously. “How do you know about Francis?”
“So that was his name.” She seized on this as though she sensed an opening. “You have my condolences, sir. How did he die, may I ask?”
Father snorted and looked back out the window. “The old bitch murdered him, of course. That’s why we’re here.”
“Surely you don’t mean the Duchess Lucinda?” the girl asked, frowning prettily.
Seth didn’t trust her for a minute.
“What happened?” she asked with an innocent look.
Father and he exchanged a dark glance fraught with bitter meaning and a shared history to which she was not privy.
“Please,” Lady Margaret said. “If your son is the reason you’re doing all this to me and my future family, I think that, at least, I deserve to know.”
Seth shot her a seething glare, but it seemed his old man did not mind passing the time with a little talk.
Elias turned around slowly, letting the drape swing shut behind him. “He was a good lad,” he said, his gravelly voice taut.
The little blueblood offered a sympathetic nod. “How old was he when he died?”
“Only eighteen.”
“Father, it’s none of this wench’s business,” Seth growled.
She ignored him, all her attention homed in on his sire. “But, Mr. Flynn, I don’t understand. Her Grace is an old woman. Infirm. She walks with a cane. How could an old lady kill a strapping young man of eighteen?”
Father’s spectacles glinted. “Her hirelings did it.”
“Perhaps it was an accident.”
“You think that matters?” Father said. “The result is the same. My son is dead. There’s no atoning for what she’s done.” With that, he turned his back on them both and stared again out the window.
Seth looked at the girl and shook his head. You shouldn’t have started that.
Her dainty chin came up a notch, and her gray eyes took on an even more determined gleam, despite her having her hands pinned behind her.
Seth let his gaze skim over her wet, cold, shivering body. He could definitely see the appeal she must’ve held for the soon-to-be dead man.
Truth be told, he rather liked seeing her tied up. He’d enjoyed the way she’d struggled and squirmed as he’d held her fast. When all this was over…
“Very well, Mr. Flynn,” she said in that cut-crystal, aristocratic accent. “Even if you have a valid claim against the duchess, why kill off the Amberley men? They had nothing to do with this. The man whose study we’re in, for example, he was a vicar. From what I’m told, he didn’t even like Lucinda!”
A sharp, cynical bark of laughter escaped Elias. “A common problem for ol’ Lucy, as I recall. Men either wanted to rut with her or reform her.”
“What about you?” she countered, and to Seth’s disgust, Father was weak enough on this point to indulge her.
“Me?” The old cutthroat nearly smiled. “I liked her as she was, I suppose, acid tongue and all. Now there was a spitfire. Ah, she was something back in those days.”
Here we go again, Seth thought wearily.
But now Margaret was staring at Father with a dawning look of shock. “You cared for her,” she said, “but…then she married the duke. My God, is that why you hate her so much to this day?”
“Be quiet,” Seth warned her.
She ignored him, staring at his father. “Did she love you too? Might you have been happy together? And yet you sold her to this man?”
Elias took his glasses off and stared at the girl. Then he wiped them and put them back on, saying nothing.
Seth glanced over at his sire. “You want me to gag her now?”
“Leave her alone.”
“Father, she’s playing you!”
“Oh, shut up. Seth. Women don’t play Elias Flynn,” he said.
But Seth knew full well that one had, once, long ago.
This goddamned dragon lady who’d ruined all their lives.
Well, tonight, he and Father would finish ruining hers by destroying the family she had joined, just as she’d destroyed theirs. And then perhaps they could finally be done with this hellish obsession.
“Go check the other window,” Elias said, but, for a long moment, Seth made no move to obey, itching to tell his father off.
He did not like the way the old man was treating him in front of this upper-class woman.
As the tension stretched thin, Seth noticed her watching them with a crafty stare. She was looking to sow division, he knew.
Divide and conquer.
But it wasn’t going to work. Seth decided this wasn’t the time to let himself rise to the bait of Father’s constant goading. He swallowed his long-nursed resentment.
With a shake of his head and another idle puff of his cheroot, he simply went and did as he was told, as always.
He would punish his little captive later for her trickery. The thought cheered him up considerably.
Now, that he would enjoy.
* * *
Tick-tock, tick-tock…
In the brooding silence that followed her captors’ curt exchange, Maggie pondered her next move. The friction between Elias and his surviving son could not have been more obvious.
She knew she was taking incredible risks, but picking at the scab of this unhealed wound between the two seemed the only way she had left to help Connor.
So much for being a peacemaker, she thought, calculating how to drive a deeper wedge between the pair.
Maybe she could turn one against the other. It was a heartless plan, but if she could focus their anger on each other rather than on Connor, that would make it all the easier for him to dispatch both of them when he arrived.
Which should be any minute now, she thought. She’d wager he had seen the lantern signal burning in the window by now, out riding the perimeter, as he’d told her he was going to do.
He was probably on his way even now. Tick-tock. This could be her last chance to let him know what he was walking into.
With the sand mentally pouring through the hourglass, Maggie gathered her courage to try playing her risky game. “Ahem, well. If I may say so, I’m very sorry you lost your son, Mr. Flynn, and your brother, Captain Darrow.” She faltered. “What was he like?”
“I’m warning you,” Seth uttered, seeing through her deception, she feared.
But Maggie would not be cowed.
“What does it matter if I ask about Francis?” she said, deliberately using the dead boy’s name, for it seemed to have a potent effect on the old man. “I had nothing to do with his death, yet here I sit, being punished for it.”
“It’s nothing personal against you, young lady,” Elias conceded, now that she had softened him up a bit.
“Nothing personal?” Maggie exclaimed. “You’re about to murder the man I love! Why, in the name of heaven? Amberley is a good man! He had nothing do with this! He grew up in Ireland. He barely even knew his English relatives until he inherited the title. Is this what your son would really want?”
Elias stood very still. Maggie almost dared to hope he was considering her plea for a moment. But when she looked from one to the other, she saw that, at least, Seth would not be swayed.
He’d come too far to quit now, she supposed, had too much blood already on his hands. And, clearly, the dragoon had no sympathy for the major.
On the contrary, that cold smirk he wore said Seth wanted to make Connor suffer for the thrashing he’d taken last night.
Elias shrugged off his moment’s hesitation. “It’s nothing personal against your fiancé, either. This is all about Lucinda.”
“How do you mean?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Seth muttered, looking disgusted even to be having this conversation. He crushed out the remainder of his cheroot with a scowl.
“Oh, I see.” Maggie held the old man’s gaze for a long moment. “You’re ending the Amberley line, just like Lucinda’s hirelings nearly ended yours.”
“Clever lass,” Elias said, studying her again in his unnerving way. “You could be of use to me when this is over, if you wish to live. The choice is yours.”
Maggie stiffened. “I’d rather die with Amberley than be locked up in one of your brothels somewhere, thank you very much.”
“That’s not what I was thinking.” Elias paused. “You remind me a little of my wife. Doesn’t she remind you of Mother, Seth?”
Maggie went very still as Seth squinted skeptically at her.
She wasn’t sure what Elias was getting at, and by the sound of it, she wasn’t at all sure she wanted to know.
“You are from a good family, are you not?” Elias asked.
Suddenly wary, she did not deign to answer.
“Of course you are.” The old cutthroat seemed amused. “Too proud even to answer the question from some cheeky commoner, eh? That haughty glare tells me all I need to know. A blueblood for certain.”
“She’s the daughter of an earl,” Seth said. “Her sister’s married to a marquess.”
“My, my, how very lofty.” Elias’s cynical gaze shifted from her to Seth and back again. Then he announced his decision: “You’ll make a fine bride for my son.”
“What?” they both said.
“We’ve got to do something with her,” Elias told his heir with a shrug. “Might as well use her to our advantage. If you want to keep rising in the world, you’ll need the right kind of girl with good connections as your mate. Besides, you seem to like her.”
“Oh, I do. How could I not?” Seth grasped Maggie’s jaw and lifted her face to inspect it. “Can I have her, Father? Really?” he asked like a child pleading for a puppy, just to taunt her.
Elias shrugged. “Once Amberley’s dead, I don’t see why not.”
Seth smiled and released his rough hold on her face. “You hear that, sweet? We have my father’s blessing.”
Maggie’s stomach twisted. She fought not to panic. But, behind her back, she began pulling frantically at the ropes chafing at her wrists.
“I wouldn’t be so sure you have the wherewithal to kill my fiancé,” she said in a brittle tone, determined to keep a dismissive look on her face. “He is a war hero, after all. A real one,” she added pointedly to Seth. “In my view, it is far more likely that when he comes—if he comes—you’re both going to die.”
“Oh, he’ll come,” Seth replied. “But from there, you have it backwards, my dear. Because the moment he steps through that door, I pull this trigger.” He lifted his pistol to show her. “And your war hero dies.”
“Amberley’s not a fool,” she said. “He’s going to know something’s wrong.”
“Really? How?” the father asked.
When she floundered, suddenly fearing she’d put her foot in her mouth, Seth stared at her like a disapproving husband. “Aha, she’s already been with him tonight.” He grasped her face again. “You little slut, is that where you were while we were waiting for you in your room? Were you off fucking him?” he demanded as if he owned her already.
“Of course not! I was having a late-night cup of hot chocolate with my future kinswomen! Th-the Duchess Caroline and her two girls.”
Seth leaned closer and stared hard into her eyes. “I’ll know if you’re not a virgin,” he said softly.
He was a terrifying man. Holding his gaze, Maggie saw in his eyes that this particular ex-soldier truly was just a bit demented.
Tick-tock…
Suddenly, instead of dreading Connor’s arrival, she couldn’t wait for him to get here and save her. Who else could possibly protect her from these two?
Shivering uncontrollably with dread now, she strove to gather her wits, then steered the conversation back to the only topic that, so far, had been of any use. “So, you’re blaming Lucinda. Her hirelings. The entire Amberley clan,” she said in taut anger. “But with all due respect, Mr. Flynn, your son was practically a grown man, so isn’t it possible that your Francis might’ve been at least partly responsible for his own death?”
“Mind your tongue!” Elias said. He paused, scowling at her, but then could not seem to hold back. “I will say this, though. Someone was responsible. Only it wasn’t Francis. Was it, Seth?”
His glance wandered back to his firstborn.
Maggie saw that Seth’s face had gone ashen; even his bruises had paled.
The battle-hardened dragoon flinched as though his sire had just punched him in the stomach.
“Not now, Father, please,” he said quietly.
“Oh, was it your fault?” Maggie asked.
Seth cast her a tormented look.
“Go on, tell her, son. Tell her how you sent your little brother to his doom, all for your own laziness.”
Seth whirled to face his father, fists clenched. “It wasn’t laziness! My God, how many times must I explain it to you? I was trying to teach him the family business instead of always sheltering him like you did! Is it my fault he got cocky with those two thugs? I didn’t tell him to start a fight with a pair of men twice his size!”
“He should’ve never even been there!” Elias bellowed.
“Why not?” his firstborn roared. “If I was expected to do those things, then why not your precious Francis?”
“Oh, quit whining,” Elias said.
Seth strode toward him. “Damn it, you will listen to me this time! If you really want to know who’s to blame for all this, Father, I suggest you look in the mirror!”
Elias’s face turned white. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You and your blackmail schemes. You and your obsession with that insufferable duchess. The girl’s right.” Seth gestured angrily at Maggie. “If your thrice-damned Lucy Bly meant so much to you, then why the hell did you sell her to the duke? Oh, but I already know the answer,” Seth said. “Profit’s all that ever mattered to you. Profit and position!”
“Francis mattered!” the old man howled. “And you got him killed!”
Maggie watched, wide-eyed, as Seth stepped toward Elias.
“No, Father. You did.”
“How dare you?” Elias took a step toward his son.
“It’s true.” Seth shook his head. “You spoiled him. Praised everything he did to the rafters till the little peacock came to think himself invincible. I know full well you wish it was me who had died, but at least I know better than to go slapping a man twice my size across the face.”
“Which is why I sent you to do the task, not your brother, you fool. Francis had nothing to do with the family business. He was a gentleman!”
“No, he wasn’t!” Seth erupted, red-faced. “Stop fooling yourself! He was nothing but a whoremonger’s son! Just like me.”
Good God, Maggie thought, heart pounding. She had wanted to get them squabbling with each other, but she wasn’t quite sure what she had started here.
The way Seth had exploded at his father reminded her of herself that day in Hyde Park, when her patience with Delia had finally snapped.
It sounded like this fight had been a long time coming.
But Seth’s father was having none of it.
“Don’t you dare speak against Francis.” Elias gripped Seth by the lapels, though his son towered over him. “You’re the reason he’s dead, you useless piece of shit. Your incompetence. I charged you with the task of collectin’ the money. It was your job, and like always, you had to shirk your duty. You made him do it, so quit tryin’ to shift the blame!”
Seth thrust his father away from him, loosing his hold on him by force.
“Shift the blame?” he echoed incredulously. “First of all, no one could make Francis do anything. He was far too spoiled for that, your little gentleman! He did as he pleased, as you may recall. I’m the only one you could ever count on, you ungrateful son of a bitch.”
“Oh, why don’t you just admit it?” Elias wrenched out with murder in his eyes. “We both know you purposely set him up.”
“What?”
“You wanted Francis dead.”
“Don’t be absurd!”
“You hated that boy.”
“Why, because you loved him more?” Seth scoffed. “I don’t give a shit, Father. I just want your money.”
While they continued battling over the sins of the past, Maggie looked around discreetly.
The two were so engrossed in their hatred of each other that they seemed to have forgotten temporarily about her.
Flooded with newfound hope at this sliver of a chance to warn Connor somehow while they were distracted, she swept her gaze over the vicar’s writing table, a slender Chippendale piece on long, spindly legs. There had to be something here that she could use to her advantage.
It was then that she looked at the bronze dove statue and suddenly received what could only be divine inspiration.
She drew in her breath and quickly lowered her head so they would not notice the sudden excitement flaring in her eyes.
She sneaked another glance at the desktop statue and felt her pulse quicken.
This might actually work. If she gave the desk a good kick in just the right spot, the hefty bronze dove would slide off and crash right into the window.
The glass should break, then she could scream out to Connor that he was walking into a trap.
She eyed her captors briefly, making sure they were still distracted; their quarrel raged on.
With that, Maggie began inching her chair carefully into position.
She didn’t have far to go—she merely had to turn herself around a bit to get lined up with the desk.
Her captors did not notice her movement, and the rug beneath her muffled the sound of any bumping and scraping of her chair legs as she shifted herself around.
Halfway there, she glanced over again at the criminal duo, making sure they were still engrossed in their argument.
Heavens, it looked like it soon might come to blows.
Elias had whipped off his spectacles, and a vein popped out on his forehead as he gave his son a vicious tongue-lashing. The red hue of his face had crept all the way up toward his bald head.
Seth, for his part, looked like he’d had all the humiliation for one night that he intended to take.
Still, the seconds felt like hours and brought a cold sweat to Maggie’s brow as she finally lined herself up in a good spot across from the vicar’s desk.
She stared at the slim drawer right in the middle where she wished to strike it with her feet. Her wet, muddy, woolen socks would be slippery.
Just give it a good shove.
The two men were paying no attention to her as she slowly lifted her legs and planted both feet against the edge of the writing table. Her heart pounded as she said a brief mental prayer, then gave a sharp, sudden thrust against the side of the desk with both feet.
Her eyes widened as everything on the desk tilted toward the window.
The dove rocked off balance and began sliding toward freedom like it wanted to fly away out the window, escape these horrible men.
Everything else on the desk went sliding in that direction, as well: books, papers, inkpot.
Her chair legs thumped back down to the floor as the bronze dove went crashing into the window.
Through the drapes, she heard the sound of shattering glass, then the dove itself disappeared between the curtains.
Both her captors spun to face her, but then Maggie saw what had actually occurred.
Instead of simply breaking the window, the dove had also shattered the glass surrounds of the two lanterns on the sill.
And that, in turn, had fed the drapes right into the spilled lamp oil: the curtains promptly ignited.
Both her captors let out astonished curses as the drapes burst into flames.
“You bitch!” Seth said.
“What have you done?” uttered Elias.
“Connor!” Maggie screamed through the hole in the glass.
The cold rush of oxygen into the room only teased the flames higher.
Seth backhanded her in the face on his way to put out the fire.
Maggie cried out, tasting blood, but the dragoon wasn’t finished with her yet.
As he swept her chair aside roughly so he’d have more room to fight the flames, his motion was so swift and violent that the chair tipped off balance.
Maggie shrieked as her chair went falling sideways onto the carpet.
She landed on her shoulder with an “oof!” and the side of her head banged hard against the floor. Her eyes watered at the pain. Amid her terror, black dots floated across her field of vision.
Clobbered in the head by her fall while her captors struggled to put out the fire, she felt the hot, sticky wetness of blood oozing from a gash somewhere above her ear.
Amid the wooziness, she wanted to scream for Connor again, but the fall had also knocked the wind out of her. She could not seem to draw a proper breath for a moment.
Meanwhile, gray and black smoke had begun billowing from the curtains, roaring out the Thinkery window and curling up all around the ceiling.
Elias and his son worked frantically to stop it from spreading.
“Use your coat!” Elias bellowed. He had taken off his own rain-sodden jacket and begun beating at the flames on one side.
Seth set his pistol down to follow suit, perhaps fearing the gunpowder might catch a spark and explode in the holster.
Unfortunately, their efforts did them little good, for the curtains were ablaze, and when the flames leapt to the fine oak framing around the window, it burst into a raging inferno, as though the wood had been treated with some highly flammable varnish.
The smoke took on a different smell, sharp and acrid.
Maggie’s eyes watered as she glanced up from the floor as best she could to gauge how far away from her the fire was. Only seven or eight feet. She could already feel the heat of it.
God, this was not what she’d intended!
Worse, she saw that, in moments, the flames would reach the vicar’s bookshelves, and then there would be no stopping them.
Maggie could hear both of her captors coughing while she, too, choked at the smell. That varnish on the wood paneling seemed to be giving off some sort of noxious fumes.
Between the throbbing pain on the side of her skull and the lung-squeezing smoke filling the room, she could feel herself starting to pass out.
Stay awake! she ordered herself while the blood oozed from the gash on her head and the ropes held her fast. She’d never felt so helpless.
What if they run away and leave me here? Tied to the chair, she couldn’t get up—indeed, she could barely keep herself conscious.
The room had gone wavy. The floor seemed to spin slowly while the flames writhed nearby. Maggie struggled to stay alert, but her eyelids grew heavy. She could feel herself fading…
The last thing she saw before she lost consciousness was the room door blasting open with an explosive kick from Connor, and, through the drifting smoke, his face filled with wrath.