She had never felt the force of such anger, and it left her hollow, even in this grim moment, as the certain realization she was about to die hit her. She would not beg for mercy, because she recognized all too well he possessed none. Instead, she held her head high and maintained her silence. Creaks and groans sounded around them, and the building shuddered as the undeniable scent of burning wood reached her nose.
Mulroney turned to Flannery. “We have to go before the roof collapses.”
Flannery nodded, his light-blue eyes trailing over Hazel, almost apologetically, before both men turned and fled from the room, leaving her to die by flame.
Chapter Nineteen
He had tofind Hazel.
It was the only thought in Lucien’s mind as he fought his way through the smoldering inferno of the warehouse on Nightingale Lane with Strathmore at his side. They had indeed gathered an army, but he had discovered an army couldn’t hold a bloody candle to dynamite. Scotland Yard and Special League were in full force, dozens of men having been called into action to apprehend the villains responsible for the railway bombings.
But when they had descended upon the road in the docks Hazel had circled on her map, they had been met with an explosion. One of the large warehouses shook, flame bursting through the roof, windows raining glass on the street. He could still feel the concussion of the blast in his chest, as he threw a hand over his face and worked his way through fallen rafters and the oppressive heat of the flames.
Around them, the building groaned, a full collapse imminent.
He turned to Strathmore, yelling over the din. “Go back! It isn’t safe, and if anything happens to you, Lettie will never forgive me.”
But Strathmore shook his head. “If anything happens toyou, Vi will never forgive me.”
Stubborn bastard, but Lucien was damned grateful for him. His heart was pounding, his body pouring in sweat. Christ, if he lost Hazel—
No. He refused to think of anything other than locating Hazel, of the hope she was yet alive. She had to be somewhere in this damned warehouse. He felt certain of it, and he would not rest until he found her.
Through the smoke and the shipping crates before them, two figures came into sight ahead, moving with haste. In the haze and lack of lamplight, Lucien had just enough time to distinguish the glint of pistols before the building gave a shudder, and the floor overhead gave way, falling down on the men and burying them in burning rubble.
He and Strathmore rushed forward, but the men who had been felled by the wreckage, whoever they were, showed no signs of life. That was when he heard a shrill scream he recognized.
“Hazel,” he called out, shielding his face with his arm as he moved blindly toward the source of her cry.
The terror in her voice had been undeniable, and it matched the terror clawing at him from within. The flames grew higher with each labored breath he took. The possibility he would not locate her in time, or that they would all perish in the rampaging fire was strong. The building gave another groan.
“Move!” Strathmore shouted, pushing him out of the path of a falling, burning floor joist.
It fell harmlessly between them, leaving a hole in the rafters overhead and a perfect view to the escalating fire raging through the level above them. If Strathmore had not acted when he had, shoving him before the joist had hit him, he could have been knocked unconscious and succumbed to the flames and smoke.
“Thank you!” he yelled, then turned his head back toward the direction of Hazel’s scream. “Hazel!”
“Lucien!”
Her frantic response reached him over the crackling fire. Either he was delusional, or she was still alive. Either way, he moved toward the sound of her voice. He was an automaton, going toward her come hell, Fenians, dynamite, or a burning warehouse. She was his, damn it, and he loved her. He could deny it no longer. Heneededher. She was the woman he would not fail.Couldnot fail.
This was her life, but it was also his and Strathmore’s.
His brother-in-law, bless the fearless bastard, followed him through the rapidly rising flame. Through the smoke, he found her at last, bound to a chair which had been upended and lay on its side. She was attempting to use a piece of splintered wood that had rained from overhead to cut through her knots. It was so damn like her, this endless determination and her boundless courage, he almost cried in relief.
But the groaning shell of the warehouse reminded him they had not reached safety yet. He dropped to his knees at her side.
“My God, Hazel.” He extracted a knife and began sawing away at her binding. Strathmore was not far behind him, and he too withdrew a blade and started work upon the ropes capturing her legs.
“Lucien?” she gasped, coughing.
Her face was streaked with soot, tracked with tears, but she was alive,thank God, and she had never been more beautiful. He freed her wrists and arms.
“I am here, my love,” he soothed. “Strathmore and I will take you to safety.”
“Done,” Strathmore announced. “Let’s get the hell out of here before the roof falls on our bloody heads.”
“Can you walk?” he asked Hazel.
