Malum swung off his horse in one fluid motion, landing hard and sprinting toward the house. Flames roared behind the open front door, the heat slamming into him, daring him to push through. He would never make it to her that way.
“Standish!” he barked, his voice sharp and commanding. “The back! It might still be passable!”
Standish, mid-dismount, froze, his eyes darting from the flames to Malum and then back to the house. Malum saw the moment when the earl must have spotted Melanie trapped in the window; the raw anguish that flickered across his face was unmistakable—a man reliving a nightmare, one who had already lost half his family to fire.
For a moment, it seemed he might hesitate, but then his jaw set, and he gave a grim nod before racing toward the rear of the house.
Malum’s gaze snapped back to the third-floor window. Melanie stood there, gripping the frame, her eyes scanning the ground below as though calculating the impossible distance. Several dark curls were clinging to her face, damp from heat and smoke, and her shoulders trembled as she leaned out.
That’s when he saw the blood.
A thin trail of crimson streaked down the side of her face, disappearing into the neckline of her gown. Something hot and cold surged through him all at once, a sickening mix of fury and fear.
If he allowed his emotions to take control, he’d make a mistake. And now, more than ever, she needed him to be clear-headed.
So he didn’t panic. Not outwardly. Not inwardly. Panic wouldn’t save her—action would.
“Are you injured, sweetheart?” he called up, surprised to hear the strength in his own voice.
“No.” But after glancing over her shoulder, she winced. “I can’t… The door. It’s blocked.”
Brick exteriors, Malum thought, his mind grasping at the details to keep himself steady. They’d hold for a time. But the inside… He glanced at the smoke curling through the sky, dark and thick.Wooden floors, staircases, paneling… There would have been nothing to stop it from tearing through the house faster than anyone could keep up.
He forced himself to breathe, to think. If the fire had started on the lower floors… His heart dropped. The walls might still be standing, but the structure would be a charred skeleton within minutes.
It was already too far along. His heart thundered, but he forced himself to ignore it.
His gaze darted from the front door, being consumed by flames, to her window.
She has to come out that window.
“Look at me, Melanie,” he called up, his voice steady and sure. “You’re not alone. You’ll make it through this, but you’re going to have to climb down from the window. Use the other trellis, just like Crossings is doing.” Melanie darted a nervous glance toward the duke, and it was obvious that she didn’t like how the thin wooden slats noticeably protested under the man’s weight. Malum didn’t blame her for hesitating. “I’m right here,” he added, coaxing. “I’ll catch you if you need me. Just one step at a time, love. Trust me—I won’t let anything happen to you.”
She nodded, rocking backward and forward a little, as if she was physically building up the courage she needed to begin. He knew, without question, that she was relying on him. Trusting him. And he wouldn’t fail her.
He flexed his hands, feeling the heat even from this distance. He could only imagine how much worse it must be from inside.
But he wouldn’t lose her. Not to this. Not now.
Malum edged closer, to her and to the flames, his unwavering focus fixed on the woman in the window above. Yet, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t avoid noticing the Duke of Crossings clinging precariously to the trellis below her. The man was grunting and panting distractingly in his fear, his clutching fingers tearing at the honeysuckle vines in search of his next handhold.
“Is that Crossings?” Beckworth’s voice rang out from behind him, cutting through the chaos.
Hearing his name, the older duke glanced over his shoulder.
For a fleeting moment, Malum stared into the bastard’s eyes, not bothering to hide his disgust and utter lack of sympathy. Crossings’ eyes widened in recognition before flicking downward, his focus snapping to the scattered papers strewn across the cobblestones. Letters, Malum could see now, many of them marked with a very familiar seal…
With sudden urgency, the Duke of Crossings shifted his weight—a fatal misstep.
Time seemed to slow as the makeshift ladder peeled away from the house. Too worn and weathered to continue holding so much weight, it bent at first, and then snapped, breaking away—and taking the duke’s flailing body down with it.
Crossings screamed as he fell, the sound stretching out for what couldn’t have been more than a single second, before he landed on the street with a thud and a painful-sounding crack.
For years, Malum had pursued the fiend, spent thousands of hours strategizing, investigating, and ultimately watching and waiting, but in this moment, with Melanie’s life in danger, he didn’t give a damn if the man was dead or alive. The one thing, the only thing that mattered, was saving her.
And the only way she was going to survive this fire… was to climb down the remaining trellis. She was lighter than Crossings, and she’d be more careful. But… if it didn’t hold…
“Bring linens!” He shouted over his shoulder. Tipton, who’d been hovering on the front step across the way, for once, acted with haste.
