Malum only shook his head.
With the door still open, a handful of servants arrived, carrying basins of water, cloths, and even a tray of tea. The room filled with a flurry of activity, but even with her entire family looking on, Malum did not let go of Melanie’s hand.
His mind was still racing with the implications of her revelation.
Crossings had been a villain, and he’d certainly at least arranged for who knew how many deaths. But Northwoods… Northwoods had set the fire, and as a result, was most definitely a murderer.
Northwoods.
So Crossings had ordered Northwoods to retrieve some likely incriminating letters, and somewhere along the way, Northwoods decided to take drastic measures. Of course, Crossings would have used that information against him, a convenient leash to keep the earl in line—until now.
Malum sat back on his heels, recalling the faint but unmistakable hint of kerosene when Northwoods arrived.
If Northwoods had gotten tired of the threats and the danger, perhaps he was the one who burned down Crossings’ townhouse earlier this morning. But then who set the fire at Rutherford Place? Northwoods had been at the park with Malum and the other rakes at the time, so it couldn’t have been him…
Desperation—self-preservation—had driven Crossings to threaten Melanie.
Northwoods was desperate as well.
Malum met Standish’s gaze across the room. “Crossings may have ordered that fire last year,” he said evenly. “But it was Northwoods who started it.”
But that was all he was allowed, apparently, because in the moment that followed, a stern voice rose over the din.
“Enough! My sister needs some privacy.” Lady Helton was standing on a chair. “Everyone out, now!”
WHEN YOU NEED YOUR SISTER
It was Caroline, naturally, who had taken control, unapologetically ordering everyone out of the room. Melanie’s big sister didn’t so much as blink when one of the maids pointed out that she was ordering the Duke of Malum out of his own chamber.
Even so, Malum had lingered, rubbing Melanie’s back, leaning close as though he could lend her some of his strength through touch alone. But, although part of her wanted to beg him to stay, she knew he was needed elsewhere. Crossings had been, er,dealt with—but Northwoods was still out there—and he too had reason to harm her and her family.
So when Malum bent close, his breath caressing her cheek as he told her he’d stay if she wanted, Melanie insisted she would be fine. As long as he…
“Come back soon,” she’d said.
He’d responded to her request with a kiss, one that managed to be scorching but tender at the same time, right in front of her entire family.
It was as embarrassing as it had been reassuring.
After Malum, her family, and most of the servants had gone, Caroline allowed only one maid and the doctor to stay.
The doctor was brisk but thorough, his movements efficient as he dabbed at the cut on Melanie’s head. She winced but didn’t complain, because suddenly, she was just… so very tired.
“You’ll need to keep this clean,” the doctor murmured, and Melanie nodded. He applied a salve that cooled the sting, then bandaged the wound with practiced ease.
"Her lungs took in quite a bit of smoke,” he said, talking to Caroline now even though his fingers were pressed against Melanie’s wrist—checking her pulse? The pressure felt both soothing and strange, and now, along with feeling tired, she felt remarkably fragile. “This tincture will help with the cough, ensuring she can rest. Later, she can drink honey and water, mixed with chamomile. Licorice root soothes the throat as well. I’ll return tomorrow to evaluate her condition again.”
Melanie nodded numbly, her throat more painful with each passing minute, and as he rose to leave, she couldn’t muster more than a whispered “Thank you”. With a nod, he and the maid exited then, closing the door behind them.
Alone with her sister, Melanie felt relieved, but also… exposed. Now that everyone had gone and her injury had been tended to, she was acutely aware of just how awful she must have looked—every inch of her covered in soot and grime, her curls a bedraggled mess around her shoulders, and what remained of her composure ready to shatter at any moment.
Without a hint of judgement, though, Caroline took charge, helping Melanie out of her gown, and then holding up a fresh nightrail that had seemingly appeared out of nowhere.
“I’m filthy,” Melanie murmured, her throat aching as she fumbled to slide her arms into the sleeves.
“You’re exhausted, as anyone would be,” Caroline countered firmly, adjusting the fabric over Melanie’s shoulders and smoothing it down. When she finally stepped back, she stared at Melanie with tender, knowing eyes.
“You can cry if you want to, you know,” she said.
